A Girl Calls A Man 'pretty Boy' And Then You Look, And It's Just Some 40 Y.o Guy Covered In Blood

pussy flavoured

Too Sweet

Pairing: Billy Butcher x fem!reader

Word Count: 700-ish (Just a blurb, I’m working on longer stuff but I wanted to give y’all something. As a treat)

Warnings: Reader is described as being feminine and somewhat high maintenance (in terms of self-care), Billiam being a pervy old man, Butch wanting to corrupt reader, and reader alluded to being a lil kinky. In summation, he breaks into your room and jacks off in your bed pair of your panties. Y’know, the usual.

Author’s Note: I’m genuinely so sorry if this sucks booty cheeks. I also know this isn’t the fic I mentioned, but I had to feed the fellow rats. If you have any feedback AT ALL, please let me know. I appreciate the response I’ve gotten on all of my little drabbles. I’d love to respond to prompts and brainrot, as well, so hit me up! I love y’all!

smut below the cut • 18+ mdi

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Butcher knows you're too sweet for him.

Yet, here he was, in your room that you always seemed to leave unlocked. He's splayed out on your mattress; that's way too comfortable to be in a shithole bunker. Your space smelled divine. The scent of all the sweet lotion, body oil, perfume, and whatever in the feminine fuck you wore seemed to be everywhere.

In his drunken stupor, he'd stumbled into your room instead of his own. At least, that's what he'd continue to tell himself. After flopping onto your plush bedding, he clumsily grabbed a photo off your nightstand and squinted. You and Hughie beamed back at him through the frame.

"Mmm, pretty little thing, ain'cha?" He mumbled and moved to rest a boot on the opposite knee, but felt something under the weight of his foot. He sat up on his elbows and looked at the obnoxiously girly fabric now resting on his thigh. "What do we have here?"

The baby pink, cherry-patterned panties were soft against his calloused palms. Billy whistled lowly, running his thumb along the lace on the hem. He rested the picture frame on his lap so he could hold them with two hands. Of fucking course, they had a little bow on the front.

"Well, ain't that just typical?" The swelling stiffness in his pants was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Butcher dropped his boot back to the floor with a heavy thud. His mussed, dark head of hair met your silky pillows. He hummed in faux contemplation.

He'd like to say he felt guilty, or gross, about what he was about to do. His senses were too clouded by your scent, both from your fragrances and the panties crammed around his nose, to protest. You smelled even better than he'd dreamed. You were so fucking sweet.

"Fuuuuckin' hell.." Billy's guttural groan was muffled by the frilly fabric. His free hand had fallen to his fly. He moaned as he was finally free from the confines of his jeans. He was grateful that he’d gone commando again. He took one final, deep inhale as his eyes rolled into his skull. His cock twitched at the action. He needed you carnally.

His hand was furiously fisting his cock now. Your adorable undergarment felt perfect against his angry, leaking tip. He moaned unabashedly at the photo of you. He'd seen the way you looked at him. It was so precious. He couldn't possibly let you be with someone like him, though. right?

Butcher thought about those cherry-flavored, glossy lips wrapped around him. He bucked at the idea of your wispy lashes fluttering as he made you squirm. He shivered at the picture of your perfectly manicured nails digging into the muscles of his back. He panted at the notion of your sweet, intoxicating scent wafting at him as you bounced on his cock. His perfect little doll, his sweet girl.

Billy came with an alarmingly loud, strangled cry of your name and clapped a hand over his mouth. He watched the white, hot ropes hit the bottom of his Hawaiian shirt and smear over your panties. God, he had to run everything he touched, didn't he? He paused, realizing that somehow, you'd still remained this way despite being taken under his wing. He hadn't ruined or tainted you, not yet.

He hastily cleaned himself up with the fabric, wincing at the contact. He tucked himself back into his jeans and huffed at the sensation. He was about to pocket your panties, but he decided against it. He'd give you something to think about tonight. He dropped the panties where he'd found them with a grin. He left your sheets purposefully unkempt, secretly hoping he'd left behind some of his masculine musk. Maybe he’d hear her pretty, wanton whimpers through their shared wall, again. He hoped so.

On his way past your dresser, he opened the top drawer. Bingo. He grabbed another pair of panties and pocketed those. He made note of the fuzzy pink handcuffs, the girthy pink didlo, and the rose toy that also resides in the drawer. He snickered, leaving the drawer open. Just in case his hints flew over your head, which they often did, he left a cigarette behind. Surely, that’d do it. All Billy had to do was wait for his deceivingly sweet, innocent girl to come to him.

This would be fun.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

it's been already 2 years since Eddie Munson and I still cannot stop thinking about how much i need him to finger me

like i am sorry i just know he would be a god at it and it would be a religious experience for me

Thinking and thinking and thinking some more about Boyfriend!Simon.

All big and scary. Pretty much always wearing black, and other muted colors, and his balaclava. He’s so big. So bulky. So muscular. And when he does deign to talk to anyone outside of his close circle, his voice is so deep and rough, isn’t it? The man is so very naturally intimidating and off putting, right?

And then there’s you…his girlfriend. His very cute, very pink girlfriend. Adorable, really.

So feminine, you are.

Always in some skirt or dress. With a ribbon or bow in your hair. Perhaps some sandals on your feet. Maybe some heels, depending on if you’re in the mood for them. Lip gloss on your lips, a generous dusting of blush on your cheeks…

You look angelic. Cherubic.

So different than your boyfriend.

You two contrast each other so very much.

You are a spectacle, for sure. The kind that, in some cases, really does make people stop and stare. Because really—you look like a pretty princess and her big hulking guard dog.

Little does anyone know that it is this “guard dog” of yours, your beloved boyfriend Simon, that picks out your every outfit.

It’s Simon that chooses which dress or skirt you wear for the day.

It’s Simon that decides whether bows or barrettes that adorn your hair.

He even has the final decision on how you get your nails done when you go to the nail salon.

Gel nails or acrylics. Coffin or almond shaped. French tips or plain color, or if you get a design. The design itself. Whether your nails are topped with those little jewels…

All of it. It goes through him.

Not that anyone would believe either of you if you were to reveal the truth (as if you ever would…).

The truth of the matter is that he quite likes dressing you up. His big, rough hands have been used for so much bad. So much destruction and pain has been caused by his hands. So, taking care of the ever so beautiful and delicate you, fills him with so much purpose and satisfaction.

Besides, there’s something to be said about being the one to dress you up in the way he desires…and then getting to undress you, too.

Dressing you up. Dressing you down. He enjoys it all.

And so do you!

You like being his pretty pink girlfriend. You like how carefully he decides on your outfit for the day. You like the look he gets in his eyes when he’s finally pleased with how he’s dressed you.

So you let him. You let him decide. You let him take control in this way.

Because you enjoy being his perfect little doll.

got back from work

now i think about billy butcher and soldier boy

this is some ✨sick and twisted✨ shit, but I had a dream about rubbing one out on butchers tummy once and I haven’t been the same since. his happy trail against your clit would literally be heaven. it being such an odd request that he’s just elated he makes you that crazy. he’s got his hawaiian shirt open, but not off. his large hands are guiding your hips as he grins up at you wolfishly. his red, weeping cock smearing against your ass as you grind back. He’d tsk and coo praise mixed with a touch of degradation as you got off.

“Poor girl, daddy’s got you worked up, ain’t he? Just gotta put that pretty little cunt all over him, don’cha? That’s it, luv, put on show for me. C’mon then, how me what a filthy cunt you are.”

i was gonna post this on my page but i thought it was TOO horny

your mind >>>>

like yes

i love butcher brainrot

it just makes me short circuit

i have nothing to add, i just agree with you and need others to see this genius

"you need to stick to one fandom" fuck you

let me tell you about the crossover i dreamt of between House of The Dragon and Supernatural and how absolutely it could make sense if you let me write the script on 10 espresso martinis and coke

this is a safe space for all the girls' who want to be their father's number one boy

jensen ackles: it's clear text

me:

if it isn't me, god's favourite sacrificial lamb, then who will be the most psychotic prophet this world has ever seen?