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burntsaltsblog · 4 months ago

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tw: 🔫 violence, reader is *pew pewed* and receives stitches along with other medical care, mdni

Chapter Two

"I don't get it. Why are you guys letting him waltz back in like he never abandoned us for almost three fucking months? Am I the only one still pissed that he left us high and dry?"

"No," Hughie articulated with his nose in a comic book. "But what other choice do we have? Whether or not we want to admit it, we need Butcher. You've seen how discombobulated we've been without him."

"Well, I blame the discombobulation on the fact that we were panicking over his missing ass. Now that we know he's safe and sound, he can fuck off."

Hughie looked up at me knowingly from Adventures of Spider-Man: Radioactive. "Is that really how you feel?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, scratching the side of my neck. "We're better off without Butcher, in my opinion."

"I hate to break it to you, but I think you're outnumbered. MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko want him here, so for the time being, we're stuck with him."

I scowled, falling beside Hughie on his meager twin-sized bed. I'd been hiding out in his room all morning to avoid a certain 6'2" beared Brit.

"You're going to have to face him eventually, you know," Hughie said quietly, his comic book long forgotten.

"I already did. Last night."

"You mean when you refused to look at him, much less acknowledge his presence?"

"Yup. That's all Butcher's getting from me. I'm going to ignore him until Homelander is dead, and then I can move to Antarctica and forget I ever met the asshole."

"But I thought you hated the cold?" Hughie pointed out.

"Yes, but I'm trying to get as far away from Butcher as geographically possible, so I can't be picky. Besides, I heard they don't have Cockney accents there, so that's a huge plus for me."

"Fair enough. Can I come to visit your igloo?"

"Of course," I beamed at my friend. "You're welcome anytime. In fact, I'm going to build you a guest igloo, so-"

The door to Hughie's bedroom creaked open, disrupting our conversation.

"Monsieur Charcuter would like a word with all of us," Frenchie said, popping his head in.

"Great," I mumbled, agitated at having to face Butcher. I looked at Hughie, and he could see my displeasure.

He patted my shoulder as we walked out the door. "It'll be ok, Jo. Just keep your cool like you did last night."

"What, you think I'm going to blow up at him?" I asked, now whispering as we both took a seat on the couch. Frenchie was squeezed in the armchair with Kimiko while Butcher and MM stood around the coffee table, murmuring to each other lowly.

"I think it's plausible, yes."

I scowled at Hughie before crossing my arms and gluing my eyes to the floor as Butcher cleared his throat, garnering everyone's attention.

"Good news. I just got off the phone with Raynor, and we have a meetin' scheduled today at four-thirty."

"Location?" MM questioned.

"The parkin' lot of an old car factory. She wanted to meet someplace off the grid to avoid being spotted."

"That's awesome," Hughie said. "Maybe before we hand over the Compound V, we can use it to leverage our freedom, so we don't have to hide here anymore."

"One thing at a time, lad," Butcher instructed. "And speakin' of the Compound V, which one of ya' cunts has it?"

Wordlessly, I pulled the small vile out of my pocket and placed it on the coffee table for everyone to see.

"Seriously, Hughie?" MM chided. "You gave it the junkie?"

I glared at him, insulted, as Hughie quickly defended his actions. "What? She's the lightest sleeper, so I figured she'd be the hardest to steal it from."

"And I'm not a junkie," I cut in. "I'm perfectly sober."

"Yes, but will you still be in roughly six hours? We all know where you go every night."

Anger flared in my belly, and I rose to my feet, ready to fight, before Hughie pulled me back down. "Ignore him," he advised in a hushed tone.

Butcher raised his hands, deciding to intervene. "Oi, twats, knock it off. We have more important things to discuss than Jo's love of a good bump." He paused briefly before continuing. "And while I have you lot here, there's a few things I'd like to get off me chest."

The room was quiet, giving Butcher the floor.

"I've been a proper cunt these past few months with me runnin' off and all. And I know I owe ya' an explanation, but I can't give one. I just need ya' to trust me that it was for a good fuckin' reason, and I wasn't off having a good wank somewhere."

I huffed out a breath, earning an elbow in the ribs from Hughie.

"What I'm tryin' to say," Butcher's voice grew softer, gentler even. "Is that m'sorry. I left without so much as a word, and you deserve better than that."

Without meaning to, I looked up and was taken aback by Butcher's contrite expression that was aimed only at me. His dark eyes roamed my face, and I squirmed in my seat, having gotten out of the habit of being under his intense gaze.

"Good girl," Butcher praised as he eased two of his thick fingers into my slick pussy.

"Please," I whimpered as my eyes glistened with need.

"S'ok, love. I've gotcha. After I've stretched out your pretty cunt for my cock, I'm gonna fuck ya' like the needy pup you are."

I audibly swallowed as I refocused my eyes on the scene in front of me. My pulse raced, and my clothes scratched against my feverish skin as I forced myself to ignore the explicit images replaying in my head.

It was clear that Butcher was expecting a verbal acceptance of his apology. But, I merely shifted my gaze to study my damaged cuticles instead, as if nothing had ever happened.

I heard Butcher sigh before MM cleared the awkward air by saying, "Look, man, we're glad you're back, and it'd be great if you could restrain yourself from being a dick and leaving again until we have Homlander in a grave along with the other son of a bitch supes."

Butcher agreed before he dismissed us, stating that we had to meet upstairs in the pawn shop at four o'clock sharp to leave for the meeting with Raynor.

༺༻

"Are you sure this is the right place?" MM asked, unconvinced, as he drove our broken-down van into the neglected parking lot. The cement had deep cracks, allowing weeds and dandelions to pop through. Up ahead, an old car factory could be seen, decorated in distasteful graphite and broken widows.

"Positive," Butcher confirmed from the passenger seat. "Found the place myself and knew it was a perfect area to meet Raynor."

MM parked the van between two barely visible yellow lines. "You couldn't have found a less sketchy spot?"

"Well, I was gonna suggest your mum's cunt, but I figured you'd prefer someplace more private."

A string of curses could be heard from MM, but we were all distracted by the sleek, back SUV that pulled up directly beside us.

"Right, show time," Butcher announced before quickly slapping a hand over MM's shoulder, holding him back from exiting the vehicle. "You let me do all the talkin', yeah? I know how to handle Raynor."

MM was silent as he deliberated Butcher's command before pointing a finger in his boss's face. "You better not fuck this up."

"You’ve got no faith in me," Butcher exclaimed as a faux look of hurt crossed over his face.

"For good reason," MM muttered, finally having permission from Butcher to get out.

The rest of us followed suit as we piled out of the back of the van. I rounded the side of it just in time to see Butcher greet Raynor with his arms wide open. "Susan, how lovely to see you."

"Yeah, yeah," Raynor rolled her eyes, getting down to business. "Do you have a sample of the unconfirmed drug?"

"You look more beautiful than that last time I saw ya'," Butcher continued as if he didn't hear a word she'd said, cockily tilting his head from side to side.

"Billy, I don't have all day," Raynor pressed, unamused.

Butcher waited a beat before sighing, lowering his head in defeat. "Alright, fine. You're much nicer when you're sloshed."

Raynor's glare was heated, but Butcher didn't seem to notice as he fished through the pockets of his trench coat. "It's here in me, uh, pocket somewhere," he murmured more to himself than anyone else. "Aha! Here we go," Butcher finally announced, proudly handing over the clear vial. "One order of Compound V, just like I promised."

Raynor held the sample of blue liquid up to the light, studying it. "If I come to find out that this is fucking Koolaid, or some other concoction mixed up to deceive me, I will hand you over to the government before you even have the chance to piss for the last time. Do you understand?"

Butcher pressed a hand against his heart as he stared at Raynor with wide eyes. "Do you not trust me, Susan? I thought we was past all that, love."

"Billy, tell me that you understand," Raynor said, not breaking her eye contact with Butcher.

I watched as Butcher clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together. To this day, Butcher was dreadful at heeding anyone's warnings. It was a personality trait embedded deep within his soul.

"Oh, I understand," he whispered darkly. I understand perfectly." It sounded something way too close to a threat, but Raynor seemed satisfied.

"Wonderful," she said. "I'll take this sample down to the labs and have my guys run some tests."

Butcher nodded before folding his hands together. "In the meantime, Susan, I believe we deserve some compensation for being so heroic as to nick the Compound V from Vought's lab and place it into your competent hands."

I hid my chuckle as I shook my head. It was Annie who had been so brave as to grab the sample. But, of course, Butcher had no problem with taking credit.

"What do you want?" Raynor asked, crossing her arms, already suspecting the worst.

"Just a little immunity so we can walk down the bleedin' street without our heads gettin' fuckin' blown off," Butcher answered casually before pulling MM forward. "And Marvin here would like to see his daughter. But I know that shouldn't be too difficult for a woman as powerful as yourself."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Susan admonished him. "If I were at all influential, Homelander would be dead, or at least detained, and we wouldn't be faced with this fucking dumpster fire-"

In reality, it all happened in the blink of an eye, but in my head, it stretched for an eternity, never ceasing.

Susan Raynor's head exploded, leaving her neck bared and bloodied as the remaining parts of her body crumpled to the ground. Shock wracked my system before I leaped into action, grabbing my gun from where it was tucked in my boot.

Bullets flew around our heads as Billy billowed, "Get in the bloody van!"

Our bodies clashed with each other as we hastily dashed to the van while Hughie screamed at an impressive volume. I turned my head frantically, looking for the shooters and source of violence, but much to my confusion, I saw nothing but an empty parking lot.

Just as I jumped into the back of the van, hot on MM's heels, a searing, hot pain erupted in my stomach. "Fuck," I hissed, immediately placing my hands on my abdomen where it burned. I peered down and watched in horror as blood seeped between my fingers.

Butcher bounded in behind me and slammed the double doors shut, all while angrily shouting at Frenchie, who was sitting in the driver's seat with Kimiko next to him. "Drive! Fuckin' drive!"

Frenchie swore sharply in his native tongue, throwing the dilapidated automobile into drive before slamming his foot on the gas, throwing us all around as he sped out of the parking lot and away from the invisible enemy.

As my body lurched forward, my knees gave out, and they slammed into the dirty floor. Blood now covered both my hands, trailing down my wrists as I curled in on myself.

"You good?" MM asked, placing a hand on my shoulder as he assessed my weakened form. "Oh, shit," he exclaimed when his eyes landed on the blood.

I was vaguely aware of Butcher as he joined MM and hovered over me, wanting to see what the issue was. But I didn't hear his yell of alarm as the world around me began to spin.

"I think I'm going to pass out," I mumbled.

"No, no. Whatever you do, Jo, do not pass out," MM warned as he began rifling through the makeshift first aid kit stored in the back of the van. "Keep her awake," he called over his shoulder to Butcher.

"Ok, love, c'mere." Butcher instructed, settling beside me on the ground and pulling me towards him so my back rested against his chest, holding me steady.

I whined at the sudden movement, and he instantly apologized, "M'sorry, doll. Didn't mean to hurt ya'."

"It burns," I whimpered as Butcher replaced my hands with his, putting pressure where the bullet was buried in my skin.

"I know, I know," he whispered, grazing his lips against the side of my temple. "But, dontcha worry. MM is gonna get the little bugger outta ya', and then you'll be right as rain."

"How much longer till we get back to base?" MM yelled up to Frenchie, who was ignoring every speed limit as he drove us home.

"At least an hour," he replied.

"Fuck, we don't have time," MM said, looking at Butcher. "I have to take the bullet out now and sew her up, or she's going to bleed out before we get back to the safe house."

Blood now caked Butcher's hands, the entirety of my shirt, and most of my pants. My vision blurred as my head fell back against Butcher's shoulder, lacking the energy I once had.

"Do what ya' have to do," he said.

MM nodded before turning back to his first aid kit, determined as he pulled a lighter, forceps, and a needle out.

"No," I cried, squirming in Butcher's hold when I saw the needle. "Please, I don't want it."

"Shh, s'ok," Butcher said, attempting to soothe me.

"No, I don't want it," I said again, with more emphasis in my hazy state as I struggled in his lap.

MM brought his supplies over and held up a hand to calm me. "I've done this a million times on the field. I can assure you that I know what I'm doing."

I shook my head relentlessly, increasing my dizziness. MM looked at Butcher helplessly, and Butcher replied to his unasked question.

"She doesn't like needles or any sort of sharp object. S'like a phobia or something," Butcher said gruffly.

"Look," MM offered, trying to reason with me. "If I could stitch you up with a butterfly or a fucking golden retriever puppy, I would. But a needle is our only option, kid. I'm sorry."

My eyes welled, and fat tears rolled down my cheeks. MM regarded me with genuine sympathy. "I'll make it as painless as I can. I promise."

MM looked back at Butcher for the signal to start, and I felt Butcher's chin brush against the top of my head as he nodded, granting MM his approval to begin the procedure.

MM made quick work of running a pair of scissors up my shirt before the sodden fabric fell away from my body, leaving my torso and chest in nothing but my black bra. He examined the wound before turning back to his supplies and retrieving a scalpel.

"The wound is too small, so I can't visually locate the bullet. That means I have to make an incision to increase the width so I can dig it out."

I let out a horse cry when I realized there was something else I was going to have to endure. I looked at Hughie, silently pleading for help. But he just peered back at me, concerned and full of compassion, as he crouched behind MM, assisting him.

MM flicked the lighter to life and held the scalpel directly in the flame, waiting for an allotted amount of time before he deemed the small knife sterile.

Carefully, he hovered over me, aiming the scalpel at the small hole in my belly. As I watched the sharp object come closer, I flailed in Butcher's arms, desperate to flee from his stronghold.

"Hold her still," MM instructed as the scalpel pierced my skin. I shrieked loudly as my tears came quicker. Butcher's hands tightened around me, but my much smaller ones reached forward as I tried to bat the scalpel away as it sank deeper into my flesh, cutting me open.

"Damn it, Butcher. Hold her fucking hands. She's going to cause me to slice her fucking liver, and I won't be able to fix that," MM vexed, pushing my hands away and their meager attempt to stop his assault on my stomach.

Butcher took hold of my wrists and pinned them to my chest. But all that did was make me sob louder as I continued to move about in his lap.

MM withdrew the scalpel as he sank back on his heels and looked up at Butcher. "You're going to have to calm her down. Or this will never work."

"I don't want it," I cried, but it fell on deaf ears as both men gazed at each other like I wasn't even there.

Butcher sighed before he turned his head, and I felt his lips brush against the shell of my ear. "C'mon, love. You've gotta be brave."

"No." I shook my head as I agonizingly eyed MM as he brought the scalpel back to rest against my bloodied flesh.

"Oi, none of that now," Butcher rebuked me gently. "You can do it. I know ya' can."

His fingers traced my wrists, still pinned to my chest, as he tried to distract me from MM, who was dipping the scalpel back into my mauled abdomen.

Blubbered pleas fell from my lips as Butcher bowed his head to whisper, "You're safe," he said, swiping a finger under my eyes to collect my tears. "MM isn't trying to hurt you, doll; he's helping ya'."

I turned my head to look up at Butcher, and his brows creased as he saw my face screwed up in anguish. "It's gonna be over before you know it, sweetheart. And then I'm gonna to take care of ya'."

I whined, bucking up into his hand that cupped my bare, sopping cunt.

"Such a needy little thing you are. Already drippin’ down your luscious thighs," Butcher smirked. "But, dontcha worry, sweetheart. I'm gonna take care of ya"."

Lost in the memory of Butcher and our heated night, I barely heard the clink of the bullet as MM dropped it in a small tin dish.

I hiccuped as I slumped against Butcher's broad chest, exhausted from fighting and blood loss. My eyelids drooped close, so I didn't even see MM retrieve the needle, mirroring his earlier actions and holding it in the flames of the lighter.

Butcher ran a hand over my forehead, carefully pulling back my hair that had stuck to my sweaty skin. "That's it, pretty girl," he praised, planting a kiss at the base of my neck. "You're doing so good for me. Just a little bit longer."

Butcher eased his girthy length into my wet entrance. I hissed at the sheer size of him as I felt my walls trying to accommodate his fat cock.

"You're doing so good for me, pretty girl. Just a little bit more."

He placed a hand across my lower stomach, gently massaging the tense muscles as he bottomed out. His heavy balls lay against my splayed cheeks, and I sighed at the feeling of being so full.

"All done," MM declared, placing a simple bandage over my stitches before promising me that he'd wrap me up properly once we got back to base.

"You did it," Butcher praised as his grip on my wrists slackened, and he gently placed my hands in my lap. "S'all over, love."

My eyes remained closed as I mumbled, "I'm tired." The fatigue was too much to ignore this time.

I felt the soft material of Butcher's trench coat slide over my upper body, covering me. The gesture made the wing of a butterfly flap to life somewhere deep in my stomach.

"S'ok, darling. You just sleep," Butcher softly insisted as he eased a hand under my knees, cradling me against his body. He slowly stood to his feet when the van stopped in front of the pawn shop and murmured to me that we were home.

I heard him quietly thank Hughie for holding one of the double doors open as he stepped out and began carrying me into our safe house. My head rested in the crook of Butcher's neck, and I inhaled his familiar scent of whiskey, mint, and soap. It comforted me as the sway of his strides rocked me to sleep.

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tag list: @weallhaveadestiny

@im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere

@mandossillyriduur

comment to be added to the list!🖤

abandoned masterlist

#billy butcher #billy butcher brainrot go brr #the boys billy butcher #billy butcher the boys #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher x female reader #billy butcher x you #billy butcher fic #billy butcher fanfic #karl urban #karl urban brainrot go brrr #the boys #the boys tv #the boys amazon #the boys fic #the boys fanfic

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for-a-longlongtime · 2 months ago

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you for tagging me @magpiepills (and for tagging me last week @mountainsandmayhem @milla-frenchy , plus @alltheirdamn @djarins-cyare @jeewrites the weeks prior to that! Didn’t get to post anything at that time...)

This is from my still untitled Santi fic for @perotovar’s Frith writing challenge (with some Frankie in it too, of course). I'm trying out something new by writing it in second person from Santiago's POV throughout the years:

When it’s your eighth birthday, your father suddenly shows up with presents that make you the envy of your friends. Boxing gloves, a large pocket knife - that your mom repeatedly tries to take away from you -, and you all eat so much dulce de leche cake. You wake up in the middle of the night because you hear your father arguing. The loud bangs that follow are unmistakingly gun shots, and you find one of the bullet casings the next morning. When you ask your mami about it, she gets so angry that you run away from home for the afternoon to hide until it gets dark and she’s had the drinks that make her happier. Unexpectedly, the boxing gloves end up giving you more time with your father. He teaches you how to throw a punch, how to avoid an attack, read someone’s body language. When to attack someone if you need to defend yourself. Which parts of the body are most vulnerable, and where to stab somebody to make them bleed out quickly. He’s proud, always, as he tells people about how good of a fighter you’re becoming. “Takes after me.” You don’t take much after him though - not really, but you do your best to make him continue to believe it anyway. Finally you start to believe it too and knock out a guy who is twice your age.

NPT (and if you read this, consider yourself tagged too!): @sin-djarin @milla-frenchy @mountainsandmayhem @reallyrallyauthor @lotusbxtch

@qveerthe0ry @perotovar @quinnnfabrgay-writes @oliveksmoked @ohforficsake

@almostfoxglove @penvisions @sp00kymulderr @crowandmousewritingco @prolix-yuy

@moonlitbirdie @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @virtie333 @alltheglitterandtheroar @nerdieforpedro

@avastrasposts @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @lady-bess @din-cognito @frenchiereading

@rhoorl @musings-of-a-rose @trulybetty @yopossum @demonsandbullets

@pimosworld @alltheirdamn @djarins-cyare @jeewrites @writefightandflightclub

@arcanefox207 @youandmeand5bucks @exquisiteserotonin @legendary-pink-dot

#WIP wednesday #santiago garcia #triple frontier #frankie morales #oscar isaac #santiago pope garcia

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deaf-solitude · 1 year ago

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can i request platonic frenchie&reader where they run scams or heists together? reader can be g/n!

(A/N: Of course! :D So sorry for the delay, I’ve been dealing with a lot these past months and trying to get out of writer's block. I may have gotten… a little off topic and carried away but I meannnn… I had a vision and I ran with it. I hope it didn't come off as romantic due to some dance scenes. Hope you enjoy! <3 (also season 2 RAHHHHHH!!! I’m staying up to date with the episodes as soon as they come out, so feel free to submit requests for season 2 stuff as well!) also this starts in third person, but is written in 2nd person afterwards!)

Pairing: Platonic Frenchie x Gender Neutral! Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: None (aside from rich people ugh). Very fluffy :]

Summary: You and Frenchie snuck into a fancy party to rob some rich people, as one does. The night was going so very smoothly, and you both racked up quite the haul for the night. A bit of trouble arose as you were trying to leave, but there's nothing you can't... dance your way out of?

“Hey, get back here!” A voice shouted from somewhere in the crowded ballroom, but it was only met with giggles and hushed exclamations as two figures rushed away from the fancy Englishman. A few other posh citizens were shoved to the side as they ran, causing them to let out offended gasps and surprised shouts, but that didn’t deter the pair from making their getaway.

“Go, go, go!” One of the two encouraged, pushing the man in front of them around a corner to get away from any pursuers they may have picked up. The two yelped as they turned the corner, coming face to face with a taller, burlier man. He… did not look pleased. The thief behind their male counterpart suddenly launched forward, grabbing his hand and dragging him down another hallway. He stumbled slightly from the abrupt movement, but quickly regained his footing and kept pace with them.

They could hear the larger man giving chase behind them, spurring them to run faster. Through many narrow hallways and past many closed doors (which they didn’t dare test to see if any of them were locked or not), the two finally saw a break as they turned a corner: an ajar door. They charged through the doorway and nearly crashed into the wall opposing it, but scrambled to quietly shut the door behind them anyway. The space was small, almost too small for the both of them, and they were forced to painfully squish together.

They covered each other’s mouths with their hands as they heard the hurried footsteps of their pursuer, lying in wait as they approached and then passed their hiding place. They could hear each other's racing heartbeats in their ears from the close proximity, waiting at least a minute more before even considering moving. Slowly, they exchanged wide-eyed glances before breaking down into quiet laughter.

“Up top!” You exclaimed through laboured breaths, struggling to free your arm before holding one of your hands up toward Frenchie. He grinned and enthusiastically gave you a high five, doing a little fist pump right after. You giggled quietly at his action, covering your mouth with your hand.

“You got the goods?” Frenchie questioned eagerly, to which you procured a decent sized pouch from behind your back, its contents jingling around as it moved.

“I sure do,” you responded with a mischievous grin, shaking the pouch slightly before tucking it back behind your back, straightening up a bit–or, as much as you could in the small space. “Now let’s get the fuck outta here, yeah?” You proposed, gesturing the best you could to the small closet the two of you were still standing in.

Frenchie nodded, “right, right.” He leaned forwards to slowly open the closet door, carefully peeking his head out to scan the hallway. Empty. He withdrew his head and gave you a thumbs up, indicating the coast was clear, before shoving his hands in the small, intricate satchel tied around his waist, trying to look for something. He fished out two masquerade-esque masks with a flourish a few moments later, the masks similar to the ones some of the other guests were wearing, but a little more crude due to the materials Frenchie had on hand when making them. “Our disguises,” he announced, handing the one over to you that matched your outfit’s theme and colours.

“Oooo, very nice,” you complimented, taking the mask offered to you gently. It covered a little more of your face than a normal mask would, and yours had some beautiful feathers fanning out from one side, no doubt stolen from that rich man’s ship that Blackbeard’s crew had raided earlier. “You sure these masks will be enough to stop people from recognizing us? Or rather, the blokes that were chasing us earlier?” You questioned as you fastened the mask to your face, adjusting the string holding it in place so it wouldn’t slip.

“Oh yeah, a hundred percent. We’ll be out of here in no time.” Frenchie reassured, waving a dismissing hand at you as he fumbled to put his own mask on. You nodded at Frenchie’s words, choosing to believe him rather than fret over the fact that the masks would definitely not conceal your identities well enough, but you supposed you would cross that bridge when you got to it.

Within a few more moments, you were both ready to go, checking that the hallway was clear once more before exiting the cramped closet. You made quick work of navigating the halls the two of you had just been running down, making your way back to the main area. There was only one problem that stood between you and your escape: you had to make your way back through the crowded ballroom, where you had both stolen several valuables from several different people. You found yourself standing in front of that very room before long, pausing in one of the extravagant arches that led into it. It was still as packed as ever, and the band set up in the corner of the room were still playing their baroque music.

“Ugh, this is going to be terrible,” Frenchie groaned, already shivering in discomfort from the thought of having to get through this room in a non suspicious manner, which most likely called for some interaction with these upper class snobs. You also found yourself shuffling your feet anxiously, your mind already jumping to find other solutions.

“Uh, maybe there’s a way around…?” You had begun to move away from the busy room when suddenly you were taken by the arm and pulled in another direction. Your head snapped to the side to see a posh Englishwoman had hooked her arm with yours, a tight smile on her face. “Oh, darling, I love the embroidery on your outfit! Wherever did you get it?” She gawked, eyeing you –an unsuspected thief– up and down.

You were quick to put up a bashful facade, giving the woman a coy smile in return, but you couldn’t shake the nervous twinge in your body language. “Ah, this old thing?” You waved a hand at her, straightening up a bit, “I’m afraid it’s handmade by a friend of mine, a gift to me. They don’t take clients, unfortunately.” Of course, you were lying through your teeth: this ‘friend’ of yours was actually that wealthy man that had been robbed earlier that day, who had an odd amount of fancy outfits aboard his ship. He was dead now, courtesy of Izzy. You supposed the outfit counted as a gift, along with the feathers adorning your mask.

“Oh, please, you must put in a good word for me! Their work is simply exquisite!” The woman pleaded, holding both of your arms now. You chuckled nervously, trying to wrench yourself from the woman’s uncomfortably tight hold.

“Of course, of course! I’ll be, uh, sure to do that!” You responded hastily, your gaze flicking to the side to meet Frenchie’s, but instead found that he was missing from where you were just standing next to him. Your eyes widened in panic, beginning to search the rest of the room for your companion. Luckily, it didn’t take long for you to catch a glimpse of him again, the poor man also being dragged away and crowded around by some posh couple.

Shit, you cursed inwardly, excusing yourself from the Englishwoman as you began to make your way over to Frenchie again. You nearly groaned as yet another person intercepted your path, talking your ear off about some party gossip you couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to at the moment, only responding in hums and nods as you kept your eye on Frenchie. Eventually, he turned and met your gaze with a distraught expression, a frown tugging at his lips.

At that moment, a new song started up, and all of the partygoers suddenly perked up and started to cheer, seemingly getting into… pairs? Oh. OH. Your heart dropped into your stomach, realizing that people were starting to dance. Unfortunately for you, it seemed as though the crowd was pulling in any dance partner they could find, which included onlookers. You looked back to Frenchie with a panicked look–you were never confident in your ability to dance. He gave you an empathetic look, shrugging before being pulled away by a tipsy woman who was far too giggly for his liking.

“Out of all the fucking times,” You grumbled to yourself, your fists clenching at your sides in annoyance and slight nervousness. A tap on your shoulder had you whirling around, your posture stiff as you stared at the masked woman who had wanted your attention.

“Oh hun, you seem awfully lonely. It’d be a shame if you missed out on all the fun,” she purred, holding out a hand. You hesitated, trying to ease the tension in your voice and body by clearing your throat as you scratched the back of your neck.

“Oh, I don’t know… I’m not the best dancer,” you explained, but your hand was grabbed by the woman anyway. You were startled at first, every muscle in your body screaming to pull away from the unfamiliar woman, but fuck it, causing a scene was the last thing you needed right now.

“That’s quite alright, just follow my lead,” the woman responded quietly, unnaturally kind for someone of her stature. You nodded without a word, letting the woman take the lead in a more relaxed step pattern. It was easier to get into the flow than you thought, and after a bit of stumbling, you were following the woman’s movements effortlessly. She smiled up at you, pulling you a bit closer. “See? You’re a natural.”

You barked a laugh and dare you say, although the woman’s proximity was a bit worrisome, you found yourself having a bit of fun. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually enjoyed dancing without making yourself look like a fool. “I wouldn’t say a natural,” you responded casually, your gaze wandering to inspect the rest of the ballroom, looking for a way out despite the fun of it. That’s when you spotted your counterpart a few feet away, trying his damndest to keep up with an overly eager damsel. You suppressed a laugh, lest you make your own dance partner suspicious, and took the lead to slowly make your way over to him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” You smirked as you passed Frenchie on the dance floor, bumping your hip into his as you spun your dance partner away from yourself for a moment. Frenchie, taken off guard for a second, chuckled at the action and was grinning at your unusual confidence, but was pulled away by his own dance partner before he could get a word in. The interaction left a giddy smile on your face, even as your dance partner came spinning back into your arms.

After another minute or so, the song picked up the pace and suddenly everyone was switching dance partners. Despite her friendly attitude, you still couldn’t help slipping off the gold rings around the woman’s fingers as the two of you parted, discreetly pocketing them with a smug smile. You half-bowed to her as you scurried off, hoping she wouldn’t notice the small accessories missing anytime soon.

You tried picking out Frenchie in the crowd as everyone mingled again, but were unable to before a man approached you with unmistakable, arrogant confidence. “Why, hello there,” he greeted, his voice nasally and annoying as he grabbed your arm and pulled you much too close to him, “may I have this dance with you?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying your best to keep your smile from slipping as you eyed the exit, still having half the room to traverse. You turn your attention back to the man in front of you, eying him up and down with a feigned look of coyness. “I suppose,” you trailed off, fighting hard to bite back any snarky remarks or pointed looks. As he took your hand and started to lead you in dance, however, you couldn’t stop yourself from stepping on his shiny shoes a few times… accidentally, of course.

You found yourself smiling, not because of the dancing, but from the pure enjoyment of toying with the man in front of you as he tried to remain polite, despite his lips twitching in annoyance. Another step on his foot nearly had him pushing you away from him, and you tried hard not to laugh. It came out as a stifled inhale, easily mistaken for a gasp. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight,” you pouted up at the man, rolling your head to the side to rest it on your shoulder.

The man sighed heavily, but still managed to give you a strained smile as he pulled you close again. “Ah, it seems dancing just isn’t your forte,” he rudely commented, his hand trailing up to your face and towards your mask, “maybe we should just cut to the chase, hm? See that pretty face of yours?”

Your facade broke instantly, reflexes almost lightning-quick as you seized the man’s wrist in your hand, your breathing suddenly uneven with anger and surprise. You glared up at him as your lip pulled back into a scowl, but before you had the chance to spit any insults at him, everyone was changing partners again.

You swiped the jeweled bangle from his wrist in all the commotion before eagerly shoving the man away, who stumbled from the force. He was taken aback to see you flipping him off as you backed away from him, giving him a disgusted look. He didn’t have any time to take action against your sudden impertinence as another woman swooped in and begged for him to dance with her, but you still refused to turn your back on him as you continued walking backwards.

That is, until you inevitably backed into someone.

You whipped around, agitated and ready to snap at whoever had gotten in your way, but your expression and posture immediately softened when you saw who it was. “Hey! Thought I lost you for good for a second there!” Frenchie exclaimed, smiling brightly at you. It was contagious, really, and you found yourself smiling along with him.

“Yeah, it’s easy to get caught up with the crowd in here,” you chuckled, tension leaving your body with every second spent being in Frenchie’s presence. You don’t know what you would’ve done if you had to spend one more second mingling with these upper class gits.

“Tell me about it! I never knew these snobs could be so energetic,” he admitted with a sigh, and now you could see the exhaustion that had begun to slow his movements down. You hummed in response, your eyes flicking to the side as you caught an Englishwoman approaching the two of you in your peripheral vision. You were quick to grab Frenchie’s hands in response, pulling him in the opposite direction and easily transitioning into a slower dance in order to prevent the two of you from getting dragged apart again. He let out a small yelp of surprise from the action, but didn’t pull away or protest as you guided him away from any prying hands.

You were both silent for a moment while you focused on getting into the rhythm, but before long, you had looked up and made eye contact with him, causing the two of you to burst out into stifled laughter; laughter from the absolute insanity of your situation. “You’re not a bad dancer, if I do say so myself,” Frenchie grinned, promptly stepping on your foot and immediately gasping out an apology as he did. You winced a bit, but laughed it off when you caught sight of his guilty expression, his lip pouted as it usually was.

“Thank you! It doesn’t seem you’ve gotten the hang of it though, eh?” You joked, continuing to lead him in the half-ballroom style the majority of the partygoers had adopted. It was so easy with Frenchie, despite his slightly messy footwork: easier than it had been with the first woman you danced with.

“Oh, fuck off, will you?” Frenchie retorted, smacking your arm lightly. A warm laugh bubbled up from your chest again, and you were unable to fight the bright smile that stretched across your face. You debated spinning Frenchie away from you for his little comment, but when you went to see if there was room behind him for the maneuver, you paused very suddenly and caused Frenchie to stumble.

“Wh-? What’d you do that for?” He whined, following your gaze as he looked over his shoulder. You were both suddenly frozen in place, realizing you had made it to the other side of the room with your antics. The two of you stared in disbelief for a moment, trying to figure out how you had even ended up here–if you even wanted to leave–before a loud shout resounded behind you: “There they are! Get them!”

Dread filled both of you, slowly turning around to see the two men that were chasing you earlier, and then slowly turning to look at each other. The moment you made eye contact, you bolted forwards and out of the ballroom with the two men in tow again.

Through the marbled front foyer and out the grand double doors, you two left the beach-side building sprinting, laughing and shouting as the men tried to give chase behind you. You both stumbled onto the beach, Frenchie momentarily losing his footing in the soft sand before you pulled him back up to his feet and continued running. The cool ocean breeze was like heaven on your skin, cooling you down from the stuffy interior of that stupid ballroom.

When you reached the rocky shoreline, Frenchie almost leapt into the rowboat hidden behind a larger formation of rocks, despite the men having stopped chasing as you ran onto the beach. You were both still giggling at the whole interaction, not even noticing that the bottom of your outfit was getting wet as you clumsily pushed the rowboat out and hopped in yourself.

You both lay in the small dinghy for a moment, exhausted but entertained, as you attempted to catch your breath. “Fuckin’ mental,” you mumbled, leaning your head back and over the side of the rowboat. Frenchie hummed quietly in response, and when you sat up to look at him, he looked like he was on the verge of passing out; his eyes were firmly shut and his limbs splayed out across some of the benches, but his lips were still slanted upwards in a small, soft smile.

You shook your head with a light chuckle, taking off your mask and fully sitting up, adjusting your position so you could start paddling back to the Revenge, which was anchored a little ways off the coast. It was late now: the sun had begun to dip below the horizon line and painted everything in a brilliant orange light. Backdropped against the fading sun, the Revenge looked even more magnificent than usual.

Frenchie called your name quietly, and your eyes moved back to him to see that he had straightened up a bit and his mask had been removed as well. “Pass the bag here, yeah?” He mumbled, his movements sluggish as he extended a hand out with a grabbing motion. You snickered and stopped rowing for a moment, reaching your hand behind your back to untie the bag from your belt. In a few moments, the small bag was in Frenchie’s hands, and he was eagerly digging through it like a kid on Christmas.

He went through the pouch of assorted jewelry, pulling out a few different accessories to examine before dumping them back in. There was a surplus of pearl necklaces, of which he promptly ignored. Finally, he caught a glimpse of a bejeweled necklace and pulled it from the bag, studying it carefully in his hands. The gems that adorned the necklace were bright and beautifully cut, reflecting the orange light of the sunset in every which way.

It wasn’t long before he lifted the necklace up to his neck and made some smug expression, turning his nose up in an exaggerated manner. “Why, I can’t believe you’d disrespect me so!” Frenchie croaked, his voice a bit hoarse as he strained to talk in an octave above his usual tone. “Do you not know who I am? I am Zippery Von Sweets the sixth! I-”

You had already been fighting laughter for the entirety of his impression, but as soon as he had uttered that ridiculous name, you cut the rest of his impression off and started cackling. Watching you doubling over, Frenchie joined in soon thereafter and threw his head back as you both laughed, the action rocking the boat slightly.

To say tonight was a success would be an understatement.

End. <3

#ofmd x reader #frenchie ofmd #frenchie #frenchie x reader #frenchie ofmd x reader #ofmd #our flag means death #fanfic #x reader #request #platontic #platonic x reader #pirates #fluffy

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blue-b-bro · 1 year ago

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Colour’s meaning in ofmd:

First rule is that brighter = more intense, and lighter = more open a feeling is. I’ll say more below, but it already says something about Blackbeard’s crew being all black and only black :’)

Yellow:

Yellow is a colour of truth. Colour of following your dreams and passions. Before the break-up gown, Stede is wearing the yellow one.

Teal:

Basically it’s a sea colour. It means sea and freedom. In e4 Alma has teal dress, while playing pirates with Stede, which also shows she was closer with Stede than her brother. There’s a lot of teal-ish colours around Stede, but most are actually “hidden”, darker. He was keeping it a secret from others. When he’s on his boat in s1 he’s almost glowing teal.

It’s the colour of sea and freedom, but more like an idea of it, not a realistic one, witch may be the reason many crew members have some teal elements, usually very small, and Stede is all teal and then, in e10 he destroys this idealisation to start something real. After his first “kill” in e1 Stede’s teal's never that bright again.

Pink:

It’s a colour of rejection. Not sure why, but it is. The moment Stede leaves, Mary’s wearing light pink. When Ed becomes distant and then leaves him to go with Jack, when Stede left Ed, they are wearing the break-up gown, which is bright pink. I’d say the difference between those two intensities would say something about the intensity of the feeling. Mary was abandoned, but she wasn’t so hurt by it, they weren’t happy together. But Ed and Stede were hurt very much.

Also all of the non-white crew wears pink/pink-ish in e1, while in disguise (because you know, to show racism) + Lucius’s very bright scarf & Black Pete’s light pink… something (probably because homophobia, and Lucius is very loudly queer). All the things white colonisers reject.

Red:

We all know, it’s a heart colour, Ed’s heart but not only. Ed hides his red, Lucius is wearing a lot of red, as someone who’s not ashamed of his love and usually helps with relationship’s problems, Stede, while destroying his teal is covering it in red and in s2 wears red scarf(?). At the end of e3 Stede is covered in red, even the background turns red, while meeting Ed for the first time. He's also wearing dark red when talking about his favorite horsie :")

Salmon/Orange:

It’s a colour of insecurity, feeling inadequate or incompetent, unsure. Stede wears light salmon/orange when Ed says he’s not ready for a fuckery, then very dark (almost brown, but still salmon-ish to me) when he feared Ed’s going to leave, because Stede’s wasn’t fun enough. Ed wears dark salmon in e4, when trying this new persona/thinking he was expendable to this Blackbeard legend. Stede is deprived of his salmon vest in e2, when he got more confident.

Purple:

I think it’s the creativity and adventure colour. I’m also not sure if it’s important that what Ed was missing after leaving the Revenge was a lavender soap (something something he wanted to feel clean and with Jack he wasn’t again, it’s a colour meta, let’s not go there). I mean we say it’s Ed’s colour, but I’m not sure anyone here has “their” colour. If colours are feelings, no-one has their own. For example, other characters wearing purple is Stede in e2 (when he has to use his creativity), Lucius (art), Frenchie (music, crafts and cons) and sometimes Oluwande. Characters get more purple when they need to figure out a plan or scheming something, get creative.

White/Beige:

Stede is all white in e3. He’s like a blank canvas (Lucius is immediately covered in red again), inviting pirate world, willing to learn. It also makes him stick out like a sore thumb of course. White is supposed to mean empty, nothing, bare, open. Stede made his white crew wear mostly white, to not be seen as suspicious.

Beige, as some kind of darker white, is not knowing what you want, figuring thing out.

Ed and Stede are white when discovering their love for each other, entering something completely new for them. Stede, at the end of s1 is colourless, but in s2 he gets a red scarf and later gets green/dark teal shirt. Jim is all beige while hiding and figuring out their identity. When being afraid that he’s not enough fun, Stede choose all beige for their adventure, showing he doesn’t really know what he’s doing but he’s ready to do it.

Beige is temporary.

Now, we have yellow&red-ish&teal ship, Stede’s dark red&dark teal at his wedding, Sted’s family portrait (everyone close and light yellow/orange, except Stede - dark blue/teal and distant):

But the real kicker for me is Stede’s pitch black cravat Ed wears on his neck. His feelings for Stede while always with him, hidden very deep inside.

I also recommend those meta: x x x x x

Edit: I'm rereading metas and now I remember why purple is thought to be Ed's color (Ed's red heart + Stede's teal freedom he offers -> purple) Still fits 🤟

#Behold the reason I don't sleep recently lol #Please give me some notes #Unless it's stupid #our flag means death #Ofmd #ofmd meta #stede bonnet #edward teach

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asgardian--angels · 1 year ago

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I wanna bring us all back for a sec to 'You indestructible little fucker'

Because a lot of people got hung up on this line, thinking Izzy should have lived, that he survived multiple death attempts and this was the proof he's unkillable. But I really think this line does the exact opposite - it portends his death, and not just that, but his sendoff with Edward.

As I've mentioned before, Izzy is a real pirate in the real world. Throughout season 1 he did not subscribe to the 'muppet logic' of the Revenge crew, and continuing in season 2, his injuries don't miraculously heal like everyone else's, including Ed (whose injuries were fatal and should have left him with a cracked skull and brain damage at the very least). He bears his scars, as other real pirates do. As his character grows, develops, and comes to be welcomed into the community of the Revenge crew, we could say he is 'one foot in' when it comes to reaching muppethood. But figuratively, and quite literally, he can never have both feet in and complete that transformation. That lost leg is his tie to the real, bloody, and unfair world of pirating he belongs to.

Izzy didn't survive those other near-death situations because of muppet-logic. He had tenacity, and grit, and most importantly, skill. He wouldn't be able to shrug off yardies like Roach, or a sword to the gut like Ed - Stede's dream literally involves killing Izzy via stabbing. Izzy is the character that things stick to - he's grounded in reality, in the old ways of pirating that have now burnt to the ground.

When Ed calls him indestructible, it's not because Izzy can't die. It's because Ed sees Izzy as a universal constant in his life. Of course Izzy will get back up every time he falls down - no one gets the better of Israel Hands. And in that moment when Ed had gone well and truly off the rails, it's Izzy who reappears from certain death to rein him back in and save the crew. Ed counts on that back and forth, that other presence, always there - for better or for worse, it's stability, it's reliability, it's his normal. Whether or not Ricky was right when he said Izzy was the genius behind the operation, we know that Edward and Izzy together formed 'Blackbeard.' Ed thinks he can't kill Izzy in a way that matters - and he didn't ever kill Izzy himself, he left it to Frenchie and then later gave Izzy the pistol.

But that's where it circles back around to the finale. Ed couldn't fathom Izzy actually dying - he's indestructible. He doesn't know what he'd do without him. It leaves Ed in the vulnerable position of being on his own, figuratively - independent, with no one over his shoulder providing guidance, directing him, or nudging him to be one thing or another. But Izzy tells him, you're ready now. And he is. Izzy isn't invincible, and Edward doesn't need him, doesn't need to hide behind the cold, distant, impenetrable veneer of Blackbeard anymore.

If Izzy could have become a true muppet, he would have brushed off that bullet. But that's not who and what he is - not narratively, and not literally either - he himself says it; "Pirating? Well, this is a pirate ship, and I'm a pirate. So, yeah, I'm good with it." Edward is leaving pirating behind, but it's all Izzy's ever known and it's what he wants to continue being - a real pirate in the real world, and thus, one that faces real consequences and can't keep cheating death. It's a tragedy Ed needed to see, that sometimes, things don't turn out alright - not everyone sails off into the sunset. Some stay behind to run an inn, facing an uncertain but hopeful future with vulnerability and free will, which are both daunting for Edward. Others die a pirate's death - but not without imparting necessary wisdom first.

#ofmd #our flag means death #if i put this in the izzy hands tag i fear i'll be eaten alive so here it remains lmao

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geminiwritten · 2 years ago

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untouched ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: billy hasn’t touched you for months, and you’re frustrated, so you decide to invest in some skimpy lingerie in the hopes that he won’t be able to resist

notes: YES, this is (very loosely) based on the song ‘untouched’ by the veronicas and if you haven’t heard it, it’s a bop. also, i’m so sorry for the terrible british accent writing, and i’m sorry for the fade-to-black but i was too chicken to actually write all the smut. please let me know what you think!

side note: i would die for this man (billy butcher and karl urban)

warnings: a lot of swearing, beer, very light smut, and some google translated french

word count: 5848

You hadn’t originally planned for Frenchie to come along on your little shopping trip, it was supposed to be MM, but when he got a call from Janine, you couldn’t possibly have asked him to prioritise you over his own daughter. Hughie had offered to drive you, of course, but you decided that Frenchie was the lesser of two evils in this situation, and you refused to go alone. Lately, you weren’t the biggest fan of going anywhere alone.

“Ooh,” Frenchie coos, pulling a lacy baby doll from one of the racks and holding it up to his own body. “I think this would suit me, no?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I think it would, why don’t you try it on?”

He giggles and throws the garment over his arm. “I think you, mon amour, would look ravishing in it.”

So here you were, in the middle of the lingerie section in one of New York City’s largest department stores, shopping for scandalous undergarments with Frenchie. You have to admit, he is a huge boost for your self-esteem, but you trusted him much less than MM to keep this little shopping trip a secret.

“What about this one?” he asks, holding up a bodysuit styled after Starlight’s costume that left even less to the imagination than her suit already did.

You scoff, “Absolutely not.”

He giggles again as he returns the bodysuit to its rack. You were doing your best to avoid anything that resembled the costume of a Supe, even if some of Queen Maeve’s designs did catch your eye. The purpose for which you were buying would definitely be negated by anything that looked like it had been produced by Vought.

“May I ask,” Frenchie says as he catches up to you at the next rack, “what exactly are you looking for, and why?”

“I just need some new underwear,” you lie. “The washing machine at that dingy apartment only works half of the time and I figured that buying more underwear was a more economical option than buying a whole new machine.”

The second part wasn’t a lie, but you still had to turn away to hide your pink cheeks.

“Ah,” he sighs, moving around the rack to follow you. “So silly of me to assume that this had something to do with Monsieur Charcutier, but I suppose you would not lie to me, hm?”

Your pulses races, pumping even more blood into your cheeks and making the huge store feel suddenly stifling. You ignore his inference and turn toward a shelf full of wrapped latex garments, ranging from underwear to bras, to suspenders and gloves. The items draped over your arm are mostly lace and straps, so you choose a pair of latex hot pants and hand them to Frenchie.

“Like this,” you say, “practical underwear, perfect for fighting. I won’t have to worry about them falling down.”

He smirks. “Of course, and perhaps you will need this to?”

He takes a riding crop off one of the hooks beside the latex display and offers it to you.

“Better than a gun, in my opinion,” you state, taking the crop and holding it under your arm that is already full of lingerie.

“What is it for if not to spank a naughty, naughty Supe,” he chuckles.

After an hour of browsing and dodging Frenchie’s attempts to get you to reveal your true agenda, you approach the check-out counter. A surly old woman serves you, grumbling between disapproving glares as she scans each item that is more scandalous than the last. You’re so busy trying not to burst out laughing that you don’t even notice the inclusion of the riding crop until she hands you the bag.

“Have a great day,” she mumbles insincerely.

“And you too, mon chéri,” Frenchie says with a wink.

You grab his wrist and drag him behind you as you b-line for the store’s main doors. By the time you reach the curb, you’re both giggling like idiots and wiping tears from the corners of your eyes while strangers watch you with wary expressions. It’s only a short walk to the car, but you manage to compose yourself by the time you’re both climbing into your respective seats. The engine sputters to life, and Frenchie swerves into the busy traffic in the direction of your current residence.

“Be honest with me, mon amour,” he says, and you look up from your phone, “what is all this about?”

The paper bag is nestled between your feet, and you can see a buckled strap peeking out of it. None of your purchases were at all for practical use.

You sigh, “I honestly don’t know, Frenchie.”

“Butcher has been distant lately, no?”

You nod, and he glances at you from the corner of his.

“It has been rough,” he says, “and I know he is not good with his emotions, even in the best of times, but I know he does care about you.”

“I know.”

He moves a hand from the wheel to hold one of yours. “You do not need all of this to make him lo-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, your pulse spiking with panic, “please, don’t say that word.”

“Mon amour,” he sighs, and somehow in French the word sounds a lot less intimidating. “You are beautiful, do not ever forget it.”

You smile at him and raise his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles. “You’re beautiful too, Frenchie.”

He chuckles, “I know.”

It isn’t just that you’re afraid of that word when it came to Butcher, because there were so many more things to fear in this world, it was more to do with the fact that he hasn’t touched you in months. You knew, when it all started, that this situation wasn’t going to be easy and it definitely wasn’t going to be something that meant a whole lot to Butcher, but you went ahead and fell anyway. With the chaos of the cause you were all fighting for, and the uncertainty of whether or not any of you would live, you thought you’d be able to put your own desires on the back burner. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was good for a while, but then things got bad again and more skeletons crept out of the closet, and Butcher has all but forgotten about you. It isn’t that he no longer cares about you, because you know he does, but he’s been all work and no play for months now, and your heart is beginning to ache. And so is the place between your thighs that he is exceptionally good at satiating.

You might be stupid enough to fall for the man but you’re not stupid enough to assume that he might ever return those feelings, so you’ve decided to focus on the one element of intimacy you know he craves too.

“Looks like le Charcutier himself has returned,” Frenchie says, and only then do you realise the car has stopped.

Butcher’s car is parked at the curb in front of the decrepit apartment building that you currently call home, and you can swear there are new scrapes scratched along the passenger’s side doors. You tuck your purchases as deep into the paper bag as they’ll go before getting out of the car and following Frenchie into the building. You climb two sets of stairs and stop at the third door on the left, nervously chewing the inside of your lip while Frenchie fumbles with his keys.

“You know,” he whispers, pausing as he turns to you, “he might not-”

“Frenchie,” you hiss, “I don’t want to talk about the consequences, okay?”

He sighs, “I just don’t want you to be upset if he does not appreciate this the way you want him to.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

You snatch his keys and jam the big rusted one into the doorknob, twisting it angrily and pushing the door open before he can say another word. You knew your plan had holes, but you didn’t have the patience to try and talk any sense into yourself because Butcher was the only thing on your mind. He has been from the moment you met him.

The first person you see is MM, sitting on the couch watching old cartoon reruns with a content smile on his lips. Hughie is in the kitchen, on the phone to his dad and by the sound of it, attempting to talk him through the process of rebooting his Wi-Fi router. Your frustration dissipates at the sight of normalcy, or as normal as it got for people who live the way that you all do. It’s been quiet lately, more reconnaissance than murder, and more time to plan and recover for when things inevitably go wrong.

“Hey,” MM calls, “how did you go?”

He immediately glances at the bag and grin splits across his face.

Hughie bids his father goodbye before tucking his phone in his pocket and looking to you, his frown turning quizzical. “What is that?”

“It is a- uh,” Frenchie puts a finger to his lips, “how do you say flagellateur?”

“You bought a cane?” Hugh gasps, “What the hell for?”

MM chuckles, “I believe Frenchie called it a flogger.”

“For the naughty Supes,” Frenchie says, pulling it out of the bag before you can react.

Hughie bursts out laughing as Frenchie moves like lightning and smacks MM across the bottom with the crop, a sharp cracking sound echoing through the room. MM yelps, turning to Frenchie with a murderous glare.

“Touch me with that again and I’ll shove it so far up your ass, you’ll feel it in your throat,” he threatens.

Frenchie smirks, “Do not make promises you cannot keep, vilain garçon.”

MM moves to grab the crop, but Frenchie is faster. He steps back and holds it behind his back, giving himself a light tap on the thigh and moaning wickedly. Hughie’s laughter bubbles up again, and even MM can’t help from chuckling.

You roll your eyes despite your amusement, “Come on, Frenchie, that’s enough.”

“Au contraire, mon petit chat,” he coos, “we are just getting started.”

“Who’s gettin’ what started?”

All four of you turn toward the familiar voice – gruff and always a little sarcastic – to find Butcher standing in the door to the main bedroom. His hair is damp and tousled, and his signature trench coat absent.

“Nothing, Monsieur Charcutier,” Frenchie says, still holding the crop behind his back.

“What the bloody hell are you hidin’?”

Hughie is struggling to hold back his laughter, his eyes watering with the effort. The boy is definitely sleep deprived, though this time you blame Annie more than the vigilante lifestyle.

Butcher takes two heavy steps forward and his brows furrow. “Is that a fuckin’ riding crop?”

“Oh, this?” Frenchie shows him the flogger. “This is Mademoiselle Y/N’s.”

He steps toward you and slides the crop back into your bag.

“We went shopping,” you say, forcing yourself to meet Butcher’s eyes despite the overwhelming urge to run back out the door.

He cocks his head, “You went shoppin’ with Frenchie, ‘n’ bought a fuckin’ sex toy?”

You nod slowly, feeling the blood burn in your cheeks. The air is suddenly thick, and you struggle to draw anything more than a shallow breath as you wait in silence for someone to say something. You know it’s bad when even Frenchie shuts up.

“Right,” Butcher glances at the bag in your hand before turning to MM. “Well, since everyone’s ‘ere, we might as well go over what we know ‘bout the rally this weekend.”

Hughie rushes over to the small dining room table to retrieve his laptop, and MM turns the television’s volume down to zero. Butcher looks back at you, and then to Frenchie.

“Unless,” he says, “you two had somethin’ better to do?”

Frustration bubbles up in your chest, and your embarrassment turns into irritation.

“Just let me get changed.”

You don’t wait for a response before turning on your heel and marching into your room, slamming the door for effect. You tip the contents of your shopping bag on the bed and begin stripping out of your jeans. It is hot in this dingy little apartment, since no one had yet been successful in getting the thermostat to work, so your decision to change into shorts and a loose button-up wasn’t totally uncalled for. It just so happens that you decided to swap your bra and panties for a sheer black bodysuit with a built-in harness that wrapped around your chest and waist, and down around your bum into thigh garters. You button your shirt enough to only just show the straps over the curve of your breasts, and make sure the garters are tucked under your shorts before remerging into the living room.

The boys are gathered around the kitchen bench, Frenchie and Hughie looking at the laptop while Butcher and MM point at what you can guess is a map on the countertop. You assume Kimiko is still sleeping, and no one was game enough to try and wake her.

“We’re not sure if anyone from corporate is scheduled to attend,” Hughie says, “but it looks like every member of the seven have been ordered to appear.”

You step between Frenchie and MM, right across from Butcher. Frenchie glances at you, his eyes dropping for less than a second to your cleavage before he gives you a cheeky smirk. You press your lips together to keep from laughing, and when you look toward Butcher you find his eyes already on you, or rather, on Frenchie. If looks could kill, the poor French man would be a pile of dust on the floor.

“It would be suicide to try anything at this thing,” MM states, “with all of them there, the security is going to be tight.”

“I agree,” Hughie says, “so if we go, it has to be lowkey, and we can’t be recognised.”

“So that rules out you and Butcher,” you point out, leaning past Frenchie to see the laptop screen.

“You and I can go, then,” MM points at a spot on the map, “we recon from the outskirts, and Frenchie waits off side in case we need an emergency extraction.”

“No,” Butcher says, his eyes trained on you with an intensity that made your spine feel like a gummy worm, “she’s not goin’ anywhere near this shit show. Her and Hughie watch from this buildin’,” he points at a building two blocks from the main event, “me ‘n’ you go in for recon, ‘n’ Frenchie ‘n’ Kimiko will be waitin’ nearby.”

You frown, “Hughie can do the surveillance on his own, and you can’t go anywhere near Homelander. I’ll go in with MM.”

“No,” he says again, “you’re not gettin’ that close.”

“This isn’t close,” you point at the map where MM had, “and if you’re worried then you can wait with Frenchie but Butcher, you can’t be seen. It’s too risky.”

“You wan’a know what’s risky?” he snaps, his gaze dropping to your chest.

You cross your arms, fully aware that it accentuates your breasts.

“Fuckin’ arguin’ with me.”

You roll your eyes and take a step back. “Fine, get yourself killed for no fucking reason Butcher, see what I care.”

Tension rolls through the room like a dark storm cloud, rumbling with impending thunder as it settles right between you and the man you’re glaring at.

“No one is going to die,” Hughie speaks cautiously, “we’re not going there for a fight.”

“I know that.” you snap, though your eyes don’t dare leave Butcher’s. “Tell him that.”

“Butcher,” MM says, “I know you want to lead, but she has a point.”

Butcher scoffs, “I don’t give a damn about whether I’m on the front line or not, but she’s not goin’ anywhere near those fuckers. ‘Specially if I’m not at her fuckin’ side.”

Your heart stutters and your resolve cracks. Your shoulders slacken as every measure of intimidation you had built up dissolves and the stupid but familiar feeling of warmth and longing spreads through your body.

“We’re not getting close, Butcher,” Hughie says, “all we need is-”

“That,” Butcher spits, pointing at the same spot on the map, “is too fuckin’ close.”

MM looks at you, waiting for you to argue some more. Butcher rarely listens to anyone, but on the occasion that he does, it’s often you. But right now, you’re tired and you’re sick of arguing with this man when all you really want is for him to throw you up against a wall and tear your clothes off.

“Whatever,” you sigh, “you’ve got to live your life the way you want, right, Butcher?”

You circle around Hughie, around the kitchen bench, and behind Butcher where the barely functional fridge is. Silence hangs heavy in the air as you open it, bottles rattling in the door. You take a bottle of beer from the shelf and shut it again, turning to the drawer where you last saw the bottle opener, but it isn’t there. Sighing, you turn on your heel to stand beside Butcher and lift the hem of your shirt to wrap it around the bottle top, using it to buffer your hand as you struggle to get the cap off. With a soft pop, the cap comes free and so does another button on your shirt, revealing the little gold buckle connecting the straps between your boobs.

A small, triumphant smile quirks your lips as you look up, meeting Butcher’s gaze much closer than before. His eyes are dark, his pupils devouring almost all of his hazel irises.

Frenchie clears his throat, keeping his own gaze locked on the map. “Hughie says that most of the roads will be closed, but if we park the van here,” he points to a side alley, “we should be able to leave quickly, if we need.”

“What about the perimeter guard?” MM asks, “They’ll have more than usual, and I don’t doubt half of them will be Vought’s B-listers.”

Hughie nods, “Annie said they’ve been flying in all week, from almost every state.”

You can’t focus standing this close to Butcher, feeling the warmth rolling off his body and from the corner of your eye, seeing him turn to you every couple of seconds. He isn’t subtle about it at all, and with his height advantage, you know he can see right down your loose shirt. When you try to focus on the map, you can see his hands in fists at his side, knuckles white with strain.

“What do you think?” Hughie asks, at which you only respond with a slow blink. He frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, just tired.”

You raise a hand to your neck and tilt your head to the side, rubbing at your hot skin and subtly letting the collar of your shirt slip off your shoulder. When you glance at Butcher, you know you’ve almost got him. His neck is red and jaw set as he watches you like you’re prey.

You bite your lip to hide your smile, surveying the map with a wicked idea when Frenchie, bless him, asks the perfect question. “Do we know where Homelander will be arriving?”

“There,” you reply, stretching onto your toes and reaching across the bench. “From there, he will walk through this audience before flying to the stage.” You arch your back as you trace your finger along with the directions, feeling your shorts ride up and the garters on your thighs dig into your flesh.

Another beat of silence pulses through the room before Butcher clears his throat. You look to him quickly, only to find him glaring at Hughie, and when you turn to the boy in question you realise that he too had noticed the black straps on the backs of your thighs.

“Sorry, uh, yeah,” he mutters, cheeks pink, “Homelander is the only one who won’t be escorted directly to the stage. They want to create hype, so he’ll be moving around to greet fans.”

“Well, we better make sure we’re not anywhere near wherever he’ll be,” MM says.

Hughie nods, “If he follows orders, he’ll stay within the barriers. Vought is wary and with all their assets in one place, they’ll be making sure even Homelander is on his best behaviour.”

Frenchie chuckles, “They do not want golden boy starting a civil war in the middle of the city, eh?”

“They know that there’s a huge chance of anti-Supe protest,” you say, “which raises another issue, access. No one in a two-mile radius will be allowed in without verification.”

Hughie turns his laptop to face the group, “I’ve been working on that, but I need to know who is going in so I can print ID badges.”

The four of you look at Butcher.

“It’s your call,” MM says.

He blinks as if suddenly returning to reality, and shifts awkwardly on his feet so his hips are pressed against the kitchen bench. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice thick, “I don’t wan’a think abou’ it right now, alrigh’?”

Hughie nods and closes his laptop, and MM sighs though his small smirk is betraying as his eyes meet yours.

“Well,” Frenchie says, “if we are done here, I am going to go get us something for dinner.”

MM tucks his phone into his pocket, “I’ll come with you.”

“Really?” Frenchie frowns.

MM glances at Butcher before turning back to Frenchie. “Really.”

“I’ll come too,” Hughie says quickly, “I-I mean, I was going to see Annie, anyway.”

Frenchie’s smirk is so wide you’re worried his cheeks are going to split. The three of them hurry out the door, muttering goodbyes and arguing over who is going to drive before leaving you and Butcher alone with the storm cloud of tension still rumbling in the air.

You down half your bottle of beer in one swig before sighing, “Well, as much as I would love to keep arguing, I’m going to-”

“Oh, you’re not goin’ anywhere, sweethear’.”

You only just have enough time to turn around before Butcher traps you with a hand on either side, gripping the bench with white knuckles.

“What the fuck are you playin’ at?”

You feign an innocent frown, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

His breath comes and goes with a shudder, and you can feel it fan across your bare neck.

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout this,” he hooks a finger under the garter around your thigh and lets it go with a snap. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout you goin’ shoppin’ with Frenchie for fuckin’ sex toys.”

“Okay,” you smirk, “and what exactly is there to talk about?”

His head cocks, and you feel like prey staring down a predator.

“What is there-” his eyes narrow. “What is there to fuckin’ talk about? I don’t know, maybe when the fuck you started fuckin’ around!”

His rage, though intimidating, only turns you on. It shouldn’t, but it does.

“Am I not allowed to fuck around, Butcher?” you ask, watching the pulse in his neck race.

An emotion flickers behind his eyes, too fast for you to discern, but it’s strong enough to relieve his frown and he almost looks hurt.

“Do you want to fuck around?” he asks, his voice low.

You can’t figure out if he’s baiting you or not, or if it’s just the aching in your chest that’s trying to convince you that he might actually be feeling something.

You decide to guard yourself, keeping a smirk on your lips. “Are you offering?”

He releases his grip on the bench and rubs both hands through his hair, making it stand in jagged spikes.

“Look,” he sighs, “I know it ain’t any of my business, but if you and Frenchie are-”

“I’m not fucking Frenchie!” you exclaim, the past few months of frustration finally breaking out of the bottle.

“Oh,” he straightens, “good.”

“Good?” you echo, “For fuck’s sake Butcher, you are thick.”

His frown returns and before you can move, he traps you again. “What was that?”

“I said, you are thick,” you press your bum into the bench in a lame attempt to create distance. “If you think I’m sleeping with Frenchie- with anyone, you’re an idiot, but you know what? I already fucking knew that.”

“Yeah? And when did you figure that one out?” he asks, once again a predator who has cornered his prey.

“About three months ago, when I woke up and you weren’t there,” you say, fighting the lump in your throat. “You fucked off for three days, Butcher. No one knew where you were, you didn’t answer your fucking phone, and when you got back, you acted like nothing had fucking happened.”

You can hear your heart thumping in your ears as you wait for him to bite back, but he doesn’t.

You squeeze your eyes shut and sigh, “And now you won’t even fucking touch me.”

“Is that what you want?” he whispers.

You can only nod, too afraid that another word from your lips will turn into a cry. He breaks your stare and lets his eyes fall to your chest, slowly moving his body closer until it’s completely pressed against yours. You can feel him against your lower belly, not fully hard but definitely there and probably the reason he was hiding himself against the bench before.

Unlike the last time he touched you, this one is gentle. His fingers start at your jaw, just below your ear, tracing the sensitive skin right down to your collarbone and stopping at the swell of your breast. He groans, the deep sound rumbling from his chest and reverberating through your body. Your breath is shallow as you wait impatiently for him to kiss you, watching his lips like an addict yearning for a taste of the drug that only he can provide.

He denies you, though, instead dipping down to press his mouth against your bare shoulder and sending waves of electricity dancing across your skin. It isn’t exactly what you wanted, but its enough to make you sigh, and you roll your head back to allow him better access. His lips leave gentle kisses along your collarbone, the scratch of his beard raising goosebumps in its wake.

You feel like you can breathe for the first time in months, and your heart is beating so violently within your chest that you know he can feel it on his lips. A small voice at the back of your head is screaming, telling you to stop and push him away, because the further this went, the less control your head would have over your heart. Your heart that is threatening to crack a rib as it tries to surrender itself to the man in front of you.

When his lips leave your skin, you whine, but he doesn’t smirk like he usually does. He doesn’t make a sarcastic comment about how needy you are, or even look up to meet your eyes. His gaze is on your chest as his hands come up to the collar of your shirt, fingers curling into the soft material before yanking it apart. The buttons break, popping off the shirt entirely and scattering across the kitchen floor. He gasps, almost inaudibly, but you know you heard it.

This isn’t like before, he’s too quiet and too gentle, aside from the whole ruining your shirt thing. You feel exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, longing for approval as his dark eyes devour your scantily clad torso. His hands follow the curve of your body down to the waistband of your shorts, finding the button and popping it with much less force than they did the shirt. His fingers hook inside the denim and guide them down over your hips and past your thighs before letting them drop to the floor. Then he steps back.

You feel empty without his warmth, and you aren’t quite sure what to do with your arms while he observes you from the other side of the kitchen. Given, it is a small kitchen and he’s barely two steps away, but you suddenly feel like an exhibit on display.

You swallow thickly, “If it’s- uh, if you don’t like it I can-”

“I fuckin’ love it,” he says, his voice low and raspy as he closes the distance again.

Pressed against you, you can feel him hard behind his jeans, and you can’t help feeling a little proud.

He cups your jaw with both hands, his face only inches from yours. “I fuckin’ love you,” he mutters, before crushing his lips to yours.

The taste of his mouth sets your tongue ablaze, but instead of melting into a puddle like you know you should have, your spine goes rigid. The voice in the back of your head grows louder, clearer, as it rushes to the front and crashes against your skull, screaming.

He notices you tense up, and pulls back immediately, not offended but afraid. His frown is deep and his mouth slightly agape, realising what he’d said and knowing that it’s the reason for your reaction.

You stare at him, “What did you say?”

He takes a generous step back and runs a hand over his face, “Fuck.”

“Butcher,” you press, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and compensate for the loss of warmth.

“I’m sorry, love,” he sighs, “I didn’t-”

The lump in your throat rises, “You didn’t mean it?”

“No, no,” he says quickly, “I meant it, jus’ didn’t mean to say it.”

“You meant it?”

He nods slowly.

You blink quickly to try and repress the moisture filling your eyes. “You meant it as in… you love me?”

He nods again and you can feel your whole body beginning to shake.

“D-Do you love me like-like a vice?” you ask, your voice unsteady. “Like you love drinking and smoking or-”

“I love you like I fuckin’ love you, okay?” he snaps.

The irritation in his voice makes you flinch, and he regrets it immediately but refuses to move toward you again.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N,” he sighs, “isn’t it fuckin’ obvious? I haven’t fucked you in months.”

You frown, “Yeah, and why would that make me think you love me?”

“‘Cause I’m a fuckin’ twat who doesn’t know what’s good for him,” he says, “and sweethear’, you are too fuckin’ good for me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You!” he exclaims, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous and young, and you shouldn’t be in any of this shit, let alone in it with someone like me.”

It feels like your heart is swollen, pressing against your ribcage and squeezing all the air from your lungs. Your pulse races, blood rushing to your head and making you dizzy as you try to make sense of his words.

“Butcher,” you close the distance between your bodies, pressing him against the opposite bench, “I want you, and everything that you want.”

He keeps his arms rigid by his sides as he stares down at you, his pupils still blown with lust.

“If you want me to leave you alone, then I’ll stop,” you say. “If you want me to fuck off, then I’ll go, but no matter fucking what, I’m yours because I love you. I don’t have a choice about that, because I fucking need you."

He breaks your stare to look up at the ceiling, letting go of a long sigh before looking back down with the smallest quirk in his lips. “You’re gon’a fuckin’ kill me, aren’t you?”

You smirk, “I’ll certainly try.”

His hands find your bum, pressing you impossibly close as his lips crash into yours and it feels like your heart bursts, sending shockwaves through your body and turning your limbs into jelly. With a soft grunt, he lifts you up and pushes away from the bench, allowing you to wrap your legs around his hips. You can feel him completely now, rock hard and rubbing against you in the most delicious way as he carries you across the room toward your bedroom.

Your hands are tangled in his hair as you kiss him sloppily, pouring every bit of frustration and longing into his mouth until he pulls away and drops you onto the bed. He begins unbuttoning his shirt and your fingers find his belt, eye level with you as you clumsily unravel it.

“An’ what’s all this?” he asks, calling your attention to the pile of lingerie dumped on the bed.

You would have blushed if your face wasn’t already burning red. “Just some things I bought.”

“Jus’ some things, huh?”

He picks up one of the lacy red garments and holds it up, a devilish smirk stretched across his lips. “Who’re plannin’ on wearin’ all this for, love?”

“Well,” you giggle, “Frenchie was very approving of it all when I was trying them on, so…”

He throws the lacy thing aside and pushes you back on the bed with a hand around your throat. His legs straddle your hips, pressing against your throbbing core and sending jolts of excitement up your spine.

“If any other fucker ever sees you in this, I’ll cut his fuckin’ throat,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear as his beard tickles your cheek. “You’re gon’a wear all of this for me, and I’m gon’a ruin all of it.”

You move your hips for some sort of friction as a soft whine escapes your lips, but his other hand grabs your side with bruising strength and holds you still.

“Do you understand me, sweethear’?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “yes, I understand, Butcher. Just fuck me already.”

His hand tightens around your throat and another wave of heat washes over you.

He tuts, “What have I said ‘bout manners?”

“Butcher,” you groan, clawing at the fastening of his jeans.

His hands leave their places on your body to grab your wrists, easily transferring both of them into one hand, restraining you as he sits up. He reaches behind himself on the bed, and you wriggle impatiently beneath his weight.

“Think I need to teach you a lesson,” he says with a grin, holding the riding crop in his other hand.

Thrill bursts in your stomach and you feel yourself clench, wetness pooling in the crotch of your bodysuit.

“You ready for me to show you how to use this thing, doll?” he asks, touching it to the valley between your breasts.

The leather loop is cool against your hot skin, even through the sheer material as he traces it down your sternum and all the way to your belly button. All you can do is nod, holding your bottom lip between your teeth to suppress the whimpers wanting to escape.

He pulls the crop back before softly smacking it against your right breast. The gossamer fabric leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and his eyes light up at the sight of your taut nipple.

“You, my love,” he murmurs, caressing your left breast with the crop, “are fuckin’ diabolical.”

END.

#billy butcher #the boys #karl urban #billy butcher x reader #imagine #one shot #homelander #hughie campbell #frenchie #mm #mothers milk #the boys imagine #the boys one shot #the boys fanfic

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avastyetwats · 2 months ago

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Sweet and Savory

Continued from here. @izzyeffinhands

"Don't let the gaff come loose!" Stede Bonnet, the supposed Captain, called out from behind his fellow Captain, who was actually doing the work and calling out the orders like an actual Captain would. But Stede was trying! He was observing and making sure all went well. Or rather that's what he should be doing when in reality, he was just levitating behind Izzy listening to him giving all the orders and repeating them like he knew what he was saying. To be fair, he was a better Captain now than when he first started some time ago and it was all thanks to Izzy. Though they'd gotten off to quite the rough start, but their story turned into something truly beautiful. And here they were now, married. So very deeply in love, committed and bonded in ways they would never be with anyone else, nor did they care to be. They had one another for the rest of their immortal life and they were just fine with that.

Immortal? Why yes, because they were vampires. Vampire pirate Captains to be exact and unlike James Flint's crew, their own crew accepted them as such. Well, they hadn't at first. It took a good while for them to come around, but then again, they didn't have much of a choice. When their secret was found out - mostly thanks to Stede who had difficulty keeping the secret to himself (how could he when he can fly!?) - they had the choice of either accepting and staying as part of the crew or, well, being killed and Stede certainly didn't want that. He liked his crew. Roach, Frenchie, Lucius, Black Pete, Wee John, Fang... and he didn't want to have to kill any of them. Now that would just be depressing. Black Pete wasn't surprised at the information, and apparently had even called it, and remained loyally on the crew, mostly in hopes to be turned into a vampire at some point and since he and Lucius were an item, Lucius stayed.

Frenchie was the most afraid out of them all due to the stories and rumors he's heard about the creatures and Roach simply didn't want to be eaten. But the day they got over it was the day they'd been found hiding with a makeshift cross created by Frenchie and a couple of carrot sticks held by Roach. Izzy found them first and Stede appeared behind Izzy with a curious, "hey guys! what're you up to!?" and then when he saw the carrot sticks, Stede snatched and ate them with a happy smile on his face, oblivious as to why Roach even had them. That was the night they all had a talk and promised their survival and place of safety among the ship. After that, things had been much better. They became a family and kept each other safe. Though admittedly sometimes it was hard for Stede because he loved human blood so much and being surrounded by his human crew was pure torment, thus why he enjoyed hunting quite often when they could and now that they were docked, perhaps they'd be able to tonight.

"I'm not always hungry." Stede argued with a huff, arms crossed over his chest as he continued to float behind Izzy. Or rather now in front of him since he turned to look at him. Izzy wasn't wrong, though. Stede was hungry quite a bit and gods, human blood was his favorite. He had no issues with hunting humans and nor did Izzy, unless unable to for whatever reason. But they were in Nassau now so surely they could find someone. He lowered himself onto the ground, now standing directly in front of Izzy and he groaned. "Can't we do that tomorrow? Or maybe pay others to do it..." Surely some on Nassau would happily do so for even just a little bit of money. "Izzyyyy, we haven't hunted in days." He whined, leaning into his hand. Since they've been out at sea and all, which of course Stede loved, but going too long without human blood was torturous. So when he agreed he beamed and practically bounded on his feet and thanked him with a kiss. "Mm, I think blond. I'm feeling something sweet tonight." Blonds had the sweeter taste whereas brunettes more savory and redheads? The perfect balance of both. He nearly flew into the air from excitement, but managed to resist the urge since they were in Nassau now and he had to be careful. Their crew may know, but Stede wasn't stupid. He knew to keep this secret from anyone and everyone else. "Shall we?" He grinned, his own fangs bared as he held his arm open for his husband, the love of his immortal (and mortal) life.

#i know i left some characters out but feel free to add them as well as your own details xD #and if they maybe feast on some of the crew then starving LMAO black pete would probably volunteer #sorry it got so long! i just wanted to give some backstory so feel free to add/edit and don't worry about matching xD #c; stede bonnet #izzyeffinhands #vampire stizzy au

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veryace-ficrecs · 10 months ago

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Daemon Au Fic Recs

Daemon aus are fics where the characters have animal daemons a la The Golden Compass.

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

One piece

Like Cats and Dogs by PitViperOfDoom - Rated G

It should be easy to judge a man by the shape of his soul, but Strawhat Luffy spits in the face of logic and predictability.

Merlin

Feather and Fang by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf - Rated T

Everyone knows that magic users have magic dæmons. Creatures of myth and legend. Some appear normal but have hides in unnatural colours. It's a way to pick them out of a crowd, find them, even when they try to hide in plain sight.

Star Wars

The Road Less Traveled By by Triskellion - Rated T

“Padwan, there are Mandalorians in Mos Espa.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. He knew what that meant. “What is left before we can leave?” “Collect the boy and the parts. The handmaiden can guide you.” And of course his master signed off before telling him where to meet Padme. “Couldn’t he try being subtle for once?” Seab-hoc asked plaintively from Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Qui-Gon has never been subtle a day in his life,” Obi-Wan countered. Which was why his master’s soul had settled on one of the largest, flashiest forms in the whole karking Order.

Daredevil

In Nomine Diaboli by WerewolvesAreReal - Rated T

Sometimes Matt wonders what it would be like to take his daemon out with him in public. He hasn't been able to do it for twenty years.

Stranger Things

a plain and indestructible thing by phonemicengineer - Rated T

“This is us, huh?” Steve asks her, reaching out to lay a hand between her ears. His face aches, and she has a bit of blood matted in the fur around her left eye; matching wounds. There’s black ichor and gore coated up her muzzle and down her ruff, and when she opens her mouth her teeth are large and wicked looking. “Do you even have to ask?” she mutters, leaning her full weight against him.

Red Touches Black by Sparkle_Fiend - Rated M

"Red touches black, poison lack. Red touches yellow, kill a fellow." A silly rhyme, to help remember the difference between a harmless kingsnake and a deadly coral snake. Wayne taught it to him when he was fourteen, and Calpurnia settled in the form of a scarlet kingsnake. Given the way people recoil when they see his daemon, he's pretty sure no one else in Hawkins has ever heard it before. Or maybe it doesn't matter - maybe Eddie is the one they think is toxic. **** Vecna is defeated, Max is saved, and Eddie's name has been cleared. All should be right in the world of Hawkins, and Eddie's only concern should be his inconvenient crush on Steve Harrington. But there are people who still think Eddie is guilty of murder, and they're not willing to let it go.

Our Flag Means Death

it's what isn't in the name by tciddaemina - Rated M

The first thing they see - apart from Captain Bonnet himself, all silked up and frilly and a sight in his own right - is the cat sitting primly by his ankles. She's a white, well-groomed thing, coat as pale and smooth as snow, with a delicate pink ribbon around her neck and a little golden bell hanging at her throat. And sure, she's a little big, on the large side as house cats go, reaching right up to his knee, and a bit leggy as well but the crew still takes one look at her and feel their estimation of their new captain drop another sharp couple of notches. This, they think incredulously, is the man that proposes to be our fearsome pirate captain? "My name is Captain Stede Bonnet," the new captain says proudly, sweeping an arm out in greeting, looking so pleased and chuffed and ever so slightly nervous to meet them. "And this is Miss Daisy Bonnet, though of course you may all call her captain as well." "Two dubloons on a mutiny by the end of the week." Frenchie murmurs with a sharp bite of mirth. On his shoulder, Beauregard lets out a soft tittering laugh, the songbird's beak clicking. "Not taking that bet." Pete replies snappishly, still glowering sullenly at the captain.

Top Gun

I see parachutes by Amethyste_Blanche - Not Rated

I see parachutes These words spin in Rooster head like a curse. Or Rooster's POV during his fight with Maverick

Guardians of the Galaxy

Less Than Zero by Tyranno - Rated G

In 1988, following his mother's death, a young Peter Quill is abducted from Earth by the Ravagers, a group of space pirates led by Yondu Udonta. They leave his Daemon behind by mistake.

welcome to the human race by smilebackwards - Rated G

Once Peter made it through the seizures and shudders and shakes, his first thought was that he’d been abducted by witches. Dozens of different faces—blue and red and ridged—hovered over him, forcing tasteless food down his throat, and there wasn’t one daemon in sight.

Labyrinth (1986)

Glitter and Gold by speckled_dragon - Rated G

AU where humans have daemons but denizens of the Labyrinth do not.

My Hero Academia

Just Breathe by wolfsrainrules - Rated T

When Izuku turned four, he showed an Inclination towards Healing Class Magic. The strongest seen in decades. Naturally he decides this means he should be a combat medic.

Jurassic World

Connect the Dots by dinosaurs_wowenough (loki_godofmischiefandlies) - Rated M

Everyone has an animal, it's common knowledge. Some cultures call them Familiars, others call them Daemons, some are referred to as Spirit Animals, but one thing is indisputable: they are more valuable to their humans than life itself.

Teen Wolf

The Snake and the Otter by Therapeutic_Steter - Rated T

When Stiles was born, a black snake appeared into his crib on the first full moon and never left.

Claudia, whose soulmate animal was a lion, hadn't even flinched, smiling and cooing at the little snake in welcome. It flicked its tongue at her, beady eyes sparking blue, and let Claudia gently stroke it's head. John, whose soulmate animal was a bear, just shook his head, wondering at what kinds of trouble his son and his soulmate would get in to.

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izzyeffinhands · 1 year ago

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The Best of Birthdays

“ I swear to fuck you boys drop this cake and I’ll kill you. “ Izzy had told both Frenchie and Fang earlier in the morning when they went to the venue. He’d managed to sneak out early, crack of dawn early before Stede was awake to get the damn thing delivered. Of course he already knew that Stede knew he’d baked a cake, but he had no idea what it was and he knew the suspense was killing him. With both of their help he managed to move the very large cake inside the small bar. This was one of their favorite places to go and Izzy had insisted he rent the space for a party. He was good at showing his love like that, going the extra mile for his beloved writer. He’d made it back home before Stede was even the wiser, once again tucked into bed.

It was impossible to hide this party so it had been discussed and by the evening the two of them were already heading to the bar. He’d been counting on their friends to finish decorating, possibly being a tad of a dictator about the party in ways just because it was his first birthday with him and he wanted it to be the best he’d ever had. Food had been chosen, games set up, even some entertainment.. which was a big part of the surprise. At least the first part of it, anyway. It was a private party but had been opened up a little to those that came to the bakery and bookshop. Izzy had invited quite a few, but he made sure the most important of people were there.

So Izzy had gotten into his tightest and sexiest leather pants he could find. He didn’t really have too much of a backside to show but he damn sure had a lot in the front. Leather belt was situated slightly askew, black boots on his feet. He was the definition of leather daddy tonight, but this was also a queer bar they visited that he’d rented out. It was in a safe part of town for them. He’d put on a gorgeous black top which he deliberately left open so he could show off the top of his chest. He was damn sure going to be a feast for the eyes for his partner tonight. He’d parked the car and started walking the guest of honor down the sidewalk, also in his best.

“ This is going to be the best birthday you’ve ever had. “ Izzy reassured, snatching his waist in their saunter to kiss the top of his head. Living in a seaside town this time of year in July it could get hot during the day, but at night it was a bit cooler as the light had been turned off. One could argue that renting the space, making the cake, making preparations were gift enough.. but the baker had gone an extra mile for his birthday gift tonight. They’d begin together for nearly a year now.. wow. Nearly a year. Longest relationship he’s ever had for sure. He rounded the corner with him and untwined from around his waist so he could head to the door.

“ I see him!!!! “ Ed shouted proudly from the window. He was the lookout.. and damn didn’t his ex look good in those leather pants. The man of honor was looking good too.

“ So are we all shoutin’ surprise, or? I mean it’s not really a surprise is it.. we’re just ‘ere at the bar — “ Frenchie rambled, at least until Jim gave him a hard smack to the back of his head.

“ Of course we’re shouting surprise, pendejo. He hasn’t seen all the work that we’ve put in! “ They tsk’ed with their mouth. But in a few short moments the door was opening and all of them were waiting in position with smiles in the brightly decorated bar, Jim bringing a noisemaker to their mouth.

“ SURPRISE!!!!! “

#avastyetwats #the best of birthdays #Izzy spoiling the shit out of him #with crew #in July!#modern songbird au

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zepskies · 2 years ago

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Break Me Down - Part 3

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: A huge THANK YOU to everyone who's following and commenting/giving me feedback on this story so far! It's so encouraging for me and I really do appreciate you all. 💖

Word Count: 2,500 Warnings: Angst, violence.

Part 3: Somewhere Down Below

“Hey, Tony,” you nicknamed your kidnapper. You knew he was the one who attacked you, as you now saw the reason for one of his boots being larger than the other.

He really did have a broken foot from when you all but stabbed it with your heel a couple of weeks ago.

“How’s the foot?” you teased.

“Shut up,” he hissed.

Aw, where’s that charming smile? you thought in grim amusement.

“Hey,” Soldier Boy snapped at him. “Focus. Did I order this?”

“Sir…” Tony said, shifting on his feet.

“What were my words?” Soldier Boy asked, enunciating each and every syllable. Tony looked nervous, though of course he tried not to show it. Soldier Boy was dressed like a wealthy dad on vacation—in a buttoned-down blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, and beige slacks.

But there was no mistaking the strength in his build, or the threat in his crossed arms and stern expression.

“To…make sure you weren’t followed,” Tony said. “And to take care of Butcher’s team.”

“Did you do that?”

“My guys found their hotel, yes…but Butcher managed to slip away.”

You smiled at that. Soldier Boy noticed, and he was not pleased.

“Just him?” he asked.

“With his team,” Tony admitted. “Except for this one. I thought we could question her.”

Soldier Boy looked at you then. “Okay. Let’s start with that.”

He leaned forward into your space, resting an elbow on his knee. You regarded him with a tilt of your head, trying to hide your wariness.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked. You wanted to say that, first of all, you weren’t his sweetheart. But you decided that question was simple enough. You gave him your first name.

Soldier Boy considered it, and he nodded.

“Do you know where your friends went?”

“Well, considering I was taken from my room with a musty bag over my head—which smelled like a Frenchman’s asshole, by the way—I’d have to say no,” you replied.

And you’d spent the past four months helping M.M. clean up after Frenchie and Butcher, so you knew exactly what flavor of grunge that was.

Soldier Boy’s lips twitched upwards.

“See, that’s what I thought,” he said. He glanced back at Tony with a certain look. One that actually made you nervous for your kidnapper. He was a criminal, and a handsy dick, but you didn’t want to see anyone die in front of you.

Soldier Boy stood, and Tony tensed up.

“They’re working with the CIA. They’ll have safe houses lined up,” said another groupie in the Soldier Boy club. You recognized him as well. This was the crew-cut Hispanic man who’d escorted you up to Soldier Boy’s room at the gentleman’s club.

Soldier Boy looked over at him and considered this with a nod. He stepped back while Tony approached you. You took a breath to try and steady yourself.

It begins. If you were going to take a hit, you preferred it be from Tony’s pansy ass.

Don’t let him in. Don’t let him see that you’re afraid.

“How about it, doll?” Soldier Boy asked. “Who’s your controller at the CIA?”

“Grace Mallory,” you revealed, with only a small twinge of guilt. Grace could take care of herself, and you were a P.I., not a fucking spy. “I believe you’ve met before.”

It took a moment for Soldier Boy to remember the name, but you watched the realization alight in his eyes.

“Ah, the lesbo. Damn, she must be an old fucking bag by now,” Soldier Boy mused with a grin. “She give you a list of safe houses here?”

“No. We’d check in after crossing a location off our list, and she’d send us the itinerary,” you said. And that was the truth. He looked into your eyes, and eventually he nodded. He seemed to believe you.

“Okay, let’s try this. If you had to guess, where would Butcher and his merry band of assholes go to regroup?” he asked.

“I honestly don’t know … but what does it matter? They don’t know where you are,” you replied. “Most of them are just human, like me.”

You watched Soldier Boy’s reaction carefully. He didn’t seem to outwardly react, other than a fractional tightening of his jaw.

“After what you did in New York, blowing up that building. Taking out your whole damn team. Killing Homelander. I thought you’d be swatting us like flies,” you said with a breathy laugh.

Because really, you didn’t expect to live much longer than the next few minutes. Maybe talking could extend your life just a bit longer…

Tears welled up in your eyes when you thought of your family though. Your mom. Your sister, Luisa. They’d probably never know exactly what happened to you. But you counted that as a small blessing.

“But then again, Butcher and his guys almost put you back under,” you added.

Soldier Boy had been almost amused by your audacity, but now his expression tightened. His arms crossed as he rose a brow.

“And you ran away. You’re still running away,” you said. “Why? Are we just not worth your time? Or are you actually worried we might just outsmart you?”

The hit actually took you by surprise, because it didn’t come from Soldier Boy. It was Tony who backhanded you roughly. He wore a gaudy ring that bit into your cheek, opening a bloody nick in your skin. The blow itself was hard enough to make stars burst behind your eyes.

Stronger than he looks, you could admit, just to yourself.

“You’re a fucking mouthy one, aren’t you?” Soldier Boy mused.

You licked your dry, lipstick-smudged lips and caught your breath. Your wrists were burning from the zip tie holding them behind the chair, making your shoulders ache as well. Your cheek was throbbing.

But you looked up, ignoring Tony, and stared directly into the green in Soldier Boy’s eyes. It was a challenge that he met.

“You really believe you fuckers can win, don’t you?” he asked. Your lips quirked, even as a tear rolled its way down your bloody cheek.

Right now, you weren’t sure of anything. But you believed in your friends—in Annie and Hughie, M.M., Frenchie, Kimiko, and yes, even Butcher. They’d almost done it before. They could get it right the next time, even if it was without you.

“Yeah, I really fucking do,” you replied. Then you aimed a wry glance at Tony. “By the look of your little backup dancers here, I’d say it’s a matter of time before they put you back in the box.”

Tony’s ring bit into your cheek again, this time in a closed fist. You tumbled over with a pained cry, still tied to your chair, but one of the old wooden legs broke. It was an antique, after all.

When your head smacked against the tile floor, the lights above you got hazy for a moment. You tried to blink them back into focus as you stared up at the ceiling.

The truth was, you were exhausted. If you were going to die…you’d really just like to get it over with.

So as you struggled for breath, your gaze wandered and met Soldier Boy’s again.

You couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking, but you were sure that your end was coming when his arms uncrossed, his posture tightening. Unlike his friends, he didn’t have any guns on him at the moment. You knew very well that he didn’t need weapons.

But he held a hand against Tony, and he called to the Crew-Cut guy.

“Frank, get her a room,” he said. “Watch her though. She’s a wily one.”

You blinked in confusion as Frank nodded. He and Tony pulled you up from the ground and untied you from the chair’s remains, but soon their meaty man hands wrapped around your arms.

Soldier Boy started to walk away from you. You knew you should just leave it be, but you couldn’t help it.

“I’m staying?” you asked. Soldier Boy paused. He looked back at you over his shoulder.

“Oh, you’re staying.” He nodded, with a smirk you decided you didn’t like very much. “For now.”

You were led to a room with a queen-sized bed and the basics in furnishings: a desk, a TV, a closet, one nightstand, and a small two-seat table. Tony pushed you in, and the door slammed shut behind you.

Rude. But you supposed it could be worse. You looked yourself over in the mirror, and you were pretty ragged. Bruised and bleeding, your hair a virtual rat’s nest, your eye makeup dark and running, your lipstick smudged, your dress in tatters, with the split in the skirt still revealing your entire left thigh and dirty bare feet.

Heaving a deep sigh, you returned to the door and weren’t surprised to find it locked. But you knew someone must be there on the other side to make sure you didn’t try anything.

“Hey, geniuses,” you called. “Got any sweatpants out there? A hairbrush? A toothbrush? Some bread or something? If you’re gonna have a fucking hostage, might as well make sure I stay alive.”

For a while, there was silence. But eventually the door opened, revealing Frank. He was tall and stoic, and like you remembered, with cropped dark hair and a thick beard and mustache. He handed you a plate with two slices of dry bread, and nothing else. You raised a brow at him.

All he said was, “Check the dresser.”

Then the door shut in your face again. You looked down at the sorry plate.

Could’ve at least slapped some butter on it. Goddamn.

You ate it anyway though; now that you weren’t about to die, you were starving. But you did as Frank instructed and indeed checked the dresser. There were some men’s clothes in one of the drawers, but not much. This had to be a guest room of some kind.

You opened the rest of the drawers and managed to find women’s lingerie, of all things.

Definitely a party mansion, you decided. The vacation home of one of Soldier Boy’s old connections, you guessed.

One culprit could be the Legend. He was Vought’s former Senior Vice President of Hero Management, before Madelyn Stillwell. Butcher had mentioned that he’d stowed Soldier Boy in one of the Legend’s penthouses before.

In the drawers you finally managed to find some women’s jeans, a few tops, panties, and quite a few skanky dresses. They looked old though, like they hadn’t been washed in years. And likely from the 80s, if the gaudy frills and funky patterns were any indication.

Who knew how long ago these drawers had been stocked and left untouched. And God knew if they were even your size, but you supposed you’d find out.

In the bathroom, you also discovered a first aid kit and a spare towel, along with soap, shampoo, conditioner, and host of other toiletries. This is like a damn hotel, actually.

Except for the whole being a prisoner thing. Again, you supposed it was better than the alternative.

After you’d showered and dressed in a shirt and the only pair of shorts you found (the clothes were too tight, probably meant for some supermodel, but you’d manage), patched yourself up the best you could, and tamed your wild hair, you at least felt like a human again.

You didn’t know what time it was, as your room didn’t have a window. But you did have a bed, and it was calling you. You slipped under the covers and let out a long breath.

So many scenes from earlier today played and replayed through your mind. All the “what ifs.” If you’d been more successful with Soldier Boy back at the club.

If you’d stayed more alert in your hotel room. If you’d managed to call out to Annie or M.M. or Butcher or any one of your team, could they have stopped you from being kidnapped? All of them had been attacked as well.

But clearly, if you were the only one captured, then you were the least of all of them.

That thought made you shudder, your eyes burning with tears. You had also given up today. When you’d continued mouthing off to Soldier Boy, you’d succumbed to your seemingly inevitable fate, already given up on your life.

You felt guilty about that when you thought about your sister. If there was one thing the two of you had learned from your fucked childhoods, it was that giving up wasn’t an option.

You had spent most of your life fighting. Fighting so she could have a good future.

“I wish you’d start protecting yourself,” she’d told you. One of the last things she’d ever told you.

So…you decided that from this moment onward, you were going to fight.

For your life, and for your freedom, no matter what Soldier Boy wanted with you.

“He’s in the wind,” said Butcher. “Might be time to regroup.”

He leaned on a chair, like it was getting hard for him to stand, and coughed into his arm. Hughie watched him in both curiosity and concern. Was he getting sick or something?

“We’re not just leaving her out there,” Annie snapped. “We’re finding her now.”

Hughie knew that look on his girlfriend’s face. No matter what Butcher said, you were a priority. You had become her friend, and she was not leaving you with a sick fuck like Soldier Boy.

“I hate to tell you this,” Butcher said dryly, “but it ain’t likely that she’s still breathing.”

That fell between the entire team with a heavy silence.

Until Hughie spoke, calm but determined.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We don’t just leave our friends without trying.”

And by now, he could call you a friend. Annie certainly agreed.

After sharing a look with Kimiko, who smiled and nodded, and then M.M., Frenchie grinned. “I agree with Petit Hughie.”

He slapped the younger man on the back, though Hughie shot him a wan look.

“Can you stop calling me that?”

Butcher looked to M.M., who crossed his arms and nodded back.

“Can’t leave a man behind. Besides, if we find her, we probably find Soldier Boy.”

After a moment, Butcher shrugged.

“All right. Let’s hunt down the old fuck. Again.”

AN: "Welcome to the Hotel California! Such a lovely place, such a lovely face." 😅

Next time, she tests her limitations:

It was Soldier Boy, of course. He was looking down at you, not sure if he should be stern or amused.

“What a naughty little girl,” he drawled. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t mind your fucking manners.”

Keep Reading: PART 4

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @yvonneeeee @fckinel @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @waters-2567 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow @buckybarnes-1917 @secretdreamlandmentality @asgardprincess97

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maxillness · 10 months ago

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Frenchie || Rory Lowe x Reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, fatherless!reader, alcohol consumption, bathroom sex, thigh grinding, oral (F receiving), fingering, hair pulling, orgasm denial

Wordcount: 1.4k

I really liked him on yeah mad. Hope he gets another episode soon 🫶🫶

It seemed like she had waited forever on their turn, but she really hadn’t. It has only been an hour or so

She knew she had to go against Rory, which made it so much harder to wait. She wouldn’t admit it, but she found him attractive

She waited patiently for Sath and Akila to finish their turn, so it could be her turn. They finally came to an end, and Sath had won

Everybody that needed it, did a bathroom break before they were seated in the couch

“Okay, we’re rolling” Ben said and both her and Rory went to the table

“You wanna hug, or…?” He chuckled as she put down her glass and phone down on to the table

“Of course, I’m sorry” She stood on her toes to hug him. They both sat down and pulled up their phones “I didn’t expect to be hugged by Frenchie today” She chuckled as a few laughed from the couch. She looked up at him, seeing his confused face “You look like him”

“Who the hell is that?” He looked even more confused as he looked over to the others in the couch

“You haven’t seen the nun?” Her face showed disgust as well as the others

“No, who is Frenchie?” He looked confused back to her

“It’s the hot guy from the nun” She sighed as she leaned back into their chair. He smirked to himself and a light blush spread across his cheeks as a few chuckled in the couch “I guess I’ll have to find new jokes, ‘cause these are all Conjuring related”

“I just ruined all your jokes?” He looked over at her with guilt in his eyes

“It’s fine, I’ll just switch to dad’s leaving jokes” He chuckled a bit “Sorry, I meant stories from my diary” Which made them all laugh out loud “You wanna start?”

“Ladies first” He said soft. She folded her hands before looking down at her phone

“Thank you. It’s a long this one. Little Johnny goes to his mom and asks, ‘How old are you, mom?’ His mother says, ‘A lady never reveals her age’ The next day at school, Little Johnny tells his friend Jimmy about this and he says, ‘If you find your mom’s driver’s license, it will tell you everything about her.’ When he gets home, he sneaks into his mom’s purse and finds her driver’s license. That evening, he goes to his mother and says, ‘Mom, I know that you’re 33 years old, and that your height is 5’3”’ ‘How do you know?’ she replies ‘Because I found your driver’s license and it has all your information! It also knows why dad left you. It’s because you got an F in sex!’”

He tried hard not to laugh as the others did “Almost” He said smiling “What did the hurricane say to the coconut tree? Hold on to your nuts, this ain’t an ordinary blow job”

She chuckled slightly “Fuck! That was funny” She took her shot glass and filled it with the vodka. She took her shot and picked her phone up again

“What does the F in orphan stand for?” He looked confused “Father” He was still confused

“There’s no F in orphan. Oh, I get it now” He laughed as he got the joke “That was good” He took his shot and looked into his phone

“Thanks” She said disappointed he didn’t get her joke at first

“You’re body is 70 precent water… And I’m thirsty” She just looked straight him

“That’s a pick-up line, not a joke, but it’s good” She said smiling at him

She had won at the end of the day, but they were both rather drunk “You did good” He said as she waited for the bathroom to empty

“Well, it was close, but you did good too” She smiled up at him

“‘The hot guy from the nun’. You think i’m hot?” She didn’t know if it was the alcohol or she was genuinely feeling confident

“Yes, I do” She leaned against the wall beside the door. She looked into the ground, trying to hide the blush that crept down her neck from her cheeks

She didn’t t even notice he had walked closer to her. It was only when he took her chin and made her look up at him

He leaned down, kissing her lips soft. Yeah, sure she had thought about his soft lips, but she never imagined they would be this soft

She kissed back immediately. Her hands pulled his hips towards her in an attempt to get him closer to her

His hand moved from her chin to her jaw. They heard the lock of the door, and he stepped away from her

“Sorry, have you been waiting long?” Sam asked as she walked out of the bathroom

“Not that long” She smiled to her as she walked away. She pulled him into the bathroom, pushing him up against the door, locking it

The kiss was heated and messy, but they were too into the moment to care. He had turned them around, pressing her hips into the door

He placed his knees between her knees. She’s glad she decided to wear a skirt today. His lips went to her neck as his hands guided her hips, making her grind on his thigh

She had to cover her mouth to now let any loud moans out. Even if it was at the end of the day, and people had left, there might be some left in the building

“Fuck, Rory. Please” The contact between her panties and his jeans, could make her cum right then and there

She pulled on his hair, taking him away from her neck “I want you inside of me, please” She whimpered as he kissed her soft

He went to his knees, making her whimper at the loss of contact “Gotta get you worked up first” He pulled her panties down

As she she stepped out of them, he put one of her legs over his shoulder, giving him more access

She threw her head back against the door as he licked through her folds. He pushed her skirt further up her waist as he flicked his tongue over her clit

She grabbed his hair tightly, making him groan, which sent vibrations all over her body. One of his hands went from her hip and down to her cunt

She moaned loud into her hand when he entered her with one of his fingers. After a few thrusts of his finger, he added another, making her grind against him

“Fuck. Rory, please, I’m gonna cum” Her voice was breathy and shuttered as she spoke and clenched around his fingers

He pulled out and away from her, drawing out an annoyed groan from her. She yelped as she was bend over the sink

She looked back at him, seeing him unbuckle his jeans and zipping them down. She looked away and grabbed the edge of the sink as he stroked himself a few times before lining himself up with her entrance

They both moaned as he entered her slowly. He stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust to his size

“Move, please” She whined as his nails dug into her hips as he started moving. Both of their heavy breaths turned into moans as he found a rhythm

He groaned as she clenched around him as her orgasm neared her again. Her actions made him twitch inside her

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Please, fuck” His grip on her hips got tighter as she tried to hold her moans in

“Fucking cum for me” His words were enough to sent her over the edge, coming around him. It wasn’t long before he came as well

They gathered themselves, making sure their clothes sat correct and she had made sure her hair was okay back to normal

“We definitely need to watch the nun together” She said as she looked up at him

“Is it just an excuse to be with me?” He asked and leaned down to kiss her lips

“Yes, but also because it’s a disgrace to humanity that you haven’t watched it yet” She said kissing him back

#smut #yeah mad #Rory Lowe #Rory Lowe smut #Rory Lowe x reader #Rory Lowe x reader smut

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