With a huff of feigned annoyance, Butcher plopped down onto the chair of the kitchen table. He placed his hands flat on the wood, staring at you with the most unimpressed look of all time. It was clear he was not in the mood for this, but the man did anything to see you smile.

Somehow… Somehow, you had convinced Butcher to let you paint his nails. It took days of asking and adorable puppy dog eyes, but like always… He caved in, he always has and always will cave in to your puppy dog eyes, especially when you add in the batting of the eyelashes. Whipped is what Butcher is.

He was so fucking protective of you. You were a ditzy person, either clueless all the time or spouting the most outrageous nonsense for hours… But, he was so gentle with you, almost like you were a delicate little angel that would shatter if not handled with care. Which is crazy cause he’s a dick. An asshole. A hardass.

Whatever you wanna call Butcher, that’s what he was.

But when it came to you? Gods, the british fuck would do anything to see you smile… Including making himself look fucking stupid to the other boys.

He let out another huff of feigned annoyance, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “How long is this going to take, love?”

His gruff british accent let you know he was not pleased with this arrangement, but he could never say no to you.