#french butchers table

[lambertcottage]

[zepskies]

Lesson Learned

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: There’s only so much teasing Ben is willing to take. He has no choice but to punish you.

AN: Here we go! lol. This is the highly requested Part 2 to This One’s For You, over in the BMD-verse!

Word Count: 2.2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, edging, teasing, fluff, and feels.

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

You gasped, your nails raking through his hair. Your grip threatened to rip out a few strands as you panted into his neck.

“Ben, please…for God’s sake…”

“Please what?” he said. There was grit in his voice when he spoke into your ear, but he was all too controlled. Taunting.

Asshole.

He was relentless, dragging his fingers inside your quivering pussy, rubbing his thumb around your clit, but almost never where you wanted him. Your thighs were shaking on either side of his frame as he had you naked on your back, writhing in the middle of your shared bed. You’d sucked him off until his spine rattled and his eyes nearly crossed, swallowing up as much as you could of what he had to give.

Still, he wasn’t satisfied.

“I’m sorry!” you burst in frustration, but you also had to stifle your laughter. Your husband narrowed his eyes at you, spying the hint of your smile.

“How come I don’t fucking believe you?” said Ben. With his elbow digging into the bed beside your shoulder, his occupied fingers curled inside you, finally brushing against the sensitive ridge of your inner walls. It drew a faltering moan from your lips. 

“What exactly are you sorry for?” he demanded. He bowed his head and laid a biting kiss along your throat. “Use your fucking words.”

You exhaled roughly, gripping his hair tight again. Now that he couldn’t see your face, you could allow yourself to grin in amusement.

Three Days Ago…

Ben was tired and more irritable than usual when he stepped into the Flatiron Building. The night before had been a battle of wills between him and his infant daughter, who’d been finnicky, having a hard time going back to sleep. He’d done his best to help her get back to sleep, since you had been dead to the world and unable to leave the bed (or so you’d seemed).

Now, he took the elevator up to the right floor and used his key to get into the office suite, where Butcher and the rest of your delinquent friends were already dicking around.

Some horrible French rap was playing on the Bluetooth speaker. Kimiko was flicking tiny pieces of paper across the dining table, into a “goal” made by Hughie’s hands. Frenchie wore a “Kiss the Cook” apron as he pulled a fresh batch of croissants out of the oven in the kitchenette, while M.M. swept the excess flour stains off the counter. 

Annie was trying to get Butcher to smoke his cigarette out on the balcony.

“Really, you had fucking cancer. You’d think you’d try a little harder to take care of yourself,” she said. Butcher gave her a wan smile, and blew a coil of smoke upward between them.

“Nice,” she said flatly.

But all that stopped when Ben strode into the room. They stared at him, each starting to smile, no matter how much some of them tried to hide it (like Kimiko, with a hand over her mouth).

“What the fuck’re you staring at?” Ben snapped. “We got a job, right?”

Butcher cleared his throat and recovered first. He dabbed his cigarette on an ashtray on the dining table and grabbed an iPad to give to the supe.

“Yeah, got us an escapee. Our little slumlord, Sapphire,” he said.

Ben frowned. Sapphire was the supe who nearly vaporized you a couple of years ago, after they broke up her drug ring. While he read the file documenting detailing her escape and what the CIA knew of her whereabouts so far, Hughie shared a look with Kimiko and Annie before he spoke.

“So, uh, how’s Lila doing?”

 Ben shot him a look through furrowed brows.

“Fine. She’s with her mother,” he replied. Hughie predictably asked about you, and again, Ben said you were fine at home with the baby.

“Lila’s almost a year old, right?” Hughie asked. “Aw man, that’s gotta be a fun age, right? I mean, fun, but challenging. All the crying, the diaper changing. Getting her to sleep through the night must be tough.”

Ben’s attention piqued at that, and not in a good way. His dark suspicion grew when his gaze flicked up to Hughie’s dumb fucking face, and then the rest of them, with their dumbass smiles. Biting her lip to stop herself from smiling, Annie pressed a button on her phone.

All of a sudden, Ben heard his own voice playing from the speaker.

“H-Hey there, Delilah, what’s it like in New York City?”

“Now ain’t that a lovely warble,” Butcher remarked. Ben shot him a warning glare, but the Brit raised his hands in amused surrender. He crossed his arms and continued to smoke as he watched the scene unfold.

Ben tossed the iPad onto the kitchen counter and strode over to Annie with menacing steps, intending to put an end to this bullshit. She grinned and tossed her phone over to Kimiko, and Ben glowered, changing directions.

“I'm a thousand miles away, but girl, tonight you look so pretty. Yes, you do. Time Square can’t shine as bright as you…I swear it’s true.”

Kimiko’s eyes widened at the angry supe heading toward her. She tossed the phone to Frenchie next. The phone bounced between his flour-stained hands as he yelped in surprise.

“Oh, shit,” he uttered, when Ben began stomping his way.

“Hey there, Delilah, don't you worry about the distance. I'm right there if you get lonely. Give this song another listen…”

“A voice like warm butter,” Frenchie praised. He quickly tried to move from side to side to evade his attacker. “You should be proud, Monsiuer Grincheux! A man soothing his baby is a beautiful thing.”

“Shut your fucking cockhole,” Ben gritted out, but he still reached out when the phone sailed under his arm—only to land in M.M.’s hands. He froze with widened eyes, not wanting to be in the game. But it was too late, for him and Ben.

“Hey there, Delilah, here’s to you,” his voice sang, more quietly, more tender, deep and baritone. “This one’s for you…”

A brief pause. And then—

“What the fuck’re you doing?”

M.M. managed to pause the video. A beat of utter silence, and then...

Everyone burst out into laughter. Hughie started it; he was damn near folded in half, leaning heavily on his girlfriend as he wiped a tear out of his eye. M.M. tossed the phone back to Frenchie, whose entire frame was shaking with restrained glee.

Ben’s jaw worked as he contemplated how exactly he was going to kill every one of these cocksucking morons.

And then you. Because how else had they gotten that video? You had to have sent it somehow before he got ahold of you last night.

“All right, enough!” he bellowed.

The entire room fell silent.

“First of all, erase that shit right now, or it’s coming out your ass,” he barked, pointing at Frenchie. The other man jolted and did as he was told.

“As for the rest of you, I better not hear another fucking word about this, or so help me Christ, I’m gonna do some barbecuing.” 

About three days later, Sapphire had been caught and re-imprisoned, and Ben returned home. He found you in the living room. He was taciturn to your happy smile when you welcomed him with a hug around his waist, though your smile fell after he didn’t respond to your kiss.

He slowly lowered his gaze down to you, and you knew.

Biting your lip, you soothed a hand along his cheek. “So, how’d it go?”

“Fine,” he said, but little else.

In fact, Ben didn’t speak to you for most of the evening. You tried cooking him a good hot meal, but he barely said two words to you. The only thing he did, before he was even showered and changed, was venture into the nursery to lay a gentle hand on his daughter’s head as she slept, over her downy brown hair. He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead.

After that, he strode past you in the doorway and slammed the door shut in the bathroom.

Aw shit. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help chortling with laughter. You should’ve known he’d be a great big man child about this.

So you decided to call your mom and see if she could take Lila for the night.

You had some damage control to do.

Now…

He'd brought you to the edge of your pleasure three times before he withdrew his mouth or his hand from your body, not letting you touch yourself, not letting you come—driving you to the point of frustrated tears.

You grabbed his head with both hands and guided him to look you in the eyes.

“Baby, please. Stop torturing me,” you pleaded. You used every tool in your arsenal to make him break, giving him soft, tearful eyes. You leaned up and pressed gentle kisses to his cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips.

“I need you,” you whispered, drawing him into deeper, messier kisses. Part of him started to falter. He briefly closed his eyes and breathed into your kiss.

But then, he stubbornly broke from you with a frown.

“Nice try. You’re not getting off that easy,” he said. “Now say it. Why the fuck are you sorry?”

You huffed in aggravation, but you twined your arms around his neck and brushed slightly sweaty strands of his hair away from his forehead.

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you,” you said, even though your mouth began to curve upward. “It was a sweet thing you did, and I’m glad I captured it. But I am sorry that sharing that moment with our friends bothers you so much.”

“First of all, they’re your idiot friends,” he said. You wanted to interject on that one, but you knew he wasn’t in the mood, and you didn’t want to fight with him for real.

“Second of all,” he began…but he didn’t have any more words after that. They were caught between his irritation, and his unwillingness to even voice what it was he felt. Eventually, he found them.

“There’s some shit that needs to stay between us,” he said.  

You smiled, but you mercifully drew him down for another slow kiss.

“Okay, okay. I hear you. It’s not that big a deal though. You love your family, and look! Your macho-ness is still very much intact,” you said, gesturing at his very much hard cock pressing against your thigh. “Now are you gonna fuck me like a man, or do I need to find a vibrator that will?”

At that Ben looked down at you with a raise of his brows. His lips twitched, mostly at your audacity. Shaking his head, he slid a hand behind your neck and drew you in for a kiss, fueled by passion and frustration in equal measure.

You wrapped your thighs around his hips, urging him closer. His straining length pressed against your center, the wet tip slipping against your glistening folds. He groaned at the sensation.

“Please,” you repeated, licking into his mouth for a sensuous kiss.

The once-iron grip on his restraint finally broke. Ben slid a hand between you to hold himself to your entrance. With one smooth thrust, his cock buried deep inside you. Your moan of relief echoed his own. If nothing else good came out of this situation, you two hadn’t had the time or the energy to go at it like this in a long time.

He grabbed your thigh and angled you higher, so he could sink in at an even better angle as he began to rut into you.

With all of his earlier edging and teasing, you were already so close. Your inner walls fluttered around him, welcoming him home and gripping him tight. All it took was a few well-placed swipes of his thumb over your clit to have you tumbling over the edge—a delicious cresting of pleasure that made you arch off the bed, biting your nails into his shoulders, a cry caught in your throat.

Ben fucked you through your release, all while chasing his own. His grip on your hip tightened as his thrusts grew ragged, his own breathing shallow and rough, until his balls tightened and his body locked up on him. He spent himself inside you, coating your inner walls until he had nothing left.

He just barely managed to keep himself from smothering you as his body relaxed. You still welcomed his weight on you, soothing your hands up and down his back while you both caught your breath. Your thighs slipped from his hips, your feet meeting bed and sliding out a little.

Ben brushed your sweaty hair away from your face. Looking down on you now, his face gentled from its hardened angles and furrowed brows. You smiled lazily.

“Still mad at me?” you teased.

Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he let out a rough exhale through his nose.

“Something tells me you didn’t learn your lesson,” he said, somewhat incredulous, and yet, amused.

Your smile was undoubtedly cheeky, even as you leaned up to give him a sweeter kiss.

“Sure did, baby,” you said against his lips. And another kiss. “Lesson learned, I promise.”

He really did roll his eyes this time.

AN: 😂 Ben just can't win, can he?

Translation: Monsiuer Grincheux - "Mr. Grumpy" in French

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, Ben has his Adventures in Babysitting moment in Green:

Summary: Ben spends the day alone with his daughter, to varying degrees of success. When you get home, it prompts a serious conversation.

▶️ Keep Reading: Green

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[bohemianblasphemy]

First, let me just say that your writing gives me LIFE 😭 If you are still taking prompts/headcanons, I just can’t help thinking about But her and afab virgin reader 😭

Like, she is in her twenties and the fact that she’s never had sex makes her feel so insecure. It somehow comes up in a joking manner while the Boys are hanging out, and she is SO embarrassed. But Butcher just fucking freezes and it makes him feel like a creepy old man but by god he is turned on 😮‍💨

He can’t stop thinking about being her first and if it actually happens or just stays in his pervy mind is up to you 🤭

oh my gosh you are so sweet thank you!!! i have had a fun time writing this, so i hope you enjoy, i may do a follow up if people want more of this 👀✨

a bottle of whiskey, the Boys and Never Have I Ever. what could possibly go wrong?

it’s 10pm at the Boys HQ, the tables and chairs are push out and all are gathered around a bottle of cheap whiskey and everyone is feeling… relaxed, as much as they really can despite what is happening around them.

“okay okay what about we play… Never Have I Ever?” Annie giggles, earning groans from Hughie and MM. “Annie, i have not played that shit since high school.” MM complains, earning a laugh from the group. “oh come on M, it’d be fun! everytime someone has done something, we take a drink. it’ll be fine, just have a bit of a laugh…” you laugh, looking around the circle. your eyes follow around the circle from Frenchie and Kimiko smiling at each other and around to butcher, who is surprisingly quiet.

“okay i will start… never have i ever been caught having sex.” Hughie states boldly, grinning over at the sour expressions of those who have been caught before, except for you. “ y/n belle you have not?” frenchie questions, capturing the attention of those around you, especially butcher.

it has been something that has been surrounding you for your whole life. sex hadnt been something that has happened to you yet - being in your 20s you saw it as something that was embarrassing despite there being nothing to be ashamed of, but you wanted it and you exactly who you wanted it with.

Butcher. he had consumed so many of your thoughts, you’ve caught yourself staring at him so many times in the office- imagining those big strong hands on you, touching every inch of your body, kissing down your neck and chest to your most sensitive areas…

“i-I haven’t… not yet, but hey let’s got next round!” you laughed nervously, keeping your head down. butchers eyes don’t leave your body, the cogs in his mind turning as his thoughts are consumed with you.

a few more questions went around the circle before it was butchers turn. “this is a stupid game why do i hav’ta do it?” he groans, a bit tipsy from the drinking. “cmon man don’t be a sour puss just fucking ask a question.” Hughie exclaims, earning a giggle from both you and Annie. butcher rolls his eyes and utters “never have i ever NOT had sex” grinning as everyone moans “that is a silly question butcher… of course we all have.” frenchie the swigs of whiskey go all around and stops in front of you, but you dont take it.

the room is quiet, all eyes on you and your face goes red with embarrassment. “y/n you’re a vir-“ Annie questions and you admit “yep i am, i know- what a shocker!” you say sarcastically and put your head in your hands, not wanting to meet the faces of everyone around you. “ oh mon amour, we need to get someone to… help you with that” Frenchie says, earning a light punch in the shoulder by kimiko.

Butcher says nothing, his eyes boring into you, drinking in the sight of your reddened cheeks. he has always had an attraction to you and found himself turned on at the thought of taking you - imagining you coating his cock with your soaking cunt and becoming undone on him for the first time. his thoughts were interrupted by you standing up saying you had to leave and rushing out of the office.

“cmon Frenchie you embarrassed her! why’d you say that?” MM questioned, Frenchie replied “maybe so then butcher can finally make a move on her instead of eye fucking her from across the room.”

[claraswritings]

Reader opens a bookshop opposite the Bear. Her and Carmy meet and she holds back cook books for him and he cooks her food 😭

Omg cute 🥰 I put a bit of a twist on this one I hope you don’t mind but blurb btc

No TW just fluff

You’d been in the city for a little over two months when had met him. Carmen Berzatto.

He’d stumbled in, slightly pink in the cheeks looking for a book about a ‘magical pony’.

You’d given him a smile, small and tweaking at the corner of your mouth and pointed off to the colourful section down around a corner

“First display in the kids section. If you get lost it’s directly under the inflatable unicorn”

“Thanks” he ran a hand through a mess of curly hair and took off.

“It’s not for me” he told you when he’d returned with it in hand, some of the glitter from the cover now stuck to his patchwork jacket.

“I’m not one to judge.” You stated matter of factly. Even if it was for him, a grown man buying a unicorn book would not be the weirdest thing you’d seen.

“I promise it’s for…my cousins kid. I mean he’s not actually my cousin…but he’s…”

You looked amused.

“Okay, I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t” you teased as you slipped the pink sparkly book into a bag and handed it over.

“Is this place new?” He asked as if it had just dawned on him this was no longer the carpet shop it used to be and you raised your eyebrows.

“About two months.”

He let out a low whistle and nodded “I’m…Carmen, Carmy…I own erm…” he stopped and gestured out of the window hoping he sounded better out loud than he did in his head.

“The Bear?” You asked and when he tilted his head in confusion “I know. I’ve seen you come and go. It’s a big window.”

He winced even though it didn’t sound like a dig.

“Sorry, I would have said hi sooner, I’ve not…I’ve not been with it. Busy getting ready to re open.”

He winced again. You’d obviously not long since opened too.

“It’s okay” you said in the same way you’d said ‘I’m not one to judge’ and Carmy weirdly liked that. “I had a sandwich there a while back…when I was viewing this place. Maybe I’ll come in sometime.”

The way you said it was genuine. Not in the placid, token sentiment way people said it. You sounded like you mean it

“I’ll, uh, lemme know and I’ll sort you a table.”

****

It went on like this for a little while.

He’d started coming in every few days, mostly following Eva and Richie in.

“Ah, the cousin and his daughter are real.” You’d quipped the first time. “See I held back the new unicorn book thinking this guy was a secret fan…” you winked at Carmy before pausing “Guess I’ll have to give it to this little lady!” You passed Eva over a book which she ran off excitedly with

Richie had given you a nod and a “Thanks sweetheart” before slapping Carmy on the back and following his daughter off to the kids table.

The look he gave Carmy did not go unnoticed by you. Almost as soon as they were out Richie had turned to him with this shit eating grin

“Wonder why you wanted to go in. Real obvious cousin.”

“What? Was I?? Do you think she noticed?” Suddenly Carmy felt about sixteen and awkward again, as he glanced over through the window at you.

Richie clipped him around the head with the book “Just ask the nice lady out, fucko”

***

“Carmy!” You’d grinned when he’d come in a few days later. “I kept you a present”

He raised an eyebrow “Uh, yeah, you mentioned something about…” you paused not wanting to butcher the French pronunciation. “A French evening? At your place?”

You ducked behind the counter and picked up the hardback book, placing it on the counter with a dramatic drop.

“Here.” You pushed it towards him

It was a famous chefs latest book. Full of recipes and inspiration from his upbringing in Marseille and about his three star restaurant in Nice. “This is signed.” Carmy’s eyes widened

“Yes. I know” you tilted your head to the side and watched him flip through it. “Is that like…against some kinda chef code or something.”

“Chef code?” Carmy raised an eyebrow “Like scouts honor?”

You shrugged “I dunno. Just you look confused by the prospect of a signed book.”

“No…it’s just…I can pay for it” Carmy started looking around in his wallet and you raised your eyebrows

“Don’t worry about it”

“Are you sure? It’s signed. This is like having a…book signed by…”

“By him?” You tapped the cover.

“By like…Tolkien or something” Carmy continued “Shit analogy I know.”

“No I get it. He’s like some type of chef Tolkien”

“Yeah.” Carmy nodded

“So he’s good?”

“He’s one of the best. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. You know he never signs right? I think he’s uh… like a recluse?” Carmy held up a hand“Hold on okay? I’ll be right back”

Right back was twenty minutes later. He entered holding out a plastic carton

“It’s the… I brought you some?” He ran his hand through his hair wondering if it was weird. “It’s not how I’d usually plate it.”

“I know. Thank you” you said and he noticed your slow reassuring tone and in his mind he heard Richie again, berating him for not asking you out

“Uh next time…How about I don’t bring you food. How about I take you out. Properly.”

“I think I’d like that”

[geminiwritten]

hot dream ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you fall asleep in butcher’s sweater and have a rather steamy dream, not realising that everyone heard you moaning butcher’s name in your sleep

notes: this is so bad, and it makes me so sad because i was so excited to write it, but work has been so blegh that i just feel like i failed??? i don’t know, it’s definitely not my best writing, but it’s something! hope y’all can still enjoy!

warnings: swearing, google-translated french, some very incorrect chemistry, and a tiny bit of smut (i’m working myself up to actually writing it, i promise!)

^ the sweater

word count: 4691

“It’s fucking cold in here,” you say, rubbing your arms as you step into the living room.

Frenchie and Kimiko are curled up under a blanket on the couch, and Butcher is lounging on the single seat sofa with his feet propped on top of the coffee table. You know MM is on his way back from Monique’s house with spare clothes and comforters, but you also know how caught up he can get when he spends time with Janine.

“You do not have a jumper?” Frenchie asks.

You shake your head, “The last sweatshirt I had was burnt to a crisp two weeks ago.”

New York City is quickly falling into winter, the air turning crisp and heavy clouds rolling overhead as news channels warn about impending snow within the week.

Kimiko looks up at you and wriggles her arms out of the blanket to sign an apology, gesturing to the jumper she wears as the only one she has.

Butcher sighs and pushes himself off the sofa, “I’ve got somethin’.”

The tiny butterflies in your stomach flitter to life, bouncing around excitedly at the thought of wearing Butcher’s clothing. You move a hand from your arm to your stomach and curse the stupid giddiness that this man aroused within you. It’s ridiculous, really, and just a stupid crush, but he never fails to elicit some sort of irritating physical reaction within your body every time he speaks.

He disappears into the main bedroom for a moment before remerging with a black garment in hand. “Here,” he says, handing it to you, “don’t get it burnt though, it’s my favourite.”

You give him a cheeky smile, “I make no promises.”

Your fingers brush his as you take the sweater from his hand, and his eyes capture yours in a stare you cannot break. His lip quirks into that gorgeous smirk you’ve come to enjoy so much, sending those stupid butterflies into a frenzy before he turns back toward the sofa.

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding and with numb fingers, find the bottom of the sweatshirt before pulling it over your head. His scent hits you like a truck, rushing through your nose and burning all the way to your lungs. Your chest squeezes around your erratic heart, your ribs aching as they struggle to contain the throbbing muscle. It feels like you’ve been punched in the sternum, and your limbs feel like jelly wrapped in the soft material saturated by his scent.

You know this sweater almost too well, having admired him in it countless times. It’s a little too big on you, but on him, it’s perfect. The thick material hugs his shoulders and fits his torso in the most delicious way. It’s ridiculous that he can make something as plain as this sweater look downright sinful.

“Better?” Butcher asks, his eyes sparkling with a mischief that makes you wonder what he knows.

You nod, “Much.”

Kimiko shuffles over on the couch so that you can squeeze between her and the arm, the side closest to Butcher. You try to focus on the lame action film playing on the television, but the smell of the jumper clouds your mind, and you can feel Butcher’s gaze wandering over to you every few seconds. You want to say something, but every string of words that come to mind are laced with innuendo and teasing, and although you’re very fond of flirting with this man, you’re not sure you can handle it in your current state.

The sun is well below the horizon by the time MM arrives back, his arms full of blankets and second-hand clothing. Kimiko takes two jumpers and a blanket before seeing herself off to bed, and MM does the same shortly after. Frenchie throws another blanket over himself and invites you to share his warmth while Butcher remains on the single sofa with nothing but his trench coat. After almost three movies, your eyelids begin to droop, and you let your head fall onto Frenchie’s shoulder as sleep slowly consumes you.

You startle awake, your mind swirling with images of Butcher. You can still see him hovering over you, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, and his wicked grin as he settles between your thighs. Heat pulses between your legs at the fading memory, and your skin feels like it’s on fire, phantom touches lingering in the shape of Butcher’s hands on your hips, your breasts, your throat.

You have to blink a few times before the living room comes into focus, bright light flooding the space through the drawn curtains as dust mites float through the air. The blankets covering you suddenly feel like they weigh a tonne, and you have to throw them off your sweaty body before you pass out.

“Good morning, mon petit rayon de soleil,” Frenchie greets you, sitting in the sofa where you last consciously saw Butcher.

“Hey,” you mumble as you sit up.

His grin is wide and cheeky, “Did you have a good sleep?”

“It was okay,” you reply, rubbing your neck, “as good as it gets on this old couch.”

“I did not have the heart to wake you,” he says, “you looked so peaceful and were… humming so contently.”

You frown sceptically, “Okay…”

MM is in the kitchen, standing at the stove with a goofy smile as he watches the eggs in the pan cook.

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” Frenchie responds.

“What?” you demand, “You let me sleep for that long? Don’t we have things to do today?”

MM chuckles, “We didn’t want to wake you, as Frenchie said, you were so content.”

Spikes of panic begin prickling your skin and your eyes dart from Frenchie to MM, searching their impish faces for any sign of what could be making them so smug.

“Where’s Butcher?”

“Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself,” Frenchie says, “but he is awake.”

MM serves the eggs onto two plates and carries them over to the table where Kimiko is sat. She grins at him before digging in to her breakfast, and your own stomach begins to rumble.

“I suppose I will get my own,” Frenchie sighs, pushing himself off the sofa and walking toward the kitchen.

“I’ll have some too,” you call after him, “thanks, Frenchie.”

He smirks at you with the carton of eggs in hand, “Anything for you, mon amour. How do you like your eggs?”

“Hard boiled,” MM replies before you can, snickering as he takes a bite of toast.

Frenchie giggles too, and he quickly turns toward the stove to avoid your dubious stare.

“What the fuck are you two on this morning?”

They don’t respond as their laughter continues to bubble. Frenchie waves a hand dismissively, still refusing to look at you, before placing a pot and a pan on top of the stove.

“I prefer fried,” you mutter, still frowning.

He nods and moves the pot back into the cupboard just as the doors to the main bedroom creak open. Butcher steps out in faded jeans and yet another hideous Hawaiian shirt with only three of the lower buttons fastened. His hair is a complete mess and his cheeks flushed red; he looks as if he’d just sprinted several blocks.

“You’re awake,” he states.

You nod, “So are you.”

He chuckles, “Been awake for a couple’a hours, love.”

MM is struggling with his breakfast, his laughter refusing to subside though he does his best to quell it, his whole face turning red. Frenchie has turned his back to you completely now, but you can still see his shoulders shaking as he giggles into his hand.

“Did I miss something?” you ask Butcher as he falls into the single sofa.

His smirk just as devilish as Frenchie’s, “Nothin’ at all, in fact, I think it’s me who missed somethin’.”

“Okay,” you sigh, “you’re all being weird, and I’m incredibly sweaty, so I’m going to shower.”

“Breakfast will be ready for you when you return, mon amour,” Frenchie says, “take your time cleaning your- uh, humidité.”

Butcher chuckles as another wave of mirth hits MM, and he begins to choke on his mouthful of food. You roll your eyes before turning on your heel and stomping toward the bathroom, leaving them to their stupidity.

The cold air nips at your bare skin as you strip in the bathroom, carefully laying Butcher’s sweater on the vanity before stepping under the warm shower spray. You take your time washing your hair and scrubbing your body, hazy flashes of hot touches and wet kisses invading your mind as you close your eyes and let the water soak your skin. By the time you shut the shower off, you’re thoroughly clean and a little dizzy with desire. You dry off before wrapping the towel around your body and gathering your clothes to dash across the hall toward your bedroom.

You can’t help glancing in the direction of the living room when you step out, your eyes locking with Butcher’s dark gaze for the split second it takes you to reach your room. Your pulse is thrumming at a ridiculous pace as you unwrap the towel and turn toward your dresser. You slip on a fresh pair of panties and jeans, and turn to the sweater you’d tossed on your bed. Your stomach grumbles impatiently while you procrastinate, and you curse quietly to yourself before slipping the sweater over your head without anything underneath.

The living room wreaks of burnt toast when you remerge from your bedroom, and Frenchie is swearing at the toaster in such fast French, you can’t possibly try to understand it.

“Did you ruin my breakfast?” you ask, walking past Butcher and leaning your hip on the kitchen bench.

“I did not ruin anything,” Frenchie says with a frown, “this good for nothing piece of shit machine did.”

You can feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of your head and you know it’s Butcher, but you refuse to turn around, instead joining Frenchie in the kitchen to take over the toaster. After a few minutes of patience, the toast pops perfectly grilled and you place two pieces on each of your plates before Frenchie tops it with eggs.

“So,” MM says when you and Frenchie join him at the table, “what’s today’s plan?”

“We need to go back to the old safe house,” Frenchie replies.

“The basement,” you note between bites of toast.

He nods, “We need to gather anything we left behind that might be useful. I am running out of materials and I know we left a stash of ammunition there.”

“Who’s to say it isn’t already gone?” MM queries.

Frenchie shrugs, “We do not know, but it is worth a try.”

You want to point out that it isn’t really necessary for all of you to go, but you know that will only end in an argument, so you focus on finishing your breakfast. Once you’re all done, MM collects the empty plates and begins washing up while the rest of you go to gather your things.

You pack a small crossbody bag with your phone and keys before tucking a sheathed dagger into the back of your jeans, just in case. When you step back into the living room, Frenchie and MM are waiting by the door, whispering and giggling about something until they see you approach. You want to demand they let you in on whatever stupid joke you’d missed out on this morning, but Butcher’s heavy footsteps capture your attention before you can speak.

“Righ’ then, lads,” he says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat, “let’s get on with it.”

Your gaze lingers on his lips as he speaks before trailing down his neck and bare chest, finding a mere two more buttons fastened than before. Heat rises to your cheeks, creeping all the way up to the tips of your ears as your mouth begins to water and another blurry image of Butcher fills your mind. You see him on his knees before you, looking up with hungry eyes and parted lips, murmuring something filthy that doesn’t quite reach your ears.

You gasp, blinking rapidly to return to reality and finding three curious faces staring back at you.

“Are you okay?” Frenchie asks.

You nod, “I’m good, let’s go.”

You step between him and MM and walk out the door first, turning down the hall without bothering to wait. They’re giggling again by the time they catch up to you in the lobby, and even Butcher is wearing an amused smirk. He winks as he walks past you, pulling his car keys from his pocket before holding the front door open for the rest of you. Unlike every other time you’ve all been walking toward the car, no one calls shot gun. Frenchie simply opens the back door for Kimiko to slide in before he does, and MM follows without a single complaint.

You look at Butcher, “What the fuck?”

He shrugs, but his smirk is still saturated with amusement and the glint in his eyes tells you that this has something to do with whatever they were all being so smug about.

“You’re all pissing me off today,” you sigh, before walking around the car to the passenger’s side.

You’re not upset about getting the front seat, nor are you annoyed that you get to sit beside Butcher and practically drool over him while he has to pay attention to the road. You are, however, beginning to panic about what it is that they’re not telling you.

The drive isn’t long, and you spend most of it watching Butcher’s hands on the wheel, fantasising about how they would feel caressing every inch of your skin. It almost feels like a memory as you picture his fingers digging into your hips or wrapped gently around your throat, and you can feel your body growing hot within the thick material of his sweater. You practically fall out of the car when it finally stops, gasping for cool air and willing your mind to focus on the task at hand.

Frenchie leads the way down a narrow alley and pushes open the familiar metal door before the rest of you follow him into the dark, damp corridor of what used to be your hide out. You all stay silent for a few minutes, creeping around and checking for any unusual activity or signs that the place might be bugged or trapped. It’s definitely been ransacked, but there are thin films of dust blanketing almost every surface which indicates that whoever was looking in here had given up a long time ago.

“Okay,” Frenchie speaks up once deciding that you’re safe, “let’s see what we’ve got left.”

You split up and wander around the huge, open basement. There are two curtain dividers sectioning the space into what you used as ‘bedrooms’, and a single chipped, wooden door leading to the tiny bathroom at the very back. MM goes in there first, rummaging around for half a minute before declaring it empty.

“Is there anything in particular that we’re looking for?” you ask, turning to Frenchie, “Because there’s a lot of crap in here, and as much as I’d love for you all to rummage through my old underwear drawer, maybe we should-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Frenchie and Butcher take off, abandoning the shelves they were searching and knocking one of the curtain dividers over as they scramble toward the old dresser you used to use.

“Hey!” you shout, your eyes growing wide as you hurry after them.

They’re giggling like maniacs as they wrench the drawers open one by one, tossing out the few items of clothing that still remained in there before realising that there was, in fact, no underwear left behind.

“I was joking,” you say, “fucking pervs.”

Frenchie chuckles, “Can you blame us, mon amour?”

“Yes!”

MM is snickering in the small kitchenette as he picks through the lower cupboards one by one. As much as you want to enjoy the rare light-heartedness within the group right now, you can’t stop wondering why the hell they were all in such a giddy mood. Are they all high?

“Alrigh’ you lot,” Butcher says, running a hand through his dishevelled hair as his laughter subsides, “stop messin’ about, we’ve got a job to do.”

You roll your eyes and trudge toward where MM is, starting on the top cupboards of the small kitchen while they begin opening old crates and suitcases. Frenchie starts a pile by the stairs, stacking up anything he finds that might be useful or too valuable to abandon. There isn’t much, but there are still a couple of cases of ammunition and packets of powders that you know are combustible in some way.

“Wait!” Frenchie shouts suddenly, crouching beside an electrical socket. “Be careful. Somebody has shorted the wiring, intentionally or not, I do not know, but do not touch the outlets or anything still plugged in.”

You slowly retract your hand from beside the rusty old microwave. “What will happen?”

“You will probably be electrocuted.”

“Good to know,” Butcher sighs.

You all return to your ransacking with cautious hands and watchful eyes, skirting around anything electrical or made of metal. When you approach the refrigerator, you can hear a soft, crackling hum, and MM looks at you with wide eyes. It was never a reliable machine, but now it is most definitely a death trap.

You continue your search through the cupboards, knocking half-full packets of rice and flour off the shelves as you stretch up onto your toes to see inside. This job is probably better suited to someone with more of a height advantage, but you’ve always been stubborn, so you don’t bother asking for help.

The cupboard above the sink, adjacent to the stove – you always thought it was stupid to put the sink right beside the stove – reveals a cluster of cleaning products. You reach as far as you can, straining your arms to reach the bottles on the top shelf and groaning at the tension in your body.

Behind you, MM mimics the noise, only louder, “Ungh.”

You hear Frenchie snicker, “No, no, it was more like, mmmh.”

Your fingertips scrape the bottle closest to the front of the cupboard and you huff in frustration.

“Nngh,” MM groans again.

“Ahhh,” Frenchie moans loudly, before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

Determined to ignore them, you try to stretch up even further. Your back aches but your fingers find the bottle once again, scratching at it in an attempt to get it to move.

MM sighs seductively, “Ohh, yeah.”

“Mmm, Butcher,” Frenchie gasps.

Your stomach drops and you lose your balance, stumbling as you whirl around to face them. “What the fuck?”

Frenchie giggles as he meets your stare, “Oops.”

The bottle from the top shelf of the cupboard falls forward and knocks your shoulder, popping the cap off. The liquid inside spills all over your chest just as realisation hits you.

“That’s what all this has been about?!” you exclaim, “you heard me having a fucking sex dream and instead of waking me up, you listened?”

MM can’t stop laughing, with one hand holding his stomach while the other supports his body against the old dining room table. You’ve never seen this man so flustered, and if you weren’t so embarrassed, you might have enjoyed seeing him so overwhelmed with laughter.

Frenchie, however, has gone completely pale, stepping forward with a petrified expression. “Y/N, listen-”

“No,” you snap, “I won’t listen! You are such a-”

“Y/N!” he shouts, “do not move.”

The room falls silent and panic ripples through your body.

“Please, mon amour, stay still,” he pleads as he hurries toward you.

He steps carefully around the puddles on the floor before reaching down to pick up the now empty bottle. He studies the label for less than a second before looking back at you with panicked eyes.

“You need to take off your jumper, now.”

You frown, “What? Why?”

“This is isopropyl alcohol,” he says, “it is highly flammable. If anything in this place so much as sparks, it will catch fire and if the vapours ignite, this whole building could explode.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, looking down at the soaked front of Butcher’s sweater.

Frenchie turns to MM, “Get something, get a bag, and get ready to go.”

You remain still as your pulse quickens, “Frenchie.”

“Butcher,” he says, “you and Kimiko start taking things up the stairs, do not come over here.”

Butcher frowns, “Like hell I’m leavin’ her.”

“Frenchie,” you repeat.

“I will get her out, okay? Just take what we’ve got and let’s get out.”

“I don’t give a fuck about this crap,” Butcher argues, “I care about her, and I’m not leavin’ ‘til I know she’s safe.”

“Frenchie!” you exclaim, “I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

The room falls quiet once again, and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks as each of them turn to you with curious eyes.

“Nothin’?” Butcher asks, fighting the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Nothing,” you reply.

Despite the situation, Frenchie is the first to snicker.

“Come ‘ere,” Butcher says, “slowly.”

You step carefully out of the kitchen, avoiding every surface as your boots squelch against the wet floor. Once you’re in front of him, he shrugs off his coat and gestures for you to remove the sweater. Your heart pounds as you turn your back to him, and he holds his jacket up to shield you, though not quite high enough to block his own view. You hold your breath and pull the sweater up, squeezing your eyes shut as it slips over your head. You can feel his breath on your back as soon as it’s bare, and a whole different kind of heat rushes through you.

He drops his coat around your shoulders and you quickly hug it against your chest. His scent envelops you, even more so than it had with the sweater, and your nerves begin to ease almost immediately.

“Give it to me,” Frenchie says, holding a plastic bag open toward you.

You drop the sweater in and he ties it off.

“Let’s go.”

MM, Kimiko, and Butcher grab what they can before you all ascend the stairs. You hurry through the corridor and out into the alley, not stopping until you’re all safe inside the car.

“Did you get any on your pants, mon amour?” Frenchie asks.

You push the bottom of Butcher’s jacket off your legs to inspect. “Only a little.”

“It will not damage the clothing, but we should wash everything right away.”

You nod before glancing toward Butcher. His face is a mixture of concern and mischief, his eyes struggling to watch the road instead of you, sitting beside him and wrapped in his favourite coat.

“Should we tell someone about that situation back there?” MM pipes up.

“I will call somebody to clean it up,” Frenchie replies.

It isn’t long before you’re all quietly climbing out of the car and carrying your finds up to the apartment. Everyone kicks their shoes off at the door, per Frenchie’s instructions, and begins sorting through the bags and boxes of old materials and equipment.

Frenchie turns to you, “Give me your jeans.”

“Right now?”

He nods and you sigh, deciding not to argue. You turn away from them and open the coat, quickly unbuttoning your jeans and slipping them off before wrapping yourself back up. When you turn back around, he’s adorning that same silly grin that he’d been wearing all morning.

“Is this how it started in your dream?”

You roll your eyes and shove your jeans into his outstretched hand. “Just because you kind of saved my life, doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed at you.”

He giggles as he takes your clothes and walks down the hall to the laundry.

“In his defence,” Butcher smirks, “I told ‘em not to wake you.”

“You what?”

He steps toward you and shrugs, “I liked hearin’ those pretty little noises you were makin’.”

The butterflies in your stomach burst to life and your pulse begins to race.

He leans forward as he whispers, “Liked it a little too much.”

You suddenly remember what Frenchie had said this morning when you asked where Butcher was: ‘Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself’.

“Now,” Butcher clears his throat, “you gon’a give me my coat back before you spill somethin’ else on it?”

You raise your brows, “You want it back right now? Right here?”

He glances over his shoulder toward MM and Kimiko before turning back to you, “Maybe not righ’ here.”

You step around him and walk through the kitchen toward the main bedroom, avoiding MM’s eyes as you pass the dining room table. You don’t bother closing the doors behind you, because sure enough, a pair of heavy footsteps follow closely behind. The door clicks shut and you turn around to look at Butcher. You let your eyes wander over his body, your mouth watering as you follow the collar of his shirt down his bare chest where the top buttons lay open.

“I’m not gon’a lie,” he says, his hungry gaze pinning you to the floor, “as much as I fuckin’ loved hearin’ you whisper my name… I can’t wait to make you scream it.”

His words punch you in the chest, knocking all the air from your legs as heat pools between your legs.

“Now, love,” he steps forward, “can I ‘ave my coat back?”

Your fingers tremble as you grip the lapels of the jacket, moving your shoulders so the material falls off before you open it up and let it drop to the floor. He draws one sharp breath, his eyes growing wide as they move up and down your body, devouring every inch of it as if he’s never seen anything so perfect.

He closes the distance between you and wraps his hands around your waist, fingertips digging into the flesh of your back with bruising pressure.

“D’you know how hard I came to the thought of you this morning?” he murmurs.

You can’t do anything but stare back at him, your lips aching to taste him, all of him.

“So fuckin’ hard,” he whispers before capturing your mouth with his.

You moan as you melt against him, your arms wrapping around his neck and your fingers tangling through his hair as he claims your mouth. His hands squeeze your waist and pull you closer, pressing your naked body against him. The friction of his shirt against your nipples makes you gasp, and he takes advantage of your open mouth, sliding his tongue past your lips.

“Can’t fuckin’ imagine,” he mumbles against your mouth, “how hard I’m gon’a come with you on my cock.”

The ball of tension throbbing below your stomach explodes, and you use all of your strength to push him back toward the bed. He chuckles as he falls back, his hand catching your wrist to pull you down on top of him.

“Tell me ‘bout your dream, love,” he says as you hover over him, “where was I?”

You plant an open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone before biting down and making him groan.

“You were everywhere,” you whisper against his skin, “marking me, claiming me.”

He moans again as you grind your hips down, the friction of his jeans sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

“I don’t fuckin’ need to claim you,” he growls, his hands holding your hips as he thrusts up, “you’re already mine.”

He lifts you up enough to flip you onto your back, his body moving with yours and settling between your legs as he hovers over you. He dips down, his lips finding your neck and sucking on the sensitive skin before biting down hard. You moan loudly, and quickly smack a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

“I don’t think so, love,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pinning it to the bed, “I said, I wan’a hear you fuckin’ scream.”

END.

[staarboyyy]

People will talk

frenchie x reader | no pronouns

18+ characters / scenarios - minors dni

tags / warnings ; weed smoking, alcohol references, fluff, intoxication, cozy fic, oneshot

summary ; late night meetings between you, frenchie and a joint

word count ; 1.1k

a/n ; a reworked soft frenchie fic thats been collecting dust in my docs

       “Is Butcher always - Like that?”

     “If you mean “like that” as in insufferable, then yes.” 

     Frenchie tossed you a loose smile, eyebrows raising briefly before nodding towards the space on the sofa beside him. Nights like these had grown over the passing months, tension rising within the stuffy walls of Frenchie’s safe house, and sleep ridding itself of those who had needed it most. Frenchie typically found himself lounging on the sofa, a lit joint perched between his lips, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on the television - And somehow you were always the one to find him like this at night. The meetings were quiet, occasionally consisting of small banter and passing the last of the joint between you both, before one decided to head off to bed. It was simpler than dealing with Butcher or trying for small talk with Hughie.

     The clock read 3:42 A.M. Restlessness shackled itself on your bones in the night, seeming to puppet you into pacing back and forth or attempting to sleep to no avail - Surely the sun had risen, and yet every time you peered behind the curtain, night still seemed to stretch on. The soft noise of the television is was roused you to get out of the lumpy mattress, wrapping a jacket over your shoulders before treading quietly to the main area. The smell of weed veiled the air, the television bright and flicking needlessly through channels and a soft humming met you as you walked towards the couch, taking a seat. 

     Frenchie seemed - Exhausted. Bruised streaks of purple pillowed his half-lidded eyes, his gaze vacant and glued to the television, only moving his attention to you when the couch creaked when you sat.

     “It’s far past your bedtime, is it not?” His voice was lower during the night, the rasp of his throat letting a soft purr carry his words, smoke drifting steadily from between his lips. You can’t help but give a small smile, tugging the corners of your lips as he returned the same expression. 

     “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this. People will talk, y’know.”

     Frenchie sucked his teeth, a soft chuckle leaving him as he shook his head slightly. It was comforting to see the man so easily melt from exhaustion into a gentle expression, his eyes softening as they met yours, pulling the joint from his lips. 

     “Oh, Ma Douce, I’m sure they already do.” 

     You smile softly again at his words as he ashed the joint in the ashtray, a small hill of old filters and roaches filling the ceramic dish. Your eyebrows furrow a bit before giving a glace back to Frenchie, who took a slow inhale, shaking his head with a slight grin. 

     "Oh please. Judge me for smoking, and Butcher gets to drink more whiskey than he does water?"

     Frenchie tsked at you as he took a half empty beer bottle from the table in front of you, taking a sip qs he leaned back into the old sofa. For the first time in the agonizingly slow night, you find yourself able to relax your tense shoulders, mindlessly watching the television for a moment. It was easy to fall into a state of empty thought during tense times among the group, all of them seeming to part ways for days at a time. You subconsciously wrung your hands together, folding them in your lap as you watch on. It was one of Frenchie's soap operas, entirely in French, with no subtitles. Of course. With the raise of an eyebrow you look back to Frenchie, whom had already been looking at you. His eyes were dark in the dim lighting, his lids heavy and lips parted slightly, as if taking you in like a work of art hung on the wall. It was mindless for him, as if his eyes seemed to magnetize towards you despite your silence. You tried for another kind smile, and yet he didn't return it, still just watching as your expression shifts and changes - He seemed utterly fascinated.

     "You alright?"

     "Oui,"

His voice was unlike you've heard before - It was rare for him to speak so kindly, so genuinely. Even in moments like this, a silent company between you two; He could never find the words. Perhaps they hadn't existed yet, no word discovered by man could be used to describe you. Not when he sees you as something to be worshiped, something electric with color that the human eye could never capture for more than a moment. Just that moment, eyes locking with each other, your lips still tilted into a smile as he shifted closer to you.

     "May I ask you something?"

     "Mhm,"

You hummed the response as Frenchie leaned forward abit, hands moving to the table to fish a joint filter from a small bag. He began rolling as he spoke, plucking the paper carefully from the small carton and scooting the silver grinder closer. It gave him something to focus on, something for his hazy mind to fixate upon while his heart thrummed against his chest at a growing pace.

      "Do you trust me?"

     "Far too much, all things considered, but yes."

You attempted to keep the mood light as you watched Frenchie carefully begin to fill the paper with grinded weed like muscle memory. He hardly had to keep his eyes on it, his gaze darting from the joint up to the quiet television a few times. He did appreciate the joke at least, a crack of a smile reaching his painfully serious and tired expression as he tossed a glance over his shoulder toward you.

     "You have a quick wit - Perhaps you can assist me with something,"

Frenchie spoke before grunting abit, leaning back once more into the sofa with a freshly rolled joint resting between his middle and forefinger. With an exhale, his head tilted back, eyes still on you as if waiting for a response to the vague comment. You raised your eyebrows slightly, giving a cock of your head, only further entertaining the French man.

     "What do you mean?"

     "We'll talk about it later, hm?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, pushing your confusion only more as he brought the joint to his lips, pulling a small box of matches from his pocket with a wry smile. Playing with your mind must have helped him cheer up; What an asshole. In the kindest way possible, of course.

     "When?"

     "You ask so many questions. I'm giving you free weed, how about a thank you, hm?"

    "Fuck off,"

    You could feel your own smile beginning to pull at the corners of your lips, hand reaching out to push his shoulder playfully. His arm was strong, your gentle shove hardly budging his frame as he quietly chuckled along beside you. Had Butcher been there, he would have already come out with twenty different complaints of you two being too loud - Yet you two sat quietly laughing, Frenchie striking a match and lighting the joint to pass it off to you. The world, Butcher, Supes, everything melted away as you exhaled a plume of grey into the dingy "living room" air.

[crabsnpersimmons]

Crabs this is Noa you need to help me I'm in love with your restaurant AU I need more I love food and you combined it with the dca I can't I ca

Uhh what's in the menu? :D

HEHE ME TOO NOA!!

legit every meal i have is inspiration for this AU 😂

as for the menu, welllll most of it is based on Hong Kong style cafe foods (because that's what inspired me at first), but the specials change regularly and go into many different cuisines.

the boys also specialize in different things too:

Sun specializes in healthy, nutritious meals. he’s also the most interested in learning all about food, from farms to cooking methods. if you ask him to surprise you, he’ll discretely scan you and determine what your body needs and will cook something accordingly.

You are surprised as a bowl of soup appears in front of you, held by a gold hand. You follow that hand to it’s owner—meeting Sun’s blank eyes staring down at you.

“I… didn’t order a soup,” you stutter.

“You appear to be low in iron today,” Sun responds in his monotone voice before turning away, then adding, “There is more if you need it. It's on the house.”

Without a further word, Sun returns to the kitchen.

The smell of the soup wafts to your nose and you decide to dig in. It’s a fairly clear broth yet surprisingly flavourful—the kind of soup that takes more than a day to properly steep and simmer to extract all the flavours from it’s ingredients. Despite that, the soup was clear of any dregs at the bottom—just the way you like it.

You feel your face warm—from the soup or from the attention, you’re not entirely sure.

You might take his offer for seconds.

Moon specializes in everything indulgent! juicy fried chicken? the cutest pastries? he loves them all and he’s always experimenting with new recipes. sure he recognizes the importance of a healthy meal, but sometimes you just need a boost, yknow? food is more than fuel, it can be something to be enjoyed.

When you stepped into the restaurant that morning, Moon could already tell you were off to a rough start. He watched from the kitchen window as you ate your breakfast, staring dryly at your phone.

And then he had an idea. Ooooohoohoohoo, clever Moon!

“Gooooood morning, starlight,” Moon walks over to your seat at the bar table. “How’s your breakfast? Would you like some dessert with it?”

You groggily look up from your phone, and nod, barely registering what he said. Then before you know it, Moon is gone and back again with a warm plate of french toast.

Moon wasn’t kidding when he said dessert—the toast is thick enough to be a cake! When you cut off a manageable bite, you realize it’s actually two slices of toast, sandwiching a gooey filling.

You take a bite and you’re surprised by how delicate and rich it is. The toast melts in your mouth and leaves behind the aroma of butter and eggs and the delightfully chilled sweetness of condensed milk coats your tongue.

Your expression must betray your reaction, because you see Moon smiling back at you so sweetly.

Eclipse is the main front of house, waiting tables and charming customers. and he’s also the barista, preparing a variety of drinks (and sometimes putting on a bit of a show while doing so). he can cook as well, but he leaves it mostly to Sun and Moon.

You have no idea how you got here. You decided to stop by the restaurant, only you forgot that today was their day off. However, you’ve learned that the chefs live in the apartment above the restaurant, which explains why Eclipse found you and let you in.

Now you were seated at the empty bar table, while the charming barista prepared you a drink.

“Here we are,” Eclipse gently places a glass in front of you.

Based on the colour, the ice, and the straw, you take a guess, “Iced coffee?”

“Half correct,” Eclipse chuckles and pours himself a glass as well. “It’s one of my old boss’s favourites. It’s called ‘yuenyeung’, a mixture of milk tea and coffee.”

“Oh, so ‘yuenyeung’,” you grimace at your butchered pronunciation, “means ‘tea-coffee’, I guess?”

Eclipse smiles. For the short while you’ve known him, you have learned you do not trust that smile. “No, ‘yuenyeung’ refers to a pair of mandarin ducks that look very different, male and female. They’re a symbol of conjugal love—a pair of two different elements coming together as one.”

You freeze as Eclipse chuckles and clinks your glass with his. “It’s more fragrant when it’s served warm, but it’s too hot for that today. I’ll save that treat for a day you need the warmth.”

He’s right. It is too hot for this today. You take your glass and sip on the straw, Even chilled, the aroma of black tea, coffee, and smooth milk is strong on your tongue.

Even after downing your entire glass, you still feel too hot.

[eclecticqueennerd]

Butcher as Girl Dad

Billy would be terrified to learn that he’s going to be a dad. Mostly because he’s afraid he’s going to turn into something like his father. This is what keeps him up most nights. You’d have to constantly reassure him that he’s not his father and that him being aware of his father’s past treatment of Billy, is a step in the right direction.

When Billy got comfortable with the idea of you being pregnant, you are treated like a queen. You have a specific craving, he'll gets up in the middle of the night to get it “Pickles and ice cream love, you sure?”. You need to take a seat to rest your swollen feet, he’s practically throwing Hughie off the sofa for you to sit. “No, it’s okay Billy I can sit at the table.” “Nonsense, Hughie, get off your ass before I kick it to Timbuktu.”

When you found out you were having a girl, Billy got nervous again. He didn’t know how to handle girls. With boys, you can roughhouse with and bond over sports but with girls- “Billy, I’ll have none of that sexist shit. Girls can do just about anything boys can.” You’d chastise Billy.

When your daughter is born, and Billy held her in his arms he felt like he was going to break her. You watched him as he held her, never moving muscle. At first, when she begins to fuss, Billy's eyes would go wide as dinner plates, and tried passing her off to you, “You can rock her back and forth to soothe her.” Billy tries that and it works. You’d have to give him soft encouragement when it came to interactions with your daughter, as Billy only ever knew violence, not comfort, coming from his hands.

You were very impressed with how composed Billy acted around your daughter, mostly when it came to swearing. On occasion, he’d have a few slip-ups, but he watched his mouth most of the time. One time the three of you were playing tea party, dressed to the nines in princess gear when Mr. Teddy didn’t meet your daughter's demands, she started yelling at him and called him a cunt. You immediately shot Billy a disapproving look. “Don’t look at me, I don’t say that around ‘er.” “Obviously you do, otherwise she wouldn’t have said it. Honey, where did you hear that word?” “I heard Daddy say it the other day on the phone with French Fry (her nickname for Frenchie)” You had to explain to your daughter that cunt is a mean word and can hurt people’s feelings. *GASP “Daddy, why do you want to hurt French Fries feelings?”

You come back home after a long day and see Billy reading three little pigs to your daughter in her room. She was tucked under her blankets, drifting off to sleep. You walked to the couch and plop down, resting your feet on the ottoman. Shortly after, Billy comes out of your daughter’s room and joins you on the couch. He lets out a heavy sigh, “Rough day huh?” “You know we watched Trolls 4 times today. Anytime I asked, ‘er if she wanted to watch something else, she’d want Trolls.” “We’ll it’s a cute movie.” “Yeah, it was cute the first few times we watched it, now it’s just annoying.” “Well, she likes it and you’re just gonna have to deal with it.” “We need a boy in this house, you girls are gonna be the death of me.” You climb on Billy's lap and straddle his hips. “You ready for another one?” Billy places his hands on your waist and leans forward, “If it means we get to watch Transformers once in a while, yeah.” “Billy, I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to have another child.” Billy flips you on your back, “Love, I’ll do anything if it means I don’t have to watch that bloody movie again.” The two of you tried for a few weeks to get pregnant and succeeded.

9 months later you gave birth, it was another girl.

[radiant-reid]

Omg blurb idea! Imagine Spencer and r are out somewhere and someone assumes she’s his wife (ex they r out at date night and the waiter is like and what will your wife be having?) honestly could be any scenario u want but she immediately is like I’m not his wife!!! And Spencer gets all pouty bc why didn’t u let him think u were my wife? U don’t want to be my wife?! But really it’s just r got scared since they have never discussed marriage or something

It's a fancy place, and you're both dressed to the nines. This date night has been long-overdue, and you're happy Spencer's home from cases for a few days. It's a sleek place where the menu doesn't have prices and they have a temperature-controlled wine cellar.

The dimly lit ambiance and the soft murmurs of conversation set a perfect backdrop for your intimate evening. As you peruse the menu, lost in your own world, a waiter approached the table.

"Good evening. What can I get for you tonight?" He asks, his gaze shifting between you and Spencer with a friendly smile.

Spencer responds, not butchering the French words of the dish like you're sure you're going to.

Then the question is directed asked of you. "And what will your wife be having?"

You don't think it's odd, since this is the type of place where guys order out of etiquette, but the assumption you're his wife makes you freeze as your eyes widen.

"Oh, I'm not his wife." You say nervously, not braving looking at Spencer.

"My apologies." The waiter sincerely replies, and you quickly give him your order to avoid any more awkwardness.

Your clarification makes Spencer look more shocked and hurt flashes across his face. "You...you don't want to be my wife?" He asked, his voice a mixture of disappointment and confusion. "Why wouldn't you let him think you're my wife?"

Your heart sinks at the implication of your hasty response. "Spencer, that's not what I meant." You quickly clarify, reaching out to touch his hand. "I just... I got scared because we've never discussed marriage, and it caught me off guard."

Spencer's pout softens, his brow furrowing as he processes your explanation. "Oh, I see." He mumbles. "I didn't realize it needed to be more of a discussion." You sit there quietly, cheeks hot. "So would it be wrong for me to ask if you ever think about us that way? Like, if you see that in the future for us?"

You squeeze his hand, assuring him your answer isn't negative. "Yeah, I do, Spencer." You assure him. "It's just sometimes, the idea of marriage feels overwhelming. It's not that I don't want it, it's just... I wasn't prepared for that assumption tonight."

Spencer's gaze softens, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. "I understand. I should have made sure we were on the same page. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable or put pressure on you with my question."

You offer him a reassuring smile. "You didn't, Spencer. I want that, but I also think we should take things at our own pace."

He nods eagerly, his heart lightening with relief. "I agree. As long as you know that's my intended plan with you."

It does sound much better knowing that there's no pressure, and it's something you can let yourself get excited about. "Okay, I want that too."

[lambertcottage]

Bilot de boucher (French butchers table)

Source: eloquence.com

[burntsaltsblog]

tw: depiction of drug use (❄️) mdni

Chapter One

"Butcher's dead."

"Stop it," I snapped, turning to face the cracked TV in the basement of the pawn shop, our new home for the time being. "He's not fucking dead."

"Yeah, then where is he?" MM pressed. "I've known that motherfucker for a long ass time, and he would never abandon his team unless it's because he's dead."

"I'm sure he has his reasons," I said under my breath, crossing my arms and trying to focus on a re-run of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

MM shook his head, standing from the couch where I was seated. "Face it, kid. He's not coming back. One of the many people he's managed to piss off probably put a bullet through his head."

I physically bit my tongue to stop myself from blowing up at MM. He didn't deserve to be yelled at when he was just trying to be realistic. Because that's what he was at his core: realistic and logistic, and I would be lying if I said our chaotic group didn't benefit from having someone like him around. But that didn't make his realism any easier to swallow.

When I failed to answer him, MM sighed before grabbing his leather jacket and jogging up the stairs. A moment later, the door to the pawn shop opened and closed with the ring of a bell.

"What was that about?" Hughie asked, tentatively exiting his room.

"Nothing," I mumbled. "Just MM trying to convince me that Butcher's body is rotting in an alley somewhere in the tri-state area."

"Yeah. He gave me the same spiel this morning," Hughie replied, coming to perch beside me on the sofa. Kim had begun to beat Kourtney relentlessly with her designer purse, and we focused on the fight that we had watched countless times by now.

"Don't be fucking rude," we sang in time with Kim as she continued to berate her older sister physically and verbally.

"Watching this show makes me glad I didn't have any siblings," Hughie declared as he propped his feet up on the coffee table when the reality show bled annoyingly into a commercial break.

"You and me both," I replied. "Although, I don't think all siblings are like that. Kim is just special."

Hughie snorted before we fell silent for a few moments. I broke the spell by asking. "Do you think if I got a nose job, I could get on a reality show like that and make billions of dollars?"

"And what show would that be? The Real Felons of New York?"

"Exactly. And then it would be me hitting some other poor bastard with my purse. But it would probably be from Target, not Gucci, so it would hurt a lot less with it being faux leather and all."

"Mhm, everyone knows it's real leather that leaves bruises."

I turned to Hughie and cracked a smile—my first one in weeks since Butcher's disappearance. But it didn't last long as I let out a long breath, still looking at my friend. "Where do you think he is, Hugh?" I whispered.

"I don't know," he answered solemnly.

"Do you really think Butcher just abandoned us?" I prodded as I turned to face him, bringing my knees to my chest.

"I don't want to believe that, Jo. But do you remember how he left us on the side of the road? He just drove off without looking back, so is it really so crazy to assume that he'd eventually abandon all of us?"

"But it's Butcher. He was our leader. What kind of leader would forsake his team?"

"I think you need to brush up on some history, Mademoiselle."

Hughie and I swilevled our heads to see our French friend as he descended the last few steps of the pawn shop basement with several bags in tow.

"I come bearing gifts," Frenchie announced before dropping his belongings on the small armchair by the couch. "A friend of mine works at the supermarket down the street, and he let me sneak in the back and steal a few items from their delivery truck."

"Thank God. I was getting real sick of Skittles from the vending machine upstairs," Hughie professed as he riffled through the bags of produce and frozen dinners.

"Really?" I inquired with a raised brow. "Is it because you stole mine all the time?"

"Only the yellow ones!" Hughie shot back, defending himself.

"Which is the worst flavor by far. Honestly, Hugh. You have no taste."

"Yes, I do. It's just very acquired."

"Ok, Buddy. Sure it is," I snickered, gazing back at the TV as Kim appeared once again, this time yelling at a different family member.

༺༻

"C'mon, just one more line," Brandon urged, pushing the stool closer to me that was balancing a tray filled with a hefty amount of coke.

"No," I said, running a hand down the side of my face to wipe away the sheen of sweat that covered my skin. "I'm already crashing. Besides, I need to get back to base. If I'm gone for too long, the others will start to panic."

Brandon casually snorted another row before wiping his nose vigorously. "You mean the rest of your team?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, which was much to his confusion.

"Why are you guys still together? I thought your boss left town."

"Well, what are we supposed to do? We're the most wanted criminals in the country. It's not like we can return to our everyday lives as if nothing ever happened."

Brandon processed my words as he massaged his jaw, which had begun to tremble. "I guess that makes sense."

I grunted an unintelligible noise as I stood from his floor, which was covered in brown, fraying carpet. My stomach flipped, and I placed a hand over my heart as I felt it beat much quicker than usual. I could already tell that this comedown wasn't going to be fun.

"Text me when you get back, yeah? I want to make sure you're not arrested on your way home. It would be pretty shitty to get sent to prison when you're coked out of your mind."

"That's for sure," I murmured as I moved towards his door, which was decorated with old bullet holes. Brandon's latest apartment was nothing short of dilapidated, and its seedy appearance motivated guests to leave as soon as they arrived. "Will you be around this weekend?"

"Nope. I got a deal down in Pennsylvania. Thirty pounds of weed for half a million," Brandon replied as he began creating random shapes from what was left of the white power.

I stared at him for a moment before shaking my head. "Alright, well, I guess I'll see you whenever you get back."

Brandon's only reply was the sound of him snorting his snow, and I exited his apartment without another word.

I wasn't looking forward to the forty-minute walk home. It was mid-November here in New York City, and the freezing temperatures made any outdoor activity downright painful. But it was my fault for venturing out in the first place. I just couldn't bear to sit in that dingy basement with vivid thoughts of Butcher's assumed demise running through my head anymore. Each time I pictured someone blowing his brains out, it got more and more believable, and I refused to acknowledge the fact that MM might be correct and Butcher might be gone.

Tiny flakes of snow dusted the top of my head, and I drew my thin jacket tighter around my body, desperate for any source of warmth. My shoulders rose to my ears, and I bowed my head, footing it quickly in the direction of the pawn shop. All I could think about was curling up with our small space heater and watching more shitty reality television on the sofa that was definitely infested with bed bugs.

My mind grew fuzzy, and the noticeable shake of my fingers made me curse myself for not taking it easier with Brandon earlier. My eyes darted around the empty streets as paranoia took over, and I regretted not bringing my handheld with me.

If it weren't for my fragile emotional state, I wouldn't've done so many lines. But my need to bury my feelings under a blanket of drugs was too strong for me to deny, and now here I was, coming down from an intense high in the middle of Chinatown at two am.

I supposed that's what I got for falling in love with Billy Butcher.

But could you call it love? In the past three months, I had begun to doubt everything I had ever felt for the man. Sure, I'd had a massive crush on him ever since he'd found me on the street, selling drugs, and recruited me for his team. We then proceeded to harmlessly flirt for the next four months before finally sleeping together one night. Then everything with The Seven went to shit the following day, and I never saw him again. So, was it love? I guess I'd never know.

The vibration of my pocketed phone grabbed my attention, but I ignored it as I sank my teeth into my lower lip and trudged on. It was most likely one of the guys, but according to my loose calculations, I should be home in less than ten minutes. So I'd see them soon enough. Also, I needed these next ten minutes to sober up as much as possible. MM had made it quite clear that he disapproved of my "habits," as he liked to call them, and I wasn't in the mood for another lecture about how crack was going to put me in an early grave.

As I rounded the corner of the pawn shop, I stopped to pull the hood of my jacket up to cover my frizzy, tangled hair and pinch my cheeks so I wouldn't look so damn pale.

After entering the crummy establishment, I reluctantly walked down the stairs, and I heard a debate that was ensuing in the dimly lit basement.

"Raynor is not going to hand us over. She's on the same side as we are," Hughie was saying.

"Side?" argued MM. "She's the top fucking dog at the CIA. She's up the government's ass. The same government, mind you, that's responsible for naming us wanted criminals."

"That was Vought, not the government."

I trailed my eyes on my scuffed-up boots as I tried to make a run for my room unnoticed. But my cover was blown when MM spotted me.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

I raised my gaze, preparing the lie I was going to feed him, but it got stuck in my throat when I saw who he was standing beside.

Butcher. Looking perfectly healthy. Without a single bruise or a speck of blood on him. In one of his signature Hawaiian shirts, he looked like he'd just gotten back from a vacation in the tropics.

My heart slammed against my chest, but it wasn't because of the coke this time. It had everything to do with the burly man who towered over me with deep, hazel eyes that made my green ones well with anguished memories.

"That's it, love. Come all over my cock for me."

Butcher's hot breath fanned over my flesh, raising goosebumps as his lips trailed down my neck, licking and sucking as he marked me in the most depraved way.

I clenched around him as I gushed all over his thick length, screaming his name-

I jolted back to reality and clamped my mouth shut, which was hanging open as I panted, and forced my eyes to settle on MM.

"Out," I said curtly.

I glanced at Frenchie, who stood a few feet from me by Kimiko, and he turned away before discreetly wiping his nose, signaling me to do the same. Thankful for his help, I traced a finger under my nostrils, feeling the remnants of the dust that I had carelessly left behind.

I tried to play it off, but Butcher's hawk-like gaze had caught every movement, and I fixed him with an indifferent stare. So what if he found out about the earlier events of my evening? It's not like he was going to pull every statistic on the internet regarding females under the age of thirty dying of a cocaine overdose and then formulate them into a PowerPoint presentation because, thankfully, he wasn't Marvin Milk.

"Well, when you were 'out,' did you forget how to answer your phone? You know the rules about staying in contact when we're separated," MM berated me.

"Sorry," I apologized in the same tone.

With disappointment written all over his face, MM shook his head before looking back at Hughie, who was leaning against the arm of the sofa. I shuffled over to sit beside him and waited for the heated conversation to continue. All the while, I avoided Butcher and the way his eyes burned into the side of my head, no doubt judging my disheveled appearance.

"Look, all I'm saying," Hughie expressed with crossed arms. "Is that Reignor is our only shot we have left at taking down Vought. If we can just get her a sample of Compound V, then it would finally be in the right person's hands."

"Should we really trust one of Monsieur Charcuter’s scorned lovers?" Frenchie asked. "A scorned woman is a vengeful woman."

"If I may," Butcher interjected, his cockney accent shining through, "'Lover' is a rather strong word to describe what we was doin’, which was havin’ a good fuck in a few bar bathrooms."

Everyone groaned before MM got the conversation back on track.

"Fine. All those in favor of scheduling a meeting with Raynor?"

Hughie, Frenchie, Kimiko, Butcher, and I raised our hands.

"Don't bother askin’ who's opposed. You're all alone there, mate," Butcher smirked at his second in command before turning to the rest of us. "Right, first thing tomorrow, I will call Susan up and arrange a meetin’. In the meantime, you twats better get a good night's sleep cuz now that Daddy's home, you're all gonna be workin’ your arses off."

I refrained from rolling my eyes as Butcher continued, holding up his duffel bag. "Now, which one's my room?"

₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊ ₊ . ⋆ ⁺ ݃ ⁺ ⋆ . ₊

abandoned masterlist

[stinkysam]

Serge “Frenchie” - Same difference ?

Warning : none

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : “I have a silly little thought about fluff with a male reader where Frenchie and him bond because Frenchie is french(from France) and reader is French-canadian(from Quebec)” - anon

Reader : male (he/you)

A/N : I'm not from Québec so I tried to find words/sentences the reader could use to make it more obvious where the reader is from but it's hard. I can't Google translate it 😔 I hope it's not too much tho but it was fun looking for sayings and shit // FYI the word Nice is also the name of a big city in France. Also I hope my pareil/paris joke lands ._.

You were presented to the rest of the boys shortly after they regained their anti-supes activity.

Butcher never questioned where you came from, so they all thought you were from around here as well, that is, until you got to Frenchie.

You awkwardly sat there on the couch in front of the TV next to Kimiko. Hughie, M.M, Butcher and Annie were gone.

Only you, Kimiko, Frenchie and 3 or 4 dudes hiding some white powder in various objects to export them somewhere were there.

You turned your head back, bored, watching what Frenchie was doing.

You listened closely and you could hear some music playing in French. Was it Koba laD you could hear ?

That made you wonder. Was it a random French song in his playlist ? Was he French ? Or was it both ? The way he spoke was weird too, he had like a small accent… Could he be French ?

You stood up, taking in your surroundings, stopping to let a guy pass, before walking to Frenchie slowly and looking at what his hands were working on. It looked like a bomb but the timer kept doing whatever it wanted.

“Rah, putain, cette merde veut pas marcher !” He complained, throwing his tools on the table in frustration.

You looked at him with a surprised expression, your staring grabbing his attention.

“Quoi ?” He asked, a hint of annoyance still clear in his voice.

“Criss, c'pour ça ‘Frenchie’ ?” You asked, now understanding such a name. He listens to French music and has an accent because he is French.

He looked at you, confused. What do you mean ‘that's why’, of cou- wait, did you just speak French ?

He looked at you, studying you. ‘Criss’ ?

“Why else ?” He replied, hands on his hips, his French accent sounding more noticeable to you suddenly.

“After ‘Mother's Milk’ did you really expect me to question your name ?” You crossed your arms and tilted your head.

“Fair enough, mon ami.” He chuckled. “T’es d'où ?” He asked, his right hip against the desk he was working on.

“Québec. Toi ?”

“Aah.” He nodded slowly, understanding better, scratching his chin before speaking proudly, smiling. “Marseille.”

“Nice.”

“No, no,” He started, making you frown in confusion. “Marseille.” He repeated. “Not Nice. Pas pareil.” He said, shaking his head, seemingly proud of his joke.

You stared at him for a second and spoke.

“Pas Paris ?” You replied, making him frown in confusion, quietly repeating your words before finally understanding your joke.

“Wow, it's… even worse than mine.” He said, slightly amused. His wasn't funny but yours ? He shook his head and grimaced. Down right bad.

“You go low, I go lower ?” You tried, eyes squinted, a smile tugging at your lips.

“I fear that sometimes it's better not to, mon ami. To keep your uh, dignité or whatever.”

“Mh.” You nodded, acting as if you were thinking about it before continuing. “Non. J’préfère going lower, tsé.”

“So the unfunny jokes are a deliberate choice, huh ?” He asked, turning back toward the desk, grabbing a few things and you hummed.

“Mais chu bon public, sinon.” You quickly said as if to reassure him you had a regular humor. “Tu fais-tu une bombe ? C'quoi qui marde ?”

“Je sais pas, ça me casse les couilles.” He replied, going back to his original annoyed mood.

“Can I help ?”

“You know how to make a bomb ? Or program a timer ?”

You shook your head ‘no’ and Frenchie seemed to think for a moment before nodding to himself and waving you to come closer.

“I'll teach you.”

Since that day, you, Frenchie and Kimiko were often found together, if not always.

You both liked learning things. You, how to use a weapon and reload it accordingly. Him, how to speak French Québécois.

He learned Kimiko's sign language that only her and her brother spoke, so there was no way he wouldn't want to learn yours either, even if it was close to his.

You’d teach him sayings and words. He loves hearing you swear, he finds it so funny. Though he makes sure to not laugh at you because he doesn't want your wrath directed toward him.

While you can lose your words in English and stammer, you never seem to lose them in Québécois.

Sometimes he doesn't understand you because you're speaking too fast or using sayings he hasn't learned yet. He just nods as if he's gotten it and looks at Kimiko, who has even less of an idea of what you're saying.

He has trouble speaking French Québécois because it's the same as French but with different rules and sayings and he struggles getting rid of the French rules he's learned. It sounds the same so why is it so different ?

Can't say the same about swear words. He knows them and will use them accordingly.

Everyone hates when you two are not speaking English during important discussions.

“What is he saying ?” Annie asked quietly, looking at you.

The French she learned at school was way too rusty to understand anything, like everyone else's, even though they got a few words, but understanding what you were saying ? Beyond impossible. Your accent was too strong.

“Speak slowly.” Said M.M, hoping it'll be easier. But instead of translating or repeating slowly, you continued.

“Câlisse ! On r’trouve le head-popper là pis on lui pop sa tête à ce mangeux de marde d’Homelander, pis un coup parti ; sa blonde.”

Butcher turned to Frenchie to translate but instead he spoke in French too.

“Mais tu sais où le trouver ?” He asked, not caring that the others didn't understand. Ignoring Butcher's annoyance.

“Super-powered children's orphanage ?” You replied simply.

“Qu'est-ce qui te fait penser qu'il vient de là ?”

“Nothing. Mais c't'un start.” You said as if it was obvious.

“Oi, will one of you stop blabbering nonsense and speak English ?” Butcher intervened, his patience wearing thin, holding his hand between you and Frenchie as if to physically stop you from speaking more.

“He says… we can try finding the head-popper to kill Homelander and Stormfront by checking the super-powered children's orphanage.” Frenchie finally said.

“And what makes him think they're from there ?” Butcher asked.

“As I said, it's a start. A possibility.” You replied, shrugging. “Don't know why they popped Rayner’s head, but they can't be on Homelander’s side.” You added.

“And why not, eh ?” Butcher frowned, turning toward you a bit more, wanting to know your logic.

“Because our head would've popped already, no ?” Frenchie answered, getting what you were thinking.

Everyone stayed silent, maybe you two had a point. But whoever it was who popped Rayner’s head couldn't be on the ‘good’ side either or else, they wouldn't have done it.

You had half a plan found, only the other half was needed.

Traduction - Translation :

Rah, putain, cette merde veut pas marcher. - Rah, fuck, this shit refuses to work.

C'pour ça ‘Frenchie’ ? - That's why ‘Frenchie’ ?

T'es d'où ? - Where are you from ?

Toi ? - You ?

Pas pareil. - Not the same.

Pas Paris. - Not Paris.

Dignité. - Dignity.

Non. J’préfère going lower, tsé. - No, I prefer going lower, you know.

Mais chu bon public, sinon. - But I’m easy to please, though.

Tu fais-tu une bombe ? C'quoi qui marde ? - Are you making a bomb ? What's not working ?

Je sais pas, ça me casse les couilles. - I don't know, it pisses me off.

Câlisse ! On r’trouve le head-popper là pis on lui pop sa tête à ce mangeux de marde d’Homelander, pis un coup parti ; sa blonde. - Fuck ! We find the head-popper then we pop this shit-eater Homelander’s head and his girl’s too while we're at it.

Qu'est-ce qui te fait penser qu'il vient de là ? - What makes you think he comes from there ?

Mais c't'un start. - But it's a start.

[munchin-cheese]

My Current 1.6 Mod list: Deco and Fashion (3/3)

🪑Furniture

I'll try to list this category as best as I can. I have a lot of furniture mods and I'm still getting a lot more ☆(＃××)

TheDeafProphet's : Furniture Catalogue | Dining room | Rugs

Orangeblossom's : Basic Bedroom Furniture | Too Many Swatches II | Too Many Swatches Furniture Recolor | 500 kudos milestone gift | Furniture Catalog | Not so Basic Kitchen Add ons | Seasonal French Doors Windows | Basic Dining Set | Vintage Chich Interiors | Greenhouse Set

PlatinumCat's : Painting | Rattan Furniture

Twinkle22's : Opulence

Farmerbeans's : Pirate Furniture and Decorations | Bathroom Furniture

Himetarts & Wildflour : Farmers Marker Furniture - Wildflour set | Bathroom furniture | Fairy Garden Furniture | Fairy Garden Indoor Furniture | Farmers Market | Bakery set | Fish Butcher | Greenhouse | Plant lovers Furniture | Magical Furniture

Others : 8BitAlien's Cottagecore Furniture | Guxelbit's Funiture | Asters Big Furniture Pack | Cute Cottagecore Furniture | Desvudiary's Chocolate Brown Furniture Recolor | Divine Offerings | Dustbeauty's Inudstrial Furniture | Hojicha Furniture | Idalda Furniture Recolor | Lacey Rugs 2 | Lively Table Decore | Logo's Hodgepodge | Mioudew's Elegant Victorian Furniture | Modern Gothic Interior | More Doors PIF | Nano's Retro style furniture | NPC Furniture and Wallpaper | West Elm Furniture by Atlast | Song Ke's Chinese Fish Tank And Lotus Tank | Cozy Chocolate Furniture | Maximalism | Nostalgic Old Furniture Collection | | Vanilla Furniture Tweaks | Yellog's Dark Brown and Cream Furniture | Blight's Furniture pack1 | Hayao Miyazaki Style Furniture

🚪Wallpaper and Flooring

Pretty Wallpaper | Wallpaper and flooring Hojicha | K10_FTW's Woods Wainscoting and Floors | Rustic Country Walls and floors

🧣Fashion

I only have one for new haircuts, it works without fashion sense

╮(￣ω￣;)╭

Fashionable Hairstyles Gentlemen Edition

I hope this mod list helped youu, if you're curious about anything feel free to ask ! (´ ε ` )♡ (Part 2 here) (Part 1 here)

[abugsjournal]

A Cowboy's Cup of Coffee ☕

Arthur Morgan x male reader

Summary: This first chapter is mostly just introductions and getting to know our main character! Also hinting at mutual attraction. The real plot starts soon 👀

Content Warning: internalized homophobia (sort of?)

Chapter 1: The Handsome Stranger

Y/N's POV

     You wake up before the roosters sleeping in the local farms can wake up the rest of the town. You used to rely on them to wake you up but after a couple of months rising before the sun, it became routine. As the owner of the only café in Valentine, part of your job is waking up before everyone else and having coffee ready for them by the time they roll out of bed and make their way to you, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they order. Coffee is 5 cents per cup, and for an extra 3 cents you add a fresh baked pastry to go with the drink. You bake a different pastry for each day of the week. On Saturdays you make mini strawberry shortcakes, on Mondays you make blueberry muffins, and on Tuesdays you make peach turnovers (your absolute favorite). Your little café is closed on Sundays, you won't get any business while everyone is at church anyways.

     Today is Saturday and you're feeling particularly nostalgic. You remember how you were surprised by the news of your beloved uncle's passing, and even more surprised by the amount of money he left you in his will. He never had children of his own so you were the closest thing he had to a son. As a child you spent your free afternoons helping him run his butchers shop. You only helped at the register since all the meat and blood made you squeamish.

     Along with his life savings you also inherited his mismatched collection of coffee mugs and tea cups. That's what inspired the name for your business; The Collector's Café. You scavenged every estate sale you came across for cups, silverware, plates, chairs, and tables. No two pieces of furniture or dishes were the same. You found a vacant building in a small growing town named Valentine. Full of cattle ranchers and folks with big dreams. You hoped to fuel those dreams with coffee. You spent the remainder of your inheritance on the deed to the building, an oven, a few French presses, and your first order of coffee beans and baking ingredients.

     Two years later, here you are, unlocking your doors at five a.m. Within minutes you're greeting your regulars, as tired as they are loyal, and getting started on their usual orders. It's the busiest day of the week but it passes by without incident. You close up shop at two in the afternoon and finish up with your cleaning and other closing tasks by four. During your walk home you take a short detour through the nearby woods to unwind. It's the middle of spring and the native wildflowers are in full bloom. However, it's not the flowers that catch your eye. Peering into the center of a bright orange flower, you find a ladybug.

     Growing up you were always the shortest boy in your class and more often than not you were teased for it, so you developed a soft spot for the small creatures that were overlooked (or squished) by others. You pull out your sketchbook from your worn leather satchel and begin to draw what you see. You usually save drawing for your day off, but the little creature in front of you is just too precious to leave undocumented.

     After you finish walking home you eat dinner and quickly fall into a comfortable sleep, knowing tomorrow is you day off.

     You spend your Sunday morning tending to the house chores you neglected throughout the week. In the afternoon you stock up on groceries and supplies for the café. You spend the rest of your free time out in the woods drawing every little insect you can find. Before you know it the sun begins to set and you know it's time to turn in for the night.

     The roosters begin to caw as you pull your first batch of blueberry muffins out of the oven and set them on a rack to cool. As you unlock your doors and flip your sign to "OPEN" you can hear hooves and boots squelching through the muddy path through town. As the sun rises high enough to send warm beams of light through the windows, your usual group of regulars walk in, each greeting you with  a sleepy grunt or a gravely "Mornin',". Trailing at the end of the usual morning rush you see a new face. He walks in confidently but when you look into his eyes you can see something else, he looks lost. Maybe he's new in town?

     As he approaches the counter you try to make him feel welcome, "Good morning friend, welcome to The Collector's Café! It's not often I see a new face, especially this early, what's your name?"

     Shocked by your level of energy at such an early hour, the stranger takes a second to answer, "Arthur Morgan."

     "That's a fine name Mr. Morgan. I'm Y/N, nice to meet ya!" You smile as you take in the man's features. He's nearly six inches taller than you. Brown hair curls around the rim of his hat and back of his neck and matching stubble covers his jaw and chin. He has a strong nose that looks like it's been broken more than once, suntanned  skin, and the most piercing blue eyes you've ever seen. In the light coming in from the windows you can see they aren't just blue, they have a ring of green around the pupil that bleeds into the blue irises and for a split second you are drowning in them. You blink and remember you're supposed to be running a business. Clearing your throat, you ground yourself, "Now how can I help you?"

     Arthur's eyes wander from your face to the hand written menu propped up on the counter. "I'll have a coffee. Black."

     "Lovely choice, anything else?" You watch him narrow his eyes, still reading over the menu.

      After mulling it over in his mind, he replies, "Add one of them blueberry muffins too." He begins fishing out change from his pocket and drops eight cents into your hand.

     "Thank you Mr. Morgan! Go pick out a seat and I'll bring everything to your table in a moment."

     Arthur nods and begins looking around the eclectic café he finds himself in. He finds a seat in the back corner, a comfortable red chair next to a round oak table.

     You pull a still steaming muffin off the cooling rack and place it on a dainty plate decorated with ivy leaves around the rim. You fill a yellow mug from the freshest brewed batch of coffee and make your way over to Arthur, gently placing his order on the table in front of him. "There you are, holler at me if you need a refill!"

     "Thank you mister." He replies, looking up at you from under the brim of his hat.

     You think he might be a man of few words, or maybe just shy. You're already busy clearing tables as Arthur takes his first sip. You glance in his direction between each table, watching to see if he enjoys what you've made. New customers always make you feel a little nervous, the same nervousness you felt the day you opened your café. Thankfully, you see his eyes go wide as he takes a bite of the muffin, a slight smile forming at the corners of his mouth. You let out a small sigh of relief and return to your work, feeling a swell of pride in your chest.

     You're washing cups behind the counter when Arthur gets up to leave. "Have a nice day!" You call as he heads out the door. He silently tips his hat towards you and then he's gone. When you go to clear the table he was sitting at you notice that not a drop of coffee is left in the mug, and there's hardly any crumbs on the plate. It always warms your heart knowing your customers enjoyed their treat.

     The rest of the day flies by you. As you drift off you find yourself wondering if you'll see the handsome stranger again.

Arthur's POV

     You wake up to the sounds of the rest of the gang starting their days. You groan as you sit up, not looking forward to the tasks that will be given to you as soon as you exit your tent. Hopefully it won't be too bad, you're still worn out from setting up camp. You only just settled in this spot outside of Valentine and Dutch said we should lay low for a while. You get dressed and get your hair semi-decent before stepping outside.

     Javier and Hosea are sitting by the fire drinking coffee. "Bout time you woke up," Hosea greets you as you sit down to join them, "Dutch has been looking for you."

     "Won't kill him to wait one more minute." You pour yourself a cup of coffee and take a large swig. Your face involuntarily contorts in disgust as you swallow and you promptly dump out the rest, thinking about how much better the coffee tasted at the café you discovered while exploring the town yesterday. You make a mental note to go back after finishing up with whatever Dutch has planned for you.

     Walking over to his tent you see Dutch open his arms, the day's first cigar between his teeth, "Arthur! There you are," He throws an arm around your shoulders, "Would you mind escorting our lovely ladies into town today? They will not quit pestering me about it and I think it's about time we started gathering some intel."

     "Sure, I'm up for babysitting." You smirk at your own remark, entertaining yourself as you often do with your sarcasm.

     Dutch laughs and pats you on the back, "That's my boy! Hear that ladies?" You hear a chorus of excited giggles and turn to see Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth practically skipping towards the wagon. You can't help but smile at their giddiness as they chat and sing the entire ride into town.

     After hitching the horses you all split up. Luckily you weren't given anything specific to do in town other than making sure the girls stay out of trouble and making sure they get home safe, so you head right to the café, eager to get your caffeine fix for the day.

     Pushing open the door you hear a small bell ring above your head. "Hey Mr. Morgan!" Y/N smiles at you as the smell of coffee and peaches washes over you, "Back for more already?"

     You chuckle at how formally he addresses you, "Hey Y/N, you can drop all the 'Mr. Morgan' nonsense, Arthur is just fine."

     "Oh, okay! Well what can I do for you, Arthur?" As you look down at the barista you notice his eyes are the same deep brown color as the coffee he serves, perfectly matching his hair. His skin, despite being freckled, is almost as pale as cream.

     "I'll have a black coffee please, and do you have any more of those muffins?" You peek into the display case but you don't see any.

     "I'm all out of muffins, but I do have peach turnovers!" You must have looked as disappointed as you felt, the barista quickly adds, "I promise these are just as good! They're actually my favorite."

     Since your mouth has been watering since you walked in, you cave in and decide to try one, "Alright alright I'm convinced," You slide eight cents across the counter but Y/N slides three cents back towards you. You raise an eyebrow at him, suddenly doubting your ability to count without coffee in your system.

     "Go sit down, breakfast is on me today." He winks at you and starts preparing your order.

     Shocked by his kindness, it takes you a moment to remember your manners, "Thanks Y/N." You make your way to the same corner table you sat at yesterday. The café is full of customers, all happily chatting with Y/N as he weaves between tables clearing dishes and refilling mugs. You're surprised at how quickly he has your order ready. The cup of coffee is steaming and it warms your face as you bring the mug to your lips. After drinking the dirt water the rest of the gang calls coffee for so many years, you forgot what good coffee tastes like. You take a bite of the peach turnover, it's somehow better than the muffin you had yesterday! As the flaky crust softly crunches between your teeth and you bite into the juicy sliced peaches inside, you can see why these are Y/N's favorite.

     You continue watching him as he works. Everyone that walks in gets greeted with the same warm smile and he seems to know exactly how everyone likes their coffee without having to ask. After the majority of folks finish their drinks and file out, Y/N picks up the cups and plates and returns to wipe each table off with a rag.  He places his left hand down on a particularly long table and bends forward slightly to wipe down the edge against the wall. Your eyes travel from his shoulders and down his back. You can't help but stare at his slender waist and how his jeans hug his hips.

     Suddenly, as if he can feel your eyes on him, Y/N stands up and snaps his head in your direction. You feel your cheeks flush warm with shame, you lower your eyes and quickly finish the last of your coffee. Y/N glides over to you, "Need a refill?" Despite being taller than him, you suddenly feel very small with how he's looking down at you in your chair. Is the smile on his face playful? You're too wrapped up in your own embarrassment to know for sure.

      "Ah, no thanks," You can't stand his stare any longer and abruptly stand up, "I think it's about time I head out." Avoiding meeting his eyes you quickly walk past him and towards he door.

     "Oh, alright. See you round Arthur." You feel Y/N's gaze follow you as you go. You walk back towards the wagon, trying to shake the image of the barista's blue jeans from your mind. The girls are already there waiting for you. You silently ready the horses and climb into the wagon.

     "What have you been up to, Arthur?" Tilly asks as she climbs into the back seat.

     "Not much, just had some actually decent coffee," Not wanting to think about how the rest of your morning went, you quickly change the subject, "Did y'all hear anything useful?"

     "Oh yes," Karen interjects, "We'll tell you all about it when we get back to camp."

     The ride back is quiet, the afternoon sun through the trees dappling your path in shade. Upon arriving, you quickly look for something to do and settle on chopping wood for tonight's fire, hoping no one bothers you during the meditative task.

     After dinner you retreat to your tent, tossing and turning restlessly in your cot, unable to take your mind off of how Y/N was looking at you earlier after he caught you staring. You thought he would have gotten upset with you, but you were met with a smile. You think you saw a hint of mischief in his eyes but you quickly convince yourself you imagined it.

     You fall asleep cursing yourself for eyeing him the same way you would eye a woman.

//

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first time writing a fic and I can already tell I have a lot to learn. I'm open to constructive criticism, all I ask is that you're nice about it lol let me know what you think about it so far!

Chapter 2

Taglist: @photo1030

[mothwingwritings]

Save The Date

F!Reader X Jean Pierre Polnareff

Today is my birthday!!! Yaaay! To celebrate, I wrote this self-indulgent, out of left field, Polnareff-kidnaps-you-on-your-bday-and-tries-to-force-his-love-on-you story because why not? I’ve been wanting to write more Jojo and I love Polnareff’s himbo ass sooo here it is. :D I decided to go back to my roots with this one, it was therapeutic loool.

This was a bit rushed because I want to get it finished by today, but I hope you enjoy!!! Thank you for reading and for being here! Love y’all~ ( ˘ ³˘)♥

Warnings: Kidnapping, imprisonment, reader is restrained this whole fic, forced/nonconsensual touching and kissing, brief mentions of sex, delusional Polnareff, probably horrible butchering of French pet names (I am sorry any French speakers, forgive my google translate indiscretions (；´∀｀))

Everything was perfect.

From the varying balloons and streamers that dotted the room, to the bows he had placed so lovingly in your hair, Jean Pierre Polnareff had worked hard to make this presentation immaculate. It was what his baby deserved after all-it wasn’t like it was your birthday every day.

It took weeks of planning and organizing to get everything just right. He’d spent countless hours calling the best caterers and bakers in town, and spent all his down time consulting with party planners to make sure this soiree would go off without a hitch. He was even able to score the perfect dress for you from the fancy boutique down the street-the very same dress you had been casting wistful (yet furtive) glances at for quite some time. The moment the ornate frock had gone on sale he could barely conceal his excitement and ended up purchasing it right away. He was sure you would be thrilled to receive the gown as a gift, and also be touched by his intuitive nature, his knack for picking up on the things you desired.

It was just your style, and he knew as soon as you donned it you would look nothing short of gorgeous. Envisioning you in it made his heart flutter, the smile that would engulf your face as you twirl around in it, giggling in sheer delight as the fabric swirls prettily around you, was sure to be a sight for sore eyes. It was hard waiting to see the dream become a reality.

When he finally got the chance to slip it on your body, he needed a moment to compose himself before he proceeded with the rest of the party setup. He had been correct in his assumption-you looked breathtaking, exactly like a princess in your new frilly, satin, dress. He wished he could have arranged to also have someone do your hair and makeup to really complete the look, but it was too risky to chance it. As much as he would have loved for you to wake up to a complete makeover, he couldn’t trust anyone to not be suspicious of the arrangement he had currently setup for you, and he dared not muck you up with his own mediocre skills.

But at the same time it didn’t really matter that he couldn’t have a cosmetologist stop by, you always looked perfect and ethereal, dolled up or otherwise.

Everything was splayed out before you, not a single item out of place. The table was neatly set with his finest dishes and cutlery, set at the ready to be topped with the feast that he was preparing for you. Vibrant bouquets comprised of only the fullest and brightest blooms of your favorite flowers sat on each end of the table, and fragrant candles cast flickering light over the scene, exuding a very romantic aura. Dinner (one of your favorite meals) was nearly done cooking in the kitchen, and its scent had begun to enticingly fill the room. He could practically hear your stomach rumble in anticipation.

The centerpiece of it all was an elaborate cake, decadent and rich, your name and a sweet birthday message sprawled on its surface in a pretty, curving script. It was far too large for just two people to consume, but that just meant there would be more to look forward to in the future. Maybe you would want to freeze some of it to share with him again on your next birthday, like some couples do with their wedding cake. The correlation made him blush as he fixated on it, giddy as he fantasized about all that lay ahead for the two of you.

With everything assembled, all he had to do was wait. He parked himself opposite you at the table, dressed to the nines to try and match you. As impressive as his finely tailored suit was, he didn’t hold a candle to your radiance. He sighed dreamily as he took you in, his eyes roving over your peaceful face while slumber still claimed you. You had a habit of incessantly frowning or shooting him questionable glances while you were awake. Whenever you noticed that his attention was turned your way, a grimace inevitably followed. This moment of peace where he could drink you in without any backlash was bliss, and as much as he was excited for you to wake up, he couldn’t help but relish this serene alone time he was sharing with you.

No kicking and screaming, no crying, no unnecessarily hurtful words flung his way when all he’s trying to do is show you love. Right now there was just you, him, and this lovingly crafted display of his affection that he prepared just for you, the love of his life. A small mountain of presents towered behind him, waiting patiently to be picked open by your delicate fingers. Most of them were little things he had picked up for you here and there that he thought you would like, trinkets and baubles he felt exuded a very ‘you’ aura and thus needed to be brought home to you. He used to try and give them to you the moment he purchased them, but you would always turn them away, telling him that he was spending way too much money on you. Silly girl, no amount of currency could ever be a waste on you.

The gift pile was a veritable array of goodies sure to delight you, teeming with big things, small things, and one very important thing that had been weighing heavily in his pocket for the past week. He had always planned on presenting it to you on your birthday (there was no greater gift than a perfectly cut rock signifying your eternal union, after all), but carried it around with him as a good luck charm of sorts, keeping it near till the moment he could give it to you. He kept it in his breast pocket as close to his heart as he could, childishly hoping that the placement would infuse it with the immense love he felt for you, each heart beat coursing through it making it shine more dazzlingly.

Though he enjoyed carrying it around with him, the time was soon approaching for it to go to its intended home, sitting prettily on your ring finger. Musing on it made him glance down at your hands as they rested daintily on the chairs arm rest. He tried not to focus on the straps he had placed around your arms, holding you in place to prevent you from bolting the moment you woke up. You were such a jumpy, shy thing, inclined to run and hide the moment you spotted him. He knew this setting would be overwhelming for you, that you would not take all the extra attention so easily, hence why the sedation and extra restraints were needed. As much as he wanted to do a more natural approach, there was just no way to keep hold of you otherwise. It was a necessary measure, but it was one he hated nonetheless.   

Knowing you would be upset when you awoke filled him with dismay, but ultimately the drugs and confines were all just a means to an ends. After the initial shock wore off, you were certain to be pleased by all his effort.

Hesitantly, he reached out to grasp your hands, holding them gently in his own. His thumb slowly grazed your knuckles, tracing small circles over your soft skin. Were they not strapped down, he would have chanced giving your hand a kiss, his lips yearning to make contact with you in any way they could. It truly was a shame that you were so adverse to touch, for he constantly longed to handle you tenderly, treating you so lovingly you would become putty in his hands, melt at his ministrations. He could clearly picture the expressions you would make while he busied himself, running his fingers gingerly across your flesh, memorizing every inch of you in faithful reverence, kisses following where his fingers once tread.

It was his most avid desire, but he had yet to act on the fantasy. His dream would come true someday, but first you had to get used to him. Ease into your new life.

It was a torturous process, waiting for you to warm up, but he knew it would be worth it in the end. Besides, with how bashful you were he figured he would be your first time for so many things, and that was exhilarating in its own right.

Suddenly, you stirred. Polnareff perked up, his eyes darting to your face as he watched your own slowly blink open. You scrunched your face in discomfort, groaning as your head gradually rose from its lulled posture. The after effects of the heavy drugs made your movements sluggish and groggy, another small groan slipping past your lips as you rotated your shoulders in an attempt to stretch.

Your gaze eventually landed on Polnareff, his face lighting up when you didn’t immediately look away. Still heavily sedated, confusion dominated your features. At this point, you were unsure where you were, what was going on, and probably perplexed by Polnareff’s presence, maybe even so bewildered you didn’t yet fully remember who Polnareff was. A warm smile graced his lips as he watched you come to, your befuddled state too cute to resist.

“Ma chérie,” Polnareff purred, his voice drawing you further from your hazy state, “I’m glad you are finally awake. It wouldn’t do to have you sleep through your whole party now, would it?”

Disorientation was giving way to realization, a look of fear and agitation morphing your lax expression into a sharp scowl. You began to pull against your bindings, your tugs becoming sharper the moment   you felt resistance, alarm mounting when you realized how trapped you truly were. Your eyes locked onto Polnareff’s, the haze that had clouded them gone, replaced with resentful animosity. It was painful being at the end of your enmity, but he reminded himself it was to be expected. You would be filled with contentment very soon, he just had to get you there.

“Jean what the hell,” Your words came out listless and slurred. As the final dregs of the drugs wore off, you struggled to get your baring’s. “Where am I? What is all this? Did you… did you fucking drug me?”

 Panic was starting to course through you, wide blown eyes filling with tears that you tried desperately to blink back. Your breathing grew labored as you started to thrash, trying your hardest to free yourself from the man who had imprisoned you, despite your compromised state.

Concerned you would hurt yourself, Polnareff gripped your hands tightly to try and sooth you, but it only caused your struggling to grow in intensity. Noting this, he quickly relinquished his hold, instead opting to cup your cheeks in a manner he hoped you would find more reassuring. Your skin was moist from your freshly fallen tears, his thumb easily sliding across its delicate surface, trying to wipe them away as best he could. You attempted to recoil from his touch, but the restraints and his firm hold kept you in place.

“Please amoureuse calm down,” he shushed you, worry reflected in his eyes, “You’ll end up hurting yourself if you keep pulling like that-“

“Fuck off,” you seethed between clenched teeth, “Let me go NOW Polnareff, or I swear I’ll-“

He clamped a hand over your mouth, halting any further commentary. A deep frown etched itself into his face as he stared you down, patience waning at the immediate vehemence you directed his way. Today was not supposed to go this way, he expected some backlash sure, but you weren’t supposed to recover from the medicine he had given you so rapidly. It was supposed to take time, fester a bit so that you would slowly come around, giving him plenty of time to explain things to you and have you get used to the arrangement naturally.

All the extra precautions were to help you see this for what it was, a true celebration to exhibit his unwavering dedication to you, and not whatever horrific falsity you had concocted in your anxiety addled brain. He cursed himself for not giving you the larger dose as he originally intended, he was just so concerned you may sleep too deeply and miss out on your special day altogether.

“You need to be quiet now, (Name),” His voice was low, a serious edge to it that froze your thrashing, granting him your full regard, “I know you are upset and confused, it’s only natural with how you woke up, and I don’t blame you for it. But there is no need for your ire ma cherie, look around you,” he released his hold, sweeping his hand across the room to show off his handiwork, “This is all for you bella. I worked so hard to make everything perfect for you because you deserve nothing less. Each decoration, accessory, snack, present-they were all assembled lovingly with you in mind. I’ve been preparing this for months, so please don’t be-“

“I don’t want any of this,” you once more cut him off, your voice choppy as you forced it out through shaky sobs, “I never wanted any of this. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t feel for you this way Polnareff? What you are doing is wrong, this entire ‘party’ is wrong! Please, if you really care about me at all just let me go and-“

Swiftly, he slammed his hand down on the table before you, rattling the dishes so violently it was surprising that none of them broke. Startled by the sudden upset, you lurched in your restraints, instantly shutting up out of fear. Your body quivered in distress, worried that if you said another word it would only further enrage him, and the assault next go around may not stop at just a whacked table.

“Stop it,” He annunciated each word, his eyes holding a sharpness that sent chills down your spine, “You don’t know what you are saying mon cœur, you are just blindly judging things before you even try them.” He took a shaky breath before continuing, “I have been patient, I have been kind, I have given you nothing but love, yet you constantly keep me at arm’s length, turning away from me in disgust even though I worship the ground you walk on. Please for one minute stop being so damn ungrateful and just be satisfied with all the hard work I have put in to meeting your lofty, unreasonable standards, or else you may actually have something to cry about.”

Tears continued to pour down your cheeks as your panic-stricken eyes drank him in. Your bottom lip quivered, sniffles punctuating your breathing, but you didn’t speak another word. He felt momentarily guilty for going off on you (on your birthday, no less), but seeing the success his rare instance of harshness awarded him quickly overshadowed any negativity he felt, instead washing him in a feeling of victory.

Now that he got his point across, hopefully you could proceed as planned and things would be smooth sailing from here on out.

In the other room the oven started to noisily beep, signaling that dinner was ready to be served. He rose to his feet, hovering over you before making his way towards the kitchen.

“Ah, perfect timing,” he forced a smile, doing his best to hide the hurt your brusque behavior had inflicted upon him. He squared his shoulders, composing himself before continuing. “Here is how the night will progress, amour. I will prepare our meals and then we will enjoy them peacefully in each other’s company. Once we are done, we can dig into this cake I ordered especially for you from the gourmet bakery down the street, the one that’s so popular it has a wait list.”

He sighed dejectedly, hanging his head in defeat before continuing, “You may not care, but I think it’s important that you take into consideration just how much of myself I poured into this celebration before you make another snide, thoughtless remark.”

His eyes flicked down to the cake, a brief look of sadness wavering within them before he directed his attention back your way. “It’s lovely though, isn’t it? I am sure it will taste just as good. Don’t worry, if you haven’t calmed yourself in time to be let loose I will gladly feed you chérie. Even when you are being particularly… bratty, I would not want you to miss out on such a delicacy. Then, once our bellies are full you can start unwrapping this mound of presents behind me, and we will just pray that it doesn’t take us through the entire night.”

He chuckled, his demeanor beginning to soften as he spoke, appreciative of the obedience you were displaying and the lack of unwarranted commentary as he got through the itinerary for the night. “Finally, we will end the party with a gift that has been a long time coming, one that is a truly significant mark of our eternal bond. I know you will love it ma chérie, just as much as I will.”

He saw a shiver course through you at his words, a small, sad whimper tumbling from your lips as your shoulders sagged. The gravity of his allusion bore down on your small frame, shrinking you down in a poor attempt at hiding from your inescapable fate. He tutted when he saw your attitude shift, his hand again finding your cheek to give it a gentle stroke. This time, you didn’t flinch away. 

“I know this is a lot to take in ma beauté and I am sorry it frightened you at first,” he leaned down, planting a lingering kiss to your forehead before proceeding, “But you will come around very soon, I know you will. You are my sweet girl, and after you experience what a great time we are about to have you will be so overcome with joy that you will barely be able to stand it. In fact, you may already feel a little silly for giving me such a hard time, am I right?”

Suddenly, his expression turned bashful. A rosy hue illuminated his cheeks as he started to fidget uncomfortably, a slightly embarrassed looking smile gracing his lips. Your body turned cold as his hand slid from your cheek to your shoulder, idly toying with the thin strap of your dress. His roving eyes fell to your chest, a hungry look flashing through them before they found their way back to your gaze.

“And then, after you have finished going through all your gifts, to thank me for what a gracious lover I have been maybe… maybe I can unwrap something too?”

You shudder at his insinuation, a look of pure dread donning your features.

“Polnareff,” you choked out, strained words struggling to form one final, soft plea, “please.”

Before you could utter another word, his mouth aggressively claimed your own. He pressed hard against you, as if to engrain the scorching feeling of his lips on to your flesh. You whined, squirming against him until he pulled away, staring at you with longing, love struck eyes.

“Happy birthday, ma chérie. Let’s make this one to remember.”