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#kimiko
skeleion · 2 months
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Seriously?? This is the third time I've had to reboot you this match 😒🎮
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simpliciaty-cc · 4 months
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KIMIKO HAIR
🎀 Soft wavy hairstyle, tied into pigtails with an optional ribbon bow! 🎀
54 swatches and/or unlimited colors with “The Spectrum Collection” (Click for more info);
Bow with 35 swatches found in Accessories>Piercings category (brow ring, above the earrings);
Toddler & Child version available;
Enabled for all genders;
HQ mod compatible;
Custom Shadow Map;
Smooth weighting;
Hat compatible;
All LOD’s;
Credits to Goppolsme for the hairline texture!;
[ DOWNLOAD ON MY BLOG ] - (Public Release: January 8th, 2024)
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If you use please tag #simpliciaty in your pictures!
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hvcklebury · 2 months
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i finally watched the boys
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lescarnetsdehaku · 2 years
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My theory about The boys season 4 : Butcher chills out, Homelander goes to therapy, and they get Ryan's shared custody.
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geminiwritten · 1 year
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undercover ; billy butcher
fandom: the boys
pairing: billy x reader
summary: you have to go undercover as butcher’s wife to vought’s annual supe celebration - prompt (that i don’t remember where i saw it, i’m sorry!): “I bet you one hundred dollars that you’re hard right now.” *he stands up and drops $100 on the table*
notes: i wrote this in one day and you can tell!!! it’s so rushed, i’m so sorry, but also i’m just hot for this man and refuse to stop??? let me know what you think!
warnings: swearing, very small alcohol consumption, very light smut, and a bit of harassment from an unwelcome dude
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word count: 6496
“You have a thing for Butcher?” Hughie gasps, the apartment door swinging open as he steps inside.
Annie’s eyes grow wide, her hand covering her mouth to try and hide her cheeky smile. You scowl at her before turning to Hughie, his face a comical mixture of disgust and amusement.
“What have I said about eavesdropping on movie night, Hubert?” you demand, calling him by the stupid nickname you know he hates.
He rolls his eyes, “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I texted Annie to say I was on my way home. It’s not my fault you’re practically shouting about the fact that you want to fu-”
“Hughie,” Annie giggles, “be careful.”
“Hey,” he says, turning to her, “I’m just repeating what I heard.”
You hold your face in your hands and groan, sinking back into the soft couch cushions and praying that they might open up and swallow you into a different dimension.
“I’m sorry,” Annie sighs, “I honestly just lost track of time.”
Hughie drops his keys and wallet on the kitchen bench alongside two plastic bags that wreak of cheap Chinese food. Your stomach grumbles at the smell, and you reluctantly pull yourself off the couch before dragging your feet toward the kitchen.
“So,” Hughie says with a grin, “how long has this been going on then?”
“Nothing is going on,” you state, “and it’s certainly none of your business.”
“Oh, come on, it’s not like I’m going to tell anyone,” he begins helping you unpack the bags of food, “besides, I had a sneaking suspicion. You do kind of look at him like-”
You pull a butterknife out of the draw and point it at him, “Like what?”
He freezes, his hands flying up on either side of his head in surrender.
Annie laughs again, “Okay, you two, cut it out.”
You put the knife down and retrieve three full sets of cutlery before setting a stack of bowls beside the containers of food. Hughie serves himself first before Annie fills her own bowl and you last, already shovelling mouthfuls of noodles into your mouth as you move back toward the couch.
“You know,” Hughie says between mouthfuls, “if you wanted to talk about it, I might be able to help.”
You scoff, “Yeah? How?”
He shrugs, “I don’t know, talk to him.”
“And say what?” you drop your fork into your bowl, mocking Hughie’s voice as you say, “Hey Butcher, do you think Y/N is hot, because I know she dreams about fucking you.”
He scowls at you, “I can be subtle.”
Annie giggles, hiding her face behind her bowl as Hughie casts his glare toward her.
“I appreciate your concern, Hughie,” you say, “but I think I’ll just stick to fantasising about him in the shower.”
His expression morphs into disgust as he begins choking on his mouthful of food, his face turning bright red. Annie’s laughter fills the room, and you join her while Hughie struggles to compose himself.
To your surprise, and relief, Hughie agrees to keep your little secret to himself. He doesn’t even make a stupid face the next day when the three of you arrive at the boys’ current hideout, finding MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, and the man himself huddled around the dining room table.
“Righ’ on time,” Butcher says with a grin, “let’s get to it, then.”
You knew he was excited about this next mission, if you could call it that. Everyone was, in fact, because thanks to Annie’s excellent intel, you were all attending Vought’s annual ball. A night of celebration to thank the mighty Supes for keeping the streets safe, or as Butcher liked to call it, Vought’s annual wank-fest.
“Your invitations are all sorted,” Annie says, pulling a small handful of envelopes out of her bag. “Hughie came up with all your aliases, so please stick to them, or you’ll be kicked out in a heartbeat. Security is tough at this thing, and there’ll be no talking yourselves out of a bad situation.”
She looks pointedly at Butcher, but his smirk only widens.
“Frenchie,” Hughie says, “you’re going as a member of the tech team, so you’ll be behind the scenes and keeping an eye on the cameras for anything suspicious.”
Frenchie rubs his hands together excitedly, taking the envelope from Annie and tearing it open.
“Monsieur Felipe Lavigne, senior security technician,” he announces, reading the ID card aloud.
“MM and Kimiko, you’ll be with me,” Hughie goes on, “we’ll be posing as press on behalf of the city council. There’s a huge group of council members and associates, so all we have to do is blend in.”
MM takes two envelopes and passes one to Kimiko.
Hughie turns to you, “I originally had you listed as press too, but then decided it might be smart to double down on Butcher’s alias, give him another level of cover, you know?”
You frown, tilting your head sceptically as he hands you and Butcher an envelope each.
“You’ll be attending as prospective stakeholders, invited by corporate to bask in the glory of Vought in the hopes that you’ll invest in their cause,” Hughie explains. “An affluent couple from upstate New York, recently immigrated from Britain after growing bored of your rich English lifestyle.”
You’re almost positive your brows have reached your hairline as you stare at the envelope in your hands, your trembling fingers struggling to pull the ID badge out.
“Brooklyn Williams,” you read aloud.
Annie shoots Hughie a look, promising that he would be paying for this later, and you realise that he must have made this decision in the past twelve hours without consulting her.
“William Williams,” Butcher says, frowning at Hughie, “really?”
Despite being the target of several unhappy stares, Hughie chuckles.
Frenchie snickers too, “At least you will not forget it, eh?”
“Smart move, Hughie,” MM speaks up, “Butcher is the one most likely to be caught, but with Y/N in tow, he might think twice about putting himself in danger.”
Butcher rolls his eyes, “Do none of you ‘ave any faith in me?”
Hughie, Frenchie, and MM respond in unison, “No.”
The seven of you spend the next two hours going over the details of your aliases and the agenda of the function. It’s going to be a huge event, which meant little risk of actually running into Homelander or anyone who might recognise any of you. Annie won’t be able to help on the night, being one of the spotlight attendees, but that isn’t what’s was making you nervous. You’re going to have to spend a good five hours pretending to be married to Butcher, the one man you desperately want and the one man you were trying very hard not to fall in love with.
After what feels like forever, Frenchie announces that he is going to get dinner and Annie bids you all goodbye to check in at Vought tower. Hughie sets his laptop up at the desk in the corner of the lounge room while MM excuses himself for his nightly facetime call with Janine.
Kimiko turns to you, signing a question about what you were all going to wear on the night.
“Annie helped me organise some things,” you reply, gesturing toward the suitcase by the door. “You should try it on now, and if you don’t like it we can find something else.”
You know Kimiko isn’t a fan of cocktail attire, and you definitely didn’t want her walking into the dragon’s den worrying about the way she looked or if she’d be able to fight should the need arise.
“What ‘bout me, love?” Butcher asks, his signature smirk curling the corner of his lips.
Your cheeks burn under his gaze, “You don’t get a choice, you’ll be wearing a suit.”
He chuckles, “I do love a stubborn woman, must’ve been why I married you.”
Your pulse thrums in your ears, and you fail to think of a sarcastic retort, instead turning away in the hopes that he hasn’t already noticed the bright colour in your cheeks.
Kimiko drops the case on its back with a thud, unzipping it quickly and throwing it open to pull out each of the bagged costumes. There are four suits of various styles with varying accessories, and two dresses. She stands holding the one labelled with her name, dragging the zip right down the middle and revealing the soft black fabric of her dress. It isn’t quite full length, hemmed just below the knee in a pencil skirt style and devoid of any embellishments. A simple black dress with long sleeves, fitted but flexible.
She grins, signing to you that it is perfect and thanking you for not putting her in anything ridiculous.
“We chose two pairs of shoes too,” you say, “in case you don’t want to wear the heels.”
Butcher strides toward the suitcase and picks up the last bag, but you follow him, quickly snatching it out of his hands before he can pull the zip.
“My dress can wait until the night,” you hold it behind your back for good measure, “I’m still not sure about it.”
He quirks one brow, “You’re not wearin’ latex, are ya?”
You roll your eyes before turning on your heel, taking your dress into your room and tucking it into the back of your closet. You fall back on your bed, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths as you try to calm your erratic pulse. It’s just one night, you can hold it together for one night, right?
The next two days pass in a blur of preparations and planning, and before you know it, you’re staring at the dress hanging in your closet with a towel wrapped around your body. Your hair is clean and curled, pulled into a half up do with twisted gold pins creating the illusion of diadem just below the crown of your head. You took a little longer to do your makeup than usual, out of practice in the art of winged eyeliner and false lashes, but in the end, you were proud. Now, the dress.
Your fingers are numb as you pull the zipper down, revealing the red silk material of the gown that Annie convinced you would be a good idea. You blame her for this just as much as Hughie.
“Come on, Y/N,” MM calls through your bedroom door, “we have to go.”
You sigh and throw your towel aside, hurriedly pulling the dress off its hanger. The material is cool against your skin, sliding easily over your curves and fitting your body like a tailor-made glove. You twist awkwardly to secure the zip before turning to the mirror.
The dress is floor length, a few inches of the red silk pooling at your feet, with a long slit reaching scandalously up to your left hip. The straps are about an inch thick, and the neck cowled, showcasing your breasts and the perfect amount cleavage. The silk hugs your torso, and you’re a little startled at just how good you feel in this dress.
Another knock at the door has you rushing to slip into your beige heels, and you check that your underwear are pulled high enough to not be seen in the slit of the dress before opening the door. MM’s jaw drops.
“Holy shit, Y/N.”
You blush, “Thanks.”
Being the gentleman he is, he tears his eyes away from you, offering you his arm with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.
In the lounge room, Kimiko is helping Frenchie with his tie and Hughie is struggling to secure his suspenders to his trousers. Your breath catches when your eyes land on Butcher, dressed in a classic and perfectly fitted black tux. He has even trimmed his beard and styled his hair, still a little dishevelled but holy shit, does the sight of him make your mouth water.
“Damn,” Hughie says when he sees you, “nice dress.”
“Nice suspenders.”
He chuckles, “Are we ready?”
Butcher turns to you, his jaw going slack and his eyes dark. Your chest squeezes, your lungs struggling to draw enough breath as your head spins from the lack of oxygen.
“Ready,” MM says beside you.
“Good,” Hughie tucks his ID badge into his shirt pocket, “I’ve organised two cars, one for Y/N and Butcher, and the other for the rest of us. Once we’re there, we can’t slip up, keep your masks up and don’t even look at anyone you think might recognise you.”
You check your small black clutch for your ID badge and phone.
“Earpieces are too risky tonight,” he continues, “so keep your phones on you, and if one of us is out, we all abort.”
Kimiko checks her own purse and the boys check their pockets before you all shuffle out the door. Hughie, MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko exit the building first, leaving you and Butcher alone in the lobby.
“You ready, sweethear’?” he asks, gazing at you with the same dark eyes as before.
You nod, “As I’ll ever be.”
After a minute, you exit the apartment and climb into the awaiting car. Butcher greets the driver as the car pulls away from the curb, and you take the chance to pull your phone out, typing out a quick message to Hughie.
‘I’m going to kill you.’
Your phone pings before you can put it away, and you quickly turn it to silent before reading his reply.
‘You’re welcome ;)’
A warm hand on your bare legs startles you, the heat sinking into your blood and making it sizzle through your veins.
“You sure you’re alrigh’?” Butcher asks.
“Yeah,” you mutter, “just nervous.”
His thumb rubs soft circles on your thigh, sending shockwaves of desire right to your core.
“Nothin’ to be worried ‘bout, love, I’ve got you.”
Your eyes almost roll back in your head at the sound of his deep voice. He truly does not know how much he does have you, all of you.
“Thanks, Billy,” you whisper, your voice unsteady.
His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of car ride, and your pulse refuses to settle. Anxiety and desire tangle in your stomach, twisting it into loops and winding the knot in your core even tighter than it already was.
Eventually, the car stops, and you both thank the driver before climbing out. You’re not at the main entrance of the building, but there is still a ridiculous number of security guards standing around, and barriers preventing anyone without an invitation from getting within twenty feet of the door. Butcher wraps an arm around your waist to guide you forward, his warmth shielding you from the cold night air.
“By the way,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you look fuckin’ delectable in that dress.”
Another wave of heat washes through your veins, and it takes every ounce of focus for you to not stumble up the walkway. Two security guards step forward as you both flash your ID badges.
“Mr. and Mrs. Williams,” the guard in front of Butcher says, scanning the barcodes on the badges, “welcome to Vought tower.”
The security guard in front of you is younger than the other, his blonde hair slicked back and his mouth etched into a sleazy smirk as his eyes rake up and down your body. He winks as he steps aside, and Butcher notices, his expression twisting into a scowl.
Just as you reach the doors, Butcher’s hand slips from your waist to your ass, squeezing it as he dips down and plants a hot kiss against your neck.
“Fuckin’ perve,” he mutters, before guiding you through the doors and down the corridor.
Your mouth is dry and your knees wobbly, but you move with practice and manage to appear cool and collected as you step into the huge event room. It’s extravagantly decorated with drapes of sheer fabric hanging from the high ceilings and a huge crystal chandelier in the centre. There are dozens of round tables, all set with fine silver-wear and obnoxious centrepieces made of red and white roses.
“Nice to know where all our money will be going if we decide to invest, darlin’,” Butcher says with a cheeky grin.
You giggle, letting him guide you through the clusters of elegantly dressed attendees toward where you assumed your table would be. You don’t remember ever finding out that piece of information, but you assume either Hughie or Annie told Butcher while you were still reeling about having to play ‘happy couple’ with him.
You listen carefully to snippets of conversations as you pass, waiting for anything interesting to catch your attention. Butcher stops at an empty table and pulls out a chair, you smile in thanks before taking a seat, quickly shuffling forward to avoid flashing everyone due to the ridiculously high split in your dress. Butcher notices though, chuckling to himself as he takes the chair beside you.
Before you can speak, he places a hand on your bare leg and squeezes, knocking every thought right out of your head.
You gasp, “I-It’s hot in here, is it hot in here?”
“I think that’s jus’ you, sweethear’,” he replies with a wink.
The room quickly fills with guests, conversations growing louder and drowning out the soft music playing over the speakers. Eventually, a woman takes the stage and the room falls quiet, listening to her lengthy introduction about how grateful Vought were for this night and how wonderful it is to be able to celebrate America’s finest superheroes. You can barely hear her though, your ears filled with the thrum of your pulse as Butcher’s fingers draw patterns on your leg. Your core aches, and you shift in your seat only to feel the dampness between your legs.
When the room erupts into applause, Butcher’s hand freezes, and you turn to see Homelander striding onto the stage, his hair blinding beneath the bright spotlight.
“Hey,” you whisper, placing a hand on top of Butcher’s, “you okay?”
He turns to you and his scowl relaxes, a soft smile pulling on his lips. “Yeah,” he replies, “I’m good.”
You slip your other hand beneath his, praying that he doesn’t notice how sweaty your palms are as you play with his fingers beneath the table. Although you had started in the hopes of calming him, you find your own sense of relaxation in his touch, focusing on the feeling of his skin as Homelander drawls on about Vought and The Seven.
After what feels like an eternity, he finishes his speech and the room cheers again. The woman returns to the microphone to announce the first course of food before music and conversation fills the air, and you turn your attention toward the centre of the table. Butcher grips your hand as you attempt to move it, entwining his fingers with yours and only allowing one of your hands free.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you two at one of these events before,” the woman beside you says.
She’s older but extremely elegant, with a pendant around her neck that you don’t doubt costs more money than you’ll ever get to see in your bank account.
“We’re new in town,” you reply, your voice very slightly lilted, “just moved from London’s east end, actually.”
“How charming,” she places a hand against her pendant, “I’m Lucille, and this is my husband, Jack.”
The podgy man beside her nods, his cheeks and nose bright red as he guzzles from his glass of champagne.
“Pleasure to meet you,” you say, “I’m Brooklyn, and this is my husband, William.”
You cast a glance at Butcher, only to find his eyes already locked on you, sparkling under the soft yellow lights. He has dopey smile on his lips and an emotion you can’t discern floating behind his gaze. Your stomach flips.
“You do make a charming, if you don’t mind my saying,” Lucille says.
You nod, your cheeks tingling with warmth, “Thank you.”
“So,” her husband, Jack, speaks up, his voice gruff, “what brings you here?”
You wait a beat for Butcher to reply, but he only watches you with that same expression.
“To be totally honest with you, I’m not sure,” you reply with a half-hearted laugh, “we have been thinking about investing, but I do wonder why a company of this immensity even needs investors.”
Jack chuckles, “You’ve got that right, seems greedy, doesn’t it?”
Lucille frowns at her husband before turning back to you, “We don’t do it for them, we do it for our grandkids, for their future. In the hopes that they will have a future, a safe one. This world is a nasty place.”
“You’re not wrong about that,” you sigh.
She nods, “That’s why it’s important to protect what you love, and hold on to it.”
Butcher’s hand squeezes yours, making your heart thump violently within your chest. You turn to him and meet his eyes, the fire in your veins blazing with a new intensity and heating every inch of your skin.
“I-If you’ll excuse me,” you stammer, pushing your chair back, “I need to use the bathroom.”
Butcher nods as you stand, and you can hear Lucille strike up new conversation while you weave between the tables toward the exit. Fresh air fills your lungs the moment you reach the foyer, and you pull your phone out of your bag, finding Hughie’s contact name with trembling fingers.
‘If I survive tonight, I WILL kill you.’
You hit send and turn toward the bathroom, almost stumbling when you see the same blonde security guard who had been stationed at the doors.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, his slimy smirk loading the question with innuendo.
“I’m okay,” you reply, “thank you.”
He steps forward before you can move, “You sure? You look a little flustered. Perhaps a step outside might help? It does get awfully hot in here.”
The first spark of fear rattles up your spine.
“I appreciate that, but I just need to use the restroom,” you say.
His smirk doesn’t falter, “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’d be more than happy to escort you. Can’t have a stunning woman such as yourself wandering the streets alone.”
You force a polite smile onto your face as you step around him and hurry down the corridor toward the bathrooms. With one subtle glance over your shoulder, you see him watching, still standing at the end of the hall looking almost predatory.
“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, turning sharply into the first stall.
You close the toilet lid and sit on top if it, holding your head in your hands and counting your breaths. After a minute of trying to wrangle your wild thoughts, you decide that Butcher is either a fantastic actor or… in love with you. Your heart aches to agree with the latter, but your brain fights for reason, reminding you that you’re in an incredibly sensitive situation and he is only acting like this to keep up the façade.
You sigh and stand up, panic piercing your chest when you remember the pushy security guard waiting for you in the foyer. You find your phone again, tapping on Butcher’s name and quickly typing out a message.
‘Don’t freak out, I’m totally fine, but I need you to come get me. Foyer.’
You count to thirty before exiting the stall and washing your hands, pleasantly surprised by your reflection in the mirror, aside from the deep red splashed across your cheeks. You walk calmly out of the bathroom and down the corridor, ignoring the spike in your pulse when you see the back of the security guard still standing there.
He turns around at the sound of your footsteps, a smirk curling his lips. “Hey gorgeous, are you-”
“There you are,” Butcher calls, striding toward you.
He wraps an arm around your waist, his hand splayed across your lower back as he presses your body against his. You don’t have time to respond before his lips capture yours. Your knees almost buckle, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as his mouth moves against yours and your mind goes completely blank.
He pulls back ever so slightly, his forehead still touching yours as he whispers, “I missed you.”
The feeling that bubbles in your chest makes your heart want to explode.
“Better get back in there,” he says, carefully releasing you.
You nod, unable to summon a single word as he looks at you like that, his pupils blown and his lips swollen from the kiss. He takes one of your hands in his and pulls you toward the doors before casting a menacing scowl over his shoulder at the security guard.
“Did he touch you?” he asks, his voice low.
You shake your head, “No.”
“Good.”
“Wait,” you tug on his hand before he can walk through the doors.
He frowns as you pull him to the side, into an alcove beneath the grand stairs that lead up to the private rooms above the event hall. He doesn’t resist when you press him against the wall, your hands on his chest and your body covering his. You look up at him through your thick lashes, and you can feel a soft groan rumble through his chest.
“I’m not sure we were convincing enough,” you whisper, before surging up and pressing your lips against his.
His hands hold the back of your head as he tilts his own to deepen the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips and making you whimper. Your ears fill with the erratic thrum of your heart and the soft moans from the man in front of you, making you forget about everything that isn’t him. The fire rushing through your veins collects at your core, burning with need and making you clench as his hands wander down your back to cup your ass.
Time loses all meaning as you tangle your limbs with his, your body throbbing almost painfully. You have to stop yourself from clawing at his clothes, every desire within you craving to tear his suit apart and absolutely devour him.
Eventually, your lungs begin to burn, and the short gasps between kisses aren’t enough to appease them, so you pull away. His pupils are huge, consuming almost all of the colour in his eyes as he studies your face with a small smile.
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs.
You open your mouth to tell him the same when someone clears their throat, and you both snap toward the sound. Hughie is standing a few feet away, his ID badge now on a lanyard around his neck and a notebook in his hand. His face looks pained, struggling to contain what would be a hysterical laugh if you weren’t all supposed to be undercover.
You stumble back from Butcher with wide eyes, your mouth trying to form words but no sound comes out.
Butcher straightens his jacket and clears his throat, “Sorry, mate, as you were.”
Hughie takes a deep breath and turns toward the room, and you have to commend him for his self-control.
Butcher looks down at you, “D’you think that was convincing enough?”
You giggle, “Maybe a little too convincing.”
He smirks and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping at the smeared lipstick. You know you must look like a wreck, your makeup smudged and your face blotchy and red, but you don’t care.
“Better get back in there before you get me arrested for public indecency,” he says, taking your hand in his.
You laugh again as he leads you back into the room, guiding you through the throngs of people and toward your table. Lucille greets you with a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she surveys your flustered state. Butcher sits and shuffles his chair closer to yours before placing a hand on your thigh, much higher than where it was before.
“It’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Lucille whispers to you.
You frown, “What is?”
“That love and passion,” she replies with a grin. “He just adores you, I can tell. Don’t ever let go of what you two have, it’s rare.”
You try to hide your smile, but it’s almost impossible. “I won’t.”
You’re not sure what you’ve missed but you assume it was Annie’s speech as the chatter around you is filled mostly with her name. The woman from before returns to the stage to rave some more, though you don’t bother trying to pay attention. Butcher is watching you with hungry eyes, filling your head with filthy thoughts and absolutely soaking your panties.
“So, Mrs. Williams,” he says, his voice low, “got any plans after this?”
“Not really,” you reply, “but I do think there’s a toy in the top drawer of my dresser calling my name.”
He swallows thickly, “Is that so?”
You nod, “I’m feeling a little wound up.”
“Perhaps I could help you unwind,” he whispers, “think I’d do a better job than that fuckin’ toy.”
“That’s a bold statement, are you sure?”
His fingers dig into your thighs with enough pressure to bruise, making your whole body jolt.
“Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure.”
His hand slides up your thigh and you part your legs instinctively.
He smirks, “Good girl, so responsive.”
The burning in your core pulses, sending white hot waves of desire up your spine to cloud your mind. His fingers brush the crotch of your panties, barely a touch but enough to make you sigh softly.
“You’re soaked,” he whispers, “so ready for my c-”
Cheers erupt throughout the room, drowning out his voice and startling you out of your stupor. His hand slides back down your leg and his smirk breaks into a devilish grin when you look at him with a scowl.
“Sorry, love,” he says as he retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket.
You take a moment to collect your thoughts, drawing steady breaths and trying to focus on anything but the man beside you. He chuckles at his phone before tucking it back into his pocket.
“Was that your mistress?” you tease.
He raises his brows, “Is that jealousy I’m hearin’?”
You slide your hand up his thigh, stopping just below his crotch to squeeze.
“You tell me, do I have anything to be jealous of?”
His voice is almost a groan, “Never.”
“Good.”
You slide your hand over his crotch, relishing in the way his whole body tenses before you pull back and fold your hands in your own lap. He sighs and takes a generous gulp from his glass of champagne, grimacing at the taste before leaning toward you with an arm over the back of your chair.
“You’re a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”
You turn to him, your face barely an inch from his, “Oh, baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
He leans back in his chair, his jaw tense but his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“You fond of that dress?” he asks casually.
“This old thing? Nah.”
He nods once, “Good, because I’m goin’ to fuckin’ destroy it.”
The woman sitting on his other side chokes on her mouthful of champagne, casting an abhorrent glare toward the two of you before completely turning her back. You have to swallow your laughter, averting your gaze to your lap as Butcher chuckles quietly.
You feel your purse vibrate at the same time that Butcher reaches for his pocket. You pull your phone out and check the messages, finding several from Hughie.
‘We’re here to WORK, not fornicate.’
‘I just spent five minutes laughing to myself in the toilet.’
‘The shows closing soon, we should leave before the crowds. Unless you and Butcher are busy ;)’
“D’you think you can make it out of here without your knees bucklin’, love?” Butcher asks with a smirk.
You tuck your phone away and twist in your chair so that your legs are toward him, parting them slowly. The red silk slides against your skin and the split opens with your legs. Butcher’s gaze drops, his whole face turning red as his eyes grow wide.
“I bet you a hundred dollars that you’re rock hard right now,” you whisper, leaning forward.
His jaw twitches as his gaze moves to your chest, and you smirk before twisting toward Lucille.
“We’re going to duck out before the masses, but it was lovely meeting you,” you say, “and best wishes to your grandkids. They’re lucky to have such incredible grandparents.”
She smiles at you, her eyes watery, “It was lovely meeting you too, dear.”
Her husband grumbles a farewell and you smile politely at the rest of the table who you hadn’t bothered to meet before turning back to Butcher expectantly. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the way he shifts in his seat.
“Pleasure meeting you,” he nods toward Lucille and Jack.
He pushes his chair back and stands up, drawing a hand out of his pocket and dropping two fifty dollar bills onto the table before stepping back. A grin breaks across your face as you snatch the money and stand up, taking Butcher’s outstretched hand and letting him lead you out of the room. You almost stumble at the pace at which he drags you through the crowds, not stopping until you’re through the foyer, out the doors, and a good distance from the building’s entrance.
“You owe me,” he growls, yanking on your wrist so that you fall into his arms.
“Take whatever you want,” you whisper, “I’m all yours.”
Another rumble vibrates through his chest, and the knot of anticipation in your stomach twists tighter.
“Good, you’re here,” Hughie calls, his feet slapping against the pavement as he jogs toward you.
Butcher’s hold goes slack, and you take a reluctant step away from him as MM and Kimiko follow a few paces behind Hughie. The cold air nips at your bare skin, making you shiver.
“Where’s Frenchie?” MM asks.
“On his way,” Hughie replies with his phone in his hand, “and the car is close.”
You startle at the feeling of material falling around your shoulders, and glance up as Butcher steps in front of you, his arms guiding his blazer over your trembling body. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him through your thick lashes as his lips curl into a soft smile. He moves back to stand at your side and wraps one arm around you, pulling you against side.
Hughie’s grin is so wide you want to slap it off his face.
“Not a word,” Butcher mutters.
Hughie chuckles, “I didn’t say anything.”
MM is clearly amused, and even Kimiko is giggling when Frenchie comes jogging up behind them.
“Did I miss something?” he asks, his brows raised as he looks from Butcher to you.
“Car’s here,” Hughie announces, and you all step toward the curb.
Hughie climbs in the front seat and greets the driver before texting rapidly on his phone, no doubt messaging Annie to let her know you were all safe and heading home. Kimiko and Frenchie shuffle toward the back of the van, and MM grumbles when neither you nor Butcher volunteer to join them. He squeezes between the two of them on the backseat before Butcher helps you into the van, and you take the single seat behind the passenger as Butcher falls into the last seat behind the driver.
You shrink into his jacket, enveloping yourself in his scent and relishing the warmth that his body had left behind. His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of the trip, studying your face, lingering on your lips, and moving up and down your body over and over again.
The drive feels much longer than it should, but the car finally pulls up outside your apartment block and you all pile out. Frenchie begins rambling about pieces of information he overheard, and MM fills in some of the gaps with snippets that he picked up in the press crowd. You almost feel guilty that you did nothing but dry hump Butcher and chat with an elderly rich woman, but that guilt washes away the moment you step inside the apartment.
“Bed, now,” Butcher tells you, tugging you by your hand toward the master bedroom.
“Y/N,” Hughie calls before you can disappear, “I thought your bedroom was that way.”
You turn to him with a frown, finding that stupid boyish grin stretched across his lips as the rest of the room watches you with amused faces.
“I’m not going to sleep, Hughie,” you say, before turning to Butcher, “I’m not tired.”
You catch a glimpse of his disgusted expression before you turn and rush into Butcher’s bedroom, followed closely by the man himself. His hand catches the collar the jacket and pulls it off of you as you step toward the bed.
“Not tired?” he asks, starting on the top button of his shirt.
You sit on the edge of the bed and kick your heels off. “Not at all.”
“Good.”
In two strides, he’s right in front of you, using his knee to nudge your legs apart so he can stand between them. His eyes trace up your bare leg, stopping where the red material reveals an inch of your black panties, and he sighs.
“So,” you say, leaning back with your hands on the bed, “what do I owe you?”
His self-control snaps and his hands yank at the opening of his shirt, ripping the rest of the buttons apart before he shrugs it off his shoulders. He straddles your hips and pushes you back, his lips assaulting your neck as you writhe beneath him.
“You said, I could take whatever fuckin’ I want,” he mutters against your skin.
You only moan in response and he sinks his teeth into your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise before soothing it with his tongue.
“I’m gon’a take all of you,” he growls, “but first-”
He sits back suddenly, his fingers making quick work of his belt and the fastenings of his trousers.
“I made a promise to this dress,” he finishes, before gripping the material on either side of the slit and ripping it.
You gasp as the silk falls loose around your body, tearing right up to the neck and cleaving the dress apart entirely. His eyes rake over your bare skin as he licks his lips and drops onto his hands to hover over you, grinding his hips down and eliciting another moan from your mouth.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighs, “you’re gon’a kill me with those pretty noises, sweethear’.”
“Butcher,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I need you.”
His elbows buckle and his body falls on top of yours as his lips capture yours in a searing kiss.
“You have me,” he murmurs against your mouth, “you’ve got all of me.”
END.
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peach-coke · 4 months
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➤ The Boys || Season 4 - Official Teaser Trailer
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vanshoundd · 3 days
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The Boys in DUNE AU [3]
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legendsofentity · 2 years
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the way this pretty much sums up the 2 main types of reactions while watching this show--
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saltnburned · 2 years
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KAREN FUKUHARA as KIMIKO MIYASHIRO in THE BOYS (2019- )
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caribbean1989 · 1 month
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The Boys bloopers season 3
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christophernolan · 2 years
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THE BOYS 3x05 | 'The Last Time To Look On This World Of Lies'
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stevenrogered · 2 years
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KAREN FUKUHARA as Kimiko Miyashiro The Boys 3x02, “The Only Man In The Sky”
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baby-got-books · 2 years
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Discuss
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linusbenjamin · 2 years
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The Boys (2019-) 2.08 | What I Know
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deliciouskeys · 9 months
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Based on this brilliant ships dynamics post
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geminiwritten · 1 year
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hot dream ; billy butcher
fandom: the boys
pairing: billy x reader
summary: you fall asleep in butcher’s sweater and have a rather steamy dream, not realising that everyone heard you moaning butcher’s name in your sleep
notes: this is so bad, and it makes me so sad because i was so excited to write it, but work has been so blegh that i just feel like i failed??? i don’t know, it’s definitely not my best writing, but it’s something! hope y’all can still enjoy!
warnings: swearing, google-translated french, some very incorrect chemistry, and a tiny bit of smut (i’m working myself up to actually writing it, i promise!)
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^ the sweater
word count: 4691
“It’s fucking cold in here,” you say, rubbing your arms as you step into the living room.
Frenchie and Kimiko are curled up under a blanket on the couch, and Butcher is lounging on the single seat sofa with his feet propped on top of the coffee table. You know MM is on his way back from Monique’s house with spare clothes and comforters, but you also know how caught up he can get when he spends time with Janine.
“You do not have a jumper?” Frenchie asks.
You shake your head, “The last sweatshirt I had was burnt to a crisp two weeks ago.”
New York City is quickly falling into winter, the air turning crisp and heavy clouds rolling overhead as news channels warn about impending snow within the week.
Kimiko looks up at you and wriggles her arms out of the blanket to sign an apology, gesturing to the jumper she wears as the only one she has.
Butcher sighs and pushes himself off the sofa, “I’ve got somethin’.”
The tiny butterflies in your stomach flitter to life, bouncing around excitedly at the thought of wearing Butcher’s clothing. You move a hand from your arm to your stomach and curse the stupid giddiness that this man aroused within you. It’s ridiculous, really, and just a stupid crush, but he never fails to elicit some sort of irritating physical reaction within your body every time he speaks.
He disappears into the main bedroom for a moment before remerging with a black garment in hand. “Here,” he says, handing it to you, “don’t get it burnt though, it’s my favourite.”
You give him a cheeky smile, “I make no promises.”
Your fingers brush his as you take the sweater from his hand, and his eyes capture yours in a stare you cannot break. His lip quirks into that gorgeous smirk you’ve come to enjoy so much, sending those stupid butterflies into a frenzy before he turns back toward the sofa.
You release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding and with numb fingers, find the bottom of the sweatshirt before pulling it over your head. His scent hits you like a truck, rushing through your nose and burning all the way to your lungs. Your chest squeezes around your erratic heart, your ribs aching as they struggle to contain the throbbing muscle. It feels like you’ve been punched in the sternum, and your limbs feel like jelly wrapped in the soft material saturated by his scent.
You know this sweater almost too well, having admired him in it countless times. It’s a little too big on you, but on him, it’s perfect. The thick material hugs his shoulders and fits his torso in the most delicious way. It’s ridiculous that he can make something as plain as this sweater look downright sinful.
“Better?” Butcher asks, his eyes sparkling with a mischief that makes you wonder what he knows.
You nod, “Much.”
Kimiko shuffles over on the couch so that you can squeeze between her and the arm, the side closest to Butcher. You try to focus on the lame action film playing on the television, but the smell of the jumper clouds your mind, and you can feel Butcher’s gaze wandering over to you every few seconds. You want to say something, but every string of words that come to mind are laced with innuendo and teasing, and although you’re very fond of flirting with this man, you’re not sure you can handle it in your current state.
The sun is well below the horizon by the time MM arrives back, his arms full of blankets and second-hand clothing. Kimiko takes two jumpers and a blanket before seeing herself off to bed, and MM does the same shortly after. Frenchie throws another blanket over himself and invites you to share his warmth while Butcher remains on the single sofa with nothing but his trench coat. After almost three movies, your eyelids begin to droop, and you let your head fall onto Frenchie’s shoulder as sleep slowly consumes you.
You startle awake, your mind swirling with images of Butcher. You can still see him hovering over you, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, and his wicked grin as he settles between your thighs. Heat pulses between your legs at the fading memory, and your skin feels like it’s on fire, phantom touches lingering in the shape of Butcher’s hands on your hips, your breasts, your throat.
You have to blink a few times before the living room comes into focus, bright light flooding the space through the drawn curtains as dust mites float through the air. The blankets covering you suddenly feel like they weigh a tonne, and you have to throw them off your sweaty body before you pass out.
“Good morning, mon petit rayon de soleil,” Frenchie greets you, sitting in the sofa where you last consciously saw Butcher.
“Hey,” you mumble as you sit up.
His grin is wide and cheeky, “Did you have a good sleep?”
“It was okay,” you reply, rubbing your neck, “as good as it gets on this old couch.”
“I did not have the heart to wake you,” he says, “you looked so peaceful and were… humming so contently.”
You frown sceptically, “Okay…”
MM is in the kitchen, standing at the stove with a goofy smile as he watches the eggs in the pan cook.
“What time is it?”
“Almost ten,” Frenchie responds.
“What?” you demand, “You let me sleep for that long? Don’t we have things to do today?”
MM chuckles, “We didn’t want to wake you, as Frenchie said, you were so content.”
Spikes of panic begin prickling your skin and your eyes dart from Frenchie to MM, searching their impish faces for any sign of what could be making them so smug.
“Where’s Butcher?”
“Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself,” Frenchie says, “but he is awake.”
MM serves the eggs onto two plates and carries them over to the table where Kimiko is sat. She grins at him before digging in to her breakfast, and your own stomach begins to rumble.
“I suppose I will get my own,” Frenchie sighs, pushing himself off the sofa and walking toward the kitchen.
“I’ll have some too,” you call after him, “thanks, Frenchie.”
He smirks at you with the carton of eggs in hand, “Anything for you, mon amour. How do you like your eggs?”
“Hard boiled,” MM replies before you can, snickering as he takes a bite of toast.
Frenchie giggles too, and he quickly turns toward the stove to avoid your dubious stare.
“What the fuck are you two on this morning?”
They don’t respond as their laughter continues to bubble. Frenchie waves a hand dismissively, still refusing to look at you, before placing a pot and a pan on top of the stove.
“I prefer fried,” you mutter, still frowning.
He nods and moves the pot back into the cupboard just as the doors to the main bedroom creak open. Butcher steps out in faded jeans and yet another hideous Hawaiian shirt with only three of the lower buttons fastened. His hair is a complete mess and his cheeks flushed red; he looks as if he’d just sprinted several blocks.
“You’re awake,” he states.
You nod, “So are you.”
He chuckles, “Been awake for a couple’a hours, love.”
MM is struggling with his breakfast, his laughter refusing to subside though he does his best to quell it, his whole face turning red. Frenchie has turned his back to you completely now, but you can still see his shoulders shaking as he giggles into his hand.
“Did I miss something?” you ask Butcher as he falls into the single sofa.
His smirk just as devilish as Frenchie’s, “Nothin’ at all, in fact, I think it’s me who missed somethin’.”
“Okay,” you sigh, “you’re all being weird, and I’m incredibly sweaty, so I’m going to shower.”
“Breakfast will be ready for you when you return, mon amour,” Frenchie says, “take your time cleaning your- uh, humidité.”
Butcher chuckles as another wave of mirth hits MM, and he begins to choke on his mouthful of food. You roll your eyes before turning on your heel and stomping toward the bathroom, leaving them to their stupidity.
The cold air nips at your bare skin as you strip in the bathroom, carefully laying Butcher’s sweater on the vanity before stepping under the warm shower spray. You take your time washing your hair and scrubbing your body, hazy flashes of hot touches and wet kisses invading your mind as you close your eyes and let the water soak your skin. By the time you shut the shower off, you’re thoroughly clean and a little dizzy with desire. You dry off before wrapping the towel around your body and gathering your clothes to dash across the hall toward your bedroom.
You can’t help glancing in the direction of the living room when you step out, your eyes locking with Butcher’s dark gaze for the split second it takes you to reach your room. Your pulse is thrumming at a ridiculous pace as you unwrap the towel and turn toward your dresser. You slip on a fresh pair of panties and jeans, and turn to the sweater you’d tossed on your bed. Your stomach grumbles impatiently while you procrastinate, and you curse quietly to yourself before slipping the sweater over your head without anything underneath.
The living room wreaks of burnt toast when you remerge from your bedroom, and Frenchie is swearing at the toaster in such fast French, you can’t possibly try to understand it.
“Did you ruin my breakfast?” you ask, walking past Butcher and leaning your hip on the kitchen bench.
“I did not ruin anything,” Frenchie says with a frown, “this good for nothing piece of shit machine did.”
You can feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of your head and you know it’s Butcher, but you refuse to turn around, instead joining Frenchie in the kitchen to take over the toaster. After a few minutes of patience, the toast pops perfectly grilled and you place two pieces on each of your plates before Frenchie tops it with eggs.
“So,” MM says when you and Frenchie join him at the table, “what’s today’s plan?”
“We need to go back to the old safe house,” Frenchie replies.
“The basement,” you note between bites of toast.
He nods, “We need to gather anything we left behind that might be useful. I am running out of materials and I know we left a stash of ammunition there.”
“Who’s to say it isn’t already gone?” MM queries.
Frenchie shrugs, “We do not know, but it is worth a try.”
You want to point out that it isn’t really necessary for all of you to go, but you know that will only end in an argument, so you focus on finishing your breakfast. Once you’re all done, MM collects the empty plates and begins washing up while the rest of you go to gather your things.
You pack a small crossbody bag with your phone and keys before tucking a sheathed dagger into the back of your jeans, just in case. When you step back into the living room, Frenchie and MM are waiting by the door, whispering and giggling about something until they see you approach. You want to demand they let you in on whatever stupid joke you’d missed out on this morning, but Butcher’s heavy footsteps capture your attention before you can speak.
“Righ’ then, lads,” he says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat, “let’s get on with it.”
Your gaze lingers on his lips as he speaks before trailing down his neck and bare chest, finding a mere two more buttons fastened than before. Heat rises to your cheeks, creeping all the way up to the tips of your ears as your mouth begins to water and another blurry image of Butcher fills your mind. You see him on his knees before you, looking up with hungry eyes and parted lips, murmuring something filthy that doesn’t quite reach your ears.
You gasp, blinking rapidly to return to reality and finding three curious faces staring back at you.
“Are you okay?” Frenchie asks.
You nod, “I’m good, let’s go.”
You step between him and MM and walk out the door first, turning down the hall without bothering to wait. They’re giggling again by the time they catch up to you in the lobby, and even Butcher is wearing an amused smirk. He winks as he walks past you, pulling his car keys from his pocket before holding the front door open for the rest of you. Unlike every other time you’ve all been walking toward the car, no one calls shot gun. Frenchie simply opens the back door for Kimiko to slide in before he does, and MM follows without a single complaint.
You look at Butcher, “What the fuck?”
He shrugs, but his smirk is still saturated with amusement and the glint in his eyes tells you that this has something to do with whatever they were all being so smug about.
“You’re all pissing me off today,” you sigh, before walking around the car to the passenger’s side.
You’re not upset about getting the front seat, nor are you annoyed that you get to sit beside Butcher and practically drool over him while he has to pay attention to the road. You are, however, beginning to panic about what it is that they’re not telling you.
The drive isn’t long, and you spend most of it watching Butcher’s hands on the wheel, fantasising about how they would feel caressing every inch of your skin. It almost feels like a memory as you picture his fingers digging into your hips or wrapped gently around your throat, and you can feel your body growing hot within the thick material of his sweater. You practically fall out of the car when it finally stops, gasping for cool air and willing your mind to focus on the task at hand.
Frenchie leads the way down a narrow alley and pushes open the familiar metal door before the rest of you follow him into the dark, damp corridor of what used to be your hide out. You all stay silent for a few minutes, creeping around and checking for any unusual activity or signs that the place might be bugged or trapped. It’s definitely been ransacked, but there are thin films of dust blanketing almost every surface which indicates that whoever was looking in here had given up a long time ago.
��Okay,” Frenchie speaks up once deciding that you’re safe, “let’s see what we’ve got left.”
You split up and wander around the huge, open basement. There are two curtain dividers sectioning the space into what you used as ‘bedrooms’, and a single chipped, wooden door leading to the tiny bathroom at the very back. MM goes in there first, rummaging around for half a minute before declaring it empty.
“Is there anything in particular that we’re looking for?” you ask, turning to Frenchie, “Because there’s a lot of crap in here, and as much as I’d love for you all to rummage through my old underwear drawer, maybe we should-”
Before you can finish your sentence, Frenchie and Butcher take off, abandoning the shelves they were searching and knocking one of the curtain dividers over as they scramble toward the old dresser you used to use.
“Hey!” you shout, your eyes growing wide as you hurry after them.
They’re giggling like maniacs as they wrench the drawers open one by one, tossing out the few items of clothing that still remained in there before realising that there was, in fact, no underwear left behind.
“I was joking,” you say, “fucking pervs.”
Frenchie chuckles, “Can you blame us, mon amour?”
“Yes!”
MM is snickering in the small kitchenette as he picks through the lower cupboards one by one. As much as you want to enjoy the rare light-heartedness within the group right now, you can’t stop wondering why the hell they were all in such a giddy mood. Are they all high?
“Alrigh’ you lot,” Butcher says, running a hand through his dishevelled hair as his laughter subsides, “stop messin’ about, we’ve got a job to do.”
You roll your eyes and trudge toward where MM is, starting on the top cupboards of the small kitchen while they begin opening old crates and suitcases. Frenchie starts a pile by the stairs, stacking up anything he finds that might be useful or too valuable to abandon. There isn’t much, but there are still a couple of cases of ammunition and packets of powders that you know are combustible in some way.
“Wait!” Frenchie shouts suddenly, crouching beside an electrical socket. “Be careful. Somebody has shorted the wiring, intentionally or not, I do not know, but do not touch the outlets or anything still plugged in.”
You slowly retract your hand from beside the rusty old microwave. “What will happen?”
“You will probably be electrocuted.”
“Good to know,” Butcher sighs.
You all return to your ransacking with cautious hands and watchful eyes, skirting around anything electrical or made of metal. When you approach the refrigerator, you can hear a soft, crackling hum, and MM looks at you with wide eyes. It was never a reliable machine, but now it is most definitely a death trap.
You continue your search through the cupboards, knocking half-full packets of rice and flour off the shelves as you stretch up onto your toes to see inside. This job is probably better suited to someone with more of a height advantage, but you’ve always been stubborn, so you don’t bother asking for help.
The cupboard above the sink, adjacent to the stove – you always thought it was stupid to put the sink right beside the stove – reveals a cluster of cleaning products. You reach as far as you can, straining your arms to reach the bottles on the top shelf and groaning at the tension in your body.
Behind you, MM mimics the noise, only louder, “Ungh.”
You hear Frenchie snicker, “No, no, it was more like, mmmh.”
Your fingertips scrape the bottle closest to the front of the cupboard and you huff in frustration.
“Nngh,” MM groans again.
“Ahhh,” Frenchie moans loudly, before dissolving into another fit of giggles.
Determined to ignore them, you try to stretch up even further. Your back aches but your fingers find the bottle once again, scratching at it in an attempt to get it to move.
MM sighs seductively, “Ohh, yeah.”
“Mmm, Butcher,” Frenchie gasps.
Your stomach drops and you lose your balance, stumbling as you whirl around to face them. “What the fuck?”
Frenchie giggles as he meets your stare, “Oops.”
The bottle from the top shelf of the cupboard falls forward and knocks your shoulder, popping the cap off. The liquid inside spills all over your chest just as realisation hits you.
“That’s what all this has been about?!” you exclaim, “you heard me having a fucking sex dream and instead of waking me up, you listened?”
MM can’t stop laughing, with one hand holding his stomach while the other supports his body against the old dining room table. You’ve never seen this man so flustered, and if you weren’t so embarrassed, you might have enjoyed seeing him so overwhelmed with laughter.
Frenchie, however, has gone completely pale, stepping forward with a petrified expression. “Y/N, listen-”
“No,” you snap, “I won’t listen! You are such a-”
“Y/N!” he shouts, “do not move.”
The room falls silent and panic ripples through your body.
“Please, mon amour, stay still,” he pleads as he hurries toward you.
He steps carefully around the puddles on the floor before reaching down to pick up the now empty bottle. He studies the label for less than a second before looking back at you with panicked eyes.
“You need to take off your jumper, now.”
You frown, “What? Why?”
“This is isopropyl alcohol,” he says, “it is highly flammable. If anything in this place so much as sparks, it will catch fire and if the vapours ignite, this whole building could explode.”
“Fuck,” you mutter, looking down at the soaked front of Butcher’s sweater.
Frenchie turns to MM, “Get something, get a bag, and get ready to go.”
You remain still as your pulse quickens, “Frenchie.”
“Butcher,” he says, “you and Kimiko start taking things up the stairs, do not come over here.”
Butcher frowns, “Like hell I’m leavin’ her.”
“Frenchie,” you repeat.
“I will get her out, okay? Just take what we’ve got and let’s get out.”
“I don’t give a fuck about this crap,” Butcher argues, “I care about her, and I’m not leavin’ ‘til I know she’s safe.”
“Frenchie!” you exclaim, “I’m not wearing anything underneath.”
The room falls quiet once again, and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks as each of them turn to you with curious eyes.
“Nothin’?” Butcher asks, fighting the smirk tugging at his lips.
“Nothing,” you reply.
Despite the situation, Frenchie is the first to snicker.
“Come ‘ere,” Butcher says, “slowly.”
You step carefully out of the kitchen, avoiding every surface as your boots squelch against the wet floor. Once you’re in front of him, he shrugs off his coat and gestures for you to remove the sweater. Your heart pounds as you turn your back to him, and he holds his jacket up to shield you, though not quite high enough to block his own view. You hold your breath and pull the sweater up, squeezing your eyes shut as it slips over your head. You can feel his breath on your back as soon as it’s bare, and a whole different kind of heat rushes through you.
He drops his coat around your shoulders and you quickly hug it against your chest. His scent envelops you, even more so than it had with the sweater, and your nerves begin to ease almost immediately.
“Give it to me,” Frenchie says, holding a plastic bag open toward you.
You drop the sweater in and he ties it off.
“Let’s go.”
MM, Kimiko, and Butcher grab what they can before you all ascend the stairs. You hurry through the corridor and out into the alley, not stopping until you’re all safe inside the car.
“Did you get any on your pants, mon amour?” Frenchie asks.
You push the bottom of Butcher’s jacket off your legs to inspect. “Only a little.”
“It will not damage the clothing, but we should wash everything right away.”
You nod before glancing toward Butcher. His face is a mixture of concern and mischief, his eyes struggling to watch the road instead of you, sitting beside him and wrapped in his favourite coat.
“Should we tell someone about that situation back there?” MM pipes up.
“I will call somebody to clean it up,” Frenchie replies.
It isn’t long before you’re all quietly climbing out of the car and carrying your finds up to the apartment. Everyone kicks their shoes off at the door, per Frenchie’s instructions, and begins sorting through the bags and boxes of old materials and equipment.
Frenchie turns to you, “Give me your jeans.”
“Right now?”
He nods and you sigh, deciding not to argue. You turn away from them and open the coat, quickly unbuttoning your jeans and slipping them off before wrapping yourself back up. When you turn back around, he’s adorning that same silly grin that he’d been wearing all morning.
“Is this how it started in your dream?”
You roll your eyes and shove your jeans into his outstretched hand. “Just because you kind of saved my life, doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed at you.”
He giggles as he takes your clothes and walks down the hall to the laundry.
“In his defence,” Butcher smirks, “I told ‘em not to wake you.”
“You what?”
He steps toward you and shrugs, “I liked hearin’ those pretty little noises you were makin’.”
The butterflies in your stomach burst to life and your pulse begins to race.
He leans forward as he whispers, “Liked it a little too much.”
You suddenly remember what Frenchie had said this morning when you asked where Butcher was: ‘Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself’.
“Now,” Butcher clears his throat, “you gon’a give me my coat back before you spill somethin’ else on it?”
You raise your brows, “You want it back right now? Right here?”
He glances over his shoulder toward MM and Kimiko before turning back to you, “Maybe not righ’ here.”
You step around him and walk through the kitchen toward the main bedroom, avoiding MM’s eyes as you pass the dining room table. You don’t bother closing the doors behind you, because sure enough, a pair of heavy footsteps follow closely behind. The door clicks shut and you turn around to look at Butcher. You let your eyes wander over his body, your mouth watering as you follow the collar of his shirt down his bare chest where the top buttons lay open.
“I’m not gon’a lie,” he says, his hungry gaze pinning you to the floor, “as much as I fuckin’ loved hearin’ you whisper my name… I can’t wait to make you scream it.”
His words punch you in the chest, knocking all the air from your legs as heat pools between your legs.
“Now, love,” he steps forward, “can I ‘ave my coat back?”
Your fingers tremble as you grip the lapels of the jacket, moving your shoulders so the material falls off before you open it up and let it drop to the floor. He draws one sharp breath, his eyes growing wide as they move up and down your body, devouring every inch of it as if he’s never seen anything so perfect.
He closes the distance between you and wraps his hands around your waist, fingertips digging into the flesh of your back with bruising pressure.
“D’you know how hard I came to the thought of you this morning?” he murmurs.
You can’t do anything but stare back at him, your lips aching to taste him, all of him.
“So fuckin’ hard,” he whispers before capturing your mouth with his.
You moan as you melt against him, your arms wrapping around his neck and your fingers tangling through his hair as he claims your mouth. His hands squeeze your waist and pull you closer, pressing your naked body against him. The friction of his shirt against your nipples makes you gasp, and he takes advantage of your open mouth, sliding his tongue past your lips.
“Can’t fuckin’ imagine,” he mumbles against your mouth, “how hard I’m gon’a come with you on my cock.”
The ball of tension throbbing below your stomach explodes, and you use all of your strength to push him back toward the bed. He chuckles as he falls back, his hand catching your wrist to pull you down on top of him.
“Tell me ‘bout your dream, love,” he says as you hover over him, “where was I?”
You plant an open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone before biting down and making him groan.
“You were everywhere,” you whisper against his skin, “marking me, claiming me.”
He moans again as you grind your hips down, the friction of his jeans sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.
“I don’t fuckin’ need to claim you,” he growls, his hands holding your hips as he thrusts up, “you’re already mine.”
He lifts you up enough to flip you onto your back, his body moving with yours and settling between your legs as he hovers over you. He dips down, his lips finding your neck and sucking on the sensitive skin before biting down hard. You moan loudly, and quickly smack a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.
“I don’t think so, love,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pinning it to the bed, “I said, I wan’a hear you fuckin’ scream.”
END.
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