harbingerofsin

[harbingerofsin]

How about a feyd x reader where feyd has reader watch him in the arena to gain her favor. She is impressed with him and respects his prowess. Just before a huge match what if she goes to him and leaves a hand print in paint over his heart as her token rather than a sash like the others. This fires him up/ looks super cool on his skin.

Ooh I love this!! I did my own spin on it but I hope you still enjoy! :)

Imagine | Stained (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Word Count: 1,377

Warnings: biting

Cheers rise into the polluted air on Giedi Prime, a torrent of frenzied noise which alerts you to the occurrence of yet another gladiatorial event.

You hadn't realized there would be one today. Normally, you notice the announcements and the crowds gathering to go see the festivities. You don't often join them.

Watching people fight to death. . . it's not a habit of yours.

Lately though, you've noticed how often Feyd has been mentioning his fights, never outright asking you to watch them but leaving plenty of hints.

Being from a wealthy family has its benefits, especially on a harsh place such as this. Ever since you've been here, you've tried to make the best of it and befriend as many native Harkonnens as you can.

This first, and dare you say only, friend-adjacent connection you've made has been with Feyd-Rautha.

His brother is too animalistic and angry for your liking, and the Baron is a ghastly man you do not like to interact with. Servants won't speak to you and the Mentat Piter is sickening in his sadistic tendencies.

So, to your surprise, you got to know Feyd the best out of them all.

He's brutal, yes. Menacing and violent as well.

And so alone.

Sure, he has his concubines: his pets that he plays with but soon grows bored of. And yes, he has his mockery of a family: a predatory uncle and a nasty brother.

Yet you can see past his façade of aloofness, see into his inner self. And what you see is a man forged by others into what he is now.

You see a hurting man who doesn't know anything close to true kindness.

So yes, he is wild and vicious. But there is an intelligence and cunning within those dark eyes that you have seen countless times. 

He's constantly observing, waiting for his moment to strike. He knows how to play his hand to benefit himself.

Despite his more undesirable traits, you'd dare call him a friend.

The cheering dies down as colourless fireworks burst in the air like ink stains. You watch them, casually leaning against the balcony railing.

Feyd finds you immediately, half undressed and still painted for fighting in the triangular colosseum.

"My lady," he rasps, approaching from behind slowly. "You did not watch the fights."

"It slipped my mind," you reply honestly. "Though I have no doubts you remain the champion, my lord."

His lips quirk upwards, "Naturally."

Your eyes roam over his blood splattered body, taking in the well-defined muscles which are decorated with paint. He's shirtless, how could you not stare?

He basks in your attention, cocky smirk never leaving his face. But it strains once you turn your attention away.

Feyd comes to lean against the rail beside you. You feel his eyes on you.

"You're coming to the next fight," he finally says once he realizes you're content to dwell in the silence.

You turn to face him with a smile, "Am I?"

His eyes narrow, voice quick and sharp, "Yes."

"You didn't ask."

Feyd tilts his head, "It's not a request."

"A command, my lord?"

"Yes," he repeats, leaning closer into your space. Your teasing tone is getting under his skin, you can tell. He's almost touching you now but you don't retreat.

This is the game you play.

"I suppose I can attend the next fight," you hum thoughtfully.  "Especially since you've requested it personally."

He backs away slowly and you force yourself into staying still even as you desire to chase after him. His close proximity is intoxicating.

As if he senses your inner battle, he grins and nods to you before sauntering away.

"I will put on a good show for you, my lady."

You find yourself alone, wishing he had stayed longer.

~~~

It was not mentioned again, and now you find yourself in your room preparing for the event. You dress modestly, still unaccustomed to the fashions on Giedi Prime. A black dress does nicely, with your hair loose. 

You still have plenty of time before your attendance is necessary, but you traverse to the arena despite this. The hallways are as colorless as everywhere else, a maze of black and white. 

Feyd is being dressed as you enter the room. His sharp eyes betray a smidge of surprise which he masks underneath an air of haughtiness. 

The servants attending him walk on eggshells, knowing that any wrong move could cause their demise. 

"You may be dismissed," you say, addressing the servants. 

Their eyes flicker to you with uncertainty. The servants do not move until Feyd snarls, "Do as she says!"

Instantly, they are gone. 

And it's just you and the warrior. 

You approach him slowly, picking up the paint pot that the servant abandoned. Circling him, you note how his eyes never leave you, even when he has to twist his head to keep you in his sights. 

"My lord, I hope you can forgive my impertinence, showing up here unannounced."

"Don't be coy," he narrows his eyes, "You're not sorry."

"You're right," you chuckle, swirling the paintbrush through the inky paint. "I'm not sorry to see you, especially like this." 

You rake your eyes over his flesh, barely concealed by a cloth wrapped around his waist. He is truly a fine specimen of a man. 

"May I?" You ask, stopping in front of him. 

He inclines his head. He hadn't been expecting this, since you seemed intent on avoiding the fights entirely. 

You begin by painting the smaller rectangles across his chest and then move to his back. Your brushstrokes are slow, methodic.

He anticipates each cool touch as you meticulously paint his flawless skin. He wishes it was your touch he was feeling, your hands against his skin. He craves it.

Next, you adorn his abdomen, barely concealing the excitement you feel being this close to him. As you finish, he reaches for his clothes but you stop him with a hand on his arm. 

"I'm not finished, my lord."

Intrigued, he returns his arm to his side, staring you down. 

You coat the palm of your right hand with the inky black liquid, never breaking eye contact with Feyd. He doesn't stop you as you press your hand against his warm chest, right where his heart would be. 

You start to pull away, but he is quick to grip your wrist, keeping you in place. For a second, you are concerned that you went too far. Maybe this is the day he kills you for your insolence?

Instead, he lunges forward, catching you in a hungry kiss. He bites and takes, and you surrender with ease. A sense of relief and excitement floods your senses as you kiss back just as passionately.  

"It is fitting," he says once he parts from you. 

He watches as you slowly peel your hand from his skin, leaving a perfect handprint over his heart. 

"What is?"

"That you should mark me like this," he grins to reveal blackened teeth. "You are a stain on my heart."

"How so?" You're still breathless, allured by his gravelly voice. 

"All it longs for is your touch, you vixen."

You caress his cheek, "I'm just marking what I own. And once you're declared the victor, you can come claim what's yours." 

Your words ignite a fire in him and he starts forward but you step back. 

His glare is venomous, as if you just deprived him of oxygen. 

"You have a fight to win, Feyd. Shouldn't you be preparing?"

Turning, you begin to walk away. 

A rough hand snatches your shoulder, and a hot mouth is on your neck before you can blink. He bites down harshly, drawing spots of blood. The pain is expected when dealing with a man like Feyd, but it is still surprising. 

You really have gotten under his skin. 

He releases the pressure of his teeth and drags his tongue over the wound. 

"You needed a mark too, my sweet."

You turn and press a chaste kiss to the top of his head, "Go make me proud, Feyd. I shall see you in your chambers after the fight."

He lets you leave, watching with blood stained lips. 

"As you command, so it shall be."

[please like, comment, and reboot if you enjoyed!]

[harbingerofsin]

THE ROGUE TAX

SUMMARY: Fed up with paying Astarion to pick all the locks, you force yourself to learn the hard way.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 2,635

WARNINGS: Short nightmare sequence, too much sexual tension, slight mentions of a handkink, inappropriate lock pick teaching.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know I'm posting these super early but day two of the Haunted Hoedown! This time the prompt is "finders keepers!" I honestly had so much fun with this one, so hopefully all the new Astarion fans that've followed me in the last day enjoy? Love you guys. :))))

Also I was originally going to make all of these challenge fics separate but I've since decided to make it more of a connected fic so... that's a thing now? I'll link the last chapter below!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST

-

“I wasn’t aware you were so proficient at lock picking.” 

You smirk at Astarion’s false praise, busying your hands against the lock’s mechanism. You’ve only been at it for five or six, maybe seven tops but you can already tell it’ll be a while. The lock itself is tough; covered in a layer of thick rust. Plus, being that it’s a chest and not a door, it’s a bit more advanced than you’re used to.

“Yes, well, not all of us are vampires that can woo their way through a padlock.” 

In response, Astarion laughs, throwing his head back so dramatically that from the corner of your eye, it looks as if he’s lost his head for a moment. “You do realize who you’re talking to, correct?”

You hum out a response and push the short hook further in, feeling the pressure of a loose pin hit the end. When that happens, you grin to yourself and slide closer to the chest, biting your bottom lip in excitement. 

Over the last few weeks, you and the rest of the group had come upon some interesting findings. A cave inside a well, a few hidden cellars around the surrounding the goblin camp, a hidden chest or two. At first, it was exciting, getting to experience the joys of a good treasure hunt but quickly such feelings fell once you discovered how difficult it was to break into said things without the help of Astarion and his seemingly magic hands.

“I know you’re excited to prove yourself, darling, but why don’t you let me finish things off, hm? It’ll go a lot quicker.” 

You shake your head and continue your ministrations, carefully pushing the hook further in, feeling that alleviated pressure of another pin. “I’m tired of relying on you and your bloody rogue tax.” 

After agreeing that Astarion would just pick every lock your party found for a price, it was evident he was more than willing to take more than he was owed. Saying things like I did all the work or you wouldn’t be here if not for me, it was obvious he was exploiting you. Using his roguish charms to earn himself a bigger cut despite doing next to nothing else. 

It was frustrating, to say the least. Another minor annoyance to add to his long list of negative personality traits, and lately you were determined to combat it. To learn the trade for yourself so that every piece of treasure found could remain solely yours. 

“I’m sure everyone is but that’s the price you pay for a professional.” 

You roll your eyes and continue to fiddle, feeling his gaze glued to the positioning of your hands —how your fingers tighten and twist around the metal instrument. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you at least a little bit nervous —having his eyes on you. Across your palms, you can feel the slick of sweat collecting with each new movement, while behind you, you can practically feel Astarion’s judgement throughout, silently picking apart all of your mistakes. 

“You’re doing—“

You shush him angrily before he can continue, knowing he’s trying to break your concentration. Knowing that he thinks that if he can prove to be enough of a distraction you’ll end up slipping up and giving in. 

“I was just going to tell you about the wonderful job you’re doing.” His tone is laced with sarcasm. Drenched in a thick layer of impatience that has you groaning under your breath. 

“Isn’t there someone else you can bother?”

“No.”

You know there is. In the other room of the abandoned building you currently find yourselves in, at least four other people are rooting through the rubble. Most likely they’re stationed in their usual areas. Gale’s probably next to the stack of bookshelves with Karlach, telling her all about his collection back at the camp while Wyll and Shadowheart are searching through the cellar in hopes of more wine. 

“You sure?”

For a moment you debate telling him to go keep watch with Lae’zel just so that he’ll shut up but the thought dissipates once you feel him flop onto the floor beside you with a groan. 

“Everyone else is so dull,” he complains. His line of slight flickers between your face and hands, watching the way they remain almost too still as he speaks. “They’re all do this do that, and for what?”

You shrug your shoulders ever so slightly, unsure of what he means.

“They’re all living for other people, darling. Other causes. Everything they do serves a higher purpose and for that reason alone, they’re boring.”

Despite your previous determination your hands release themselves from the padlock before you find yourself readjusting —moving to plop down next to him. “You think everyone’s boring because they’re selfless?”

“Predictable,” he corrects, pointing a loose finger in your direction. “All of them talk too much about a future that may not even come considering we’re infected and have little idea on how to remedy the situation.” 

You’re not sure where this rant is coming from but you welcome it considering it’s been weeks since you’ve had a normal conversation that didn’t revolve around mapping or looting or combat. Weeks since you’ve taken a moment to learn about the people you find yourself in constant contact with. 

“Some people just don’t like looking back.” 

There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes when you respond as if he wasn’t expecting such an answer. Or really, maybe an answer at all. All at once his face seems to rise in thought, taking a moment to absorb the words before he hums in response, pursing his lips. “Yes, well, I suppose some people don’t have a past worth running from.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

The tadpole behind your eye wriggles for his attention before you can even think to suppress it. Working to pull him in as you stare at one another, narrowing your eyes at the sudden cerebral contact. At first, he’s reluctant. You can feel the pushing sensation suggesting that you stop. That you should stick to the confines of your own mind rather than pestering him, but quicker than you can move away to agree, it’s as if you’re sucked back in again. Pulled by the very thread of your own brain matter to see flashes of a life you assume to be his.

The first thing you see is candlelight. A flickering of warm hues that dance across wooden interiors. It’s almost dizzying the way the light shifts across your vision, forcing you to close your eyes. Next to you, you can hear Astarion breathing heavily. Deep inhales followed by even deeper exhales that you swiftly use as a metronome to carry your focus. To aid your tadpole’s connection. 

Swallowing hard, you listen to the beats of his breath, feeling them take over your chest as the vision in front of you grows to reveal bits of cobblestone. In the background, you can hear the faint sounds of scuttling feet. The dripping of water. A hungry growl followed by an even hungrier gnaw of flesh that squelches on your tongue. 

You can taste the iron —feel the fur and bones of an unknown animal brush against your lips and gums. All of it swirls around your mouth like a tornado of overstimulating sensations, forcing the vision to pass as you reach for your throat, coughing up nothing but your own spit despite how real it feels. 

It’s apparent then what Astarion means. That some people aren’t always blessed with the privilege of running away. That people like him don’t have the means of calling upon allies to aid them through the awful shit that is reality. 

Even with such little context, you can sense through his tadpole that he’s alone in this life. Alone before the Illithid —alone now. And more than likely, he’ll be alone after it’s all over, in death or otherwise. 

Rubbing your throat —trying your best to get rid of the tainted feeling of skin and bone from your mouth, you feel empathy rather than sympathy. An understanding of his words as you look toward him, noticing the far-off look in his eye before he blinks and travels back.

“I only showed you that to save the explanation,” he says, and whether or not it’s true you merely just nod, welcoming the silence. The tranquil hush of two people attempting to navigate the other. 

It doesn’t last long. In between, there are a few moments of background noise. The sound of echoing footsteps and muffled voices. You know it’s the others looting just as you should be, but neither of you moves to join until Astarion eventually clears his throat, signalling change. 

“Anyway, they’re all in their own worlds, coasting on the wings of optimism.” He flicks his hand around the air while rolling his eyes. “It’s disgusting and partly why I choose your company above theirs.” 

Letting yourself fall back into your usual, somewhat antagonistic rhythm, you give him a curious look. “Partly, huh?”

“Don’t get too excited,” he quips, the edge of his lip twitching into that usual grin of his. “The other part is the potential of your blood, darling.”

“Ah yes. And here I was assuming you were just following me around so that you could steal my treasure.”

Both of your eyes move back to the unbroken padlock. It’s the only thing in this room that seems to be worth either of your time and Astarion knows it. It’s why he’s been so keen on your failure. 

“You know, I could help you if you like. Show you a thing or two so that the next time this happens you don’t have to rely on me.”

It’s tempting, even if you know that you’ll be taxed to all hell. Whatever spoils you find will ultimately be cut in half and, more than likely, he’ll sweeten the deal for himself by claiming first pick. 

“What’s the price?”

He shoots you a look of offence, clutching his chest. “My dear, I’d never dare put a price on the education of thievery.”

You hold back a grin, pressing your lips together, watching the way he quickly springs into action, motioning for you to hand him your tools. When you do he begins to explain the process, showcasing all the tips and tricks against the air with careful precision. Which would be helpful if you weren’t so focused on his hands rather than his words. On the way they curl around the handles of your tools, tightening with every gesture performed. 

Astarion’s got nicer hands than most. Long and thin and surprisingly well-manicured for someone who spends most of his time in the forest or drinking the blood of unsuspecting animals. And guiltily enough staring at them so intently just reminds you of that night he drained your neck. 

You can still feel the pressure of his fingers against your head. The way they roughly cupped you like a goblet of wine. Despite the fear in that moment, you’re now able to look back at that memory almost fondly. A moment of potential weakness for you somehow became a moment of trust for him and as a result, here you were now, acting almost friendly amid a terrible situation. 

It makes you grin, prompting Astarion to stop his explanation and narrow his eyes. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Hm?”

There’s a knowing glance that befalls his face then. A transition of clarity that has his mouth opening and closing before he hands you your tools. “Might be best if we take a more hands on approach.” 

You look at him confused, letting the hooks in your hand lazily rest in your palm as you watch him hop to his knees and begin to guide you. 

“I want you to do exactly what you were doing before, alright? Use the hook to push the pins.” 

Despite your continued confusion, you follow his position by kneeling in front of the chest and popping the hook into the hole, digging around the darkened space until you feel the shift of that first pin. 

“Got it?” You spare him a glance and a nod, watching him crawl towards you, positioning his chest firmly against your back before reaching out to hold your wrists. “Now, take that other hook of yours and situate it at the base of the barrel.”

Doing exactly that, you feel his fingers slowly slip over yours, navigating you through the trials of getting that second pin to shift as the barrel turns in your grasp. At first, it’s difficult. Mostly because all you can focus on is the breath that hits the side of your face. The heat of the air that travels down your spine in nervous waves you’re almost certain he can feel. But then you’re reminded that you’ve been here before; stuck within his heated grasp. 

“That’s it. Just like that.” 

You’re practically holding your breath as you find that third pin, feeling Astarion’s hand shift you in the right direction before you lose it at the last second. Ever so gently, his chest shifts upwards against your back so that he can rest his chin on your shoulder to get a better look. A newfound weight that makes you close your eyes and release a bit of air from your nose, realizing how intimate this is. 

Somehow it feels even more personal than letting him feed off of you. Perhaps because the bloodsucking was for his own benefit, knowing Astarion, moments like that where he’s able to take rather than give mean next to nothing to him. They’re just moments of manipulation. A series of tactical steps he takes to get whatever he wants whereas this is different. This is for you. 

You’re not sure how to describe it other than an offering of trust. Maybe it’s a token of appreciation for letting him consume. Maybe it’s nothing more than a game to make you squirm beneath his grasp. Either or, it’s an experience you know you’ll be thinking of for days to come, attempting to decipher its intent.

“Once you feel that final pin I want you to ease it in gently, alright? Be delicate.” 

You offer him no response as you listen to his words. If you did, you’re certain he’d make some offhand comment that would only further the lewdness of it all, grinning like the mischievous prick he is. 

“After that, you should feel a little shift and —voilà!” 

The chest clicks open. Your breath releases in a long, much-needed stream but Astarion makes no effort to move from your frame. Instead, he continues to cling to your hands, angling his chin so that when you eventually look at him you’re practically touching noses. 

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“It’s that easy?”

Slowly but surely he slips from your frame with a nod, his hands sliding across the expanse of your sleeves, coating your skin in a wave of goosebumps as he moves to stand. “Yes, but keep it hush, hush. Wouldn’t want the others to find out, would we?”

You shake your head, a small smile creeping across your lips as you then turn towards your reward, gripping both edges of the lid before pushing it up. Inside there are only a few items. A few spell scrolls and some fabric but it’s enough to get you excited regardless, realizing that it’s yours.

“Not bad for your first go.” Peeking over your shoulder, Astarion watches as you sift through everything carefully, unrolling each scroll to read the details before looking back up and raising a brow. 

“You sure there’s no tax?” you ask, but all he does is laugh and shake his head. 

“Finders keepers, darling. As I promised.” 

[harbingerofsin]

Purple Moons

pairing: abdirak x female main character (reader) warnings: torture that the mc has inflicted, blood, religious undertones rating: mature for above-mentioned reasons word count: 784 notes: another baby fic for my absolute favourite character in this gd game, the bdsm priest from the goblin camp slkdjf

His skin is wet with sweat or blood, and he will have new scars soon. Abdirak looks so pleased, his eyes fondly tracing the marks left that he can see. And when he lifts a hand to prod at them, the moan he gives is deliciously overzealous.

Until you swoop in, taking his wrist and gently guiding it away.

“None of that until you’re clean,” you say. Your voice echoes off stone, unafraid to be short with him. He makes a point of languidly stretching out on the cot, flipping over onto his stomach so you can get at his back.

The worst of the wounds bloom there. Long, red lines from a whip bite his skin. Both old and fresh, they lie side by side. He does not flinch away from your hand when you touch him, making another sound that’s not unlike a growl.

“No more pain. Not yet,” you add. And he folds his arms above him, resting his cheek against his forearms. “Did you like it, have I ever done better?”

Keep reading

[harbingerofsin]

Head will explode if I do not point this out even if it’s me yelling into a void

These are two different men what the fUCK

On the left: Freddy Carter, actor most well known at this point for the Shadow and Bone tv series On the right: Marcello Walton, actor/stunt actor who I have never seen before now, but saw in the latest Mission Impossible and went ‘is that Freddy Carter in makeup or Freddy Carter’s dad’

Pointing out this comparison for no reason in particular besides the fact that I won’t be able to sleep otherwise

[harbingerofsin]

'Cause I'd Rather Feel Pain Than Nothing at All

Pairing: Rick Flag x GN!Reader

Summary: Inspired by the Three Days Grace song of the same name, this is an angsty little drabble that has been sitting in my drafts for a few months.

Word Count: 829

Warnings: Description of injury, angst

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Despite your clenched jaw, the lie slips out easily. Still, you avoid eye contact with Rick as he examines your bruised and swollen hand; his uncanny ability to read your emotions won’t serve you well right now. If he thinks for one minute that you’re badly injured, you’ll wind up on desk duty faster than you can say Bloodsport. That is, if either of you make it out of here alive.

“Really?” The word stretches out into the darkness, filling what little space there is between you. “Because it looks pretty damn bad to me.”

With so much cynicism lacing the colonel’s tone, your eyes involuntarily flicker upwards, landing on his familiar worry-worn face, illuminated as it is by the weak orange glow of your twin torches. Shadows dance across his battle-scarred features, eerily emphasising all his sharp curves and edges – a Picasso painting brought to life, albeit temporarily.

Thanks to the explosion rocking the building only minutes earlier, the two of you are trapped in what had once been the ground-floor comms-room, a mountain of rubble outside the door now separating you - somewhat ironically - from your squad of deadly prisoners. Those prisoners are undoubtedly enjoying their fleeting moment of freedom at your expense. If this situation doesn’t kill you, Amanda Waller surely will.

“Really. It’s probably just a sprain.” You tap the cracked GPS device somehow still strapped to your injured wrist and send out a silent prayer that Harley and the others will try to find you. And soon. Much like your ongoing attempt to convince Rick that you’re ok, the signal -- and your hope -- is weak.

The second lie draws Rick’s attention away from your hand, his hazel eyes finding you effortlessly even in the darkness. You quickly subvert your own gaze from the sweat beading across his filthy brow. It’s unfair that in such rotten conditions he still manages to look handsome.

“Let’s leave the diagnosis to the doctors, huh?” Calloused fingers brush across your knuckles. While it’s the ghost of a touch, you still find yourself gritting your teeth against the pain. Something is almost certainly fractured, but your hand is far from the only part of you that is wounded in Rick’s presence.

“If you say so.”

Spite tempts you to point out that hospitals and doctors seem like a distant fantasy when the pair of you might be lost down here forever. After all, any potential rescue attempt rides solely on Harley’s twisted moral compass. Between the two of you, have you shown her enough kindness? Perhaps she’ll leave you here to rot – and who could blame her?

But Rick is an optimist; he sees the good in people while you only see all the ways they can let you down. The colonel is no exception.

Careful not to jostle your hurting wrist, you snatch up one of the torches and aim the beam towards the door. The force of the fallen debris from the floors above has warped the metal in such a fashion that nothing short of another explosion is likely to free it from the frame. And you’re fresh out of nitro.

“Where was your head at?” Rick’s deep voice shatters the cloying silence descending over the room.

“Huh?” For the briefest of moments, you’d forgotten he was here. No easy feat considering his proximity, propped up beside you against the wall.

“Exactly. You’re somewhere else today. Distracted.”

He could be referring to any number of events: how you almost missed wheels-up because you couldn’t drag yourself out of bed; how you forget to check-out Harley’s weapons cache, leading to a meltdown of epic proportions from the princess of crime; how easily the guards got the drop on you.

Rick presses on. “You can talk to me, you know. If something is bothering you-”

 “I’m fine.” You cut him off decidedly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Fine…

Has anyone ever said that four letter word and truly meant it?

From the flash of his eyes, it’s clear Rick doesn’t believe you.

You want to tell him the truth. You want to tell him that yes, your hand might be bad, but you’ve experienced far worse. That the pain you carry around with you every day has dulled your other senses, so much so that a knife to the gut would probably hurt less. But you don’t. Instead, ignoring the familiar and constant hurt throbbing deep in the cavern of your chest, you subtly shuffle away from him.

All things considered, the pain of your injury is a welcome relief, allowing you to focus on something other than the truth.

Because Rick Flag broke your heart without even knowing it. And now you’re stuck here beside him, waiting for almost inevitable death together in this dank, dark room.

Perhaps this was how it was always meant to be.

Joel Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @yespolkadotkitty @babblydrabbly @heresathreebee @phoenixhalliwell @weallhaveadestiny @lavenderluna10 @immyownlittlebitch @katjnordstrom96 @kirsteng42 @littlefreakingfangirl @s-u-t @xoxabs88xox @lacontroller1991 @mayhem24-7forever

[harbingerofsin]

i’m not made by design ; jaime lannister.

track seven of BROKEN MACHINE.  

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 47.8k

themes ; heavy angst, action, fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/violence/murder/injury/blood, attempted sexual assault, this story covers the events from game of thrones s1-4, politicking, incest, talks of sex, foul language, animal cruelty, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, reader is known as the bitter wolf and is ned’s youngest sibling, bittersweet ending

main masterlist.

You first met Jaime Lannister during the Year of the False Spring, at the Great Tourney of Harrenhal—you had only been ten years of age, still starry-eyed and gentle-of-tongue. Knights, lords, and ladies hailing from all over Westeros were buzzing about the opening feast. Chalices of golden ale, platters of fruit and cheese, and sizzling trays of freshly-roasted meats were splayed out over several long tables.

To your right was your eldest brother, Brandon, biting into a large turkey leg and gingerly offering you a piece when he caught you ogling him. To your left was your sister Lyanna, popping voluminous grapes into her mouth and chattering to your two other brothers, Benjen and Ned, across the table. Her grey eyes were alight with glee, and she tipped her head back to laugh when Benjen made a snarky comment about Ned’s overgrown hair.

You were well into your second serving of glazed lemon cakes when the crown Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, stood up front. A hush descended upon the crowd when the handsome, silver-haired man brandished a large, golden harp.

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[harbingerofsin]

Hopeless

Sensory Prompt: 'Secret Glances' Requested By: Anonymous (mystery prompt request)

Pairing: Jonas Quinn x GN!Reader

Plot: Jonas is not very subtle when it comes to his "hidden" feelings for Y/n.

Warnings: None!

Notes: I am taking this opportunity to write for soft boy Jonas, since no one has requested for before, which is despicable honestly. I mean, have you seen him? He's adorable. *The song mentioned is 'The Parting Glass' by The Dublineers (I prefer the version by Freya Catherine)

Words: 1.1k

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @caswinchester2000, @imaginesfire, @rexit-mo Stargate Taglist: @hybrid-omegaverse, @gatefleet

-

Jonas wasn't very subtle, even if he thought he was. The way his eyes were glued to you every time you were in the room. The way his eyes lit up when you were talking to him. Jack said he was like a love-sick puppy. Sam thought it was adorable, the way he seemed head-over heels for you. Stealing looks at you at any moment.

Obviously you noticed, but you were even more shy than him in some ways, and of course would say nothing.

You stole your fair few of secret glances at him as well. Admiring his bright smile when something exciting was happening. The way he was always interested in what others were saying. Watching him when he was so drawn into a book or problem that he was unaware of his surroundings. You seemed to be the only one able to pull him out of his thoughts. With one mention of his name his eyes would shoot up to meet yours, and you had all of his attention.

As much as you wanted him to tell you how he felt, you did have to admit, you enjoyed his not so subtle pining. It was new. And unexpected. No one had ever looked at you like he did. Every time his eyes would shine and his dimples would show when he smiled at you, you felt like you were on fire.

You wished you had the courage yourself to say something, to do something about it yourself, but that was a realm of courage that did not seem to exist for you. At least not yet.

- - - - - -

Jonas perked up as the sound of your laugh met his ears. Leaning back in his chair, he spotted you in the hall, talking to Janet.

He let out a soft sigh as he took the moment to study and admire your features. The way your eyes crinkled as you smiled, and the almost delicate curl of your lips. The way you tilted your head a bit to the side as you listened to someone speak.

Jonas stole every moment he could to look at you. These secret glances, where he didn't have to worry about you catching him studying your face.

Seeing you begin to look his way, he threw himself forward, back towards his desk with a loud clang. He closed his eyes tightly as he winced in embarrassment, there was no way you didn't see that.

Looking over towards Jonas's door, you spotted a flash of movement as he seemed to disappear from view, as a loud clang of his chair could be heard. You smiled to yourself before you continued down the hall with Janet. You felt your ears burning as he realized he had been staring at you again.

"He's not very subtle is he?" Janet asked with obvious amusement in her voice.

Your smile widened, "I think it's cute."

"Then why don't you tell him?"

"Are you kidding? He would melt into a puddle on the spot out of embarrassment and then he'd never look at me again."

She chuckled. "You might be right. Maybe he'll buck up and find some courage to ask you out one of these days."

You grinned at the thought. "We'll see."

Jonas slowly leaned back in his chair again. Seeing that the hall was now empty, he let out a deep sigh as he rubbed his face. He was hopeless.

- - - - - -

You were singing softly to yourself as you flipped through your book, searching for a passage of particular interest.

"Of all the comrades that e'er I had, they're sorry for my going away. And all the sweethearts that e'er I loved, they'd wish me one more day, to stay."

Jonas smiled softly as he listened to the soft melody. He was leaning against the doorway of your office, watching you. He had come in to ask about your research, but when he heard you singing softly, he didn't dare interrupt, and instead allowed himself a moment to watch you.

Finally spotting him out of the corner of your eye, you looked up, to see Jonas watching you. You felt your heart jolt, and you smiled at him. "Hello Jonas."

You saw the moment where Jonas realized you saw him, and that you had spoken to him, as his eyes widened a bit and he straightened up. "Oh, hi. Sorry, I was just- I didn't want to interrupt, your singing was lovely."

You chuckled softly "I wouldn't describe it as lovely, but thank you."

"It was." He defended as he stepped closer. "Really."

You smiled at him, feeling your face growing hot. "Thank you." You cleared your throat "Did you need something?"

"Oh! Yes, uh...I was just coming to see how your research was going."

"Not much better than before I'm afraid." You admitted as you closed your book. "Yours?"

"Same. I'm afraid we're both stuck."

You hummed under your breath "Perhaps Sam or Daniel have something."

As you stacked your books, you glanced back at Jonas, finding him already staring at you. You could feel butterflies in your stomach as you looked away again, unsure of what to do or say.

Jonas stepped closer as he pulled his journal close to his chest. "Y/n?" He asked softly.

Looking back at him, you smile "Yes?"

He opened his mouth, only to close it again quickly. Looking down and back up you saw him swallow before taking in a breath. "Would you like to have dinner with me?" He finally blurted out.

"Dinner?"

"Yes. Not in the cafeteria, I mean. Maybe we can get some food and come back here, to eat, together, alone."

You smiled at him "Yeah, sure. That sounds nice."

"It does?"

You let out a soft chuckle. "Yes, Jonas, it does."

"Oh, good, great." He grinned at you before he looked around, as though he was unsure of what to do now. "Uhm, perhaps we could meet up to get food later, around six?"

"Six." You nodded with a smile.

He nodded his head and smiled. "Six it is. Okay. I'm uh, I'm going to go ask Dr. Jackson about his progress, and I will see you later. At six."

"At six." You confirmed again with an amused smile as he began to walk out.

He gave you one last wave and smile before he disappeared, leaving you alone grinning to yourself.

As Jonas headed down the hall, he let out a long deep breath as his heart pounded heavily. As a grin spread across his face, he allowed himself a moment of elation and relief. He may be hopeless, but at least he could no longer claim to be a coward.

xx End xx

It's a shame no one writes for Jonas, and I'm sure barely anyone will read this. But I hope to write for him more in the future anyways. He is very underrated.

[harbingerofsin]

First Christmas

12 Days of Christmas: Day 6

Plot: You decide Jonas deserves to experience his first Christmas, so you want to make it special.

Pairing: Jonas Quinn x Gn!Reader

Warnings: None!

Words: 1.5k

-

You grinned to yourself as you made your way down the corridors, towards Jonas's room. Your arms were full of boxes and bags as you barely managed to make your way down the halls without running into anything or anyone.

Ever since Jonas learned about Christmas and the evolution of the Earth holiday, he was excited to experience the holiday season. But, since Jonas was still not allowed to leave the base, you decided you were going to bring Christmas to him.

Getting to his door, you realized your hands were too full, so you stuck out your leg and kicked the door a few times.

After a few moments, the door slid open, revealing a perplexed, yet smiling Jonas.

"Y/n, what is all this?

As you made your way past him and into his room, you smiled "Christmas!"

"Christmas?" He asked confused, yet intrigued.

You set the boxes down, sighing with relief as you did. "Yes, I decided since you don't get to experience what Christmas looks like outside of the base, I was going to try and recreate it for you as best I could, inside."

You saw realization and excitement cross his face as he looked down at the boxes. "Where did all this stuff come from?"

"I got some of it from storage at my place, and some was donated by others. So I'm not all too sure about what's in here." Reaching in, you started pulling some stuff out "Tinsel, garland, your very own stocking, mistle-" picking up the mistletoe, you figured Jack threw it in as a joke. "Well, other stuff." You stood up and smiled "But, there is one more thing, I'll be right back!"

As you raced out of Jonas's room, he watched you go with a smile. Looking back into the box, he picked up the green foliage

"Mistle?" He asked himself, having heard what you muttered.

Shrugging, he pulled out the sparkling red tinsel and smiled as he looked around his room, wondering where he was supposed to put it.

His face was warm as his heart continued to beat happily in his chest. This was more than he was expecting. But it was you after all, you were always thinking of everyone else. It was one of his favorite things about you.

After a few minutes, he heard another knock on his door. Letting you in, he watched as you dragged a tree into his room.

Jonas smiled widely "You got me a Christmas tree?"

You nodded "There are ornaments in one of those boxes, and some lights! Sam and Teal'c are gonna come by later and help, we can all decorate it together."

"Decorating the Christmas tree is one of the biggest traditions, yes?" he asked while admiring the tree.

You nodded as you reached into the bag and pulled out a Santa hat. Stepping up to him, you put it on his head. "Merry Christmas Jonas."

He smiled down at you with his genuine delight, and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

"Thank you Y/n."

"Tomorrow at dinner we are going to be putting together a Christmas dinner, so you can try all the traditional Earth dishes."

His eyes lit up at this "That's wonderful. Really Y/n you didn't have to do this all for me. Though I assume it is also for Teal'c?"

"Somewhat for Teal'c yes, though, he is allowed to leave. He and Jack are going on a fishing trip. This is mostly for you Jonas, you deserve to have some Christmas cheer too."

He grinned at you, and you felt butterflies again. Looking down at your feet for a moment you cleared your throat before turning around.

"While we wait for Sam and Teal'c you want to start decorating the room?"

Jonas's kept his eyes locked on you as his chest burned warm. He nodded as he watched you start opening the boxes, his own butterflies rampaging in his stomach.

--- --- ---

The next day, as dinnertime grew closer, Jonas stood in the middle of his room, admiring the tree you had all decorated the previous day.

Sam and Teal'c showed up with hot chocolate, and you all spent the next hour decorating the tree. Jonas was given a star to put at the top, and he couldn't be happier with how it turned out.

Hearing a knock on the door, Jonas opened it, expecting to see you, but instead was met with Jack.

"Jonas."

"Colonel O'Niell, how are you?"

"I'm alright, heard you and the others had a good time decorating."

"Yes" Jonas grinned as he turned and looked back at his room.

Jack nodded his head, and smiled softly "Well, dinner is done, so I was sent to fetch you, come on, hop to, I'm hungry."

Jonas smiled and nodded, "Yes, Sir."

Jack smiled to himself as he held open Jonas's door and looked into the room, spotting the mistletoe sitting on the table. He smirked, he'd have to come back for that.

As they entered into the dining hall, Jonas smiled at the array of food being placed out like a buffet, another Earth tradition he enjoyed. Approaching the table, he noticed long cylinders. Grabbing one, he stared at it perplexed.

"It's called a Christmas Cracker." Sam said as she walked up to him. "Two people each grab one side and pull, the person who gets most of it wins. And gets the prizes inside."

"Prizes? So its similar to the wishbone tradition?"Jonas asked with piqued interest.

Sam nodded "We'll do them later and you'll see."

Jonas nodded with a smile his eyes landed on you as you came out of the kitchen with a casserole dish. Locking eyes with him you smiled, and he felt his chest clench.

When everyone sat down to eat, Jonas felt overwhelmed with gratefulness and glee. This was the first time he felt like this, he felt it somewhat during the Thanksgiving holiday, but you were right, Christmas was certainly different.

As an hour turned into two and most people had left, you and the others slowly rose to part for the night. Teal'c had left about twenty minutes earlier, Jack and Sam walked off together, leaving you and Jonas to walk back to his room.

"That was wonderful." Jonas said as you began walking together "I really enjoyed it."

You smiled happily up at him "I'm glad."

Jonas felt an anxious tightness in his chest, and he felt an object in his jacket pocket and a rush of nervousness washed over him. As you got closer, he was about to bring it up, but you spoke first.

You stopped and turned to him "Before we say goodnight, I wanted to give this to you."

Watching as you pulled out a similar wrapped object from your own pocket, Jonas felt his heart jolt in his chest.

Handing it to him, you smiled shyly.

Taking it he stared down at it for a moment "You got me a present?"

"Of course, that's an important part of Christmas."

Jonas smiled "Yes, I know." Reaching into his own pocket he pulled the object out and smiled at you "I got you one too."

Your face lit up with surprise as you took it slowly, you let out a soft chuckle. "Thank you Jonas."

Opening the presents at the same time, you were both amused by the fact you both got each other books.

Jonas gently ran his hand over the book you got him "World Traditions?"

"Since you seemed so interested in Christmas traditions, I thought you might like to learn about others around the world."

"That's wonderful, thank you."

Motioning at the book in your hands, Jonas spoke softly "That was one of my favorite books to read growing up on Kelowna. It has a lot of information about our own holidays and traditions, I thought since you shared yours with me, I might share some with you."

You grinned at him "Thank you Jonas, I'd love to learn about them." Looking back to the book you got him you mused "Great minds think alike."

Jonas smiled as the two of you continued down the corridor, both of you looking down at your new books with softy blushing smiles.

As your eyes landed on his door, you stopped in your tracks. Jonas looked from you to the door, his eyes landing on the plant hanging from above his door.

"Jack." You said with a knowing tone "His idea of a joke."

Jonas stepped up to the plant. "Mistletoe. I looked it up this morning, I wanted to know its importance to Christmas." He looked back at you, but his eyes avoided your gaze. "Originally, the tradition was that you could kiss anyone standing beneath the mistletoe. If the kiss was refused, bad luck befalls the person standing under the mistletoe."

You watched Jonas as he spoke, his eyes lingering on the Mistletoe, he was technically standing below. He had a tone to his voice that made you smile.

Taking hold of what courage you had, you walked up to him.

As Jonas turned to looking at you, you quickly stepped up and pressed a soft but quick kiss to his lips. You saw surprise cross his face as he stared at you speechless.

"Don't want you getting any of that bad luck."

Jonas was clearly bewildered, but you saw him repress a smile.

You smiled at him as you spoke softly "Merry Christmas Jonas."

He scratched the back of his neck before he spoke softly, clearly still baffled "Merry Christmas Y/n."

xx End xx

Sorry for the abrupt ending lol but I wasn't sure how else to end it without it starting to drag on

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Stargate/Jonas Taglist: @hybrid-omegaverse, @gatefleet, @cs-please, @badwolf0322

[harbingerofsin]

bill skarsgård ‒ hemlock grove. 3x07 (2015)

[harbingerofsin]

Bill Skarsgård in Simon and The Oaks (2011, dir. Lisa Ohlin)

[harbingerofsin]

that woman has forgotten more ways to kill than entire armies will ever learn.

[harbingerofsin]

And this with tak

looking at your crush or lover only to find them already looking at you and when you make eye contact, they smile at you.

love again ; takeshi kovacs x reader

warnings: implied (post) smut + fluff

a/n: I'll never get over the 'broody person only soft for their love' dynamic aaand, this is a part of my upcoming Takeshi fic! don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» from this prompt , come & check out my m.list!

'to reassure you that he didn't fight for his life this long and suddenly find you for nothing,' ; 

You should've been wide awake when you realized how different the bed sheets felt. They were softer, extravagant even, like it belonged somewhere fancy. Initially, you thought nothing of it — long working hours were nothing new to you, so, passing out on wherever your aching body could rest on as soon as you'd reach home was common. 

Now that you're gaining consciousness, however, you were too stunned to move. 

Why?

Someone was in that bed with you, and that person wasn't just anybody.

Mustering up the courage to open your eyes, you were met with the room's gothic interior — the gloomy yet charming environment, the antique-looking furniture and the ever-changing neon lights shining from the frosted windows. 

This wasn't your unit at all, although, you couldn't say you've never seen this place before. Hoping to remember what had happened, you tried to sit up, only to groan at the aches of your body, and this wasn't the usual aftermath from work, either.

You tried your best, though, raising your upper body further with your right arm. 

Then, movements happened right beside you. 

You didn't know whether to roll over on your back or skedaddle. 

In midst of thinking, you noticed the little white cloth hanging by the nightstand — a pretty lace panties. 

Your pretty lace panties.

Then, everything finally dawned on you.

Takeshi.

The reunion.

What you initially thought was a handsome stranger in your room, only to discover that it was actually your childhood best friend.

Your heart and soul.

Your long-lost love.

What started out as a wholesome reunion, only to escalate by how much you mean to him and vice versa with a night of passion. 

High-pitched moans and deep groans rang in your head, prompting your skin to heat up at the mere remembrance of it. 

You fiddled with the sheets, hoping this wasn't a dream or some sad imagination because you were missing him too much.

But, in the middle of your crisis came bashfulness.

Not only did you realize how bare you were, you basically did the thing with him, and details were coming in.

You weren't sure whether to giggle like a schoolgirl or scream because of how unreal everything seemed.

You yelped at the feeling of his calloused hand rubbing up and down the small of your back. 

"You're awake," Considering how he naturally has a warm baritone voice, one could imagine how deeper his morning voice was. You had no doubt he noticed how you shivered at the sound of it, "I didn't tire you out too much, did I?"

You debated whether or not to turn around — your lack of response only had him tense.

"Hey," Takeshi began slowly, "You feelin' okay?" 

He waited for your response. Funnily enough, if he was dealing with anyone else, he’d practically be a ticking time bomb. But, for you, he understood that this was a lot to take in. 

Having to say goodbye each time you'd see one another.

Now, you're in the same room — in the same bed as him, and he's not willing to let you go. Not again.

You turned your head back ever-so-slowly, only to freeze up as soon as your eyes locked. 

Oh, but there was more.

A smile. 

Well, between smile and a smirk was more appropriate, since anytime his lips were upturned pretty much looked like a smug look on his face.

This one was small, but genuine, like the glint of adoration in his eyes.

Only for you.

It is him.

Feeling shyer than ever, you looked down but did nothing to cover up since he, too, was in his birthday suit. Your attempts didn't last, though, for he brought his hand up and gently cupped your chin. Tilting it enough so you'd get the idea to look at him. You nuzzled into his touch, unable to control the single tear rolling down your cheek when he wiped it off with his thumb.

"You're okay," His heart clenched at the sight — if he had the opportunity to change things for the better, he would. Maybe things would've been different, maybe you and him would've ended up together even before the shit with the CTAC and Envoys and whatnot, "You're okay,"

But, none that mattered anymore, now that he was actually by your side. To reassure you that he didn't fight for his life this long and suddenly find you for nothing. 

There'll be plenty of time to mess around, introduce you to the people who he tolerated (but will never admit as a 'friend').

Later, though.

He pulled you in closer, silently comforting you as he felt the weight he's held on his shoulders for so long lifting now that he has finally found you.

Safe in his arms.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» gorgeous rose divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics

[harbingerofsin]

CLOSEUPS OF BEAU ARLEN IN BIG SKY: 3x03

[harbingerofsin]

#kimiko being a big cutie ❤️ The Boys (2019-) 3.02 | The Only Man in the Sky

[harbingerofsin]

Would you ever write Butcher content? I feel like I have to scour the web for crumbs 😞

A/N: Billy Butcher x F!Reader. Mild Smut.

Billy might have fucked up on this one. 

He blames it on his anger. He blames it on his unflinching hatred for supes. Strong emotions. Stronger inclinations. His body starts moving before his brain can even catch up. 

In truth, hate and lust are really two sides of the same coin. Or is that love? Billy really doesn’t believe that love can just happen. He understands attraction. Love is a rare bedfellow and one he probably won't meet again.

He loved his dead wife. He loved his brother. 

He doesn’t love you. He’s certain of that. 

Still, he finds himself blinded when you blink up at him and murmur: kill me.

***

He had wanted to choke you out. He had wanted to crush your invincible windpipe with his bare hands.

“Do it,” you challenge. “Kill me." You cock your head. "That must be what you want seeing as you just broke my damn door."

There’s your very own Disneyland commercial playing on the television behind them. You're smiling blindly in some neon monstrosity and he thinks of plastic. He wonders if he should haul you out into the sunlight to see if you’ll melt. His adorable Barbie. His supe pet.

Make sure you take advantage of the California Resident Discount! I know I will!

“You don’t even live in California,” he mutters as his eyes flicker between the television and the very real you staring up at him. 

“It’s a script,” you explain flatly. “I read it. I don’t ask.”

He can’t quite recall why he came here in the first place. MM had told him that you’d stopped helping them out, feeding the boys information without an explanation. He’d gotten pissed, to say the least.

Temp V is screaming on highways through his veins. He feels it twist his guts and wrap steel over his lungs. His brain is throbbing with a repetitive drumbeat. He admires the roundness of your pretty skull. He could break it. He could smash it right on this table and it would take a few tries, but it would shatter eventually.

“Why are you here, Butcher?” you finally ask. The fight leaves you as soon as you realize he isn’t playing his part. 

He scans your apartment with its stainless steel and velvet pillows. It’s a nice fucking place and he’s never asked why you didn’t live in the Vought Tower.

“You stopped.” His fingers itch and he curls them into fists, stabbing his blunt nails into his palm until it hurts. His skin is hard as diamonds and it won’t budge or give way. He cannot bleed. “Why’d you quit?”

You don’t look surprised. You simply shrug your shoulders.

“That’s not quite good enough, love.”

“It’s not your business.”

“Then humor me,” he returns. “I’m curious why Vought’s princess who hates her fucking shiny Vought life would be out all of a sudden. We were making progress, I thought.”

You grimace, brow furrowing as you duck his gaze. 

“Did he threaten you?” he suddenly presses. Had Homelander figured it out?

“No,” you snap before throwing your hands up. “I’m fucking scared…that’s it. I’m really fucking scared.”

He blinks at you, surprised. That…hadn’t occurred to him. You wrap your arms around yourself protectively, shifting on your feet like you want to be anywhere but there. It suddenly occurs to Billy how young you are. Vought paints you in that suggestive, pin-up light. Right now, you’re in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Thick, wool socks. 

He steps forward and cradles your cheek. It’s a strange move on his part. He’s not sure why he does it. Maybe, he can’t quite shake that protective mantle. Maybe, he is desperate to save someone after he had failed Becca and his brother. 

“You won’t die,” he says evenly, tracing your face with a softer regard than he thought he was capable of. 

You hook your fingers into the lapels of his coat. Your mouth parts. The air in the room circulates hot and cold and then blisters and the V hurts, but it allows him the ability to hear the rough pace of your heartbeat. “What are you doing?” Your tone is quiet, slightly concerned. He hauls you closer to him and he really intends to blame it on the drug in his system. It’s making him hard and dizzy and he wants to rescue you in this small, meaningless way. 

“Would it help?” he urges as his lips ghost over yours, as he tips your chin up with the crook of his finger. 

How did he get here? How did it change?

“Okay,” you reply. 

He’s only a little rough about it. He lifts you onto a table, dirtied hands opening your legs. He shoves your sweats to your ankles before he’s throwing you knees over his shoulder and then he really tastes you. It’s as he thought. The brief glint of salt underneath the familiar tang of pussy. Sweat and sweetness.

He enjoys every part of it. The band of his arm across your belly and his tongue wiggling inside your cunt. When he fucks you, it’s the same. Breathy, whimpering cries with every pump of his hips. The squeak and shudder of the wood table. Your face bright and damp as you clutch onto anything you can. 

“Billy,” you call out as your body shivers with climax. Your back arches and your pelvis bucks as he tries to pin you down like the lovely little butterfly you are. 

[harbingerofsin]

nina cried power ; frenchie.

track one of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; frenchie x gn!reader

synopsis ; he calls you a plethora of endearing french nicknames, but you call him an asshole.

words ; 1.9k

themes ; angst, fluff, mild action

warnings / includes ; profanity, kissing, blood and injuries, near death experiences and emotional constipation <3 a bunch of french pet names, frenchie is lovesick, reader is part of the boys gang, the rest of the members are mentioned, hughie and reader are also mentioned to be close friends

main masterlist.

The rag between your teeth tasted disgusting. Sweat and grime and flecks of blood stained the once-white fabric—which had come from Frenchie’s own shirt he tore to shreds to bind your wounds. You bit down harder, tongue retracting further down your throat in hazy revulsion, groaning in pain when you felt his hands all over your abdomen, doused with your dark ichor, his expression heavy-set with frantic concern.

“Hold still, mon amour,” he said, brows drawing together when you ignored him completely, roaring obscenities behind the fabric and thrashed even harder. What a fucking asshole. Memories of the first time you met Frenchie flashed behind your eyelids—he had stuck a gun beneath your jaw with a snarl and the rest was history. A complete one-eighty to his expression now. “HUGHIE, HOLD THEM DOWN!” he screamed, completely strung-up.

Faintly, you registered another pair of hands pinning you to the cold tiles of the floor, and your friend’s stuttering melded into the cavernous cacophony ringing in your ears. It felt as if a fire was eating you alive, trying to crawl its way from inside out. Your skin was hot, nearly scalding to the touch.

You still couldn’t really remember what happened. 

Keep reading

[harbingerofsin]

I'm blushing and I've got the butterflies: father paul appreciation post