#layla writes

It was like a Hallmark movie in the restaurant.

Ben felt like an animal being forced to wear clothes. He ran a finger under his collar, adjusting the tight white grip it had on his neck. He looked so handsome. That deep green tie and form fitted black suit made him look like a god, and you were batting your lashes at him from across the way.

He tilted his head, smirking.

“What?” He asked sharply, but with no heat behind it. He already knew the answer.

You quickly looked away and grabbed your wine glass, taking a small sip.

“Nothing-“ you cleared your throat, setting the glass down without a sound onto the white tablecloth. He stared at you past the small candleabra on the table, a ghost of a smile on his full lips.

“Nothing, huh? Like I don’t see you undressing me with your eyes-“

“Ben!” You shouted in a whisper, looking down towards the finished plate of the meal you just ate. You felt your cheeks grow hot in shame. He just let out a laugh, reaching over the table to lift your chin with his knuckle.

“I’m just teasing you, baby doll. I know.” He shook his head as he chuckled, low and sultry. Suddenly, the full restaurant felt so intimate. Sure, people were staring, he was Soldier Boy after all. But the only thing he seemed to care about was the pretty girl who has been sitting across him for the last year.

All week, he’d been more gentleman-ly than normal. He bought the dress you were currently wearing earlier that week, you came home to fresh flowers after he sent you with your girlfriends to get your nails done. It was… strange to say the least. Not that he wasn’t attentive, oh no. He was normally like a solitary fortress, walls high and impenetrable to the world as a hero. Yet for you, the one who reaches his heart, the gates open gently, and his warmth spills into the quiet nights when it’s just you two.

“I’d like to think I’m being a gentleman here so before I jump this table, why don’t we head home?” He suggested suddenly, lifting a brow.

All you could manage was a soft nod.

He pulled his hand away, reaching for his wallet from his slacks.

“Thank Christ, this monkey suit is itchy.”

His hands were slow and steady as they zipped your dress down, pressing soft kisses on the exposed skin. His beard tickled your spine, making you giggle.

“Benny,-” you breathed out the nickname. “that tickles…”

He lifted his head, chuckling against your ear before pressing a kiss on the shell. His hands slipped through the opening of your dress to slip it off your shoulders.

“Just unwrapping my present is all…”

The room was bathed in the warm light of candles. He even went as far as to change his bedsheets to the white set that made you almost glow under him.

It was strangely romantic for the guy that usually prefers the fast and hard way of sex. Not exactly hit it and quit it but… not exactly a romance book either. But you were his girl, and he wanted to take his time.

“Can’t believe it’s been a year…” he mumbled against your shoulder, slipping the dress down past your hips.

“A year of me settlin’ down for fuckin’ once.”

The moment grew silent as he helped you step out of the dress. You were wearing the prettiest bra and panty set, one he bought of course. A beautiful shade of red that looked like it was built for you. You watched as his hands mapped you out like a sculptor creating a masterpiece. Soft like he knew every inch of you, because he did. They lingered over your waist before settling on your hips.

“My girl… all mine…” he whispered into your hairline, mostly to himself. Your skin was buzzing from the wine but your heart felt warm, a tingle running across the back of your legs as he picked you up and gently laid you across the soft sheets.

He took his time with you, his thrusts deep and slow as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. The scent of him filled your nose, that woodsy, musky scent mixed with arousal you could never get tired of.

“Feelin’ so good- Christ, sweetheart…” he spoke low through gritted teeth. Your face felt hot with his closeness as you tucked into his neck. He tutted, pushing you back gently so he could look you in the eyes, hand firm around your throat.

“None of that, eyes on me while I fuck you, baby… wanna see those pretty eyes roll back.”

“T-Too much, Ben…” you strained, eyes not exactly meeting him as they grew teary.

“Aww,” he cooed sweetly, despite his punishingly slow thrusts. “My girl just can’t handle what I give her… but I know you can take it.”

He pushed his hips up, hitting that sweet spot right where your cervix sat. Your nails dug into his bicep, feeling the tensed muscle under them.

“Right there, yeah? My girl feelin’ good?” He panted, unable to hide another moan from his throat.

“Don’t stop- right there… right there-!” You all but shouted, panting and shaking against his warm skin. His hands slid from your waist down to the fat of your ass, grabbing the skin and using it to pull up against him harder. That white hot shock rolled through you in an instant, making your toes curl and your back arch off the creaking bed. You couldn’t stop the whine that left you as your orgasm washed over violently.

Ben smirked, watching you fall apart in his arms. This is what he loved, bringing you to such a vulnerable moment where nothing could get in the way. He loved having you like this.

His girl, always.

After helping you clean up and pulling you into his arms, he smothered your face in gentle kisses. His beard scratched delightfully against your soft cheek as he chuckled.

“My baby happy?” He asked in a rasp.

“Always with you…” you smiled gently, softly tracing his hand with your own fingers as you settled into that warm glow under the dying candlelight, and the even warmer sheets next to him.

“You hated the restaurant didn’t you?” You asked, glancing up at him with a sly smile.

He simply looked down at you and chuckled, shaking his head.

“Don’t ever make me do that fruity shit ever again.“

And there he was again.

Your Ben

Graphics by @cafekitsune

He did not do so all by himself, ofcourse. There were too many birds and trees and rabbits and people whose hourglass emptied at the same time, too many for one being to handle, no matter how powerful. Delegating some of his tasks, whether by area or creature, allowed him to personally collect souls where his presence was needed most. Whether that be a child that had been taken too young and needed reassurance, or a tyrannical king who needed to be made aware of what was coming next.

One such day, he entered the bedchamber of a young woman, the pallor of her face indistinguishable from the ivory pillow upon which her raven-black hair was spread. Her mother held her right hand, her betrothed the other. She had fallen into the path of an incoming carriage, and sustained injuries to her head and back. He could sense her terrified spirit trapped inside her body; able to feel the pain of her injuries but unable to move, able to hear the sobs of her loved ones but unable to respond. There was no hope of healing her, her frail mortal body too broken. It would be a kindness to take her away, to remove her pain and take her beyond the veil to wait for her family in peace. He passed the girl’s father, standing with his hand on his wife’s shoulder, and approached the bed. He stopped beside her pillow, and it was then he noticed the other maiden in the room.

She stood at a table next to the window, beyond the girl’s betrothed. Her golden-brown curls were gathered at the back of her neck, falling to the waist of her simple gown. He followed the movements of her elegant hands as she transferred the contents of a mortar into a teacup and added water from a kettle. A healer from the village, he presumed. Someone who had learned some of nature’s secrets and knew how to use them for various purposes.

She turned from the table, stirring furiously, and froze as she beheld him. She seemed just as shocked to see him as he was by the realization that she was staring directly at him. In all his centuries, no mortal had ever looked at him directly when he was in this form. Some were more attuned to his presence than others, exhibiting discomfort as he passed by, but none had ever seen him so clearly. The healer’s shoulders fell as she realized who he was, why he was there. She placed the teacup on the table behind her, and approached the bed. 

“She doesn’t have much time left,” she whispered to the family, her voice hitting him like a blow to the chest. He watched her as she did her best to comfort the family, and kneeled beside the girl’s betrothed and asked them to join her in praying for a safe and peaceful journey into the hereafter. He waited for her prayer to end before he touched the tip of his scythe to the girl’s forehead, taking her with him. The last thing he saw was the healer’s doe-brown eyes, bright with tears.

A few days after his encounter with the healer, he found himself wandering the forest near her village. A healer would need to gather plants for her medicines, and thoughts of her plagued him too often to be able to stay away. He saw her in a field of flowers, some tucked in her loose braid and some placed in a basket dangling from her arm. She turned to him as he approached, her eyes widening like they had the first time.

“You are Death,” she said, and although it hadn’t been a question, he nodded.

“Are you here for me?” Her voice was steady, but he could see the tightness in her shoulders, the way she swallowed before she spoke. She wouldn’t fight him if he told her her time had come, but she wanted to live, and live well, before that happened.

“I am,” he replied, “but not to take you beyond the veil, simply because I wished to see you.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I wanted to ask you,” he continued, “how is it that you can see me, when my cloak is spelled to keep me invisible from mortals?”

“I have always seen things I shouldn’t be able to,” she smiled, “It seems you are no exception.” His lips twitched. She was brave, this mortal who cracked jokes in the face of Death instead of running in the other direction.

“My name is Elain,” she introduced herself. A beautiful name to go with a beautiful smile, the thought occurred to him before he could understand its source. He lowered his head and placed a gloved hand on his chest. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.” She blushed, and inquired after his. “I am Death,” he replied simply. It was who we was, his entire existence and purpose wrapped up in one word.

“Nervous, Juno?” he whispers back, not hiding his frustration. “You’re overreacting. They’re staring at our outfits, not our relationship.” 

“Have you been listening to what people have been saying?” Juno snaps, his tone still hushed. “Half of the waiters and staff are already talking about how to seduce you. And a quarter of the partygoers.”

“An exaggeration as usual, detective,” Nuryev sighs, trying not to roll his eyes. He did, however, start scanning the crowd, noting the glances being made towards them-towards him. His body language was a disaster, angled away from Juno as they wait in line. He scowled inwardly-this wasn’t like him at all. His modus operandi was rooted in projected warmth, wit and honesty. First rule of thieving; Your charm is your shield. 

And he could see his shield cracking under the weight that was Detective Juno Steel. 

He takes a moment to correct his posture, turning towards Juno and putting on a smile that makes the detective wince a little. “Apologies, dearest,” he says. “I must have been distracted.” And promptly slips his hand into his. 

The effect is immediate. Juno gasps and draws his hand away quickly without thinking. “Goddamn that’s cold.” 

“Circulation problems, dear. You always forget.” He says cordially. There’s a part of him- small, non-existent, really-that misses the shot of warmth that flooded him when he touched Juno’s hand. He squashes that thought, sticks this feeling neatly in a folder and files it away. He’s nearly closed that certain file cabinet when he feels Juno’s hand intertwine in his own, suffusing him with warmth again. 

He looks at Juno again. He’s staring ahead, pointedly ignoring Nureyev as he brings up their joined hands and covers them with his other hand.

“What are you doing?” He chokes out. 

“Um. Warming your hands?” Juno says, and rubs Nureyv’s hand in between his own. “Bad circulation, right? Don’t you need warm hands for pickpocketing or something?”

“I’m surprised you know,” Nureyev mutters, still focused on the warm seeping into him. His cold hands hadn’t been a problem for years; he’d kept heated gloves on him during heists. He learned that from the best. First rule of thieving; Your hands should be as warm as the pockets you dip them in. Your hands are as cold as ice, Pete! Come here, let me warm them for you- 

File. that. away.

Gloves had been banned at this particular gala; the lack of fingerprints made security uneasy. He had been hoping to grab a warm drink inside, curl his hands around the warm mug and wait for the feeling to return to his palms. But here was Juno Steel, squeezing warmth into his hand, and he couldn’t bear to be cold again.

“Dauphin? Honey? You in there?”

“Hm?” Nureyev snaps back to himself, looking down once again at the detective. “Your other hand,” Juno says, and Nureyev gives it freely. He flexes his newly warmed right hand as Juno breathes life into his left. He can’t bring himself to look too long at the detective, with his warm eye and now warmer body, while Nureyev had stayed cold and stagnant for the last year.  

So he stands, letting the warmth of the sun that was Juno Steel permeate him to his very bones.

---

Nureyev presses his cold hands into the side of Juno’s neck and tries not to scream.

There’s blood dripping down the side of Juno’s head, tracing bloody lines into his skin and being absorbed into his now ripped and burnt gown. He was still as radiant as the sun as far as Nureyev was concerned, still warm as a furnace even as he was bleeding out. 

“What happened?” Jet asks from the driver’s seat. The Ruby 7 had been waiting for them behind Zolotovna’s estate, peeling through the woods to escape any pursuers. 

“I got shot, obviously,” Juno says, flicking blood from his hands towards Jet. It lands on the upholstery, and Jet winces but says nothing. Many people have bled in this car; Juno would not be the last. “The guards didn’t have blasters in the ballroom,” Nureyev explains instead. “But they were truly armed outside the mansion. We didn’t know.” 

He tries not to think about how his heart leapt to his throat when he started to hear blaster fire behind him. And how it nearly stopped when he saw Juno stumble beside him, a splatter of blood coating the left side of his face. 

It’s just a graze, Juno had assured him immediately afterwards, still running ahead of him even as his blood coloured his dress a rose gold. Come on, Dauphin, keep up.

He can still feel Juno’s hand in his, pulling him forward through the halls and into the yard.

Juno was much more lethargic now, focusing on taking deep breaths as he grits his teeth in pain. The injury wasn’t life threatening; the blast had taken off his earlobe and a centimeter of flesh from his neck. Head injuries always bled more than what they were worth. Still didn’t stop Nureyev from getting dizzy when he looked at his hands, covered in blood as he tried to put pressure on the wound. 

“Nearly there,” Jet says, and Nureyev nods. He moves to take his hands away from Juno’s neck, looking for a new cloth to use, but Juno tugs his hands back. “Your hand’s cold,” He mutters. “ ‘s nice.”

“And they’re covered in blood, dear,” He says softly. 

“Sorry.” He sounds like he means it. “Rita’s gonna think I tried to do something dumb.”

“I’ll tell her it was an accident.”

“Thanks, Ransom.” A flicker of a smile that sinks back into a grimace. Nureyev keeps his hands on the detectives’ neck. 

Even now, Juno warms him.

---

They have their family meeting in the medbay. 

Juno’s laying down on a cot, an arm over his eyes as Buddy rips into him. He does fight back at times, but five minutes in he looks so tired that he takes the rest of the tirade sitting down. Vespa had already said her piece as she finished patching up his neck, and Jet had simply stated that their teamwork needed to be better in the Ruby 7. Rita is sitting at the edge of Juno’s cot, holding his hand. Her own hand is so small by comparison, but he sees Juno squeeze it gently, smiling slightly at his former secretary.  

If he closes his eyes, Nureyev can feel that same ghost of a squeeze in his own palms. 

---

Juno comes to him that night. 

They talk about what happened, as well as they can. They’ve changed, both of them; Juno’s gotten a little warmer, Nureyev a little colder. They talk, and they talk, and in the end they’re on Nureyev’s bed, whispering as to not wake up the rest of the crew. Juno tells him about Hyperion, about Ramses O'Flaherty and the Old Town Solution. He tells him about Theia. He tells him about Ben. 

What has Nureyev done in the past year? It feels silly to compare. But Nureyev tries to cast the tears from his detective’s eyes by regaling him with tales of beautiful planets and beautiful heists. He tells him his cons, his near escapades, his witty remarks to his clients. He tries to make Juno Steel smile again, and when he gets one, unsure and fleeting, he feels a warmth from his own heart. It’s enough to make him stop short, cutting himself off from his story about a Venusian trillionaire and Valencian coffee. 

“Nureyev?” Juno says. “Are you alright?” He reaches tentatively towards him, placing a warm hand on his cold cheek. Feeling the chill, Juno places his other hand on Nureyev’s cheek as well, swiping his thumbs across the thief’s face. 

Stars above, he missed this.

“Nureyev?” Juno says, again, and in response Nureyev pulls Juno closer, their bodies flush against each other as he rests his forehead on Juno’s own. “I’m alright, Juno,” He whispers softly. “I’ve just missed you. So much.” 

He hadn’t noticed the tears threatening to spill over his lashes, but Juno’s thumbs catch them, wiping them away with a gentleness that threatens to bring more tears to the surface. “I know,” he replies, just as softly. “I missed you, too.”

You were currently stopped at a gas station in Bumfuck, Nowhere. Somewhere just on the border of New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Billy was pumping gas as you came out with a slushy in hand. Cherry mixed with Coke, of course. You tossed the plastic bag full of snacks into the passenger seat through the window, gazing up over the hood of the black Cadillac to him.  It had only been over an hour since what happened with Neuman, the memory surging through your veins and swirling in your stomach.  You saw it all. You were right there next to Hughie discussing with the rest of the team on how to use the virus and Victoria against Homelander. Her daughter was right there. Butcher went MIA after passing out in a bar days ago, so imagine your surprise when he showed up, looking like when you first met. The color in his skin was back, the menacing light in his eyes returned. You knew that look. You remember the gross black tendrils that ripped through his chest towards Victoria. The sound of blood splattering on the pavement was engraved, on a broken record, ringing through your ears. Butcher’s large hand engulfing your bicep took you out of your daze of deep red, meeting his icy blue stare. His voice was a low rumble. “Yer with me, luv’.”  He called out to the rest of the team who was just in as much shock as you. “Oh, by the way…” “You’re all fuckin’ welcome.”

The next thing you knew, you were here, as if waking up from a nightmare. Only the nightmare was real. “Where are we even going, Butcher?” You asked over the hood. His nose scrunched up a little, annoyed by the question you’ve been asking for the last hour. “Come off it, luv… do I need to remind ya of what happened? Could jog yer memory…” He threatened with a low timbre. This wasn’t the Butcher you worked with over 5 years ago. This was some other monster and you hated him. Without another word, you got back into the car with him and he began to drive again. The only sound was the soft drone of the wet and dark road under the tires. The soft glow of street lights as they passed illuminated his face. Your eyes drifted down to where his jaw met his neck. A small, black, worm-like creature under his skin snaked its way up his jaw towards his ear, making goosebumps form on your arms. You quickly looked away, looking back to the road.

A couple minutes later, his voice cut through the silence harshly.

“Fuck off, mate…”

It startled you a little, making your shoulder move up in a soft jump. You’ve heard him mumble to himself before, but he was more confident with it now. You recall a memory…

MM had just kicked Butcher out of TruthCon. Butcher was rightfully pissed. You decided to follow shortly after getting a talking to from MM after he nearly knocked out Billy and by the time you approached…

“Oi, fuck off…” Butcher’s voice carried through the empty backlot, as did the sound of one of his recent coughing fits.

Did he spot you? You grew closer and he turned, his reddened eyes meeting yours. He looked pale, sickly.

“Sorry… I’m just trying to understand why you have been acting this way.” you prodded.

He let out that stupid signature smirk followed by a scoff.

“Don’t know what ya mean, luv… I’m just tryin’ to get shit done around ‘ere. Got no time to sit around jerkin’ these fuckwits off and doin’ fuck all while Sage is in there.” As he rambled, his eyes went back behind him. You could see the look of confusion as if he was… looking for someone.

“Hey, I’m not done yelling at you.” You teased, trying to lighten the mood and get him back to your eyes. When his steel eyes met yours again, he shook his head softly, parting his lips to speak again. There was a silence, a moment of understanding as he looked at you.

“Come on then… Boys’ll need us…”

You settled onto the slightly damp sheets of the cheap motel. The only sound was the drone of the rickety air conditioning unit. It was ungodly humid so you went to crack the front door open, just to be stopped by a large hand snaking from behind you. Butcher’s warmth radiated from his coat through your flannel shirt and jeans. Too close. “It’s humid.” you spoke sternly. “You’ll live.” He replied shortly before securing the gold latch above your hand. You didn’t even give him a chance to sit before finally hitting that breaking point. “Okay, what the fuck is going on?” You placed your hands on your hips, like a disgruntled parent.  He looked at you incredulously, raising an eyebrow and letting out a short laugh through his nose. “Don’t know what ya mean, luv.” He replied, taking off his trench coat. Your eyes couldn’t help but dart to his arms, those same arms that you wished would wrap around your head and- Nope. Not right now. Push that thought away.

“How about we start with you disappearing for three days straight and then coming back all of a sudden looking like you didn’t have cancer?” You asked, your tone sharp.

Butcher looked at you, pausing in his steps momentarily. Like you were actually getting through to him…

“You took V. And you didn’t tell me.” You spat once more, standing taller. Braver.

“And don’t even get me started on all this secrecy, me not knowing where we’re going, why you dragged me into this without asking me?”

“But you came along anyway, didn’ ya? Obedient pup, you are…” he mumbled, his smile challenging. That damn smirk…

In a way, he was right. You didn’t have to follow, but you did. You didn’t ignore the flutter in your stomach at that name either.

‘Pup’.

“I promised I was in this with you until the end didn’t I? After TruthCon? After what happened with Ezekiel?” You reminded him, your voice gentler. You moved your hands to cross your arms.

He looked at you, studied you. Like he was looking at a ghost. But he went back to his duffle, his tone low.

“Yeah… ya did. Guess that’s why I picked ya…” he replied, a rasp to his voice.

The room fell silent suddenly and you took the opportunity to take a shower after a long day.

The water wasn’t hot, but warm enough. The shampoo dried out your hair and the conditioner was useless. With a sigh, you used the small bar of soap to rinse off the grime of the day, your eyes landing on a drop of blood in your arm.

Nueman’s blood…

You scrubbed at it until your skin was raw, the warm water from the shower only making things worse. But you didn’t care. No matter how hard you scrubbed, it was still there. Under the surface, spreading like a fungus to your hammering heart.

Just breathe. It’s over, You tell yourself. It’s all over…

When you exited the shower, you were alone. Each bed empty and the door outside to the balcony propped open with the safety latch. Wrapping the stiff towel around you, you padded across the damp feeling carpet towards the front door, peeking through the crack.

Billy was outside, smoking a cigarette. The cherry red end lit up his lower half, catching the shine of some grey hairs that stuck to his dark beard. You couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs at the sight, your argument long forgotten.

“Havin’ a nice look, aye?” He muttered, his whiskey smooth tone sounding stuffy past the white stem of the cigarette between his lips.

“Can ‘ear your heart from here, luv…”

His broad shoulders turned to get a look at you, both of his elbows resting against the railing as he tilted his head. His tacky palm leaf shirt was buttoned low. He was watching you carefully. His eyes were black, dangerous, as they raked down your body.

You swallowed and took a step back, noticing his shadow moving with you under the door. The artificial light behind him cast a figure in the doorway, making him appear menacing. You couldn’t help but feel that familiar warmth spreading just under your stomach. You watch as he tilts his head yet again, slowly.

A low rumble escapes his throat, a laugh.

“You always ‘ad such an interestin’ flutter to your heart, pup… ‘eard it when I took that Temp V… can ‘ear it now…” He spoke lowly, so full of bass it nearly shook your chest. He took a couple steps forward, heavy boots against carpet, before closing the door.

And suddenly, you felt trapped. Not that you were complaining.

“I know you’ve noticed me talkin’ to somethin’… somethin’ that ain’t there…” he smirked.

“And it says a lot about you…”

You couldn’t help the tremble in your voice.

“W-What about me?” You prodded, the back of your legs hitting the edge of the closest bed.

“How it absolutely wants to take you and ravish you ‘til you’re gaspin’ and pleadin’ us to stop.” He spoke so matter-of-factly. As if it was destined to happen eventually.

And maybe it was.

And that’s how you ended up here.

Your towel was long forgotten in the floor, thighs parted as he eyed at you like artwork. He was rudely still clothed, unable to get enough of the sight. Your hair was still wet against the pillowcases, spreading out in a fan.

“Just let ‘im play with your pretty tits, yeah? Won’t ’urt you, promise…” he spoke smoothly against your ear, his beard scratching as he kissed just below it. Your skin prickled as his breath fanned over you, the heat feeling almost too much.

There was a squelching sound, familiar to you from before. And then you felt it.

Sticky, but not uncomfortable as it slithered up your abdomen towards your breasts. Heavy and hot. Your breath hitched at the contact.

“B-Billy, I don’t know-” you stuttered out, but he cut you off.

“S’alright, pup, let ‘im play…” he crooned, deep and threatening.

The tentacle flicked over your hardened nipples, resulting in a whimper from your throat. Your hips rolled up against this beefy thigh that sat between your legs.

“Look at you, luv… pretty as a fuckin’ paintin’ you are…” he hums, his lips moving down your collarbone.

Another squelch came from his chest, quiet and ominous as it wrapped around your thigh, parting it for him. Another tentacle wrapped around your other thigh, parting it as well. Billy finally pulled up and you could have smacked that stupid grin off his face if he wasn’t so hot.

“My girl… all spread and drippin’ for me, eh?” He chuckled. His thumb found your clit, swirling the digit around and making you whine. Your thighs struggled against his tentacles.

“B-Billy, wait-”

“Nah. Waited too fuckin’ long.” He interrupted, his finger not slowing despite you pulling against the current

The tentacle that once sat pretty on your chest slithered down, leaving a slimy black trail behind that left you both thrilled and disgusted. It flicked over your clit, replacing his hand as his fingers brushed against your weeping cunt.

“Already so fuckin’ messy, huh pup?”

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you, your hips writhing as he inserted a finger, curling it upwards against your gummy walls. You muttered his name, low and sweet as your lashes fluttered.

“Look at you, good fuckin’ girl just can’t help herself… s’alright, poppet…” he teased rudely. So mean.

“Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy, yeah? She’s beggin’ me, she is…”

The way he spoke to you was enough to result another whimper from your lips.

He inserted another finger, moving them in a scissoring motion for you. You groaned his name, your hips bucking up against his hand as his tentacles kept their strict position on your thighs. Butcher let out a low and mocking hum, kissing your temple and letting his beard scratch at your jaw.

He teased you relentlessly, mocked you, made you feel used… and you liked it. The way your skin prickled under his breath, his fingers scissoring you open… it was all so delicious and yet felt so wrong.

“Bet this is why I took you with me… for my use. When this fucked up lil’ life gets t’much…”

“Listen to her squelch, pup, s’fuckin’ needy…”

“Bet you like this, huh? Bein’ my good little doll, all for me… m’so lucky, sweethear’…”

You felt so hot and sticky, not only from the tentacles holding onto your trembling, plush thighs, but from how close he was. A small sheen of sweat was seen on his chest just under the tuft of hair on his pectorals. Your lips found the hollow of his throat which resulted in a deep growl that rumbled your chest.

“P-Please, Billy… too much…” you managed to stutter. Butcher tutted at your pitiful sob, but in his eyes, you’ve never been more beautiful. You looked absolutely broken, glossy eyes and swollen lips from his rough kisses that led to this moment in the crisp white sheets. The rise and fall of your chest with each gasping breath and pornographic moan. Soft and supple skin slick with sweat, thighs covered in your arousal.

He had enough.

In a swift motion, he had you on your stomach, bare ass high in the air and face smooshed into the cheap pillowcase. His tentacles were tight around your thighs still, another one emerging to press on your back to keep you down as he unbuckled his belt. The sound of metal was piercing to your ears.

“Billy, wait, we don’t have a condom-!” You protested, despite feeling the emptiness with his fingers now gone.

“No, no, dove, I’ll pull out. Swear on m’life.”

You didn’t even have to look at him to know that was a lie. You could hear the smile on his face.

You feel him slide against your soaked folds, gliding upwards towards the forbidden (for now) area of your puckered hole. He was searing, hot and heavy against your sensitive skin, not huge in length, but girthy and thick. Your skin was so slick that you couldn’t tell what part of his tentacles were touching you and what were his hands. But you felt him spread you apart to get a good look at every inch he could.

“Fuck me… been hidin’ this all along, havent ya? Look at ‘er…” he grumbled, more to himself than anything.

He leaned down, grabbing the nape of your neck in one large hand while whispering.

“Now just hang tight and let me feel ya, luv…”

It was slow, so painstakingly slow. Deep. A stretch that left you gasping for air.

“Eaaaasy, girl, easy… should see how she’s takin’ me, fuccck…”

His hiss caused a whimper and a hum of approval out of you. Something you never thought would come out of your mouth. Yet, here you are, ass up feeling him pulsing into you.

His tentacles wiggled gently like a snake around your limbs and left inky trails. His large hand tightened around your neck as if to keep him grounded. Like you were the only thing keeping him tethered that this was very real.

His thrusts were even and deep, so deep. You were so drunk on the feeling, you didn’t even notice the drool pooling onto the pillow as a groan escaped past your lips.

“Poor girl, droolin’ like the right pup you are… Ohhh… that’s a good girl.”

He let up his grip on your neck as his hands clawed down your back to dig into your hips. Just before you could adjust to breathing again, you feel a tentacle wrap around your neck as it tightens a bit. You could feel it… the shit eating grin on his face as him and his little helpers took you this way.

“Oh, if only you could fuckin’ see what a fuckin’ lovely mess you are, poppet…” he whispered in your ear, harsh through his smiling teeth. He picked up the pace, groaning deeply with each thrust to the hilt.

Hot tears streaked down your flushed cheeks and soaked the pillows. Skin slapped against skin, filling you to the brim of him. The scent of cheap cigarettes and whiskey from him, his throbbing cock in your wet heat, his large hands at your hips as he watched. You were so ruined, you couldn’t even pay attention to the words he was saying. He was so filthy.

The slimy tendrils suddenly tightened, including the one around your throat as he lifted you against his chest. The coarse hairs stung at your back. His pace never stopped, pulling out and slamming back into you like in a desperate effort. Like you were the only thing that could cure his hunger. His rough beard scraped against your jaw and his teeth, found your neck, biting into you like an animal pinning its mate.

“Gonna cum in this pretty cunt, yeah? ‘S all I want, luv, please?” He asked in that mockingly sweet tone. You were too fucked out to answer, too focused on the feeling of him all around you. In your fluttering pussy and on your arms and throat, all so sticky and wet with a sweet mix of sweat, arousal and inky slime.

“P-Please, Billy… need it so bad…” you managed to rasp out past a whimper. He smiles at that as your ass slams against his thighs.

“Gonna cum… please make me cum…”

“I got ya, cum on my fat cock, pup…” he cooed with a kiss to your temple. His tongue sliding over your salty skin was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

In a white hot wave to your senses, you let out a loud and whiny moan. He curses under his breath, muttering absolutely nothing into your ear as his cock twitches in you, spitting white ropes that coated your used walls in warmth. Time stood still for a moment as you both caught your breath.

Your skin stuck to each other, separating only when he pulls out and his tendrils retract back into the gaping black mass on his chest. You were left boneless against the sheets, limbs loose. The shuffling of sheets was the only thing keeping you in this reality of what just happened as he got a rag to clean you with. The towel was cold against your heated skin as he swiped off your mixed release.

The next thing you knew, your breath was knocked from you when he pulled you against his bare skin, big arms engulfing you. A soft kiss was pressed to your temple past his scratchy mustache.

“M’sorry for all of it… letting you see that… dragging you with me after it all. Deserve better than me…” he muttered, nuzzling into your hair and taking a breath.

“I… I don’t think so.” You finally confessed past a soft voice.

He chuckled at that, low and mighty.

“Yeah well… you’re stuck with me now, darlin’.”

A/N: Holy shit gang, we got here. Nearly six months later! Thank you to those who have been so patient with me. I really have my best friend to thank as well as she helped me write some lines (real queens help write smut)

Your face was burning, that delicious sting that always made your toes curl and your skin buzz. Warmth pooled in your stomach, reaching all the way down to your knees, which ached as they knelt on the hardwood floor of your living room. You were held between his long legs, sprawled out wide on your plush couch like he didn’t have a care in the world. It was sinful how good he looked in those jeans, joint hanging from his lips. One hand tangled in your hair, the other was large and warm against your already aching red cheek.

“Look at you… so fuckin’ desperate for attention, you don’t care how I give it.” He spoke through a smirk. His eyes were blown wide, both from the drugs and the amount of lust that pushed through his veins.

Before you could even speak, he landed another smack against your cheekbone.

A broken sound left you as you gasped. Within seconds, he was back on you. Hand swallowing your chin, mouth close to yours as he blew that heavy smoke right between your lips. You breathed it in, unable to move as it clouded your mind once more.

“There she is… no more fuckin’ pissin’ and cryin’ on me. This is how you belong, peaches.” He laughed, low and dangerous before delivering one more smack to your cheek.

Your eyes were clouded with unshed tears as he adjusted, slowly moving his boot to slide underneath you between your legs.

“Sit.” He barked, leaning all the way back lazily as he took another drag.

You hovered, unsure of your own movements as your legs quivered. He let out a displeased click with his tongue and sighed.

“Sit or I don’t fuck you.”

You wanted it, so bad, so you sat right on top of his boot without protest. He pushed the toe up, bumping right into your neglected clit hidden behind soaked panties. A pitiful whine left you as you gripped his calf, nails digging into the denim of his jeans.

He tutted, voice mockingly sweet as he inspected the sight with a tilt of his head.

“Awww, baby just can’t handle what I give her, huh? Already making a mess?” He teased. “And you expect me to believe you can take cock?”

Your eyes went wide, pupils snapping to his.

“N-No, I can-! Please… I need it…” You stammered. You couldn’t even recognize your own voice as fat tears rolled down your cheek.

You were right where he wanted you. Needy and pathetic, malleable under his cruel hand… and over his boot.

The sun blazes mercilessly over the wide, open plains of the farm, its rays cascading down like sheets of molten gold. The morning air, once crisp and cool, has given way to a relentless, stifling heat that settles over the land with an oppressive grip. Dust rises in lazy spirals from the dry earth, clinging to Beau’s sweat-soaked skin. He was fixing up the fence near the cow pasture, fighting (and losing) with the high-tensile wires.

Beau had planned a day off from the station to unwind after a hectic week. However, his plans were disrupted when a nail punctured his tire from one of the back roads. Fortunately, your dad happened to be in the area and offered to help him fix it. As a token of appreciation, Beau felt obligated to repay your dad’s kindness. Your dad was getting older and you told him time and time again he needed help on the farm, too stubborn to pay anyone for “work he could do himself”.

Beau went over the checklist in his head once more.

Once he was done with the fence, he needed to haul the hay to the barn, feed the hogs, and somehow bring the chickens into their coop. Easy enough.

It was not.

Just after the 4th of July, the sun was at its peak, creating intense heat against his bare skin. He worked hard at the edge of the dense woods, where the trees offered some relief. Just past the dense brush, a refreshing creek beckoned him, providing a chance to cool off with his shirt as a towel.

The part that killed him was that he wasn’t even close to being done.

After jamming his thumb for the umpteenth time, he cursed up a storm big enough to make a sailor blush and dropped the hammer. That was it. He couldn’t fix the damn fence to save his life. The wire wouldn’t cooperate, and the post was old, rotten wood. He lifted his eyes to start heading in when he saw you.

You had just returned from a vacation with your girlfriends. Beau had seen you in town before, but you looked quite different this time. Your skin had a radiant, freshly tanned glow, and your hair was a subtle shade lighter. A warm smile adorned your face as you greeted your father with a heartfelt hug on the porch, your luggage conveniently placed at your feet from the taxi. Beau’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of you. Your father said some words and you turned your head to meet Beau’s eyes. Even from a distance, he could see that sparkle in yours.

Suddenly, this job didn’t seem so bad.

He walked up to the porch, his shirt slightly sticking to his skin as he put it back on. You were all bright eyed and happy to be home when you turned to greet him.

“You must be the mysterious Sheriff Arlen.” You said with a small giggle. God that giggle would undo him.

“The one an’ only, call me Beau.” He replied, holding out a calloused and dirty hand.

You took it with no hesitation, your smaller hand slotting into his. Your skin was so soft against his, feeling like silk.

“Well, Beau… thank you for taking care of my daddy, he’s so stubborn about hiring someone but I see he made a good choice.” You paused, listening to your father grumble as he helped take your suitcase into the house.

“So what made you want to help?”

“Well… I owed your pops here a favor after he saved my hide from a flat tire.” Beau replied, his gaze sweeping over your face.

“Ain’t that mighty kind of him.” Your accent was sickly sweet, made Beau feel like he was back home in Texas.

“Yep, well… better get back to fixin’ this fence. I’ll talk to you later, darlin’. Pleasure meetin’ ya.” Beau tilted his hat down at you with a crooked grin and made his way down off the porch.

“Bye, Sheriff.” You spoke in a lilted tone, followed by a small wave of your fingers.

Oh yeah, he was doomed.

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