Something Something ‘mutt!simon Calling Purebreed!reader His Breeding Bitch’ Something Somethig

I'm going to cry

Natural - MDNI

pairing: simon riley x black!reader summary: simon wants to see your natural hair more often. cw: 2.2k+ words, fluff, sex mention, hair length & color is not mentioned

“can’t believe women use all this crap. what is this shit anyway?”

“it’s grease. don’t be a hater simon,” you tell your husband, while trying to hide your smile when he mutters something under his breath.

simon passes the jar to you, before turning his gaze back to the row of color bottles and jars on the shelf. he may not know what half of this shit is, but he does recognize some of the products he’s seen you use.

“you act as if you’ve never been to a hair store before,” you say, before laughing under your breath at the deadpan look on your husband’s face as you drop yet another hair product into the basket he’s holding. “you know you can sit in the car if you don’t wanna be in here with me.”

simon’s eyes soften when they land on you. you’re aware of his staring, but you don’t meet his gaze. you’re too busy comparing two different brands of heat protector.

“of course i want to be here,” he murmurs quietly, from where he stands beside you. “wouldn’t’ve left the house if that was the case, lovie.”

you acknowledge his words with a hum, before turning slightly to place the bottle into the basket. you’re secretly happy simon’s decided to take this little trip to the store with you. he’s barely been home for a week and you’ve missed him. simon’s always gone for work, so you try to spend as much time with him as you can. it helps to lessen the ache in your heart when you know he’ll be leaving again. whether it’s grocery shopping, trips to a home improvement store, or if you’re just going to pick up some takeout, you’re always at his side.

simon follows you from aisle to aisle with no complaint. he’s your silent but deadly shadow, who only speaks when he’s curious about something on the shelves, or if you ask for his opinion.

“you gettin’ your hair braided?” he asks with a raised brow when he recognizes the wall you keep glancing at as you walk. he doesn’t remember hearing you mention anything about braids to him.

you shake head, “no, i think i’m gonna do something different this time. i’m just browsing.”

“is that why you’ve been on youtube the last three nights, instead of sleepin’?”

you roll your eyes at the amusement you hear in his tone, because of course he knows what you’ve been doing late at night while he’s asleep. simon’s always been a light sleeper. you can’t move an inch without him knowing what you’re up to.

“i thought i was being quiet,” you laugh as you come to a stop when you find the aisle that has the last item on your list.

unfortunately for you, the oil you want is out of stock. you let out a soft noise of disappointment and resort to pouting, which doesn’t go unnoticed by your husband.

simon laughs softly at your facial expression. “stop pouting, lovie. would you be open to finding a substitute? or we can go to another store,” he suggests, even though he already knows the answer to his question.

but you shake your head stubbornly, whining, “i don’t want an alternative.” and you’re definitely not going to another store. “i’ll just make due with what i have.”

“okay,” your husband says quietly as he commits the name of your favorite oil to his memory, before closing the distance between you two and brushing his thumb across your cheek. “got everything ya need then, love?”

you can only nod and mumble out a yes, honey while you try not to swoon at the tender look in simon’s eyes. you have to refrain from chasing his hand when he withdraws his touch.

damn did i miss him that much, you think to yourself when he takes your hand and leads you to the front of the store.

when you step up to the register to pay, you take the basket from simon and exchange pleasantries with the cashier, before placing your items on the counter.

simon glares at you when you start digging in your purse for your wallet. “what do you think you’re think you’re doing?” he asks calmly, his voice low enough for your ears only.

you freeze immediately and stare up at him with a confused look. “looking for my wallet,” you answer slowly, before doing just that.

you stop rummaging when simon huffs under his mask and eases around you, so he can pay for your things. no matter how many times you’ve told this man that you can pay for your own stuff, he refuses to listen. you don’t even protest anymore whenever he pulls his wallet out in the store, like you used to at the start of your relationship. you think it’s nice to have someone take care of you.

“thank you,” you say softly when simon intertwines his fingers with yours, and leads you away from the register and out the door.

you do get an earful from him on the ride back home though. your husband cannot fathom why you insist on paying for anything when he’s told you time and time again that it’s his job to pay for everything, his job to provide. hell, simon barely even lets you lift a finger around the house when he’s home.

sometimes if you’re stubborn enough, he’ll let you get away with cooking or cleaning. you better not press your luck next time, though, because he can be just as stubborn as you.

when you get home, you let simon kiss you senseless, before you separate so he can get some work done and you can empty out your bags. when you’re done putting your purchases away and reorganizing your hair products, you get started on your hair.

you’re in the bathroom plugging your blow dryer into the socket, so you can dry your freshly washed hair, when simon makes his presence known. he doesn’t say anything at first. he’s content with watching the way you handle your coils with care as you apply some pink lotion before using a comb to loosen up some of the kinks. when you reach for the blow dryer to cut it on, simon decides to speak.

“leave it.”

his soft request makes you pause.

“leave what?” you ask, before setting the blow dryer back down onto the bathroom counter, and giving simon your undivided attention.

“your hair.” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “i like it this way. natural, curly.”

“are you implying that you don’t like it when i wear braids? you got a problem with my wigs, riley?” you ask with a pout, your eyes full of mirth.

“not at all, love.” simon loves your hair in any form. “you know i don’t care about that. long hair, short hair, wigs, or braids. it doesn’t matter to me. i wouldn’t give a shit if you were bald.”

you turn to him fully, “then why—”

“you never let me see you like this,” simon blurts out, a blush high on his cheeks when you stare at him in surprise. “it’s always fleeting. and i understand that you’re always so particular about your hair. but for once, let me see it like this. let me see you.” he pulls on a soft coil for emphasis, grinning when you bat his hand away.

“didn’t know you felt that way, si. why didn’t you say anything sooner?” you shoot him an exasperated look when he just shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “thought i would say no, huh?”

simon blows out a breath, before he chuckles and nods, “fuck yes.” sometimes you were set in your ways and he couldn’t change your mind.

he lets out a low laugh when you slap his chest lightly. “i don’t say no all the time,” you protest, as a bubble laughter spills from your lips when he snorts.

“you told me no this morning,” he points out, remembering how he almost had you bent over the railing of your balcony earlier that day until you realized what he was trying to do.

“that’s because you wanted to fuck me on our balcony. that’s a perfectly good reason for me to say no,” you argue. in your mind that does not count. “had i let you continue, someone would have seen.”

“you’d be too drunk on my cock to notice a peeping tom,” he smirks when you let out a groan.

“you’re impossible, simon riley,” you huff, before turning away from him and unplugging your blow dryer.

“so i’ve been told,” he shrugs, before pressing himself against your back and tilting your head to the side so he can press soft kisses to your jaw.

your eyes flutter shut almost immediately when simon’s teeth grazes the soft skin of your jaw, making you whimper and moan before you can stop yourself.

“s–simon,” you choke out. you’re not sure if you want him to stop, or if you want him to bend you over the sink and split you open on his cock.

“yeah?” he rasps against your jaw, making you sag slightly in his hold, when his thick fingers start tugging at the waistband of your leggings.

“need to fix my hair,” you hiss at him, though you make no move to stop him.

when simon backs away from you and takes up his previous spot in the doorway, you almost change your mind. almost. you should be applying your curling cream, not letting your husband devour you at the bathroom sink. you let out sigh when you reach up to touch your hair, glaring at simon when you notice how it’s already started to air dry. it’s definitely his fault.

“don’t even think about blaming me.”

“you’re the one who tried to distract me from doing my hair, so yes i do blame you,” you sniff, feeling indignant.

“and yet it didn’t stop you from moaning and rubbin’ your ass on my cock, now did it?” before you can retaliate, simon ducks out of the bathroom with a bark of laughter.

you’re propped up against a mountain of pillows with your bonnet on and your nose in a book when you feel the weight of simon’s gaze on you.

“stop staring at me.”

“i can’t stare at my beautiful wife?” simon replies from where he stands in the doorway of your bedroom, soft amber eyes taking you in.

“simon,” you whine, suddenly feeling a little shy because of all the attention he’s been giving you today.

simon hasn’t stopped staring at you since you exited the bathroom earlier in all of your natural glory. he’d even asked for your permission, before he sank his fingers into your soft coils. he was a bit surprised when you said yes, because you’ve always told him the one thing black women do not tolerate, is a person touching their hair. it was even worse when they touched it without permission. he didn’t seem bothered at all, when you told him not to get used to it.

your eyes follow simon as he steps further into the room and tosses his shirt onto the chair in the corner, before he climbs into bed next to you. he does his usual grumbling about the mountain of pillows you insist on torturing him with. he tosses several pillows to the bottom of the bed, then makes himself comfortable. you barely put up a fuss when simon pats around the bed and searches for your bookmark with one hand, while he gently pries the book away from you with his other hand.

“c’mere, love,” he croons while tugging you closer, then murmuring, “much better,” when you climb on top of him.

a soft sigh escapes your lips when simon starts stroking his big warm hands up and down your spine. a light squeeze to the back of your neck has you lifting your head, your eyes meeting your husband’s. you squirm a little when he presses his lips to yours, taking advantage of the way you gasp softly by slipping his tongue in your mouth. the way simon nips at your bottom lip and does his best to shove his tongue down your throat makes you a bit dizzy. but not dizzy enough to be unaware of his hand gripping the edge of your bonnet and tugging it off your head.

you pull away from the kiss to sit up and glare at his sneaky ass. “what do you think you’re doing simon?” you ask, snatching your bonnet from him.

“one day i’m gonna hide that shit,” he threatens, his lips curving up into a smirk when you clutch the bonnet to your chest with a shake of your head.

“you wouldn’t dare!”

he absolutely would. he’s tried it before.

“i will. leave the bonnet off. i wanna see your curls bounce while you ride my cock,” simon says in a tone that makes you whimper and has your eyes widening.

“don’t you mess up my hair,” you say warningly, before tugging off your shirt.

simon pretends not to hear you as his hand dives into your sleep shorts.

-

hair series masterlist

masterlist

Backstory

Things to keep in mind when building a character’s past/backstory:

Before plotting a character’s backstory- Ask yourself if it's relevant. Your story doesn't need unnecessary details that don't fuel the plot/character. Sometimes, a characters entire life story isn't what's best for the plot. 

You don't need to know it all at once- The process is nonlinear/messy. It's okay to go back and forth.

Start with core memories- Smaller details can be great but it's easier to remember the big picture when you start with the corner pieces.

Timeline- use these core parts/events for your character to build a timeline to better understand the character/story. 

Don't dump it all in one place- We don't need to know everything about a character in chapter one. Don't forget to put thought into how you present this information. Flashbacks, dialogue, and playing with transitions can make a memory more vivid.

Life is way easier if you just use a character creator 😭❗️

This is my arcane oc, they’re unnamed and have no lore yet but I love them :) My art is getting better!!!

coraline and wybie?

butt :>

Piltover!Viktor augmented back concept sketches!

Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism 👍🏾 you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.

Personally.

She’s just a lil lass.

UH OH, WE’RE IN TROUBLE 18+

sub prison!butcher x jersey wife reader

(A/N) hellooo fellow butcher’s bitches! This chapter is part of the prison!butcher x jersey wife au @sickforbillybutcher/ @foxiewrites and i came up with. if you haven’t checked out the rest of this au i highly suggest you do, i’ve reblogged all parts under the tag:

#prison!billy butcher so you should be able to find them if you search that on my blog. enjoy reading love u all so much thank you sm for all your support on the last kessler fic 🥹

(cw: slightly sub butcher, violence, mention of severe injury, prison/hospital setting, teasing, handjob, sneaky/risky sexual activities, pregnancy, i think that’s it)

Billy Butcher stood in the dim, cold corner of the prison yard, the relentless hum of the razor wire above adding to the tension. His knuckles tightened as he slipped a few crumpled bills into the waiting hand of a massive, tattooed inmate.

“Make it bloody,” Billy growled, his eyes hard as steel. “Like I got in over me head.”

The brute nodded, a cruel grin spreading across his face as he pocketed the cash. “Got it, Butcher.”

Billy turned, bracing himself for the pain that was about to come. He’d taken worse beatings, no doubt, but this one had a purpose—one that made every bruise and broken bone worth it. The thought of seeing Dollface, even if it meant being shackled to a hospital bed, made his heart pound in a way that surprised him.

He gritted his teeth as the first punch landed squarely on his jaw, the taste of blood filling his mouth instantly. The second and third punches came quick, his ribs cracking under the force. Billy staggered, but stayed upright, spitting blood onto the cold concrete.

He wasn’t thinking about the pain or the grunts of the other inmates watching the spectacle. His mind was on Dollface. On the way she’d looked the last time he saw her, all cheetah print and big hair, with that fiery Jersey attitude he couldn’t get enough of.

The thought of her carrying his child—a bloody nugget, of all things—was a mix of pride and terror that he couldn’t shake. He’d never imagined himself as a father, especially not in a place like this. His own father was a right bastard, and the idea that he could turn out the same kept him awake at night more than the guards’ shouts or the clanging of cell doors.

The final blow sent him to the ground, gasping for breath, his vision blurry. The brute stepped back, admiring his handiwork as the guards rushed in, yelling and pushing the crowd back.

Billy smirked through the pain, coughing up more blood as they cuffed him. “Bloody hell… ’bout time,” he muttered, just loud enough for the nearest guard to hear.

The hospital was a grim, sterile place, but it was better than the cell, he thought as they wheeled him into the small, dimly lit room.

Dollface’s hands shook as she clutched her phone, the guard’s gruff voice still echoing in her ears. “Your husband’s been hurt—he’s in the hospital.” The words sliced through her like a knife. The second she hung up, she was out the door, nearly knocking over a potted plant in her rush. Her heart pounded as she navigated the chaotic streets of Jersey, each red light and slow driver adding to her panic.

By the time she arrived at the hospital, her hands were sweating, and her throat was dry. She shoved past the automatic doors, her designer leather cheetah-print bag swinging wildly at her side as she made a beeline for the front desk.

“Billy Butcher, I’m his wife” she gasped, barely able to catch her breath. “Where the hell is he?”

The nurse looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of a frantic, visibly distressed woman, and quickly typed into her computer. “He’s in room 306. But ma’am, I have to—”

Dollface didn’t wait for the nurse to finish. She bolted down the hall, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the flickering fluorescent lights doing nothing to calm her nerves. She could feel her heart in her throat, pounding so hard she thought it might burst.

Finally, she reached his room. Her hands were trembling as she pushed the door open, her eyes immediately locking onto Billy, lying in the hospital bed, bruised and battered but somehow still managing to smirk at her like he hadn’t just scared her half to death.

“Jesus Christ, Billy,” she breathed, rushing to his side. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she hesitated for a moment before gently touching his bruised face. “What the hell happened to ya?”

Billy grunted, shifting slightly under the weight of the shackles that bound him to the bed. “Ah, you know, love. Got into a bit of a scrap, that’s all.”

“Scrap?” she echoed, her voice cracking as she took in the cuts and bruises marring his skin. “You look like you got run over by a fucking truck—“

He chuckled, wincing slightly as the movement sent a jolt of pain through his ribs. “Don’t worry ’bout me, Trouble. Just shattered me collarbone and fractured me clavicle, should be fine. Takes more than a few punches to put me down.”

Dollface shook her head, her worry deepening as she sat down beside him, her fingers curling around his hand. “FRACTU— are you kidding me?!? I swear to god if you don’t get yourself killed i’ll do it myself—“ She hics out a broken sob, covering her mouth and looking away trying to cool her temper. “T-this isn’t funny, Billy. I was so terrified when they called. Thought I was gonna lose ya.”

He squeezed her hand, his rough fingers brushing against her soft skin. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere, love. Not when I’ve got you and the little one waitin’ for me.”

At that, her eyes welled up with more tears, but she blinked them away, determined not to let him see her cry. She reached up, clutching the gold cross around her neck and kissing it softly before leaning down to press it to his forehead. “You better not. You’re stuck with us now.”

Billy’s gaze softened as he watched her, the fierce determination in her eyes reminding him why he was doing this—why he had put himself through this pain. He needed to see her, to touch her, to remind himself that there was something worth fighting for outside of those cold, grey walls.

For a few moments, they just sat there, her hand in his, the room filled with a quiet understanding between them. He could see the toll this was taking on her, the constant worry, the stress of being pregnant while her husband was locked up in a place like that.

He swallowed hard, the usual bravado slipping as he looked up at her. “I’m sorry, Dollface. For puttin’ ya through all this shite.”

She shook her head again, squeezing his hand even tighter. “Don’t apologize, Billy. Just… just promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t do this without ya.”

He nodded, his eyes locking onto hers. “I promise, love. I’ll be more careful. For you… and for” He takes a deep breath and glances down at her increasingly by the day pudgy, slightly round tummy. His eyes light up and he smirks before looking back up into her eyes.

Dollface’s lips quivered into a small smile, and she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “We’re gonna get through this, Billy. No matter what.”

He returned the kiss, lingering just a moment longer, as if trying to memorize the feel of her, the taste of her, before they had to part again. “Damn right we will.”

She rested her forehead against his, her free hand coming up to gently stroke his cheek. “I love ya, you stubborn bastard.”

“Love ya too, Dollface,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

They stayed like that for a while, her sitting by his side, caressing his hand and occasionally kissing his calloused, bruised, bloodying knuckles. She whispered reassurances to him, telling him about how Nonna couldn’t wait to meet her great-grandchild, how she’d already started knitting baby clothes even though they didn’t know the gender yet.

Billy listened, a small smile playing on his lips as he let her words wash over him, grounding him in a way that nothing else could. It didn’t matter that he was in chains or that the world outside this room was a mess. All that mattered was that she was here, with him, and that soon enough, they’d have a little shite of their own to look after.

And for now, that was enough.

The hospital room was bathed in the soft, eerie glow of the moonlight streaming through the small window, casting long shadows on the floor. It had been hours since the last nurse had come in, and the clock on the wall ticked quietly, marking the passage of time. Dollface had been biding her time, heart pounding as she listened for the telltale sounds of the guard’s footsteps echoing down the hall.

She’d crafted a plan—risky, sure, but worth it. When one of the officers had stepped out earlier in the evening, she’d quickly slipped into the small utility closet in Billy’s room, holding her breath as she crouched in the dark, hidden among the brooms and cleaning supplies. She waited, every creak of the floorboards outside sending her heart racing, but she stayed quiet, biding her time until the hospital settled into the stillness of night.

Now, as she cautiously cracked open the closet door, her eyes locked onto Billy’s figure, still lying in the bed, his chest rising and falling slowly. She moved silently, her heart in her throat, every nerve on edge as she slipped out of the closet and crossed the room. She knew there were at least two guards outside, but she was banking on the fact that they wouldn’t expect anyone to pull something like this.

Billy stirred slightly as she approached, his eyes fluttering open. The moment he saw her, a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. “What’re you up to now, Trouble?” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

She held a finger to her lips, silently telling him to be quiet as she reached his side. “Couldn’t leave ya all alone in this shithole, could I?” she whispered back, her voice barely above a breath. She slid her hand under the blanket, finding his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Billy’s eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something else, something that made Dollface’s pulse quicken. “Ya know there’s guards right outside, yeah?” he murmured, his voice hushed but tinged with that familiar teasing edge.

She smirked, her fingers brushing up along his arm, over the muscles that tensed beneath her touch. “That ever stopped me before?” she whispered, leaning in closer, her breath warm against his ear. “Thought ya knew me better than that, Billy.”

His breath hitched slightly as her hand trailed up, slipping under the blanket and higher up his thigh. He shifted slightly, the chains clinking softly, his body instinctively responding to her touch despite the circumstances. “Fuuuckin’ gonna be the death of me, Dollface,” he muttered, though the smirk on his lips told her he didn’t mind one bit.

Dollface chuckled softly, her hand continuing its slow, deliberate journey, teasing him just enough to drive him mad without giving him what he wanted. “Maybe,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his neck. “But at least you’ll go out with a smile on your face, yeah?”

Billy’s eyes closed for a moment, his breath coming in shallow as she continued to tease him, her fingers dancing along his skin, sending shivers down his spine. “Always playin’ so damn dangerous—” he warned, though his voice was rougher now, tinged with anticipation.

Dollface pulled back slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looked down at him. “You know I like to live dangerously,” she replied, her voice low and seductive. She leaned in, her lips barely brushing against his, teasing him further. “Why do you think I married you?”

He growled softly, his free hand coming up to cup the back of her neck, pulling her in closer. “Damn right ya do” he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from hers.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Dollface could feel the heat of his body through the thin hospital blanket, the anticipation coiling in her stomach like a spring ready to snap.

She licked her lips, her hand slipping further up his thigh, her touch light and teasing, drawing a low groan from Billy’s throat. “You just gonna lie there all night? Or are ya gonna let your wife make you feel good? What other chance do you have?” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath against his lips.

Billy’s eyes flashed with dark desire, his grip tightening on her as he pulled her in, his lips capturing hers in a fierce, hungry kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through her entire body. Dollface moaned softly into his mouth, her hand moving higher under the blanket, earning another low, rumbling growl from deep in his chest.

As they kissed, Dollface could feel the heat between them building, her body responding to him in ways that made her feel alive, reckless, and completely out of control. She broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “You sure you can handle this, Butchie? I swear to god- the officers are right outside, you don’t make a fucking sound, you hear me?” She whispers

Billy smirked against her lips, his voice rough with desire as he replied, “Oh, I’m bloody well countin’ on it, love.”

A smirk spreads across her face, she palms him over the papery fabric of the hospital gown before letting her hand under it, only lingering on his upper thick muscular thigh. His breath trembles, it’s been way too fucking long.

Way too fucking long since he’d felt her nimble, skilled, manicured fingers wrapped around his thick cock, working him up and down til he spurted rope after rope of his warm white seed onto his taught stomach, getting all over her hands.

He missed everything about this, about you. His big clumsy hands would never ever measure up to how your hands feel pumping him up and down. So as her hand made it’s way higher and higher up his thigh, she finally wrapped your fingers around him.

She lets out a chuckle as you feel how fucking hard he is. She’d barely just gotten her fist around it and it was already throbbing desperately, you swipe your thumb over the head of his tip wiping up the small little white bead of precum

She bite your lip, giggling “Someone’s already excited, hm?”

Butcher’s throat makes a tiny little high pitched whine, his breath catching at the teasing swipe of her thumb over his tip. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip, muffling himself from making any further noise “Fuuuckin’ christ onna stick, luv—“

He whispers. She chuckles, her other hand reaching up to clasp over his mouth.

She squeezes her fist around his cock tighter now, slowly beginning to flick her wrist up and down. Butcher huffs out a breath, head lolling to the side to look at you as he scrunches his eyes closed. your hand works quicker on his hard, wet cock, urging him closer and closer to his release. you watch as Butch opens his mouth slightly, eyebrows furrowing as he lets out a puff of air while trying to conceal his noises. he looked so pretty like that, sweat gathering on his forehead as he continues to let moans pour from his lips.

He never let it go like this before, he was always in control, something about having him get like this for you got you going.

“mmh, that feel good?” you ask, tilting your head as you stay seated next to him by the bed. he licks his lips, eyes hooded as they slowly open before fluttering back closed as you press your thumb harder against his tip. “come on, answer me, handsome.”

he groans, biting his lower lip so hard it starts to become sore, drawing a little bit of blood. he can taste it in his mouth, making him let out a soft whimper that travels through the air. and he hopes you didn’t hear it, but you definitely did judging by the smirk on your face as you work your hand faster, also basically slapping your palm over his mouth trying to get him to shut the fuck up. as much as you wanted to hear him whimper like that for you again, now was not the time or place. he slightly bucks his hips up, gasping when you flick your wrist and add wonderful pressure to his tip that causes him to become weak in your hands.

“i asked you a question,” you use your other hand that wasn’t on his cock to grip his chin, a stern expression on your face.

he gasps, “yes, fuck yes trouble— feels so .. s-so good.” his voice becomes deeper, trailing away from him the more he talks as his words fade into nothing but muffled moans underneath your palm. he looks so fucking pretty like that, too. his hair was becoming matted, sticking to his forehead as sweat covered him all over. he was glistening, beautiful under the soft moonlight showing through the window.

you tilt your head, your hand clasped over his mouth like that, looking at his lips as he licks them, “Missed my hands, Butchie?” he stutters at the nickname, groaning as he presses his heels into the mattress and thrashes beside you. the cocky look in your eyes makes him whine again. “so desperate for me,” you click your tongue at him.

Butcher swears he’s never felt so damn good before. he wasn’t used to you being so demanding and dominate. it was making him lose his mind, unable to stop the bucking of his hips as he uncontrollably starts basically fucking your hand.

you raise an eyebrow, “wanna fuck my hand, hm? come on, baby.” you kiss his neck, trailing your kisses there before leaving a bruise on his collarbone, smiling at your work. “fuck my hand, since ya can’t have my pussy, fuck it like it is my pussy” She bites her lip tightly, god how she wanted to say fuck all this and hop on top of him, ride him until the sun rose. but that was too complicated, too much of a liability.

he gasps, and his hands tug desperately at the sheets below him, “c-close.. fucking bollocks— I’m gonna blow Doll—” his voice becomes a little more high pitched, but it sends a rush down to your abdomen and makes you clench your thighs together. Butcher doesn’t see it, though. too focused on his needed high.

you tighten your grip on his cock, making him spiral and you watch as his knuckles turn white while he humps up into your grip, “gonna cum, baby? come on, you can cum, Butchie. make a mess all over your pretty tummy and my hand.”

“cumming, i’m.. fucking cumming,” he groans, a long drawn out moan of your name leaving his lips, even if it’s barely heard by the tight grip of your hand over his mouth as he releases all over himself, his hips stuttering and slowing down. you grip him tightly, watching as his cum flows over your hand too. you smile to yourself, seeing his head thrown back and his eyes shut closed. you bring your cum covered hand to your lips, running a finger across your plump red painted lips. he hums, opening his eyes as you take your fingers into your mouth and licking them dry. you lick your lips, leaning in for a kiss. he easily accepts you, one of his hands reaching for the back of your neck and deepening the kiss. you can taste his cum, slightly bitter, but you don’t mind. not for as long as it’s him. the kiss was messy, all over the place, but you loved it anyway.

when you pull away, he’s gasping for air and looking at you with hooded eyes, “i fuckin’ love you sweetheart”

you chuckle, “i love you, too, Butch”

Dearest Writer,

Oh hell yeah.

- Sincerely,

romance deprived maladaptive daydreamers.

Distracting

Synopsis: your usually rather easy to work with, but recently Viktor has found himself easily distracted by you..a lot of you. Especially tonight, when you decided to wear that dress.

WARNINGS; Viktor x F!reader, fluff, fluff, fluff, Viktor pining mostly, only a hint of sexual tension of you squint

I didn’t proofread this bc I wrote it on a plane, have fun though

Viktor has felt his hands shaking for the better half of an hour at this point, his cane held in a white knuckled grip as he watch you casually stroll about the party.

His amber gaze had locked to your spine as soon as you walked back him after a short greeting..despite the heaven it seemed to see your bare skin, that dress surely was from hell, hand sewn by the devils himself.

The dress itself was classy, high neckline, form fitting sure, but that long leg slip was a crime. It crept up your leg, if you sit just right it would likely show a hint of your hip (or so Viktor had expertly theorized). But what was causing the most pressure in his knuckles, was the lack of back on the gown..a large view of your bare skin exposed to the air, ending just under your waist, it had been a long few hours.

He sipped his drink, taking his planned break from watching you, but that appears to be an exactly when you decided to approach, just when he had let his guard down. He nearly chocked when his eyes open to find you approaching, the click of your heels echoing across the hardwood floors of the ballroom before you tilt your head to meet his gaze, amused by the sudden panic that you caught flash over his features.

“Hey..enjoying yourself, Viktor?” You ask, settling next to him against the wall, taking the brief pause in wait for his reply to take a sip of your own drink.

He takes his time alright, at this Angel he could see exactly how close the hen of your dress is from slipping off your shoulder if only with the assistance of an eager hand, a less shaken one. He at this point had also taken note of the deep shade of red on your lips, only a hint darker than the dress. He struggled through the thoughts, now registering the question and panicking at what must have been an eternal amount of time,

“Uh..yes..yes. The party it is,” he tried, he sure did, “lovely..” but his mouth failed him as did his gaze when it flickered over your exposed skin once more.

You give a light chuckle, turning further toward him and stealing away his view. He does a better job hiding the disappointment of not yet recognizing of that was indeed a freckle just above your shoulder blade.

“Well that’s a surprise, you hate parties don’t you?”

He offers you a light toggle of his head in reply, glancing away to find a new focus. God knows if he was to try and focus on you, his gaze would just find itself on the lipstick you wore again, and he wouldn’t risk you catching that.

He settled on the door across the way, sipping his drink again only to find his lips met with nothing. He lifted the glass to his eye line, inspecting to discover he had in-fact run out of his champagne. Viktor have a gentle huff of amusement, or disappointment, gesturing it at you as he would sometimes do in the lab with certain tools or noted when they had broken or been written incorrectly. And as always he found comfort in your light laugh.

You glance at the glass, confirming his suspicions correct.

“Poor thing..how will you ever survive the rest of the party without ur social crutch.” You tease, tapping his glass lightly with one finger and inspecting your own glass, still mostly full.

“I can socialize perfectly find without a drink” he insists, flipping the glass upside down in his hand to that he held it by the support now.

“Really? Because you have been standing here since the party began-“

“I’ve been distracted” he defends again, tilting his head at you lightly and swaying the glass. His gaze is calm until he sees yours change. Your eyes light up with curiosity and mischief as the weight of his reply fully hits you, and he feels the hit directly in his stomach as he does too.

“Distracted?” You ask, leaning closer to search his gaze for hints. “By what? Or who? Is it someone here?” You ask feverishly.

He’s screwed. You expect an answer and even in the event that there wasn’t one, which there most definitely was, you wouldn’t let up without one. And if he wasn’t careful his eyes would float back to your dress again, and he could not allow for that to happen. He had been so deliberate Bout his casual observation of you in the past few weeks. Ever since you had handed him those notes, and he had noticed just how pretty your hands were. Your nails painted in a deep red color, and the shiny gold rings on your fingers that only further complimented what he had noted was your soft looking skin.

After that it was your hair, you had been leaning back into your chair after about an hour of inspecting the current project, and you had ruffled your locks sending the tufts to flutter gracefully around the crown of your head. He had noticed how the movement reminded him of a butterflies wings, and that the stray pieces had fallen around your cheek, which he had earlier found were round like one of those old pinups he had seen in pictures as a teenager..and how they would get rounder when you smiled.

And Janna the smile, you smiled so much..you smiled at everyone, but every time you did he couldn’t stop himself from turning just for a moment to catch it, one day finding the lab so frustrating that he had decided to start noting whenever you smiled at him, just for mild entertainment. He counted twelve, mostly when you were joking or messing with Jayce and seeking his approval on the bad jokes, however number ten had been when you offered him the last bite of your lunch.

‘You haven’t eaten all day, come on I know you like sandwiches, eat it’ you had fought for fifteen minutes with him about eating the damned thing before he finally pulled off his goggles and gave you a tired stare before taking the simple pb and j and took the last bite dramatically in front of you. And you gave him that sweet smile..that soft smile. It wasn’t one of mischief or teasing, but if genuine satisfaction. That one was his favorite from that days count.

And now you were back to that evil smile, leaning closer to him then he had noticed and he could feel his heart rate rising to an unhealthy speed as he struggled to move, his body wouldn’t let him escape your warmth.

“No one..not- no it’s just-“ he struggled, he was struggling hard enough that he had leaned his weight off his cane and felt himself begin to tip over. His arms flailed, as his body attempted to keep him from falling, but found a new savior in your hand clutching his and tugging him up as you gave a sharp and fluttering laugh. He clutched your forearms, shuttering at the almost fall. But once his balance returned he couldn’t find it in him to let go just yet.

“You alright there? I didn’t mean to scare you that much” he panted through the finale of your laughing fit..he couldn’t help but notice didn’t pull away yet either. It was a divine moment, watching his settle your breathing and flicker your face up to face his. Your hair was out of place, curling over your round cheeks again..perfect.

You tapped his arm before he released his grip, swiftly attempting an apology before stopped him by tilting your glass toward him. His gaze flickered to it then you, as he adjusted his grip back to his cane.

“Have the rest of mine, I don’t like drinking much anyways” you offered, and without much thought he found himself taking the glass in his own hand, reading you for his empty one. For a second he had felt your fingers graze in the exchange, and as he thought you were soft.

You give him a a slight touch on his shoulder and then a tap on the cheek as he step away, “If you get bored of people watching, let me know” was your parting words as you strolled back into the social gathering, your back again becoming his main focus.

He watched you move away, again frustrated by how easy it was to get lost in how your spine moved before he glanced at the champagne in his hand. His cheeks flushed harshly at the presence of a dark stain kissed onto the glasses edge where you had drank from it. And with a deep shakily sigh, he checked for any spying eyes before hesitantly sipping from the abandoned lipsticks placement..he remained distracted for the rest of the party..and did in-fact lie when Jayce asked about why he still had the glass when they had returned home.

I will be heard bro 💀

content - cussing , slightly dirty thoughts,

I had a thinky thought about my husband. Because I love my husband.

Single!Black!Mother!Reader x Neighbor!Jason Todd. Ugh.

Jason who lives across the hall, who you suspect is Red Hood. You never call him out on it, or even ask—you just know. And he knows that you know. Lots of people know. But the people of Crime Alley care too much 'bout him to acknowledge it. He did good by them, so they did good by him in return.

Because you know what he's capable of, and because you've seen him care about his community before, you trust him with your life.

And your kid's.

You don't explain to him that you need him to play babysitter, you just knock on the door across from yours with your kid at your side and your keys in your palm.

You're all dolled up 'cause you'd gotten this interview for this job that was perfect for you. That would pay better, and you need to make the best possible impression—kinks perfectly gelled, cheeks blushed, lashes curled, lips all glossy.

You don't notice how his eyes take in the way the grey slacks you wore hug your hips a bit too tight. Or how his eyes get caught on the soft swell of your tits straining against what's meant to be (but failing to be) a loose fitting Red blouse.

You look phenomenal in his color. He thinks, for the briefest of moments, that you did it on purpose.

You look good enough to eat. And when you part those beautifully full, glossy lips—he feels set up. Like you knew he couldn't possibly dream of ever denying you.

"Please."

Fuckin' hell, you say that word so god damn pretty. You're so god damn mother fuckin' pretty. He always thought you had the biggest, prettiest eyes. Wide and dark, like a doe. He wonders, crudely, what they'd look like rolled into the back of your head.

So Jason huffs, and opens the door wider—unlike you, he doesn't miss cues. He sees how you relax, how you smile slightly, how your eyes catch on his face. If he didn't know better he'd think you liked him as much as he liked you.

He watches as you kiss your kid's cheek (envy burns in his stomach that he has to douse) and say he'll take care of them while momma goes to her interview. He loathes when you leave. Wants to tell you to come back, that he'll take care of you. That you didn't have to worry 'cause he was makin' money and he'd happily pay your rent, baby, all you had to do was say the fuckin' word.

He doesn't close the door until he's finished watchin' you walk down the hall. God, those fuckin' slacks, he loves watchin' you walk away.

Your child pouts as he situates them on his couch. He has to flip a little to find qubo, where Jacob Two-Two is in the middle of repeating a sentence.

"I want my momma.."

The kid whines.

He sighs.

"She 'bouta come back. Momma's just gotta go out for a minute, kid."

He swallows down what he really wanted to say. Swallows down a groan, because he's in the presence of a child and he wouldn't dream of exposing a kid to his inner thoughts.

'Christ, kid, I want your fuckin' momma too.'