Oh Absolutely.

Can we have your headcanons for Incu-dad Viktor, please? All of them!

Welp, I think we covered most of them in previous asks, but if ya want!

He's definitely a doting dad, just absolutely obsessed with his younglings and his partner/food source

They would not be human babies so he would need to be the primary care giver, he does not see this as a burden at all. As an incubus his primary drives are to feed and reproduce

He's gentle and nurturing in their infancy and absolutely encourages their naughtiness and deviousness as they age

The babies don't stick around for too long. It's rather a baby bird kind of situation, once they can fly the nest they are gone

He's absolutely obsessed with his partner while they are pregnant (and when they aren't) I love the HCs that he sings to their tummy, showers it in kisses, does a lot of hovering and tries to be a help

Since Vik wasn't born an incubus but made one through an 'experiment' gone horribly awry he still retains a human aspect to him that is struggling against what he's become. This translates into all that softness, into feelings he struggles with because those are outside of his incubus nature

This means he has weaknesses and emotions that fight his new nature, keep him from being callous and just using his partner - though he can't stop the need to feed or reproduce

While the babies are young he adores carrying them around, crooning to them, keeping them safe. As they age he becomes like a jungle gym for them to climb on and cling to

His mother tongue is easier for him to remember, which is part of why he spoke so stiltedly when he first appeared to reader, that and he was exhausted and starving and speaking in general required a lot of energy. He absolutely reverts to Czech primarily when speaking to or singing to the young ones

Childbirth is... different. Not as dangerous or as painful and damaging as normal birth but still no party. Recovery time is faster

ok guys but hear me out..,

back before simon was drafted and he was still working in some butcher around the outskirts of manchester, he remembers a little bakery a few blocks down from his shop. although never particularly crowded, he's noticed the older locals go by in the mornings for coffee, kids guided in by their parents after schools to get a snack. but he doesn't seem to lounge in the corner of that cafe for either of those reasons- instead, he finds himself fawning over the pretty baker.

and you're nice to him, too- always smiling when you see him around, voice so sweet when you're at the butchers to buy some meat for the pies, sneakily trying to slip him a discount whenever he goes to buy a sandwich- 'hospitality workers gotta stick together, right?' it's no wonder that he finds himself falling for you, a stupid puppy crush that he tries, and occasionally fails, to suppress. and sometimes, simon lets himself believe you like him too, with the way the blood rushes to your cheeks when you spot him across the shelves, with he notes how you nearly fumble a frothing pot of milk when caught staring at him. it's a little attempt of young love that he thinks will be smothered out as he gets older.

but now it is twenty years later, he is working with the sas, and he is meant to be dead. but simon finds himself strolling his hometown, genuinely surprised that he sees the cafe still up, that he sees you, still working behind the display cabinets. you're older now, more mature, but your smile is just as pretty as it was those years ago. and he sees that glimmer of recognition in your eyes, how your head perks up at the sight of his figure outside of the window.

ghost smothers his cigarette and bins it before walking through the doors. may as well pay the bird a visit.

(Poly 141 x medic reader, where you might as well be the sun to them)

The phrase started as a whisper.

It drifted through the base like smoke curling around corners, impossible to pin down but impossible to ignore.

“Here comes the sun.”

It bounced off walls, passing lips in hushed tones, slipping into conversations as a half-joke, half-omen. At first, the 141 didn’t pay it much attention. Soldiers had their quirks, their superstitions- rituals to keep them sane when missions dragged too long and they smelled more blood than earth. But this one stuck.

Price furrowed his brow the first time he heard it. Ghost only tilted his head slightly, filing it away. Gaz grimaced and muttered something about troops getting weird ideas. Soap, though- he took notice.

He’d caught it more than once before a mission, said like a prayer or maybe a warning. He’d asked around, but answers were vague. “You’ll know when you see it.” That’s all they’d tell him. It irritated him to no end.

Then the mission happened.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction. A quick in-and-out, but things went sideways fast. Soap had been covering the team’s six when the ambush hit. A sharp crack split the air, followed by the searing pain in his side. He hit the ground hard, blood soaking into the dirt, a familiar, burning ache travelling through his body.

“Soap’s hit!” Gaz’s voice barked through comms, panic threading through the static.

“Pull him out!” Price ordered.

But the line fizzled and died. Soap’s world narrowed- gunfire, shouts, and the taste of copper in his mouth. He couldn’t hear the others anymore. The ground felt colder than it should have. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was bad. Really bad.

This is it, he thought. This is where I die.

The edges of his vision blurred. He barely noticed the figure sprinting toward him until a flash of bright red and orange, a blazing fire, pierced through the smoke and haze.

Like the sun.

You hit the ground beside him, all motion and precision, your gear unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bright red and orange covered your tactical vest and helmet- colors that didn’t belong in a war zone. Colors that should’ve made you a target, a dead woman walking.

But instead, you looked like salvation.

“Stay with me, Sargeant.” You said, voice sharp and steady. You weren’t panicked- not even a little. It was comforting.

Soap stared, wide-eyed, as your hands worked quickly to stop the bleeding. He should’ve been paying attention to the pain, to the gunfire, to anything else- but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“What the hell are ya wearing?” he rasped, because that was apparently the only thought his brain could form.

You didn’t look up. “Bright colors make it easier to spot me. Medics don’t have the luxury of hiding- we have to be seen when it counts.”

“It’s bloody ridiculous.” he muttered- and then sucked in a sharp breath as you tightened the bandage.

“Maybe,” you said, finally glancing at him. “But it got me here, didn’t it?”

Soap’s heart stumbled. Your eyes were sharp, focused- but there was something else there too, something warm. Something steady.

Here comes the sun.

It hit him all at once. That’s what the others meant. It wasn’t just the colors. It was you. The way you moved, the way your voice cut through the noise, the way you didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Stay awake, Sargeant.” You ordered, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a single smart remark.

Much later, he woke up in the med tent, groggy but alive, and immediately found himself staring at you again.

You were restocking supplies nearby, your bright gear an almost comical contrast to the sterile white walls. The moment you noticed him looking, you crossed the room.

“You’re awake,” you said, checking his vitals. Your voice was softer now, calm and patient. He felt like he could melt. “Good.”

“You’re real.” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “What?”

“Thought I was hallucinating.” He gestured vaguely at your vest, a grin cracking on his lips. “I mean, look at ya.” Lovely. The sun has never looked better.

Your lips twitched, like you were holding back a smile. “I get that a lot.”

Before he could come up with anything else to say- anything remotely smooth- the tent flap opened.

Price, Ghost, and Gaz stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on you. And for once, Soap wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

Gaz blinked. “You’re… bright.”

“Easy to spot.” You said, beaming.

Ghost stared at you for a few seconds longer, peering, before he spoke. “…You’re the sun.”

Price studied you for a long moment as well, then nodded like something clicked into place with a sigh. “Makes sense.”

You, on the other hand, looked confused and unsure, tilting your head once more in the way kittens do.

Soap couldn’t stop staring. He barely even heard the others talking, answering your confusion. All he could think about was how you’d shown up when he thought he was done for- and how you’d looked like a fiery star in the vast expanse of a cold, dark sky.

You glanced at him again, eyes sharp and warm all at once, lips quirking in a delicate smile while Gaz talked with you.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

(… would it be possible to cradle the sun, such warmth, in his hands?)

imagining marrying blue-collar simon and all of 141 goading him into going under his wife's dress and remove her wedding garter with his teeth instead of his hands for the shits and laughs but to also fluster simon, johnny being ESPECIALLY enthusiastic about it

light nsfw content (minors do not interact)

I really love the idea of bluecollar!simon and his lovie having a little wedding, eloping with those they live the most there to witness. has price as his best man and kyle and johnny as his groomsmen

you buy a thrifted knee length wedding dress and simon grabs you a bouquet of flowers from the shop and then you all celebrate at the local pub and simon’s a few pints deep at this point and so madly in love with you that he’ll do anything

ignores your squeals and shoves at his shoulders when his head disappears under your layered skirts, no one suspects a thing when he nips on the inside of your thigh and press a kiss to your clit over your white lace panties 🤭

pulls back with flushed cheeks and a playful grin before he plants a sloppy kiss on your lips

“yeh stuck with me now, mrs. riley…” he’d whisper against your skin

He’s just a baby. Hi baby!!

Viktor getting what he deserves❤❤❤

ok reverse the TROPE !!!!!! sugar-mommy!f!reader x retired!simon <333 (18+)

he got discharged on a medical injury. his knee flares up now, phantom pains that shoot up his leg and pinch his spine. he feels like a failure--a lieutenant in his prime, and now he has to acclimate to civilian life and grit his teeth instead of drown the voices in his head out with gunfire.

he's been deployed as much as he could be just to stay away from this kind of place. so he didn't have to get on a train, or take the tube. so he didn't have to think about looking over his shoulder in the shops or learn how to pay a wifi bill. he hates going to the doctor's office, and he hates learning how to properly open his bank account, just to learn that there's nearly nothing in it.

the numbers just dwindle before his very eyes. the rent is too high, even in his shitty studio. when did cable cost that much? why can't he go to the pub for just a few pounds anymore? where is the compensation for giving more than a decade of his life in service of his country just to have to wait in fucking lines to get his medication and argue over the phone about where all his fucking money went.

maybe he never had any. maybe it's all lost somewhere. he'd ask his former captain, but he's halfway across the world, and over his dead body would he hold a hand out and ask for charity when he's 36 years old.

"don't get that one."

simon turns his head, a snarl caught in his throat. there's a pretty thing standing beside him, also staring at the array of ramen packages in focus. you take the orange package out of his hand and put it back on the shelf before reaching for a different package. it's got japanese characters on it, so he can't read the label, but you smile up at him.

"this one is way better. good price for it, too."

"'s more expensive."

"yeah, but you get eight packets in this one. that one only gives you five."

at the till, you notice him subtly counting the notes in his wallet. you pretend not to notice, rocking back and forth on your heels, but just as he picks up his bag to leave, you speak up.

"you wanna get a drink? on me."

and fuck, he could use a bourbon. on the first one, he thought your presence was pleasantly tolerable. by the fourth, he's staring down your shirt, dark eyes mapping out what the curves of your breasts might look like in the palm of his big hand. by the sixth, you're pressed up against a sticky bathroom wall and holding on for dear life as he pounds into you from behind, knickers in his back pocket, manicured nails digging slits into his tattooed forearm.

you sink those claws in that night; and you do not let go.

the third night you ask him out, he sees your flat for the first time. in a nice building downtown, doorman holding the door open for you. the elevator ride is long enough for him to see the tops of buildings, and when you step inside your flat, he swallows hard when he realizes you are way out of his league.

gorgeous leather seats and couch. large tv with surround sound. a french kitchen with a gas stove. your flat is filled with knickknacks and candles, low yellow lights and wonderful collections of art and little glass vases and sculptures. your home is filled with warmth, and you don't belong with him.

just as he thinks about backing out of the place, you turn and grip the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer. you touch your nose to his over his mask, smiling, and you push the door closed behind him and press him up against it.

"so, which room do you wanna christen first? i thought we could start in the kitchen."

you're a woman that knows what she wants, he'll give you that; and he doesn't have it in him to say no.

the sun wakes him up in the morning. he doesn't remember falling asleep--he doesn't like to make staying over a habit. when he sits up on his elbows, he takes a deep breath, realizing his back hurts a lot less. the mattress of your bed is wonderful, much more supportive than the flat mess he has on the floor in his own place, and he blinks himself awake when you come out of the bathroom.

you're freshly dressed, makeup on, and you're putting on your jewelry when you see him. you smile at him, coming towards the bed, and you bend down to kiss where his mouth would be under the mask.

"good morning, simon. sleep well?"

"mmm..."

you take that as a yes, cupping his jaw, and you kiss him over his mask again before going to get some shoes from your closet. he doesn't comment on the fact that when you open it, he realizes the closet there is only for shoes...

"you hungry, baby? want some breakfast?"

"i--oh..." simon lays back down when his back tweaks, and you reach for him when you see him fall back in the mirror. you smooth a hand down the side of his body, frowning.

"why don't you stay in bed? i'll have my assistant bring you something."

"no, tha's--"

"i'm not asking, simon, i'm telling you," you coo. you pick up one of his hands and trace one of his scars with your finger. you have long, almond-shaped nails. there's pretty chrome nail art over the wine red color you wear, and he focuses on it as you kiss his knuckles gently. "will you wait for me to come home?"

"where y'goin'?"

"gotta work, honey," you wink down at him. "and i want you to be here when i get back."

"tha' so?"

"mhm," you smile. "right here. in my bed--" you lift the covers a little and peek, giggling as you put it back down after getting a glimpse at his cock resting against his lower stomach. "just like this, simon."

he doesn't remember if he ever goes back to his flat. he thinks he went one more time, to grab a few bottles of his medication, but the tick in his knee hadn't been so bad with the great physical therapy you started paying for and the warm massages you gave him every night.

and his back--your bed always contours perfectly against the muscles of his back, and he finds himself sleeping a full seven hours every single night.

not to mention his new work outs. simon hadn't been to the gym much since coming home, but he knows he must be burning hundreds of calories with you. you test his limits. as soon as you're home, you jump on him, and the stress relief your pussy brings him is just what he needs to get the edge off. you're a fiend, especially after a rough day, and the way you bounce on his cock in every room of your flat keeps him up at night sometimes with the most glorious wet dreams.

you're up late that night. you're curled up on the couch in one of simon's shirts and a glass of red wine, and there's a mountain of papers around you that you're focusing on reading. you have a huge presentation tomorrow, and everything needs to be perfect. simon comes into the living room, shirtless, and you smile when you see him standing there. he's wearing the new sweats you got him, but you can't focus on that too much when you're staring at his pudgy, toned stomach and his nice pecs. you bite your lip, taking a long sip of your wine, and simon hikes up his mask to take a bite out of his bowl of ice cream.

"gonna be up late tonight?" he asks, and you nod. "want me to sit with ya?" you nod again, lifting up your legs, and when he takes a seat next to you, you drape them across his lap. you lean over to give his scarred cheek a kiss, and when you turn back to your paperwork, a thought comes across your mind.

"we should get married," you say softly, circling a note over something. simon keeps eating, as if what you said doesn't phase him.

"why's tha', love?"

"tax benefits."

"mmm..." simon drops one of his hands and thumbs against your ankle. the flat is warm. his stomach is full. his body hurts less, and his heart aches with something nice. "olright then."

you smile.

"good. cause i already bought the ring."

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”

Amen.

messing around with simon's face again...