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deathbxnny · 1 month

Note

Alrighty cool, thank you for clearing that up (and in such a timely manner too)!

So, lemme cook here... with some Angst + Hurt/Comfort >:D

Arlecchino with a Fem!S/O who's the "Mother" to the children of the House. She was among the survivors of the previous Knave's regime over the House of Hearth. With her and Arle having had perhaps a kind of mutual crush that was only truly pursued after Arle killed "mother".

Basically, the scenario for the request is when Arlecchino' and her's S/O are taking care of one of the kids of the House after they're badly injured after a mission, and... needles to say... they don't make it. And during when Arle and S/O are visiting the kid's grave to pay their respect's, S/O begins to muse "you'd think I'd be used to having to bury children, after..." before starting to break down.

(Part two)

Ooooh, I love your brain, Anon!! Thank you so much for this great request!! I have to admit that whilst writing this, I actually liked the idea of making this super angsty and kind of bitter (like most of my fics lmao-) so I hope you like it despite the lack of comfort anyway-

Content: Heavy angst, vague mentions of past child abuse, murder, death, reader is Female and referred to as "Mother/wife", mentions of heavy injuries and blood, controlling behavior from/ooc Arlecchino?, kind of bitter ending, children dying, grief Reader has she/her pronouns ((Not proofread!!!))

Buried angels and that odd wish to live. (Arlecchino x Fem!Reader)

In a way, you often wondered why the young ones often wished to live when they knew that their end was nearing. Their eyes would widen, breaths becoming sharper and shorter, mouths closing and opening in panic before they'd whisper those words you had heard so many times. Their deaths always followed closely after, eyes dimming, their soul finally disappearing with the blown out candles, the sweet scent mingling with the smell of blood and burnt flesh. In the light of the moon filtering through an open window, you'd see the grim reaper staring at you in mirrors and your crimson stained palms, a thoughtful look on her face, one asking a simple question she might forever ask you.

"What did you expect?"

And you'd reply by looking away from your own image, away from the guilt and self-doubt and into the eyes of the woman who made all these children utter that odd wish in the first place.

Your hands shook, held up high as you peered into the crime of a mother who couldn't save her child, raised as though pleading for the forgivness of a god that was mightier than the one you worked for. One that was less cruel, despite the heart everyone claimed she had. And yet, they were enveloped by a towel instead, that wiped away the sins and hurt, even if just for a moment. "There is... nothing we could have done to save her, Mother." Lyney whispered quietly to you, perhaps afraid of being too loud and disturbing someone who couldn't even ever bother to hear him anymore. He tried to be reassuring, but it did little when you just couldn't look away from your wife.

Arlecchino. The Knave. A highly ranked harbinger, whose heart always belonged to you from the start, although with great difficulties that took you years to overcome.

The first time she made you stain your hands with blood was when she killed the woman that raised you two, the first and only woman you ever called "Mother." Although the gentleness and nurturing part of her title was just a simple facade, it still shaped you both greately. You had sworn to do better, to become a better mother to all the children you both took in after marriage and Arlecchino... she seemed to have trned against that title. She believed that being a "father" was more fitting. The right way to raise the children of the Hearth family. Cold and detached, yet firm and guiding.

It made you opposites at times. Painfully different opposites. You became a secret haven of safety for the children, a place they can hide away in, whenever their "Father's" wrath came after them. And you've fought so hard to be this gentle. You killed, murdered, slaughtered your way out of fate. You dragged yourself out of hell, you bled, you cried endless tears. You wanted to prove that you could do better and you ultimately did now... or so you thought. You began doubting it years ago, and it's what made you find their wish to live so odd. Was it an instinct, or did they actually view their life's with you two as desirable, something to live for, when all they did in the end was suffer?

"Mother." Lyney said again, this time a little louder, this time enough to make you glance up at him. His face was a blurry shadow, the light falling over his shoulders and illuminating his head like a halo, as he pushed the towel rather hastily into a nearby laundry basket. You'd never get the stains out, and so it would most likely be thrown away, perhaps burried with the young girl. "Let's... get you cleaned up, okay? I... we will take care of the rest." The change in his wording made you press your lips together. It wasn't anyone's job to do this except your own, and for a moment, you imagined yourself curling up next to the child that died crying and begging for you to save it.

You stood up only barely on shaking knees, trembling hand reaching out to close the small girls eyes, and you could feel the cold tears and skin stinging your palm. "It is alright, Lyney. Your father and I will take care of her ourselves..." You looked over your shoulder at the woman who had yet to move or say anything ever since she silently entered the room a while ago. You could see the cold glint of her eyes in the dark, her face otherwise covered by the shadows as she sat calmy and collected in her chair. She knew it was over the moment the girl was brought in by a couple of Fatui agents, th failure of her mission being crystal clear by the deep wounds and burns on her body. She never stood a chance. She wasn't experienced enough, not skilled enough. But the weak get eaten, as the Knave would often say.

Lyney gave you a hesitant look, his mouth opening to protest before he stilled at his Father crossing his legs expectantly. He understood the silent order. "... Ofcourse, Mother. Call my name if there is anything I can do for you." He said, a hand on his chest as he bowed before quickly taking his leave. When the door creaked open, you could have sworn to see the flickers of Lynette and Freminet staring back at you solemnly before they disappeared in the presence of their brother. You stared at the closed door for an unknown while, nearly zoning out, until you let out a shaky sigh. "Make her grave beautiful, perhaps with a blue ribbon attached to it. She loved those." You muttered, the exhaustion finally hitting you full force and making you feel faint. Your body felt heavy, feet dragging across the floor as you also made your exit, the only awknowledgement you received being in the form of the woman leaning her head against her palm idly whilst she closed those cursed eyes of hers.

---

There wasn't much of a funeral for the child.

A couple Fatui agents simply made a hole in the ground like they did with all the others and then lowered the small casket into it, before tossing dirt back in until it disappeared and only the stone with her was left as proof that the child ever even existed. It was a routine at this point, one everyone was used to. Everyone but you. Perhaps the years had made you soft. Perhaps the love and gentleness you gave these children had made you weak. But here you were, standing under the rain and staring at the grave for hours now, unmoving. The water had drenched through your clothes, ran down your face, made you shiver from the cold, despite feeling too numb to fully realise that. Arlecchino stood at your side, an umbrella laying in the wet dirt by her heeled feet from when you pushed it out of her hands and away from you defiantly.

The silence was deafening, filled with the constant tapping of water against your clothes, the metal on the Knave's uniform, and the stone of the sea of graves around you. "How many..." You whispered weakly, trying to form words through incoherent thoughts and the lack of sleep you've had lately. "... do I have to see die before it's enough?" Arlecchino said nothing, and you were nearly convinced that she didn't hear you if it wasn't for her hand twitching.

You let out a disbelieving laugh, a hand covering your face, trying to ease the pain that plagued you deeply. "You'd think that I'd be used to burying children by now... but I... it hurts me." You didn't want to break. In fact, you had never broken before. But as you stood there amongst the many angels that you burried, the many angels that had all once stained your hands red, you began to wonder why you ever even agreed to this. You weren't like your wife. You couldn't be a "Father". You just didn't want to be one.

You buried your face into your hands, imagining the suffocating feeling of their final wish being the same as the pain of strangulation. They reached for the skies and reached for freedom they could only brush shortly with their fingertips before they were covered in dirt to never see what they desperately yearned for again.

"We always took pride in having become something better, different than her... and yet look at us, Peruere! We just became exact copies of her instead! Oh, the shame!" You whispered through strained sobs, voice distorted as you crumbled to the ground in guilt. You had been defeated, and yet Arlecchino still stood so tall, her eyes staring at your shivering and trembling form. She didn't say a word, or perhaps she didn't know what to say. "How many children will you make me stain my hands for?" You asked finally, but the silence told you all.

Peruere loved the children you raised together. But Arlecchino, the Knave, had an objective, a mission. Eat or be eaten, a reality that even hurt her deep down. And yet the curse she had since birth prevented her from feeling it any further than a passing acknowledgement.

"... Stand up, (Y/N). We need to get home... our children await us." She simply responded after your heavy breaths became shallow, and you simply laid there limply at the foot of the grave. But her voice conveyed a certain gentleness she only ever extends to you. It was like the warmth of a summer rain, refreshing and light as it rippled through your heart. With swollen eyes, you watched her reach an ungloved hand out to you, her gaze expectant and yet so unreadable. You felt like a child that powered itself out after a tantrum, the exhaustion and defeat crippling your soul, when you finally just took her hand after what felt like a long moment of consideration.

She hummed a gentle praise against your ear as you slumped against her, face pressed to her shoulder whilst you trembled now from the cold that nipped at your skin through your drenched clothes. Arlecchino wrapped an arm around you, her pensive and yet still so stern gaze drifting through the graveyard filled with those buried angels, as you often called them. Perhaps it was a moment of calm reflection, that made her grab onto your face and wipe away a tear.

"You are nothing like her." And yet, the Knave didn't deny that she might have fallen to her fate herself. Just not you. Never you. "These tears, this hurt you speak of, they are all proof of it. You shed tears for them, for us. Only a good mother could do such a thing." The words she spoke had a deep meaning, one only you two understood, and that made your heart flutter. You looked away, trying your best not to burst into tears again at the tragedy of the situation, but it was so hard when Arlecchino got like this. She only rarely showcased such blatant affection, such blatant declaration of her deep yet rather complicated love for you as her wife. "Please... Let's go home..." You simply whispered, which made her nod in approval.

You gazed up at the skies as you walked away, sunlight beginning to filter through the thick clouds and making you frown bitterly as it warmed your face. Arlecchino's hand meanwhile rested against your back, her watchful eyes gliding across the endless meadows you passed by, and for a moment, she could hear her children laughing, squealing and frolicking through the tall grass. They chased each other in a game of tag, running as fast as they could away from the two of you, over a hill and into what the Knave imagined to be their freedom far from her cold and stern ways. She cracked a bitter smile, one of acceptance as she glanced down at your tired, silently crying and trembling form.

Arlecchino was perhaps wrong after all. Maybe in the end the children did need a loving, nurturing mother instead.

What a shame, that it was too late to go back now.

Alright, so this took me all day to write, and I'm not sure if it's good, because I'm still very sick... but I still hope you liked this, Anon, and thank you again for the request!!!<33

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin arlecchino #genshin arlecchino x reader #arleccino genshin #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin

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dulcesiabits · 4 months

Text

each dream of ours.

summary: when you make the grim reaper fall in love with you, you better be prepared for the consequences, no matter what happens.

notes: 3.6k words, author's notes, angst and fluff, SPOILERS for every ending of the game including the dlc ending, casper going crazy and pretending you're still alive and living with your corpse in the first section (every other section is tame i promise <3), suggestive jokes + kissing

i. Untrustworthy

What most people didn’t realize about the human body was that it was surprisingly fragile. Organs ceased to function at a whim. Flesh rotted, and fell off bones. Joints snapped as ligaments failed.

And you? Well, you were as careless as so many others of your kind, if not more so. Death avoided you easily, so your sense of caution was severely lacking, as if you thought you could live forever. Still, now that you were living with him, it was obvious that you needed to be more careful. What was he to do if you collapsed when he wasn’t around?

When Casper was out on his job, all he could do was think of you, sitting back at home. What if something happened? Not to mention how lonely you might get, waiting for him.

“Sunshine, you need to be careful,” Casper chided. He kneeled at your feet, taking your hand gently in his. Your flesh was cool, and he slid his hands up to your arms, rubbing them for any semblance of warmth.

You didn’t respond. Your eyes were closed, lips sealed tightly like you were waiting for someone to kiss you awake.

It was hard, taking care of you sometimes. When your body was so fragile, so mortal, and he knew just how easy it was for flesh to bruise and blood to spill. You were so prone to getting hurt, and humans could die from just the smallest injuries.

But that was before you had him. Now, Casper would take care of you, and nothing would hurt you again, not when he was here.

His hands trailed to your shoulders, and then up towards your face to cup your cheeks. Over the weeks, your skin had lost its warmth, and now touching you felt like touching a doll.

“Sunshine,” he said again. You didn’t respond, but you always enjoyed your little games, didn’t you? You were always seeking his attention through methods like this, even though you pretended like you didn’t care whether he reacted or not. Well, fine. He could play along for now.

Casper, still kneeling, laid his head down on your lap. Your arms hung at your sides, neither of your hands lifting to slide through his hair, as he wished they would.

When would you open your eyes again? When would he get to hear the sound of your voice, teasing him? Perhaps this was his punishment. For failing to protect you. For failing to gain your trust. For having to watch your mind shatter into pieces, unable to bear the weight of the connection between the two of you.

The moment it had happened, he had ended the call in which he had been trying to connect with you, rushing straight to your apartment. He barely remembered the journey there, his heart pounding in his throat, or how he got in. All he remembered was the way he had lifted your body in his arms, cradling you close to his chest. No matter how many times he called your name, you never responded.

It hadn’t taken much work to bring you back to his room, where he could keep watch over you. Now, you were safe and sound, right where he could reach. In the underworld, where nothing ever changed, your body would stay the same. Eternally young, eternally beautiful. Eternally protected, in his arms.

“Sunshine, I have a present for you,” Casper said. He gently took one of your hands, lifting it over his head, and slid a ring along your fourth finger. It was simple gold, and sparkled in the dim light of his room. He entwined your fingers together, kissing the ring where it laid, a simple blessing. It was proof you were his.

In this world, it was just the two of you. From the beginning, that was how it should have been. But it was okay. He knew better now. Casper would never let anything separate the two of you ever again.

ii. Take My Soul

Touching your soul had been like touching something holy. Your soul had been warm and strange and formless, a kaleidoscope of colors that shifted with each breath you took.

When Casper told you your soul was like sunlight, what he wanted to say was that holding your soul felt like holding something sacred. Something luminous that should have burned him just to behold, that swirled around his hands like a prayer.

Your soul was beautiful. You were beautiful. He had never seen someone so beautiful before. It was unfair, so unfair. Maybe you were the sort of person that human poets dreamed about, that men fought wars for, the sort of person everyone craved to hold.

But you weren’t theirs.

You had promised. You would be his if you lost your bet. And now that you were his, he would not lose you, ever again.

“Sunshine, how are you feeling?” he murmured. “I’m sorry. It must be uncomfortable to stay in my pocket for so long.”

Caper held up your soul– or what remained of your soul, a fragile wisp that still glowed like a firefly, and warmed his cold fingers. He cupped it carefully in his hands, and in its shifting surface, he could see a wavering image of his face, the dark circles under his puffy eyes.

He pressed you close to his cheek like a kiss. “What, no talking back to me? That’s a first from you. Come on, I know you want to complain. You’re gonna say I smell, even though I tell you, I bathe everyday. Or what? You’re gonna say I work too hard? Well, what can I do? They need me out there. I’m the best reaper in their ranks.”

He closed his eyes, letting the faint warmth emanating from your soul wash over him like you were attempting to heal him by giving him pieces of yourself, even now. But you couldn’t. You already gave too much of yourself away, despite his repeated warnings not to, and now this was all that was left. With the faintest breeze, you would be blown away. You once had enough light to fill an ocean; now, you could only pool in his palms.

There was not enough of you to be human again. Not enough to reincarnate, to inhabit a body, to retain anything other than a shard of you once were.

“Sunshine…” he whispered. “Sorry for making you worry. I promise I’ll get home soon. It’s not fun for you when I’m out all the time, right? You’re always so needy.”

Casper slowly brought you to his lips, his kiss sending ripples across the surface of your soul. You were foolish, and impatient, and stupid. Why did you give away so much of yourself, so willingly? You should have been more selfish. You should have grabbed a tighter hold of it, so that people like him would never be able to take it.

But that was fine, because now Casper would protect you forever. You were his, and nothing would part the two of you ever again. Not death. Not heaven. Not hell. He would cling on to you with bloody fingers until the end of the world, because the only place you were meant to be was by his side.

“I love you, Sunshine,” Casper said, your soul flickering like a candle in the breeze.

Tears pooled at the corner of his eyes, a familiar motion to him these days. His coworkers were whispering behind his back about his weeping, saying he had lost his mind, but it no longer mattered what others said. Let them talk.

If you were still here, you would have never have let him cry for so long. You would have teased him, then get flustered when he didn’t snap back, and then kiss all his tears away, one by one, until he forgot why he was so sad in the first place.

His tears fell on the shimmering reflection of your soul. But you didn’t respond. You no longer could.

iii. Sealed with a Kiss

“You need to pay rent.”

“What?”

You stood in front of Casper, hand on your hips, your lips pursed in a faux pout. It had been a few weeks since he had moved in and, as you were learning, you never tired of his reactions. Honestly, if he didn’t want to be teased, he shouldn’t have reacted in such cute ways. “I said you need to pay rent. It’s not fair that you’re living with me, and I’m the only one contributing to the finances around here. It’s unfair, I say. Unfair!”

“Sunshine,” Casper said. He was lounging on your shared bed, Azarael resting in the crook of his arm, as he flipped through one of your books. His legs were crossed, and it was unfair how pretty he looked, with his long hair spilling across the blankets. It sent your mind wandering to places that were probably better not to mention. “Did you forget the part where I was on the run from my old job?”

“Come on, Casper.” The bed creaked as you sat right next to him, snatching the book out of his hands. “Don’t you know there are other ways to make rent?”

“I swear, if this is a set-up to one of your jokes again–”

“It’s not a joke at all,” you interrupted. “I’m taking this very seriously.”

Casper let out an unimpressed sigh. You shifted so he was caged between the shelter of your arms, one on either side of him. His face flushed a familiar pretty pink as you hovered over him.

“What– what are you thinking…?”

“Well…” You wiggled your eyebrows, and Casper snorted. “I was thinking. I won the bet, right? So you’re mine. And there is one asset you have…” You picked up one of his hands, fiddling with the edge of his glove, fingers dancing along his pale wrist.

Casper’s mouth parted, eyelashes shading his cheeks. It was refreshing to see how much your presence affected him. “What… kind…?”

Your fingers slipped under his glove, slowly sliding it off his hand, until you could touch his cool skin, interlacing your fingers together, hands pressed palm to palm.

“You know…” You leaned in closer, voice trickling to a whisper as your lips brushed his ear. “With your body.”

Casper yelped as you kissed the shell of his ear. “Wh-what?”

“I mean… look at you, Casper.” With your other hand, you skated it along his torso. He shuddered, chasing your touch, like a sunflower following the sun. “You have such a nice body… You ought to put it to use…”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Well…” You blew a puff of air into his ear, and he squeaked. Cute. Your voice lowered as you whispered directly in his reddened ear. “You should… help me… clean the fridge.” You leaned back, holding up your hands, spreading out your fingers, an innocent smile on your face.

“What? That was not what you were insinuating. You– you’re doing this on purpose!” he accused. His chest was heaving, his face flushed, and his eyes kept chasing your lips as you grinned.

“What do you mean? All I suggested was a way for you to help me out,” you said. “It’s not my fault if your mind is in the gutter. Wow, what were you thinking I was implying? Honestly, Casper, it’s a problem if you want me so badly you keep taking my words in the wrong w–” You screeched as Casper surged towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you back down with him to bed. The two of you bounced on the surface from your sudden landing. Casper snuggled his head into the crook of your shoulder. Was this his idea of revenge? If so, maybe you needed to play more pranks on him.

“You are such the worst roommate ever,” he huffed. You could hear the frown in his voice.

“You love me,” you accused, leaning back into his chest.

“I would not… put it in such a way…”

“Can’t deny it because you can’t lie, huh?”

“...Be quiet.”

He was so cute! It was unfair how cute he was. And no one else would have the privilege to know that. Because Casper was yours, and you never planned to let him go.

iv. Duo

Was it wrong to think your partner looked hot when he was covered in blood?

Because, wow, you could not look away when Casper leaned against the stone alley wall, scythe hung loosely at his side, wiping his hand along his cheek, smearing blood across his gloves.

“Can’t look away, Sunshine? Am I that attractive?” he asked casually, and you stuck your tongue out at him. You had to be careful so that you didn’t inflate his ego to a bigger size than it already was, even if what he said was true.

“I was just thinking about all the blood you’re covered in,” you said. “For the self-proclaimed greatest reaper in our department, you’re awfully messy.”

“We were assigned a tough job,” he said. “Not that you would understand how hard it can be.”

“You’re the one who told me to stay back and handle the small fry,” you protested. “I could easily have done what you did.”

“Sureeee. Give it a couple centuries, Sunshine.”

As much as you hated the smugness in his voice, it was irrefutably true that Casper did have an edge over you when it came to reaping souls. It didn’t help that you only started a few months ago, and that Casper had laughed when you first swung your own scythe and missed your target by a few feet. It took you a few weeks to get a hang of wielding that thing (it was so much heavier than Casper made it seem), but it did make you feel ridiculously cool when you did, so at least you had that going for you.

There’s a heaviness to the way Casper leans against the wall, a weight to his shoulders that wasn’t there before this recent mission. The taint, you realized. Luckily, that was one area where you excelled over Casper.

You walked over to where he stood, not pausing your pace until you were directly in front of him. You cupped your hands around his cheeks, bringing his face to yours. You were probably getting all the blood from his face onto your gloves, but who cared? Again, Casper covered in blood was hot as hell (pun intended).

Your face wavered in the reflection of Casper’s eyes. “Sunshine?” he asked.

You ran a thumb along his bottom lip, and Casper’s breath hitched. There was an easier way to do this, but why would you take the boring and easy route when you could have some fun? Without another word, you brought your lips together. It was only supposed to be a gentle kiss, but Casper’s lips were soft and plump and glacial, and super biteable, and the way he leaned into your touch like he wanted to feel every inch of you, well… It was irresistible. You slipped your tongue into the opening of his mouth provided by his kiss, flicking it teasingly across his own, pulling back before he could react.

“That was… unnecessary…” Casper said, panting. There was a faint blush across his cheeks like a dusting of stars. You grinned as you licked your bottom lip, as if you could still feel his taste.

“Not at all,” you chirped. “I mean, I was just helping you out. Don’t you feel a lot better now? No more taint, right?”

“You don’t need to get rid of the taint through direct skin to skin contact–”

“But it’s more fun that way, right?” You leaned in closer, watching as Casper tensed as your presence, his throat bobbing up and down as he swallowed. “You can’t lie. You like it when I kiss you, right?”

“I…”

“Casper,” you teased. “You know, you’re irresistible when you look like this.”

“Covered in blood? Fresh off a mission? You are ridiculous. And strange. And you have odd taste. Your shamelessness knows no bounds.”

“Hm… You know, I’m not sure the taint is quite gone,” you said, pouting. “Just to be safe, we should kiss again.”

You sealed his lips with yours just as Casper’s lips parted in protest. But he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. How cute. Casper simply couldn’t be honest with his feelings whatsoever.

But that was okay. He was your partner, your lover, the other half of your soul, quite literally. Where did you begin, and where did he end? It no longer mattered. You were bound in such a way that meant the two of you could never be parted.

It would just be you, and your adorable little reaper, for the rest of eternity.

v. Our Wedding

“What would you like first? Dinner? Bath? Or maybe… me?”

You batted your eyelashes at Casper, who covered his reddened face with his hands, letting out a deep groan. “By the nine hells, why are you like this?”

You struck a pose, sticking your hip out as you winked. “I was just asking. My cute little husband has worked so hard today, and I wanted to make sure he was well taken care of when he came back.”

“...Just let me in.”

You pouted, but willingly stepped out of the doorway to give Casper entry into your apartment. It had only been a few weeks since your wedding, but the two of you had struck up a nice little routine. You left the apartment for work before Casper did, kissing his forehead as he grumbled sleepily before you headed out. Casper got home after you did, which meant you had an hour or two to prepare little pranks like this for when he got back.

In those few hours in which you waited for him to return home, your mind drifted to him more often than you wanted to admit. How could you tell him that you missed him when he was gone? It would have been embarrassing, and more than that, made Casper insufferable.

“You’re the one who loved me enough to marry me,” you said, closing the door softly as you stepped in after him.

“Which was… perhaps a hasty decision,” he grumbled.

“Well, too bad. I’m yours now. Forever!” You grinned triumphantly, holding up your hand, pointing to your finger on which a golden ring gleamed. The ring was set with two sparkling white stones and a slightly larger red gem. You had always thought this, but… “The colors are sort of cliche, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?” Casper protested. “White and red are really good colors. A perfect combination!”

“Well… They’re your colors, aren’t they?” you said coyly. “It’s kinda like you wanted to mark me in some kinda way. Possessive, aren’t we?”

Casper cleared his throat, unable to meet your probing gaze. “W-well, what is wrong with that? I don’t want anyone to flirt with you. Or try to take you away from me. Or think that you didn’t have anyone waiting for you at home.”

“I doubt anyone is going to flirt with me,” you said. “Do you know how hard it is to meet people in our modern society? With the economy the way it is? No one has the time to flirt with strangers.”

“Well, that’s better for me, then,” he muttered.

“Oooh, you’re jealous,” you said. “You love me so much.”

“Nine hells…”

“You love me to death. You love me so much it’s embarrassing!”

“You’re the one who proposed to me,” Casper accused. “So you have no room to talk.”

“Well, yeah…” You really didn’t have a comeback for that. “I wouldn’t marry someone I didn’t love, you know?”

Casper took a step forward, a smug expression on his face as he advanced. “Oho? So maybe you’re the one who loves me so much it’s embarrassing.”

“Oh, get your own jokes,” you grumbled.

“It’s no joke at all, Sunshine.” He was close. Way too close. Close enough that he took your hand and reverentially brought it to his lips, kissing each finger. His lips lingered on your ring finger, and he kissed it again. “So you can get flustered, too, I see.”

Your ears burned. What sort of face were you making? One that made Casper look at you with a self-satisfied expression, that was for sure. “Hey!”

“Hey, you know what. I changed my mind,” Casper said.

“Changed your mind?” you asked.

Casper looped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “What you asked earlier. I changed my mind. I do want something from you, after all.”

Without warning, he kissed you on the lips. Gently, tenderly. Like he was offering prayers to you, each kiss so sweet and thoughtful it made your heart burst. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, angling your head. Casper let out a little moan as you yanked the strands, and your eyebrows raised. Interesting. Very interesting. This was definitely something you were going to use later.

“I love you,” you murmured against his lips.

“I… love you, too,” he breathed.

Maybe in the future, the two of you would annoy each other. You would fight. Get angry. Then, you would make up. Maybe you would cry. But you would have happiness, too. He would make you laugh, and smile, and feel a love so deep you would never be able to love anyone else in that way again. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was here and now. What mattered was that you chose him, and as long as Casper was by your side, you could do anything. Go anywhere. Be anyone.

Luckily, all you wanted to be was to be his.

#liya writes #a date with death #casper #adwd casper #a date with death casper #casper x reader #a date with death x reader #adwd grim #a date with death grim #grim x reader #CASPER U HAVE ME FUCKED UP WITH UR NAME IDK HOW TO TAG THIS!!#anyways. hi guys. my bad for being insane over casper lol (tucks hair behind ear)#ive never wanted to devour a man more in my life.

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celestialprincesse · 4 months

Text

🫧💕

Single mom!reader X Simon Riley cute little post deployment fluff

The moment you see Simon's truck pulling into the shared apartment building parking lot, you're gathering your daughter in one hand and Riley's leash in the other, all whilst being bashed unceremoniously in the face by the 'welcome back' sign your three year old insisted on making with glitter glue pens and heart shaped rhinestones. You'd tried to help her with the spelling, but your unwavering conviction very clearly passed down to her, reflected in the gold glitter lettering of 'wellkum bac' and a child covered in more glitter than her little project. 'No bath mama!' still rings in your ears if you listen hard enough.

Anyone could be fooled into thinking that the grim reaper had come for them at the sight of Simons massive, black clad frame blocking out the already dim light of the hallway - but not you, not your daughter and never Riley. He's already dropping his duffel down by his front door, hoisting your squealing daughter on his hip whilst Riley practically vibrates at his feet with how quickly his tail wags. What you can't get used to, however, is the way you're enveloped into his chest, his masked lips pressing kisses into the crown of your head, Riley's leash dropped so he can lace his free hand through the silky softness of your hair.

"You're back." You hear yourself hum into his chest, letting your fingers curl tight into the old cotton of his henley, reminding yourself that he's here, that he's back and safe. "Are you alright? You're not hurt anywhere?" "Few cuts and scrapes - nothing for you to worry about Love." He rumbles, gently pulling you away from the soft warmth of his chest so that he can take your cheeks in one big palm and look properly at you. "Missed you." Simon admits quietly, allowing himself just a moment of quiet affection whilst your daughter is occupied with grabbing at his mask with her chubby little fingers. "And wha's this?" He turns to look down at the toddler in his arms, pointing at the now crumpled sign she clutches. His smile at her poor spelling and valiant effort is concealed by his balaclava, but you can tell by the way that his brown eyes scrunch at the corners that he's grinning warmly as he drops a kiss on your daughters head, now occupied with Riley's soft ears.

"I made dinner." The sound of your own voice, so full of love and longing, feels foreign to you, as foreign as the concept that you've got someone to make dinner for, someone who cares enough for you and your baby to be a consistent part of your life. "I can bring it over, if you want. I'm sure you're probably desperate for some alone time." You stammer in a poor attempt to not sound so lovesick, a lame play at nonchalance. "Let me drop my stuff and shower and I'll be right 'round." The sound of your daughter whinging as she's handed back to you makes you cringe. Simon lifting his mask to press a tender kiss on the apple of your cheek stops you completely.

𝜗𝜚

They're happening😚 need to commit and give single moms! daughter a name lol

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americaswritings · 6 months

Text

When we stole the night

Warnings: violence, mentions of killing, Coriolanus being himself, his thoughts, mix of book/film elements

Summary: When Coriolanus is send into the arena to get Sejanus he doesn't make it out and has to hide in the tunnels. That is where he finds you, his tribute.

Words: 3.2k

Pairing: Young Coriolanus Snow x reader

Masterlist | Hunger Games Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist!

Coriolanus was running.

He was surrounded by darkness, the light in front of him where the peacekeepers secured the gate the only source of light apart from the dim moonshine.

Hundreds of thoughts were running through his head, at the top of them images of killing the boy, but he pushed them away.

Buried the anger and resentment he felt towards Sejanus, who had roped him into this situation just because he felt guilty for Marcus’s death and couldn’t move on from his life at the district.

Fear and the panic of suddenly becoming prey clouded his mind and he could barely think straight as he ran for his life. Something sizzled through the air next to him, so close to his ear that he stumbled in shock and lost his footing for a moment.

But he didn’t dare to look who had thrown the weapon, could only hope that it had been their only one as he tried to find his pace again.

His leg was burning, a pain he tried to ignore but slowed him down drastically as he attempted to catch up with Sejanus, who was at the gate now.

Despite the immediate medical attention Coriolanus had received when he had gotten injured during the bombing attack from the rebels, there had been too little time for the wound to heal and with every step he took he was slowing down.

It was only a matter of time until they got to him.

The adrenaline was pulsing through his veins as he heard Sejanus yell his name. Breaking out of his narrow focus for the gate he looked up just in time to see Coral launch an attack at him. He ducked, stumbling as his bad leg gave in and he almost fell.

Turning, he saw that Sejanus was already halfway through the gate. The boy hesitated and for a moment it looked as if he would come back for him and Coriolanus felt relief flooding his body, but one of the peacekeepers grabbed him by the upper arm and dragged him behind the gate before he could.

Then the gate closed. Locking him in the arena with the tributes.

Coriolanus had no time to wrap his head around what had just happened, because he had to dodge another one of the girl‘s attacks. Soon the other two of her little murder gang would have reached him and he would stand no chance again them.

They would kill him.

He would die. In the arena. By the hands of tributes.

Alone.

The Capitol would spin a pretty story about his death like they had done when Clemensia had been in the hospital after the snake bite and no one would ever know the truth about what had happened to him.

Except Sejanus.

But his father would use their money to propitiate the Capitol and effectively silence his son and Tigris and the Grandma'am would never find out why he had never made it home.

He couldn‘t imagine a more undignified death.

So he ran. Not towards the gate, but in the opposite direction, away from his chance at freedom and into the shadows.

Coral and the others had not expected his move and it gave him a head start to make it into the tunnels and disappear.

He knew they would follow him, so he kept running, sliding down rubble, rounding a corner and hiding in a niche. Then he held his breath and waited.

If he was lucky and they didn‘t find him here, he could wait until he was certain they were away far enough and try to make it to the gate.

But Coral and her gang weren‘t the only ones he needed to worry about and he pressed himself farther against the wall when he heard a pair of footsteps approach.

It was Reaper.

Coriolanus waited for him to pass. He wouldn’t try to engage another tribute, not if he could prevent it. Better if less of them knew he was here.

Although it wasn’t like their knowledge would pose any danger to him once he was out. Only one of them would get out of here alive, the rest would take his secret to their graves and he would damn well make sure it was you.

You.

Coriolanus blinked and took a breath. You were here, somewhere.

No, he couldn‘t get to you. It was stupid to try and find you. He needed to get out of here as fast as possible, not waste precious chances to do…what?

See you? Make sure you were okay? There was nothing he could do to help you here and now and his presence only drew more attention towards you.

He thought back to the promise he had given you just last night, to do everything to keep you safe and get you out alive.

It was still true, but although he had felt helpless in his seat watching you fight and run for your life on the screen, he now missed that front row seat. He couldn‘t do anything here for you without risking his own life as well and that had never been on the table before.

And what if the day in the arena had changed you?

What if you would turn on him just like the others had? Tribute rather than friend, lover, whatever this connection between you was.

Just minutes - or had it been an hour already? - had turned him into a killer. He had killed a boy. Bobbin, he remembered his name was.

Had the arena done that to him or had that always been inside of him and it was true that the arena only awoke what was trapped inside everyone?

Shaking his head Coriolanus pushed the thoughts away. He couldn‘t allow himself to go mad. With each minute passing his chances to leave the arena alive and unharmed lowered and he could visibly imagine Dr. Gaul writing him off as she fed her snakes.

No.

He would get out of here, alive. Whatever it took.

Getting up from his crouched position Coriolanus stretched his aching limbs before crawling out of his hiding space. He didn‘t know if it was safe yet, but he couldn‘t wait longer.

He would take the leap of faith.

Every step he took echoed twice as loud through the tunnels and he had to force himself to take even breaths. He hadn‘t realised how far he had run into the tunnels and he felt his hopelessness grow when there was no sight of an exit.

When he rounded another corner he suddenly heard a noise. It was right behind him and as he spun around he could only think of what a waste his death was. What a tragedy.

“Coriolanus?!“

Your voice echoed loudly, even though you had barely more than whispered. He was frozen, his eyes locked on yours as shock faded into relief.

He wouldn‘t die. At least not now.

“What are you doing here?“ your voice rose and you took a step closer, your eyes squinted in the darkness as they searched his face.

His raked over yours and then your body as well. Your clothes were dirt stained and your face was a little bruised but apart from it you seemed unscathed.

He had believed so, but seeing it with his own eyes brought him a different kind of reassurance.

“I uhm“, he stumbled over his words, struggling to retain composure. You looked at him expectantly, your eyes wide and curious.

But Coriolanus hesitated. Could he tell you the truth? Could he still trust you?

When he swallowed and furrowed his brows you grabbed his arm. “Tell me later. We need to find a better hiding spot. I heard you a mile away and if I did, I am sure others did too.“

He nodded, glad that he didn‘t have to explain himself just yet and earn a few more minutes to think of what he could tell you.

Your hand was still wrapped around his arm as you turned and guided him through the dark and it slid downwards, reaching his hand and locking your fingers. Coriolanus wouldn‘t admit it, but the touch relieved his unease a little. It felt good to know you were here and guiding him, that he wasn’t alone anymore.

He didn‘t know if he could still trust you, but he wanted to and despite a warning voice in the back of his head a part of him did.

Only yesterday he had cupped your face and whispered promises in your ear and he refused to believe you weren‘t that girl anymore until you showed him otherwise.

You led him around a few corners until you stopped, climbing through a little opening between the rubble. He watched you disappear in the hole, crouching down to inspect it.

It was small and he was much taller than you, but then your face appeared at the other side and you waved at him with a confident smile. What good of a mentor was he if he hesitated now?

It was a struggle to get inside and he painfully hit his knees, shoulders and head a few times, but at least it would keep larger opponents outside.

And if anyone wanted to get in you would hear them and kill them before they even got the chance to raise their own weapon. It was the perfect hiding spot.

Maybe he could just wait this out, he thought. The other tributes could kill each other while he sat here with you until the rescue team would show up and get you out.

But that was too good a fantasy.

He knew that the Capitol didn‘t have any cameras in the tunnels, so no one would know he was here with you, but his absence wouldn‘t go unnoticed and he doubted they would crown you the victor, if he stayed with you.

None of the other mentors were in the position he was currently in and although Coriolanus couldn‘t find any benefit of his miserable situation he could easily imagine the capitol and his classmates arguing that it was an unfair advantage.

As if he had volunteered to be sent into an arena full of tributes that were out to kill each other, but probably unite over the idea of killing him, someone from the capitol.

And what about you then? Would you stick to his side or abandon him for your own sake?

Or worse, what if you betrayed him?

It would earn you the sympathy of the other tributes for certain, something that could be the defining factor of your survival. But would you be so calculating, so cruel and betray your own mentor?

He watched you slide down next to a wall and you hugged your knees in, probably to keep yourself warm. He wasn’t feeling cold, but he hadn‘t been in here for as long.

Looking up at him standing there you patted the space next to you, letting out a mixture between an amused and bitter laugh as you saw his hesitation. “Come one, I won‘t bite and I swear I don‘t have rabies.“

He grimaced slightly as he thought of Jessup‘s death and how he had hunted you through the arena. It hadn‘t been so long ago and yet it felt like ages considering how much had happened since then.

Deciding it wasn‘t likely that you had waited this long and brought him here only for you to try and kill him now Coriolanus closed the distance and took a seat next to you.

He stretched out his long legs, glad to finally keep the weight off of his bad leg.

“So“, you began and he noticed your gaze on him from the periphery of his vision, “you never told me why you‘re here. I‘m mean, not that I am complaining. It‘s nice to have some company, especially such lovely one, but it‘s a little…unexpected.“

He noted your hint of flirtation with a smile. It made him feel more in control and fuelled his hope that the girl he had said goodbye too wasn’t gone. “For me too“, he stated, turning his head so he could look at you.

He didn‘t know if he could trust you, but here in the arena you were his best chance of survival. And as your mentor he could help you more from the outside, so you had an interest on keeping him alive and get him out of here too.

Besides, he wanted to trust you. And he hoped you had more than your own motifs in mind when it came to his survival.

“Dr. Gaul sent me here.“ He decided to tell you the truth. “Sejanus bribed the peacekeepers to let him in here. He wanted to scatter breadcrumbs or something for Marcus. It‘s a ritual they have in his district.“

He tried to keep his voice neutral, but you knew him well enough by now to hear the hint of dismay in it.

“I think that‘s brave of him“, you said after a moment of silence and when he furrowed his brows he realised you had been testing how you would react to his words.

“But also stupid“, you continued, “I doubt the capitol is going to let anyone see it.“

He sighed. “They don’t. They froze the frame and his father will make sure he won‘t say a word about it.“

“So he got out?“ Coriolanus nodded, the image of the gate closing behind Sejanus back in his head. “He did.“

“But you didn’t.“ He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his head against the wall. “How come they sent you? Why not just their thugs?“

“They figured he would just make a run for it, if he saw them. And then they would have a much harder job at containing him and keeping the public from knowing.“

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “And because apparently everyone thinks Sejanus and I are best friends I was the lucky one to get the job.“

When he opened his eyes yours were focused on his face and he realised how close you were sitting. “You‘re not? Friends, I mean.“

He pushed out a breath and pinched the space between his brows. “He lived here for years now, but he still acts and thinks like district.“

He practically spit out the word and you shuffled away from him a little. “I am district, Coriolanus“, you reminded him, trying to hide your hurt but failing. “You think you‘re too good to be friends with us?“

He bit his lip, frustrated at himself for his mistake. This slip-up. He hadn‘t meant it that way. You were different…

You had just been born at the wrong place.

Yeah, the more he thought about it, the more he could see it, you as a part of the capitol. With less mud and stains of course. And a class on etiquette to get the district out of your system. Tigris would make the most enchanting dresses for you and every man and woman would bow their heads when the two of you emerged. A Snow and a victor.

“I didn’t mean it-”, he began, but you shook your head, cutting him off.

“I think I know exactly what you meant.“

Silence settled between you and it felt uncomfortable and heavy.

“You think you‘re better than us. Just because you were born here and not there and you’re wearing that uniform doesn‘t mean your life‘s worth more than ours“, you stated after a while and he swallowed.

“I know.“

Did he?

“Do you?“

“I killed someone today.“

You inhaled and he saw you were staring at his face with undivided attention, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Staring at the wall in front of him he continued. “He was just a boy. Bobbin, I think his name was?“

He dared a glance towards you for confirmation and you nodded. Your face was a carefully composed mask of guardedness and he quickly looked away again.

“I didn‘t want to hurt him, but he attacked me. I didn’t have a choice. I had to kill him.“

Coriolanus wondered how he looked to you now; his red university uniform creased and filthy, hiding in a cave and fighting the tears as he confessed his sins.

“Hey“, you reached out and gently touched his chin to turn his head to you. “You did what you had to do.“

His eyes found yours and he seeked your reassurance, clinging to it like a lifeline.

“It was horrible. But-”, he cleared his throat, preparing himself for his next revelation, “it also made me feel powerful.“

You took a sharp breath, fear and uncertainty dancing across your eyes until you won back your composure.

“We all do things in here that we‘re not proud of.“

He had feared your judgement. Had feared that you would turn your back on him now that he had exposed this dark part of him, but instead there was understanding in your eyes.

And he knew you would never betray him. You could have left but you were still here. Still with him.

“So what‘s your plan now?“

You studied his face, but you looked tired and even though his own exhaustion was wearing him down he thought about offering to stay awake and keep an eye out so you could rest.

“I need to get out of here“, he said simply, because it was the only thing he was sure of. You nodded, but he caught the hint of disappointment on your face.

He should leave now, use the last hours of the night and get out of this hellhole and back to his own, safe walls.

But he couldn‘t bring himself to get up and risk his life again. Not when he finally had a moment to relax after the last hours had been nothing but stressful and not when this could be the last time he saw you.

The last time and the first time you two had for yourselves, without cameras watching you or anyone questioning your connection.

“Yeah, that makes sense“, you agreed, but he heard the strain in your voice. You were exhausted and worn down from the constant fear, the terror and the need to keep one eye open at all times.

“But…that can wait a little.“

You furrowed your brows. “Are you sure? Aren‘t they going to be suspicious, if you don‘t get back soon?“

He shrugged. “I am just going to tell them the truth. That I got attacked and had to hide.“

“And you won‘t get in trouble?“

He was almost touched by your concern, but decided to conceal it with amusement. When you noticed his look you rolled your eyes. “I was just checking, because I need my mentor to get me out of here alive. I can‘t have him rot in chains somewhere.“

“Right”, he nodded with a smile, but quickly grew serious again. “They are the ones who got me here in the first place so I doubt they get to have a say in how or when I make it out.“

“Thank you.“ Your voice was barely above a whisper and he drew you close, his hand gently moving up and down your arm.

Coriolanus couldn‘t do much for you. But he could stay now, pull your body close to his to provide you with warmth and stop your shivers and let you rest.

Even if it was just for a night, he would be there for you.

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laurfilijames · 11 months

Text

Happy Birthday, Darlin'

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 4,014

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Smoking. Mild descriptions of cuts and blood. Mentions of fighting. Unprotected intercourse. Slight asphyxiation. Some insecurities about Jax and his habits.

Summary: It's your birthday, and while Jax is pressed to make it to you in time to celebrate, he makes sure all your wishes come true.

A/N: Happy Birthday to ME 🥳 yes, I'm that bitch who wrote herself a birthday fic because I can. I've been dying to write for Jax for so long and thought this would be a fun way to get a feel for writing his character. If my writing wasn't self-indulgent before, it definitely is now.

This takes place after Season 2 Ep 12 The Culling where the Sons fight The League/Zobelle's guys because I just found Jax to be wildly sexy in that scene (but also when isn't he?)

---

The night air was cool on his face as he ripped as quickly as he could down the quiet, country roads back into town, easily shifting into fourth gear knowing every cop in Charming would be responding to where he just fled from and not having to worry about being pulled over for his excessive speed.

Jax knew he was pushing it for time - your birthday over in just less than two hours - so with a reminder of his bruised and bloodied knuckles, he twisted the throttle and opened up his Harley even more in order to get to you faster.

With a smile on his face at knowing your neighbours already complained about his presence on your street, he let open again on the straight section of road about half a mile from your house, hoping you and everyone else would now be fully aware of his arrival.

The fight with Zobelle’s gang already had him fired up, but not nearly as much as getting to see you did, and as he pulled into your driveway, his buzzing fury changed into a different kind of energy entirely.

Taking one last haul on the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he blew out the smoke and tossed it onto the asphalt, stepping on it with a twist of his dusty shoe as he unbuckled his helmet.

Jax glanced up to see the dim, warm light of a lamp in your living room, smiling to himself again that you were still awake and no doubt waiting for him as he took his backpack off his shoulders and unzipped the main compartment.

Relieved the box didn't get smushed, he pulled out the still perfectly preserved cupcake and dug in his pocket for the single candle he stuck in there earlier, bringing his lighter out with it along with another cigarette.

He placed the fresh smoke between his lips, not paying any attention to the cut stinging on his lip where it rested, focusing on sticking the candle in the center of the cupcake and lighting it. With the pink candle set ablaze, he brought his lighter to the end of the cigarette and inhaled as it burned the paper, shoving the Zippo back in the inside pocket of his cut before carefully making his way up the steps to your front door with his free hand blocking any wind made by walking from blowing out the tiny flame.

He grunted quietly to himself when he knocked on the door, his hand more sore than he thought it was after punching Weston's face in so many times, muttering to himself when he realized he was getting blood on the side of the cupcake from a split on his other hand.

"Ahh, shit," he sighed, knowing he didn't have enough time to try to clean anything up when he heard your footsteps coming to answer. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and quickly forced the smoke out with a deep blow, waving his hand so it wouldn't be in your face when you opened the door.

An automatic smile formed on his lips as soon as he laid eyes on you, leaning against the doorway in nothing but your panties and his white reaper crew t-shirt that he left the last time he was over, his voice hoarse as he started singing.

"Happy birthday to you," he began, taking a step through the entrance. "Happy birthday to you," he continued, getting right close to you until your faces were inches from each other, his eyes flickering over your shy, but happy features as his gesture made you flush all over.

"Happy birthday, darlin'. Make a wish."

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, looking from his intensely blue eyes down to the candle in front of you, and blew it out.

"What'd you wish for?"

"I'm not supposed to tell, Jax."

He smirked, leaning even closer to you so his lips were hovering over yours, "Then I'll have to guess."

His kiss tasted like smoke, but you didn't care, craving the nicotine that transferred from his mouth to yours like you were addicted to the habit itself, deepening the kiss by arching into him as if you were never able to get enough.

Jax walked forward, guiding you further into your house, the sound of the door closing lost on both of you as he kicked it shut behind him and eventually broke your kiss.

"I didn't think I was going to get to see you today," you whispered, your lids heavy with lust when you looked up at him.

"Yeah, well, I skipped out early to come give my girl her gift." He held up the cupcake and let you take it from his hand, watching your expression change to confusion as you noticed the blood stained on the side of it.

"Is that your blood?"

"50/50 chance," he laughed, swiping his finger through the icing before licking it clean.

“Should I even ask?”

“Probably not.”

You began taking in the deepening colours of purple and red on his cheek, the cut on his lip and the ones that flawed his hands, the concern you felt taking away from the joy in having him there.

“Is this why you're late?” you questioned, your fingertips ghosting over his cheek and down to his lip.

“So you were expecting me, then," he winked, his smugness always managing to outshine anything else, forcing you to roll your eyes at him.

He kissed you again, plucking the cupcake out of your hand and placing it blindly over on the hall table where you kept your keys and purse, his hands reaching up to cradle your face.

"I should report you for theft, you know," he warned, pausing to take a breath, nodding down at his shirt that hung loosely on your body.

"I think of it more as safe keeping until the owner comes back to claim it," you challenged, your eyebrows raising to show your displeasure in it being too many days that had turned into weeks since he was last here.

"Hey, at least I didn't miss your birthday," he objected, trying his best to defend himself, his head tilted while his eyebrows rose to crease his forehead.

You backed away from him, turning to walk through to the kitchen, looking back over your shoulder.

"And how many other birthday's did you celebrate in the meantime?"

"Oh, come on," he laughed frustratedly, your accusation making him look up at the ceiling. "You know it isn't like that."

You nodded slowly in silent agreement, trying not to let your insecurities and jealousies get the better of you.

He sighed loudly, waiting for a moment before following you, his voice raising slightly to make sure you heard from down the hallway.

"You're the only one I always come back to. The one I want to be inside every night."

Hearing his footsteps coming toward you, you closed your eyes and breathed out, terrified of the hurt he could cause but realizing you were being hurt every time regardless.

His voice was near and softer now that he was in the kitchen with you, making your heart pound faster in your chest even though he seemed so calm.

"You gotta stop pushing me away."

It was safer that way; always keeping him at an arm's length, never wanting to get your heart involved when you knew what he was like and how many beds he ended up in. Jax Teller could have any woman he wanted; more charm in him than all of Charming, a simple crooked grin or nod as he strutted past enough to seal the deal, and not one person could say he wasn't successful in his endeavors.

Despite it all, you wanted him, but kept it casual enough to get a taste of what you needed, having said to both yourself and him on more than one occasion over the years that nothing more would ever happen as long as his habits remained the same, and you weren't about to ask a man like him to change.

He came up to you, his hands holding your waist, his lips peppering across your shoulder and dangerously close to your neck. You closed your eyes again and sighed, relishing in the sensation while praying he didn't do the one thing you always told him not to.

But Jax always did whatever the fuck he wanted.

He kissed up along your neck, making you moan and breathe deeper, trying to keep some sort of resolve.

"Jax, you know my rule," you pleaded, feeling your entire body ignite to his lawlessness.

"Remind me what that is again?" he lied, continuing to kiss and suck your neck, knowing damn well what it was.

You shivered, feeling yourself slipping away and quickly becoming willing to do anything he asked or all the things you really wanted to do; the way he kissed your neck was your kryptonite and weakness and the one thing you always prevented in order to save yourself, fearing you would reveal exactly how you felt about him anytime he lingered there.

"Jax…"

He stopped, grabbing your chin to force you to look at him, his eyes dancing back and forth with yours as he looked at you seriously.

“I'm done playing. I want this," he said pointedly, speaking with surety.

You let go of the breath you were holding, still questioning whether to trust him regardless of how convincing he was right now.

Taking hold of your cheeks again, he smoothed his thumbs back and forth across them, an honesty and pleading present in those clear blues that made you lose yourself every time.

Before you could argue or plead your case, he crashed against you, inhaling deeply like he was trying to suck all the air out of your lungs, his tongue probing deep into your mouth to tangle with yours.

There was no sense in trying to hold back now, done with pretending for as many years as you had, the whine that passed from your mouth to his signaling your surrender.

The metallic taste of blood mixed with tobacco teased your tastebuds with each kiss, increasing your hunger to taste more of him while your body displayed those needs and your hands roamed frantically under his hoodie and the waist of his low-sitting jeans.

The leather of his cut was soft on your fingertips as you ran them along the open panels, feeling Jax’s eagerness increase in his kiss when you peeled it down his arms and placed it carefully on the kitchen chair beside you without looking. He shrugged off his hoodie and white t-shirt while you busied yourself with unfastening his belt and jeans, letting the weight of his knife pull them to the floor without assistance, leaving him standing in his boxers with a cheeky grin on his face.

“You seem pretty happy unwrapping your present.”

“Is this all I get?” you teased, matching his smile and giggling when he picked you up and put you over his shoulder, giving your bum a harsh smack as he started making his way down to your bedroom.

"Come on, birthday girl, let's go make those wishes come true."

A seriousness took over again once you were in your room, what remained of the playfulness exchanged just a minute ago in the kitchen leaving the moment your feet touched the hardwood floor, Jax peering down at you with a look you hadn't seen before.

You'd be lying if you told yourself you weren't absolutely terrified, scared of letting yourself fall even further for him, but the way his expression had softened and his eyes held what you knew had to be love for you in them, you were ready to give in.

“I mean it,” he muttered, one of his hands reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear where you leaned into his touch.

You crashed against him, kissing him hard, the need to have him more fierce than ever and only fueled more by him meeting your enthusiasm equally.

Jax tore his shirt from your body, only pausing in kissing you for long enough to get your head through it, stepping closer to you so your bodies were pressed together, feeling his hard cock nudging against your thighs and then between your legs through his boxers.

More desperate for him now than you thought you had ever been, you tugged his loose-fitting shorts down roughly, your mouth watering as his dick sprung free and bounced temptingly before you took hold of it and began rubbing the silky, veiny skin, his approval of your touch sounding as a low growl from deep in his chest.

"Fuck," he hissed, his mouth close to your ear as he leaned in against you, his hips moving into your strokes.

Finding his focus, he let his fingers hook in your thong to pull it down over your hips, his head angling to meet your mouth with his again as he slipped his fingers in your folds to spread your slick, both of you pressing your mouths against each other's harder as ecstasy quickly took over.

This was normally the time where one of you would frantically reach for a condom, barely keeping it together in time to get it on him as the temptation to go without almost always won, and today it seemed it would. You had always trusted that he wrapped up whenever he was with anyone, and although you were on birth control you were happy not to take any risks, but today was different. You wanted him, and all of him.

Jax walked forward until the back of your legs met your bed, and forcing you to sit, he crawled in over you, his blond hair hanging in your face as you spread out beneath him and he settled between your open legs.

He gave you a once over before meeting your eyes, admiring your perfect form spread and ready for him to ruin, his cheeks flinching as he clenched his jaw while he waited for you to give him the go-ahead.

Your consent was silent as you lifted your head up to capture his lips with yours, his sun-bleached beard scratching over your chin, lifting your hips at the same time so you rubbed yourself over his leaking head.

Jax wasted no more time, driving into you deeply in one push, pausing when he bottomed out to flex his cock inside you. You moaned into him, your hands clawing over the tattoo covering his back, unable to believe how good it felt to have him bare inside you.

Immediately choosing a rhythm that was both slow and hard at the same time, he thrusted in and out and ground against you with perfect precision, sending you close to the edge faster than ever before.

"You feel so fucking good!" he growled, his mouth parting from yours and leaving a string of wet between them, moving his lubricated lips over to your neck where you whined loudly and rocked more into his movements.

"Fuck, Jax!" you cried, knowing you were leaving ten red trails across his pale skin, but feeling the need to claim him as yours.

He was doing the same, sucking at your neck to leave darkened blemishes behind, his tongue alternating where his teeth came out to nip harshly at the tender skin to soothe each bite, his tempo growing erratic as he lost himself in your dripping cunt.

You seemed to only get wetter the more he kissed your neck and fucked you deeply, hitting that sweet spot with his head with each blow, the way you squeezed his girth tightly as he dragged in and out of you making him want to blow it already.

He forced himself to pause, needing to compose himself so he could keep fucking you for as long as he could, not wanting this to be over any time soon. Your whining increased, making him unsure if it was because he was sitting idly inside you or that he was persistent in continuing to kiss your neck all over to the point you had goosebumps littering your skin and you writhing desperately under him. It made him smile, knowing he had such an effect on you, smug in his ability to have you past the point of control and that you were seconds away from admitting something you tried so hard to deny for so long.

If Jax was anybody but the asshole he was he would've said it long ago, but selfishly he wanted to hear it spill from your gorgeous lips first, and he didn't ever go down without a fight.

"Roll over," he demanded, pulling out of you and forcefully grabbing at your leg to help flip you onto your stomach, hooking your knee up to bend at a high angle.

You took your hair in your hand and draped it over one shoulder, exposing the side of it for him to do with what he wanted, making him smirk more that you clearly wanted him there despite what you always said.

The hand that wasn't supporting him on the mattress gripped your cheek and spread you apart, driving his dick in you again torturously slowly, watching your face contort as he stretched you open. Your hands tore at the sheets as you backed yourself into him to push him in further, meeting his hips in slow, rolling motions, that tingling sensation of your building climax quickly returning.

Sex with Jax was always mind-blowing and the best you ever had, but tonight it felt so much better, so much more powerful, and you knew you could never have it any other way again.

He leaned over you to gently kiss your neck, more carefully than before, his efforts in wrecking you focused in his movements even though the feel of his lips on your sensitive skin had you shivering and threatening to come undone just as much.

The scent of your skin was like a drug to him as he breathed deeply, his nose ghosting at your nape and in your hair, dragging him right along with you to a point he would never recover from.

Wrapping a hand around to wedge between you and the bed, he found your clit, rubbing precise circles with his fingertips in the way he always knew made you scream, the thought of feeling you cum on his bare dick making him feel more feral than he ever had.

"Jax, I'm so close- Fuck!" you cried, your breathing growing ragged, your limbs moving recklessly to try to gain momentum on your climax that sat waiting just on the edge, seeking to keep up with his ruthless pounding.

He slowed his pace, adjusting to a speed he knew would have you at his mercy, his fingers pressing onto your swollen bud harder but in more languid strokes. His nose brushed along your neck, his breath fanning out over your dewy skin before he started kissing you again, the way your body tensed beneath him telling him he had you right where he wanted you.

"God, Jax, I love you," you admitted, feeling freed and unashamed in saying what you had feared to the most, your body relaxing into your words and finding the release it sought.

Jax hammered into you, pounding you through your high, his grunts mixing with your shouts of pleasure as you quaked and strangled him tightly.

Giving you no time to recover, he sat back on his heels and lifted you up with him, his cock momentarily slipping from you as you positioned yourself over his lap, allowing him a glimpse of your milky cum that coated it and sent him into a frenzy.

He speared back into you, your pussy sensitive and still tingling from your orgasm, his hand holding you back against his chest and pinching one of your nipples between his fingers to keep you as stimulated as possible.

Reaching up to turn your face to the side so he could kiss you, he rutted up into you brutally, feeling your pussy stretch out over him with each pump, your wetness dripping out to soak his golden pubes.

His kisses turned sloppy, nearing his end, his hand slipping down to hold your throat where he could easily control the amount of air allowed to pass through your windpipe, the knowledge of knowing you trusted him enough to let him do it lighting him up with an intense buzzing.

Before he could give in to that temptation, he let one hand return to your tits that bounced with his thrusts, the other replacing his lips on yours as he pulled your bottom lip down with his thumb and shoved two of his fingers inside. You sucked on them appreciatively, wetting them with your spit thoroughly as he triggered your gag reflex and pinched one of your peaked nipples at the same time, making you moan and clench hard on his dick. Removing them from the heat of your mouth, he trailed them between your breasts and straight down your stomach, landing on your clit where he spread your spit generously and worked to make you cum again.

You ground on him quickly, the increase in your movements sending you through to another climax, the sound of him grunting and panting in your ear as he began to cum encouraging you, but not as much as knowing he was about to fill you up.

He drove up into you harder, his teeth scraping along your neck and up to your cheek where he growled in your ear roughly, "I love you, too, babe."

You came together, feeling his hot spend coat your insides and start to leak out of you as he didn't let up on fucking you, wrecking you harder than he ever had before.

Your body felt weak and charged all at the same time, like you were melting into him but somehow needing more, and sliding off his dick with a quiet moan at the loss of him, you turned around to face him, sitting in his lap where you wrapped your arms and legs around him and held him close, continuing to kiss him with a necessity that was greater than breathing.

Holding your head in his hands, Jax met you with equal fervor, his chest rising and falling sharply against yours as he worked to catch his breath, and slowly guided you to lay down in the sheets with him.

Your legs tangled together, your arms holding and caressing each other with a surety you had never known before, relishing in the after effects of a level of bliss you were positive up until now you were never going to experience.

Slowing your kisses until they stopped, Jax looked at you warmly and flashed you a lazy smile, and you couldn't help but trace your fingertips over the creases beside his mouth and then up to run through his tousled hair.

You felt a slight pang in your chest in knowing he would probably leave soon, needing to see to some duties for the club, always having to run off shortly after his time with you to go deal with something that his loyalties couldn't ignore.

"I don't want today to end," you whispered, not ready to call it quits on your birthday just yet, and especially not ready to let him out of your bed after confessing something so huge.

Jax shifted onto his back, stretching out with a groan to reach for your alarm clock on your nightstand to check the time; 11:51 pm. Following the cord from the back of it into the wall behind the table, he pulled the plug out, watching the screen turn blank before rolling back over to you, his knee wedging between your legs as he settled his weight on top of you.

“Your birthday isn't over yet, darlin', and I'm not going anywhere.”

---

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @blairsanne @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered

I went ahead and tagged everyone I have written down for my Charlie/Will Miller taglist so my apologies if you're not interested in being tagged in Jax fics and I will happily add or remove anyone as they wish!

#jax teller #sons of anarchy #jax teller smut #jax teller x female reader #jax teller x reader #sons of anarchy fic #jax teller fic #charlie hunnam

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krypticcafe · 1 year

Text

Happy Super Late Valentines </3

rating: PG-13/teen

pairing: harry warden/the miner x gn!reader

warning(s): reader had a boyfriend, brief mention of cheating, small mentions of blood, violence, and gore, and harry being scary, for j u s t a bit.

synopsis: you had a shitty valentines day, and harry comes to pick up the leftovers.

a/n: okay, I haven't written fanfic in years, so please excuse me if this comes off as an uber corny dumpster fire. I'm just trying to have fun :'))))

So what if it's Valentine's Day?

So what if you wanted to spend a peaceful time with your boyfriend at home with some baked cookies?

So what if you accidentally burnt those cookies?

So what if you were so paranoid that it felt like someone was watching you the entire time?

So what if your boyfriend pushed asked you to go with him and his friends in some spooky abandoned mineshaft?

So what if you were surrounded by couples making out in a cramped, dark, and cold nooks and crannies and one of them happened to be your best friend and your now ex-boyfriend?

So what if you lashed out, dumped him, stormed out of the cave only to get more lost due to the heat of your anger?

It's fine. It's whatever. Could be worse.

Or at least that's what you told yourself to cope with the shredding of your heart and the burning tears.

Oooooh, but that bastard! The audacity to cheat on you, with her of all people! And he was such an idiot to do so after inviting you to come! Did he not think for a fraction of a second that he'd get caught? Or did all the blood in his brain just go to his dic-

God, what were you thinking, coming here with those guys, giving him the time of day?

Looking back on things, you realized you dodged not a bullet, but a whole missile. But did it reslly have to be on Valentines Day of all days? The world really is just that cruel.

And it was about to get even more cruel.

Screams, maybe half a dozen of them, echoed and bounced off the walls of the cave, finding their way to you. At first, you assumed the group was messing with each other. Either way, you could care less.

Then they started growing more frequent and louder, and you scowled.

'In here after that fiasco? Really? Christ, I'm never going out with any of them ever aga-'

Then you heard a blood-curdling scream. Suddenly, you started to prefer the possibility of what you originally thought they were doing.

Your head whipped to the tunnel left of you as you heard a scream far too familiar, and your body began to curl in on itself as you sat in a ball in the corner.

Footsteps began beating from the same corridor where the scream originated.

Anticipating the worst, you wiped the blur from your eyes, took a deep breath, and braced your hand over a nearby stone that you deemed good enough to buy you some time.

The footsteps grew louder, but remained at a painstakingly steady pace, as if to tease your demise. There was a loud thunk! before the screech of metal scraping rock pierced your ears. You were half expecting to see the grim reaper at this point.

Instead, you were greeted with someone else who might as well be the same person. They were tall, broad, and clad in nothing but a full set of miner's gear. Not a single speck of skin peeked past any part of their clothing, and their mask even managed to hide their eyes behind the dark lens. With what little brightness there was provided by the dim cave lights, you just barely noticed the glistening of the blood on their uniform and the way it dripped down the tip of their pickaxe.

You recognized him as the man from the town's local urban legend. It always seemed cheesy and way too cliche to you but here you were, face to face with the man, the myth himself. Would he make you another one of his victims tonight? Would your death become just another story told at the campfire? The thought made your stomach turn.

The two of you stayed in silence, your hand still gripping the stone while you stared at the miner, searching for any movement that suggesting that you'd be the next one to eat metal. But all you could see was the way his chest heaved, rising and falling from what you understood as the cause of all those screams from earlier.

Drip.

Clank!

To your surprise, he set down his pickaxe and approached you, kneeling down to your curled form. His head tilted slightly, as if to get a better look at you. A part of you wished you could see his eyes, wondered where he stared, why he stared. As embarrassing as it is to admit, you froze like a deer in headlights, squeezing your eyes shut when he lifted a hand and-

... wiped a tear on your cheek.

You didn't even remember the stone until he pried it from your hand and interlaced your fingers with his, pulling you up with him and into his embrace as he lightly petted your head.

Was he... comforting you?

It would've worked well if uh, he didn't reek of blood and dust.

Staying still as if your life depended on it (it probably did), you let him do as he pleased.

He pulled away from you but kept a gentle grip on your hand, nodding his head in the direction of the tunnels. You couldn't be bothered to question anything anymore, shock was the only thing that kept the fatigue from catching up.

He led you down countless tunnels and caverns, passing by bodies mangled beyond recognition, except for one. You were pretty sure that one was the cretin.

The entire time, the hold his hand had on yours was nothing short of soft and comforting, it almost warmed your heart. Almost.

Eventually, you found where he was taking you, back to the entrance of the mineshaft. He let go of your hand and urged you to the opening. Hesitantly stepping forward, you paused and looked back. He still stood there, though less menacing than he was before despite all the blood and dirt caked on him.

"I- uh... thank you."

Your voice was shaky from processing the events of the past few hours and you had no requirement to thank him, but you felt like you'd regret it if you didn't. The sentiment came across, and he nodded, reaching up again to trace a thumb on your cheek before giving it an affectionate pinch. You watched as he turned and left back into the abyss of the mines, disappearing into the cavern.

It was still dark outside, but you knew the way back from here. You were no longer shaking, nor seething, and the walk back home was oddly peaceful for it being so late in the night.

So what if you might want to see him again?

Bonus

The next morning, you woke up with your eyes feeling raw and your feet sore, but work calls and you had to get up nonetheless.

Nursing a cup of coffee, you checked your door for any mail, instead finding a bright red, heart-shaped box at your doorstep. Fortunately, it didn't contain any beating human heart as the urban legends told, but interestingly enough, a single wild rose and a card.

"Happy Valentines, won't you be mine? - Harry"

#x reader #harry warden #harry warden x reader #my bloody valentine #harry warden x you #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #slashers

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wincestdailyheadcanons · 5 months

Text

"I think it would do you both good to see each other." Jack says, taking the half empty beer from Dean's hand.

The smile on Dean's face brightens his features up so much he looked 20 years younger.

"I get to go be with Sam?" Dean asks. "Finally?"

Jack shakes his head. "Not yet. It isn't your time."

Dean scowled, grabbing the bottleback, taking a drink; "Then fuck off. Until I get to be with him again, heaven, hell, wherever, dont you talk to me. It shouldve been me in that barn, not him, and you fucking know it."

Dean kept his body from shaking, his voice even, but he knew that despite the dim lights of the no name bar, Jack would see the pain

in his eyes. The hurt, and loneliness in his soul that shined through the green that only Sam had ever been

able to fill.

"There's many worlds, Dean." Jack

said, this time sitting across from Dean. The gesture meaning to show not only empathy,

but equality. In this moment, he wasnt a God. He was just a guy trying to comfort one of the only fathers he knew.

"In this world, Sam died. In another you do, in one you go on a different hunt and nothing happens." Dean looked up; "So, youre taking

me to see a different Sam?"

Jack nodded; "He's elderly in this world. Time is-"

Dean held up his hand; "I don't need to hear the mumbo jumbo about time and space, just take me to him."

Dean blinked, and found himself outside a well maintained brick house with large trees, and a well kept yard. Inside he could hear

yelling.

Dean rushed in, moving quickly through the house, and in the living room found a tall man with white hair, and a beard.

"Why are you in here?!" Sam screamed at a young woman. "I want my brother!"

"Mr Winchester, I'm your nurse, Hannah, your son asked me to he-"

Sam grabbed a glass off and raised his hand to throw it.

"Sammy?"

Sam instantly responded to Dean's voice, the glass slipping from his fingers, and shattering on the floor.

"Dean?" Sam asked, stepping forward, his bare feet moving towards the broken shards of glass. His eyes locked with Dean's. Dean and the nurse moved to stop him.

Dean pushed Sam back onto the couch, ignoring Sam's tears of joy at seeing him. "Missed you, missed you." Sam sobbed, clinging to Dean's Jacket. Dean looked down at his sleeve. Dads leather jacket. Dean caught his reflection in a mirror above the fireplace. He looked how he did in 2005.

Sam cupped Dean's face pressing their foreheads together. "I wanna go hunting."

Dean closed his eyes, and sighed, taking in the moment. He hadnt realized he had forgotten what Sam sounded like, how it felt to hear his name come out of Sam's mouth,

forgotten what it felt like to be home again.

"Okay, Sammy." Dean obviously wasnt going to take Sam on a hunt but still the lie that he was a family friend, Sam's son had asked to come over was believed easy enough by the nurse.

For the next two days, Dean took care of Sam. Fed him, bathed him, walked around the yard with him. Mostly though, they just talked.

Sam seemed to be confused about what year it was, he mentioned Stanford alot. That was probably why Jack had sent Dean like this.

"You wanna go for a ride in the car?" Dean asked, having found the keys hidden in a drawer and Sam immediately lit up, nodding.

Dean took Sam to an empty field,

and watched the stars. Dean clinked their beer bottles together. Sam didnt even notice his was non alcoholic. He just smiled; "Cheers, jerk."

"Cheers, bitch."

That night, Dean helped Sam into bed. Something in his gut told him Sam's reaper wasn't far off. Dean pulled up a chair to sit by

Sam, and held his hand, squeezing it gently. He understood why Jack had brought him here. In the barn, there had been no time to say goodbye. The attack had happened

so fast, so violently, Dean didn't

have a chance to say anything to Sam.

This was his chance. Dean kissed Sam's wrist;, "I am so very proud of you, how strong, and smart you are. How you never took any of Dads crap.”

Sam's eyes softened, he looked so tired. Dean continued. "You've always kept fighting, and I know how hard that had to have been for you." Sam closed his eyes, starting to drift off into sleep, a soft smile on his face. "Love you, De."

"I love you so much, my baby brother."

After a bit, Dean laid Sam's hand down, and stood, walking towards the door to sleep on the couch. "Goodnight." Sam called gently.

"Night, Sammy."

The next morning, he left before Sam woke up, catching Sam's son, who he had learned shared a name with him at the front door.

"Take good care of him." Dean smiled, chuckling to himself at the young man's confusion.

"Do-do I know you?" He asked.

Dean shrugged, and walked down the sidewalk.

Dean Jr walked inside, setting his bag down on the floor in his old bedroom, before going to his dads room.

"Hey, Dad." He said pulling a chair up. "Your nurse just left. He seemed pretty cool.”

There was a small framed picture beside the bed of his dad when he was younger, beside him sat the uncle he knew, but never met. He

picked up the frame, analyzing it then looked

towards the door. There was no way, no possible way.-

But they were both wearing the same necklace...

"Do I know you?" He had asked the man.

"My big brother came and visited me." Sam told him. "We drove in the Impala" He smiled, stroking the amulet around his neck. "It was fun.”

#supernatural #sam/dean #dean winchester #sam winchester #wincest #WincestDailyHC

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the-fandom-abyss · 6 months

Text

Not Woodsboro

Sam Carpenter x Reader

Genre: Fluff ♡/Angst ❀

Word Count: 1,306 words

1k Follower Celebration

The New York streets seemed empty for a city that never sleeps. It's as if the residents could sense what will happen on this fateful night. Lives could be lost, final breaths could be taken, blood will be spilt. The air was thick, nerves even thicker. The group walked along the sidewalk, weaving their way to the epicentre of horror. Not a single word had been spoken, each person too scared to voice their thoughts. Rightly so, as most of them pictured the worst case scenario. Just before the entrance, the group came to a halt, turning to discuss future plans.

"Not you" Sam mentioned, finger pointing towards Danny, who seemed surprised by her suggestion. A giggle bubbled in your throat, spilling past your lips. Danny has been following Sam like a lost puppy and watching his face deflate as he was denied, was the light you needed in this horrid time.

"Take that boy next door" in a childish manner, you poked your tongue out at him. Confidently, you strode towards Sam before a strong finger in your chest caught your attention.

"That goes for you too" the look that settled on Sam's features showed that she was deadly serious. The finger in your chest was hard, applying pressure to prove a point. You didn't miss the smug smile that graced Danny's lips, it irked you even more.

"What? Why?" Sam's facade faltered for only a second, bile rising at the thought that you could be the killer or worse, be in danger. She would not have that playing on her conscious while she fought for her life.

"You're not Woodsboro" a statement that set the tone for the rest of the night. For those who were fortunate to never experience Ghostface, could not be fully trusted. It was an initiation that no one truly wanted to go through and yet, here you all were, new and old alike, trying to avoid the grim reaper.

"But Sam" was said in a form of a playful whine. Sam knew your true intentions, wanting nothing more than to protect her. She rolled her eyes at your comeback, hiding behind sass to avoid her true feelings.

"Don't trust anyone, remember?" All you could truly give was a small nod of understanding. There was no need to push the subject, she will never change her mind, not in a million years. A dejected sigh left your lips, shoulders slumping at the realisation. "Stay safe, please" a silent promise that Sam knew that she could not keep. You leant in closer, placing a soft kiss on her cheek, hand intertwining with the one that sat firmly at your chest. Sam share one more look with you before meeting her fate, fingers slipping from each others hold as you watched her walk away.

Danny was no longer needed, so he count his blessings and disappeared into the night. A shady act for a man that claimed to be innocent. Before you could dwell on Danny's figure fading into the shadows, a hand twisted around the collar of your shirt. With a strong tug, they dragged you into the closest alley, slamming you against the brick. Your head bounced off the wall, leaving a dull ache to pound in your skull. "Ah fuck" was all you could say as a pair of black, droopy eyes stared back. The white of the mask shining in the dim light of the alley, followed by the black outfit that covered the body. This was your luck, for Sam to leave you where she thought you'd be safe for it to be the exact opposite. This Ghostface was on a time schedule, no time to tease or deliberate. With one swift move, they lodged their knife into your stomach, the blade gliding all the way to the handle. Just as quick as they appeared, they removed the knife and slammed your head against the wall once more.

The world became hazy, dumpsters moving of their own accord, distorted sounds of the empty streets. It rendered you unconscious, for only a moment. There you laid clutching at your open wound, with eyes that refused to stay open. Some time had passed, who knows just how long. It was long enough for you to see straight and regain some strength, just enough to figure out what the hell was going on. Sam had specifically forbidden you from entering, but you were already hurt, what's the worst that could happen? With the strength you had regained, you stumbled across a back entrance to the theatre which you gladly went through.

Hidden behind dusty chairs, that was where you camped before you were ready to make your move. From there you watched as not one, not two but three Ghostfaces revealed themselves to the sisters. Ethan was among the killers, holding a knife that was covered in blood, your blood. Anger began to boil within you, wanting nothing more than to seek revenge. So you waited and plotted for the best chance to strike, fortunately you didn’t have to wait too long. Ethan re-emerges from one of the many exits, stalking towards Sam as she followed his movements backwards. As quietly as you could, you made your way down to the main floor, stealing a knife from a cabinet along the way.

A shaky breath filled your lungs before running towards danger. In a matter of seconds, you had lodged your knife into Ethan’s shoulder, twisting it until he grunted in pain. Sam’s features mirrored the same surprised look that Ethan had. Both shocked by what had happened and who had the upper hand. Taking advantage of the frozen killer, you tried to inflict more damage. “That’s for fucking stabbing me”, with force you pulled the knife out of his shoulder, aiming for the other blade. “And this is for fucking with my girlfriend” as you lowered the knife, Ethan was quick on his feet, spinning on the spot. Just as your knife slices into his collarbone, a familiar pain shoots through your stomach. He had successfully stabbed you, using your movements as a distraction. What felt like minutes ticked by, as you stared into each others eyes filled with rage and pain. Naturally, you both twist the knife in unison, eliciting a scream of pain from the other.

“Bitch” was spoken through gritted teeth, his knuckles white from the tight grip he had. His hand twitched, shifting the knife ever so slightly.

"Virgin" was thrown back at him, knowing that this was a weak spot for him. In petty fashion, you slightly moved your hand, like he had done to you. Right before he could inflict more damage, the moment was ended with a gun shot. One last fatal blow to the head, that covered you in more than your own blood. With no need to grip so tightly, Ethan let go as he fell to the floor, your grip loosening as he moved. While your eyes were trained on the body, Sam wasted no time in rushing over to you. Her eyes glued to the knife that sat comfortable in your lower abdomen, debating on whether it be best to pull it out.

“Are you okay?” The questioned snapped Sam out of her haze, turning her focus onto you. She couldn’t believe that was what you asked, she should be asking you the very same question.

"Are you?" She couldn’t help herself, she needed to know that you were okay. This was the last thing she wanted, she demanded you stay outside for this very reason.

A groggy "mhmm" was your response before the edges of the world became fuzzy. When you fell unconscious, Sam was there to catch you, ushering you towards the closest ambulance. It was her turn to protect you, like you had done for her.

#scream imagine #scream x reader #sam carpenter #sam carpenter imagine #sam carpenter x reader #scream vi x reader #scream vi imagine

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grimmylilsunshine · 4 months

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Some dark stuff and angst time. Writing this more for myself.

This should be obvious but this isn't a post for romanticizing this crap. I'm just writing this for self comfort and venting. If it bothers ya, you can simply just not interact with it, block, ignore.

Warnings: Mention of the reader dealing with depression, suicidal thoughts, mentions of past suicide attempts, self harm / harming, etc. Proceed with caution.

It was depressing but oddly poetic Grim thought. The mortal with the brightest soul that was of life, ironically enough, was part of a mortal who often wished to die.

Countless times he witnessed your suicide attempts, your failures on succeeding or going through with it. Your break downs and spiral into darkness and mental breaks from your own mind attacking you.

He only was waiting for the day it'll finally happen, and to have that bright soul that bothered him, but oddly enough pulled him too, reaped once and for all.

Though as years went on, and the longer you lived on than you should of. Which astonished from the way you lived, and barely survived. He had to soon enough take matters into his own hands.

However the moment he made contact with you, he felt that pull grow stronger. He started to see things more about you that he wished he didn't.

The sunshine before him, you, put on a strong face, a smile, a mask. So convincing in fact, even he often forgot the darkness and demons that troubled you.

But as time went on, and the more you opened up. The more mask started to crack, break and crumble before him.

It was like flickers, but he could see the emptiness, the hopelessness in your eyes.

It bothered him. Upset him. But he tried to focus on the job at hand. Which was reaping your soul...

Until one day he couldn't help but just focus on your care and wellbeing.

Once again, you tried to put on that forced fake yet convincing smile...but this time it wasn't working. He could see the tiredness in your eyes, the smile not reaching those eyes. As well the exhaustion visible even from your soul...

The light in you was dimming again, and he couldn't stand it.

💀 "Sunshine...Did you sleep at all?"

🌻 "...Yeah, a bit...Couldn't really sleep well again though..."

💀 "...I see..."

💀 "...Did you eat?"

🌻 "...A little."

💀 "What did you eat?"

🌻 "...Nothing much. Just crackers...I really don't feel hungry today to be honest."

💀 "...Did you go out to get some sunlight? Some air? Also did you drink any water?"

🌻 "I don't like going out much now...and yeah...I think?"

💀 "..."

🌻 "....."

💀 "What are you thinking about right now?"

🌻 "..."

💀 "...Sunshine?"

🌻 "...Can we end this call now? I'm suddenly feeling tired again and--"

💀 "No. I'm not letting you go until you tell me what's wrong."

🌻 "Why do you care?...You want me dead right? To have my soul? Just leave me alone and maybe you'll finally get it sooner than you think."

💀 "Sunshine, I--You don't--That's it. I'm going over there right now."

🌻 "What? Why? You don't hav--"

Before you could say anything else, he dropped the call and didn't text back no matter how much you sent messages. Suddenly you felt like you screwed up again, that you might of made him angry, or hate you truly now.

The dark thoughts started to flood back in at a intensity now, you just wanted to escape from it all. So you searched around in your drawers, looking for anything sharp again to help but before you could grab anything. A knocking was heard at your window.

You looked up to see Casper with a serious yet worried expression on his face.

💀 "Open the window, Sunshine. Let me in."

🌻 "..."

You did as you were told, and let the Grim Reaper in.

Before you could get a word out, he grabbed you and pulled you in for a tight hug. At first you stiffen at his touch and hold, you weren't used to this...and you wanted to push him away, but same time didn't.

💀 "It's okay, Sunshine...I'm right here now. You don't have to go through this all alone...You don't have to act strong around me. I promise, I won't leave you. I won't hate you. I won't let you suffer alone anymore. It's okay."

It took a moment for you to finally relax in his hold, and you were nervous to hug him back. But after a slow but struggling attempt to fight against your own body and mind, you finally did. And for once, even though his touch was cold...You felt warmth, love and safety from a embrace again...

#a date with death #a date with death casper #a date with death grim #grim x mc #grim x reader #grim x y/n #grim x you #casper x mc #casper x reader #casper x y/n #casper x you #suicide mention #depression mention #deciding to share this finally because it's constantly on my mind lol

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staarboyyy · 20 days

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Team building exercise

billy butcher x frenchie x supe!reader | they/them pronouns used

explicit - minors dni

tags / warnings ; reader has vagina, weed use / intoxication, supe reaper, enemies to lovers if you squint, hell yeah for long buildup, threesome, lap sitting, oral [receiving / giving], spitroast, lots of petnames

summary ; As a Supe on the run, joining The Boys can be nerve wracking - Easing up tension is no easy feat.

word count ; 10.1k

a / n ; guess whose back! back again! hiatus break extravaganza, enjoy!

"I don't trust them."

"Of course you don't." Frenchie gave a scoff towards his taller friend, eyeing him dubiously as he perched a lit joint between his lips, arms spread over the top of the couch, thrumming his fingers to the quiet tunes on the shitty television. It was a dreary place to stay, the air always humid and buzzing lights above head a dim shade between green and flickering grays. Butcher's eyes shut, head tilting back as he gave a sharp sigh - Christ, it never gets easier does it? Dealing with the endless amounts of supes cycling into his life. He sucked his teeth, wordlessly gesturing his large hand towards Frenchie, index and middle finger slightly spreading in a silent request. The man complied as he exhaled the soiling smoke, lacing his mouth with a tacky dryness, his throat burning in a familiar way. He couldn't help but let a small smile gently tug up at his lips as Butcher took the joint from the other, lips pursing over the filter and taking a deep inhale. Billows of thick smoke clouded in his chest, the taste earthy and bitter. As it seeped from between his lips he sat up, passing the lit joint back towards Frenchie, who was still gently tapping his fingers on the couch.

"Give me a good reason, why you don't trust them - Hm?"

"Voughts after them already, paints a big red fuckin' target on everyone's ass. Not like we need anymore." Butcher muttered back, followed by a groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He wished that weed had worked how it did in the movies, taking a single tiny puff and instantly beginning to giggle, locating the nearest bowl of chips. It took a few minutes, slowly rolling down a hill into the mind numbing sweeping feeling of losing yourself, and being okay with it. Shit. Maybe he was high. He threw a glance to Frenchie, whom had taken to sliding off the couch and kneeling beside the rickety wooden table.

"Sure sure," Frenchie waved his hand dismissivley towards Butcher, not looking to him as he busied himself with packing weed into the small glass bowl from his bong; God only knows how long he's had it, and hadn't managed to break it. As the floorboards creaked from the entrance, both men's heads whipped around quickly to catch the sight of you.

"Speak of the devil," Butcher gave a forced chuckle, eyes darting away almost as quickly as they laid upon you. Frenchie gave a smile towards the you, throwing a slight wave to gesture towards him, that you was allowed to join, if you so wished.

With a stagnating hesitancy, you stepped forward, eyes cast over the rather dreary scene with an internal grimace; It didn't seem like the best hide-away to plan a takedown on Homelander, but in anycase you gave a slight chuckle before speaking. "Hey sorry - Couldn't really find where I was going." It was a fair comment to make, your eyes falling on the two men at fault for their rather lacking instructions on how to find the place.

"Sit sit," Frenchie gestured to the long rickety couch, Butcher taking up most of the space in the left and middle seat, knees wide apart from one another, arms casually wrapped over the couch. His eyelids were heavy, in part of the weed, yet the hanging bruised bags of exhaustion weighing down underneath his eyes was clear as day to anyone. Butcher was tired; Everyone was, including yourself. Frenchie finished packing the bowl, grabbing the neck of the bong as he stood, gently nudging Butcher's foot. He got the memo, leg moving to cross over the other as Frenchie fell back into the worn cushions, patting the space next to him. You sat slowly, leaning back into the well used couch with a slight creak of the springs.

"Don't worry - That's actually a good thing," Frenchie gave a wry wink toward you before leaning forward to set the bong down, while slapping his pockets for a spare lighter. Butcher's eyes seemed to stay shut longer as he blinked, taking small intervals of the rare peace among the hideout. The smell of weed filled the air, T.V. flipped to one of Frenchie's soap operas, half filled water bottles strewning over the floor.

"You smoke?" Butcher breathed out the words in a quiet deep rasp, eyes staying shut as he moved his arms to cross over his torso. Assuming the question was directed to you, you pursed your lips tightly. Butcher was never fond of you - He was as hesitant with you as any other Supe, snide comments and straight up avoidance seemed to be common in the man. You hoped weed would ease him up to the idea of you joining the strange posse he's created - You want the same things, in the end. "Yeah," You admit, eyes reaching towards Butcher's for just a moment. "Sometimes every day," You add, hoping to lighten to mood with a look towards Frenchie.

Frenchie had been decently quick to slap around his pockets for a lighter with a quiet hum, eyes swimming over the ash trays in the room, to see if any had been left. Of course, no lighter in this place would be left unattended, everyone including those who didn't smoke, had sticky fingers to say the least. Butcher cocked his head off to the side, watching how your nervous demeanor was palpable in the air. With no response to you, he inhaled through his nostrils sharply, grunting as he leaned forward to grab at a plainly obvious green lighter near Frenchie's shoes.

"You fucker," Frenchie muttered, swiping the lighter from Butcher, flicking it a few times. The jagged wheel gave a stuttering scrape, producing a sparking flame, catching Frenchie's attention. "Smoking bud is simply just self medication. Some need it every day, some take it only right before bed,"

He trailed off, leaning back into the squeaking couch with the bong and lighter grasped in one hand. He always made the effort to make you atleast half way comfortable here, especially when Butcher's looming presence seemed to take over the air of the room - And you appreciated it, more than he could ever know. With an exhale, Butcher shed his heavy coat from his wide shoulders, letting it drop to the floor with a thick thud of leather on matted carpet. He tended to dawn button downs, not caring for the style or colors, as long as they were comfortable and easy to get on and off; Yet uncharacteristically, he wore a black sweater. It had been colder outside than normal, the icey rain sticking to the ground and making it easy to just prefer to stay inside. He rubbed his long fingers through his tousled hair, knee bumping Frenchie's as a gesture to start to bowl. So quietly, he did. The lighter came over the glass bowl, the grinded weed sizzling as it made contact, a ribbon of grey smoke and heavy aromas sedimented themselves in the air around them. He pulled, for quite a long time, letting the bowl crackle and illuminate itself before pulling it up, inhaling with ease. He held it for a few quiet moments, hand clutching the bong leaning over towards you bowl still singed and smoking.

"Jesus. Don't to pukin' on the carpet, we don't need any more bodily fluids in this place," Butcher spoke, not making it known whether or not he was speaking to Frenchie or You. Maybe both? Frenchie hadn't quite cared too much for the mans remark, exhaling the smoke in a thick billow, humming at the sight of it. The process of smoking had been so cathartic.

You took the bong graciously, nodding at the other in a silent thanks before pressing your lips to the mouth of the bong. You rested there for a moment, the smoke tinging your nostrils as it slithered up in snaking tendrils from the bowl, before inhaling graciously. The burn hit your throat tenderly, sliding down you in a wash of warmth, pooling with a familar soreness in your chest. As you exhaled the smoke, you could feel both mens eyes on you, and how your attention followed the plume of grey. After a tight draw of fresh air, a slight cough creeped over you, tickling your throat before parting your lips.

Butcher's gaze was still fixated on you, watching you cough lightly with a quizzical eye, leaning back into the couch with another creaky audible squeak. The silence was tense, yet the wringing feeling of the weed slowly veiling over the surrounding air, the ribbons toiling in the light of the buzzing lights, had begun to melt it away. Butcher relaxed his shoulders, head cocking off to the side as he swallowed thickly. If there was any way to get through to see the end of whatever this team needed to do, it’d be to bite his tongue and start acting like - What did M.M. say? A team player. Butcher scoffed.

“So - ,” Butcher trailed off in a nearly dubious tone, as if not convinced he even knew your real name. “You break easy?” He asked, causing Frenchie’s head to turn, eyebrows furrowing slightly before giving a wry grin - Butcher waved his hand. That came out wrong. The weed had pulled a sheen of dizziness on the demeanor he so effortlessly wanted to use to his advantage. Scare you off, make you see the light and how awful the world is, yata yata. God, his mouth was dry. Butcher clenched his jaw, eyes casting off towards the table with a suck of his teeth. “Tough skin? You’ve been in battle before?” He went on after a few moments of practicing the words in his mind, weaving them together despite the foggy feeling. Frenchie shook his head, chuckling quietly as he looked towards you, expression reading halfway sympathetic but unable to keep the bubbling laughs from rising past his lips.

“He’s an idiot. Ignore him,” As much as Butcher wanted to retort against Frenchie’s words, he simply rolled his eyes, leaning over the couch to grab at the neck of a whiskey bottle he had opened a few minutes ago. He put his lips to the mouth of the bottle, drinking the bitter liquor with a burning exhale pushing from his nostrils. It trailed a thick searing sting down his throat, to his stomach, almost grounding him from the effects of the weed - He hadn’t noticed he’d begun staring at you until he had to force his eyes to part ways with your flushed cheeks as you spoke.

"Oh - Yeah, my fair share. Nothing serious." You didn't want to go on at first, though the pressing tension in the air pushed an answer from your drying throat. "If you count run-ins with the FBI "Nothing serious", I mean." Slowly, you extended your arm across Frenchie, handing the bong off towards Butcher.

At this, he simply cocked his head. Of course, he didn't want to outright call bullshit yet his expression twisted into one that needed no words. As you handed the bong off towards him though, he took in a breath to speak, his rough skin pressing over your fingers. The transaction was simple, yet the lingering feeling of the you on his larger hand left him to shift in his seat slightly. It was hard to be his typical dark demeanor with the clashing mix of weed and exhaustion from the day prior; He sucked his teeth, pulling the bong close as he leaned forward to grab the lighter from the table.

"Alright, and lets say you've had these little "run-ins" - We don't even know your power for gods sake, so..." The man trailed off, eyes falling to the bong as he pressed his lips to the mouth piece, flicking the lighter over the bowl and taking a sharp inhale. Butcher didn't smoke weed as much as Frenchie did, preferring the casual ciggarette or even cigar, yet he handled the hits well. As he exhaled a thick billow of smoke, he offered it towards Frenchie, whose eyes were wide and glued to you, lips tilted up into a small smile.

"FBI? Ohhoh," He elbowed Butcher slightly, who in turn grunted, shoving the bong once more towards the other. Frenchie grabbed the neck of it, still grinning as he spoke, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "You mean it? Vraiment incroyable," He whispered, the veins of his eyes contrasting sharply to his dark irises and heavy lids, lashes laid thick. Frenchie shifted his weight slightly, facing towards the you with a throaty chuckle.

"And to think Butcher could ever doubt you, hey?" Frenchie brought his hand to your cheek, pinching at the apple of it slightly, humming as his eyes flickered over the your expression. His pupils were large, blown out from the dim light above and perhaps a mixture of some other drug he was able to scrape together. He wet his lips after a moment, swallowing harshly as Butcher cleared his throat.

"If they've been up against the FBI - I'm the fucking queen of England, how 'bout that?" The man spoke like a frustrated child, setting the bong onto the table with a low thud. It only egged Frenchie on, grinning a bit - He knew what that tone meant, yet knowing you would be oblivious to Butcher's unpredictable and strange jealousy made him chuckle wryly. How far could he push such a thing? He wondered.

"You ever shotgunned?"

Frenchie spoke casually, arm thrown over the edges of the couch as he tilted his chin down towards you. His eyes were wild, yet warm as he tilted his head, chewing his bottom lip for a moment. A tinge of embarrassment caught you as Butcher's words mingled in the smokey air, though Frenchie's quickly threw you for a loop, your gaze swimming through the room to find his.

"Shit probably... Not in a long time, but uh," You could feel your cheeks lighting up, the mirroring satisfaction of Frenchie's expression growing slowly.

"Christ you're high as a fucking kite, aren'you?" Butcher scoffed out a quiet chuckle, sharp through his nostrils, eyes wandering towards the space beside him on the worn in sofa. Frenchie's heavy eyes didn't move from yours, clicking his tounge and squinting slightly as he spoke.

"When am I not," He breathed the words out quietly, voice rasping through a playful purr. Butcher pursed his lips, head cocking off to the side slightly as he watched the you two - Frenchie moved like a snake, slowly and skillfully etching his arm over the edge of the couch and leaning his face close towards yours, his eyes doey and glittering with a familiar spark of thrilling measures. It was always the chase for the French man, wasn't it. Butcher wiped his thumb under his nose, fingernails rolling through the scruff on his chin, before moving to roll up the sleeves of his sweater. His forearms were built, bulking through the sweater sleeves and veins seemed to cross the bronze skin like streams and rivers on a map. Scars etched themselves onto him, weaving between his beauty marks and various bruises - His arms were a story within themselves, faded stick and pokes from years ago still demanded to be seen, despite his many attempts to do the opposite. Butcher leaned forward once more, wordlessly grabbing the bong.

"You're on the run from the FBI, and Vought - Ain't that just fuckin' peachy." His voice was cold, yet he let his shoulders relax slightly, his body shifting towards Frenchie with an audible creak of the sofa. Both men now sat closer to you than before, Frenchie's long fingers now stringing gently through your hair; While this wasn't out of character for the affectionate man, usually nobody would allow him to do so - He seemed quite pleased that you didn't protest against his warm touch.

"When was the last, hm?" Frenchie spoke, as if Butcher's words had hardly reached him. He used his free hand to gently scratch over the growing stubble on his hardened jaw line, eyes unwavering as a teasing grin snaked onto his calm expression. As he spoke, Butcher stayed silent, elbows leaned forward onto his knees - He looked at you like he was studying something, as if the weed made you all the more interesting. Yet it wasn't in the sense that Frenchie had, the glittering sense of warmth fleeting his sharp pointed gaze entirely; It was darker, nearly predatory, pinning you down to the couch with a simple lull of his eyes falling down your body - Agonizingly slowly.

"A couple of years - I uh," Usually you would have something to follow up the answer, a witty comment to lighten the now thickening air, but the weed now dripped over your shoulders. It was warm, the pillowing strength of the high tensing your muscles, and wavering your heavy eyelids.

"That so?"

Butcher spoke up before Frenchie could even catch his breath to answer. His fingers paused for a moment, still continuing to slowly string through your hair, but instead resting his nails on your scalp, scratching gently. Frenchie finally cast his gaze towards Butcher, whose expression was that of - Well nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary; Besides how he now assumed the position of letting his back relax against the couch, legs opening further as he cocked his head towards you, who had now grown awfully close to Frenchie. Nothing was said for a few moments, perhaps nothing needed to be spoken between both Frenchie and Butcher, yet the taste of the air seemed to shift for the men. Frenchie's eyesbrows settled as he watched Butcher return to his natural position, head tilting back slightly to coerce you two to come closer.

"C'mon then."

Butcher's voice on the other hand, had shifted to something different. The underlying rumble of how he clearly was not just suggesting you both follow his simple order, his thick accent weaving between his words, rolling off the tongue with a following billow of smoke; It was a demand. A devilish one at that, how he spread his large arms over the couches edge and squared his heavy shoulders.

Frenchie's gaze on the other rolled in waves, moving towards you once more; Although gentler than Butcher's had been, it was no less devious than the brit who now so casually began to pack a fresh bowl. It still stung with a sultry glaze of darkness, peering at you through thick lashes as his hand moved from your hair, down to your warm cheek. His thumb pressed gently into the soft skin, letting the pad of his finger trace ever so slowly down towards your jaw, eyes settling on your lips, for just a few brief moments. Your body had stiffened, a pooling warmth in your abdomen now fighting with the foggy feeling pulsating in your head.

Frenchie seemed to smile at this, almost entertained in the way you seemed to stiffen, watching the apples of your cheeks bloom a sheer pink. The man wet his lips, the feeling of Butcher's eyes burning into his back as he dropped his hand to grab at yours gently. It was soft, the calloused pads of his fingers gently cascading over your palm, pulling the smaller fingers to clasp with his own. He looked at how you fit together, the thrumming of his heart gently pushing against his ribs - The familiarness of it all made his lips twist into a small smile, eyebrows knitting together as his gaze flickered to yours once more. He lifted your tangled fingers, pressing his lips to the back of the your palm. His facial hair rubbed against your skin, his firm yet gentle grasp unwavering as he kept his eyes on you, as if his universe would collapse if he looked away. Carefully, he spoke.

"Would you mind if," Frenchie's voice was soft, coming in waves between soft kisses against your hand, still held by his own. "We remind you of such pleasures?" The question was vague, yet the knowing tilt of Frenchie's head gave way for the wry smirk. "Of smoking. Of course,"

Butcher looked onto this with pure interest, oddly enough enraptured by the way Frenchie seemed to snake himself around you. He moved his attention back to your expression after a few moments, catching your line of sight and giving a twitch of his eyebrow. His mind was racing, surely you were both in on it Of course. It, being something only occurring with the messily done up mix of weed and - Stress? Something like that. Butcher didn't care at this point, already shifting the weight of his thighs onto the couch, the friction of his thick jeans nearly rattling a sense of shame down his spine. Though, it was not nearly enough to overtake the sudden dryness of his mouth, how his heart now pounded in his ears, lips hanging open slightly as he wordlessly looked over at you and Frenchie. Your whisper was fragile, fixated on the man as your voice escaped your hold on rationalizing yourself.

"Yes..."

At the single word, Frenchie slowly lowered your hand, humming to himself quietly before brushing his thumb once more over your cheek. It was gentle, eyes glinting with a sense of warmth - Yet it seemed to slip away, slowly at first, then as he cast his eyes back towards your lips, it had fleet his expression entirely. With a slow movement, he guided your jaw with his hand, bringing you closer towards Butcher - You were now sitting between the two. The air was still, clouded with passing smoke and dust, yet the sound of all of you sucking in short gasps of air from clenched teeth had seemed to swim from ear to ear. The shift in Butcher's position was heard with a creak of the couch; He turned himself more towards you, his left arm resting on the edge of the couch and the other clutching the neck of the bong. His large thighs spread, the thick black denim not leaving too much for the imagination. Butchers eyes moved from you, to his lap, then back again. It was a wordless offer, one he had seemed to give many people, just from how casual it was. Yet on the inside, he could feel how painfully tight he clenched his jaw, practically white knuckling the bong as he tried for a casual shift of his weight.

Frenchie, had seemed enamored by the way Butcher moved. As much as Frenchie was a snake, Butcher was a lion. Predator by nature, moving silently and demanding with a simple flick of his eyes - He darkened the rooms he walked into, making peoples shoulders tense at the mention of his name. Butcher let a slow exhale reach him, jaw relaxing as he went to speak, eyes unmoving.

"Let me show you the proper way, hm?"

Though the man roused a question with this, it was clear it had been practiced on his tongue, having thought about this for quite some time. His voice was gravely, the prior smoking only adding to the rumbling purr of his ribboning words. He lifted his chin slightly - Smug bastard. Butcher clearly knew he had a strange advantage over quite a few people. The primal one, the one that seemed to click into place as soon as he began barking orders.

How you were breathing was a mystery. You moved with such ease under Frenchie's hand, under the thickening daze of his touch and the way Butcher was looking at you. That alone sent your heart pounding and face lit up with a scarlet flush. It had been a while since you felt so small, and allowed yourself to be told what to do and when. The thought terrified you, sending pins through your nerves, telling you to run. The weed, that was it, not the way you found yourself feeling so relaxed between the two men. No, it was definitely the weed.

You found yourself on Butchers lap, legs straddled across the man's bulk. Your eyes latched to Butcher's with ease, studying every small color detail you could find in him much like you had the French man's.

Butcher's eyes were hardened, locked onto yours with a piercing gaze - It was nothing short of devious, the delicious veil of smoke and pupil blown out lust becoming clearer on the mans expression as you lowered yourself onto his lap. His large free hand swept over the air as soon as you sat, rough palm meeting your waist. His thumb drew slow arc over your skin, eyes lowering over your body - He couldnt express the feeling that seemed to sear itself into his stomach, forcing his back to arch ever so slightly. A low exhale rumbled from between his parted lips, nearly in approval of how you now nervously shifted your weight, ever so deliciously. He watched your movements with a silent cold gaze, eyes tracking every one of your sharp breaths.

Frenchie watched with heavy lidded eyes, head leaning against the couch as he looked at you both - It was something out of a painting. Celestial in how the two seemed to fit together perfectly; Not to mention he couldn't get enough of your sheepish expression. Frenchie wet his lips, fingers moving to quietly fumble with the button and belt of his loose cargo pants. It was feeble and rushed, jaw clenching as a wash of heat rolled down his body, centering itself between his thighs. He shifted his weight, eyes not leaving Butcher as the man brought the now lit bong to his lips.

The brit's eyes stayed in place, locked onto your twitching frame as he pulled a deep inhale from the glass. With a slow movement, his eyes moved in time with his free hand, shifting from your body towards his your. His rough fingerpads rubbed against you, holding your face firmly - His thumb moved though, as he drew the bong from his parted lips, the rough thumb pulled your bottom lip down slowly. The action was small, caressing your soft lip to expose the slight opening of your mouth. Butcher set the bong off to the side, eyes flicking between your eyes, and your lips. After a moment, smoke drifted from his nostrils, the sting reminding him he couldn't simply sit and admire you. Despite his aching urge to do just that. He'd sit and watch you for hours, atop his lap and nervously shifting your weight. Butcher pulled your jaw foward, parted lips meeting yours - The smoke flowed between his teeth, pushing from his mouth into the yours, as a low throaty groan pressed from his throat. It was primal, instinctual in the way he dropped his hand from your face, returning to your hip. His grasp was much less gentle than it had been, now tugging your down. A silent demand - He wanted your full weight. For you to surrender entirely to him.

Butcher was a strange man. That was the only thought circulating through your speeding mind. You couldn't figure out why he stared so much, you couldn't place the reason Butcher had such an expression when looking at you or why his actions made you feel the way you did. Such a thing excited you. It sent a heat spreading through you that got more intense when Butcher touched you, each glide of his rough hands sending shivers up your spine.

When Butcher leaned in, you had as well, just barely. You wanted Butcher to lead this dance, to show you how this was to be done. And so far it was unrevealing you from the core. The closer they got the more your eyes closed, barely letting past a gasp pass as you sucked in the smoke. When you exhaled, you pulled away just slightly, eyes opening as you blew out the smoke, staring into Butcher's with a fire, a hunger.

"That's more like it, darlin'."

Butcher's voice was hardly audible, a slow purr, tasting the honorific as it slipped off his tongue. The last of the smoke pushed between his teeth as he pulled your weight into his own, lips clashing with yours. He gave a quiet grunt, drawn out and pleased; His facial hair pressed into your skin, the hand on your face slipping agonizingly slow over your body. He savored every twitch and gasp he was able to, his thick cock pressing into your warmth - It was driven in pure ecstacy.

Frenchie had managed to pry off his jeans, hand settling over his clothed length with a contended sigh; His eyes stayed on you and Butcher as you kissed, his fingers moving and caressing himself as you moved in sync. He wanted nothing more than to drink down the scene before him, a soft moan pulled from his throat as his breath hitched. He twitched in his hand, mouth practically watering as he watched Butcher grope you with such fierceness.

It wasn't careless or rushed, how Butcher's large calloused hands seem to linger on your lower back, snaking towards your torso - His fingers tucked underneath your shirt as his tongue swept over your lip, panting slightly into the kiss. Your skin was heavenly, smooth and soft - The touch of it alone made him groan quietly, bucking his hips up slightly as his hand continued exploring your body.

Frenchie let a moan roll from him, a slow drawn out whimper as he watched them; He brought his hand to his mouth, saliva gathering from the mere image of you leaning into Butcher entirely. Frenchie dragged his tongue over his palm, hips subconsciously bucking simply at the anticipation of it all. He brought his hand back down, shifting closer to the you two as he stroked himself - The sounds he made was obscene. Low pleasured purrs interlacing with sharp gasps, hand gripped tightly around his twitching cock. His eyes drifted along your body, undressing you with his heavy gaze.

Frenchie had thought about you before - In a situation like this. It came to him as he touched himself the same way he did now; His mind wandering and landing onto you with a sinister intent. Frenchie came just from the idea of using his mouth on you. The memory made him twitch in his hand, a shuddered groan breaking with a desperate whimper.

Butcher's hands seemed to chase up the skin of your body, his rough fingers meeting your chest with a sharp inhale. The noise that came from him was nothing short of animalistic, his palms laying over your body, groping needily - He rocked into your body, hips moving in slow circles as he throbbed for the you, the perfect weight on top of him. Butcher leaned his forehead on yours, breathing hard before speaking.

"You want to have a smart mouth with me - Hm?"

Butcher's voice thundered in a low primal tone, dark eyes casting into yours. He took a slow inhale, head slowly tilting back with a devilish chuckle. The sound of it reverberated, shattering the lustful haze that seemed to settle in the space between you all. It was a filthy sound, one of his hands moving up your back, his large fingers entangling into the locks of your hair. He didn't pull, yet held onto you firmly, with a slight smirk.

Frenchie's parted lips formed into a hazed lopsided smile as he beckoned you towards him - It was how must Eve had to feel in the garden. The stomach stirring temptation that came simply from the idea of taking the hand of the serpent; His canines glinted as his head tilted slightly, tongue moving to wet his lips before speaking. Frenchie's voice was nothing short of sinful, how his eyes moved over your body, a hand still loosely hung around his twitching cock; In truth the forbidden fruit didn't taste like an apple, nor did it even taste sweet. It tasted like sweat, like the breath being pulled from your lungs, a forceful hand around your throat. Suffocatingly pleasurable, the truthful definition of what it means to not just give into temptation, but to drink it down in hitched breaths - To lick it from knives, from fingers of men that seemed intent on breaking you beyond repair.

"How do you feel, darling?" Frenchie whispered.

"S..So good," You admitted, cheeks flushed at feeling so exposed to the men before you. The sound of your voice was heavenly, a low whisper of approval - It feels good. Butcher gave another quiet groan at the slight praise, shifting underneath you, arching his back into your heat.

Frenchie hummed quietly, mewling as he also heard your voice - Slowly the man stood, pacing over to stand behind you two, hands moving to snake around your torso. His fingers were rougher than Butchers, callouses and scars blooming over his hands; Each one told a story of course, all the cuts and bruises left with the aftertaste of copper, licking his own wounds. Frenchie let his lips dip down towards your neck, hands gently squeezing your hips with a soft hitch of his breath. His tongue slid over your skin with a pleased groan, deep and slow, a predator giving the prey a taste of what was truly to come. His teeth bit down, his fingers tightening slight on your skin; A snake constricting around a mouse while the lion below you sat and watched - You felt helpless, breathless, though Frenchie couldn't help but chuckle sardonically into your flesh, beside your ear as he whispered quietly.

"Petite souris," His breath was hot, teeth grazing over the shell of your ear, his hands moving to grip the hem of your shirt, pulling up slightly with a wry chuckle. "Don't hide from us."

As Frenchie pulled the shirt away, the men both took in a slow gasp. Both of their sets of hands paused on your body simultaneously - You was a sight to behold. Butcher's eyes softened, hand sliding up from your stomach to your chest. He slid his palm over the soft skin that now pulsed with your erratic heart, eyes not leaving you as his lips parted to speak.

"You're fucking perfect." Butcher didn't just utter the words in a sultry whisper for you to hear; It was akin to a prayer, something pulled from his mind and forced to speak - Is this what religion felt like? To gaze upon someone and feel the heart pounding, head spinning way he did now? You squirmed above Butcher, biting your lower lip slightly upon hearing the praise, the air of the room peaking your nipples slightly.

Frenchie's hands explored lower, lips pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as his fingers caught the belt loops of your jeans, tugging a bit. Greedy, he was; Yet every fiber of his being cried out to have his skin pressed against not just yours, but Butcher's as well. It truly was heavenly, how you three seemed to melt into one another with no refute or hesitation - One of Frenchie's hands slid up your chest as well, moving over your throat and to your jaw, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. His expression was gentler than before, the underlying darkness fizzling away like a fire in a storm. Frenchie leaned in slowly, lips pressing to yours with a pleased hum, bordering on a whimper.

You leaned into the others warm touches, gasping slightly as you lifted your hands to cup Frenchie's face with a corresponding fervor. He purred into the gentle kiss, free hand still on your jeans as he let himself melt into the feeling of your back pressed against him. He tilted his face, hot breath and tongue working in waves over your lower lip before letting his teeth gently tug on it - It was soft, yet a silent reminder. He didn't have to speak for you to feel how he admired you, how he did not just see you as sexy, but perfect. Ethereal how your body felt underneath his hands, how your soft groans gently reverberated against his lips, only making him hunger for more.

Butcher watched you two, leaning back from you to take in the sight with a low hum - His hands though, were not as kind as he seemed to be, looking at you and Frenchie with nothing but sheer adoration. Yet how his large palms now kneaded your skin, his fingers reaching lower - Lower; You could swear you could feel your heart slamming against your ribs as his index finger pushed past your waist band. A primal rumbling moan etched through his throat, his expression creasing upon feeling the shift of heat from the simple motion alone. As the groan pushed into the obscene hazy air, he leaned back more, now pressing his stiff clothed cock against you - It wasn't intentional, how he rocked against your body with fleeting desperation and filthy carnal desire; Yet his head tilted back, cursing in a deep whisper to himself - The exact opposite of a prayer, he thought. How his mind seemed to race with images of you presenting yourself to him, breathing hard and eyebrows furrowed, sweat glazing his face.

"Fucck - That's it love, just like that," Butcher kept you pulled down to his lap with fingers hooked tight on your waistband, still rocking with low contented sighs, his eyebrows knitting together slightly.

”That's it, doll.”

Frenchie’s voice was hot against your lips, eyebrows furrowing as his tongue pressed to yours - It was euphoric, the heavy breathing causing the French man’s head to spin. His hands moved down from your jaw, his large hand clasping over your throat, squeezing in the sides with a slow progression. He could feel your rushing blood underneath his rough fingers, and he bared a smile into the kiss, pulling away slowly with the tilt of his sharp jaw. He chuckled darkly, the sound contrasting his quiet whimpers and praise.

”Diable doux; You’re not as innocent as you look, hm?" A brief, tight squeeze came to your throat. Frenchie grinned wickedly at this, the feeling of power, how you gave a sharp gasp before he released it. He kept his large hand loosely around your neck as he gave a wry wink towards Butcher. Another strange silent agreement, one that didn’t need words - Perhaps it never did. Butcher moved quickly, strong arms tucking themselves underneath your shoulders, standing to his feet with a low grunt, exhaling sharply. He turned you in his grasp like a ragdoll, snickering quietly at the notion of how suprised you were; One of his arms now supported underneath your knees, the other holding your back - Bridal style.

“You wanna see what happens to a tease like you?”

Butcher didn’t even give you a second glance after asking, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth with a slight shake of his head. The two men walked together in sync, Frenchies hand extending towards your face, brushing the whisps of hair from your face.

The door to the rickety guest room opened with a harsh creak, slamming into the wall beside it before you were tossed onto the springy mattress. Butcher panted hard, large shoulders rising and falling as he stood at the foot of the bed beside Frenchie; A beat meets you all. A moment of silent clarity, the lustful clouds seeming to fade as Butcher parted his lips, looking down at you with a hungry expression.

“Just give us the word, yeah?” You took a slow breath, propped up on your shoulder as your pulse thickening in your ears, temples ringing with the unfamiliar thrill of being so easily tossed around despite your strength. You swallowed, eyes moving between the two before speaking with a slight nod.

"Yes.. Show me,"

This was all Butcher needed - Just the slight nudge that you were willing to give him was enough, more than enough. He moved quickly, large hands essentially ripping the loose jeans from your waist. He wanted to tease, to play the dancing game of making you beg for it - Yet he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. Butcher’s large fingers moved to rub over your underwear, sliding down your thigh; Of course, he could still tease through his teeth gritting need for pleasure. Frenchie had pulled his shirt over his head, his muscular arms flexing, coated, and painted in scars and fading stick and poke tattoos. He stretched his arms over his head, neck cracking as he leaned it back and forth. The French man gave a pleased purr from this, sighing between his teeth as he watched Butcher kneel at the foot of the bed. He had hooked his arms under your legs, pulling them effortlessly to tuck over his large shoulders. Butcher gave a quiet shudder from this alone, his fingers tracing down the fabric of your underwear; He could see you twitch just from this, prying a smile to pierce his intent gaze. His index finger drew towards your growing heat, letting the textured pad press over the hardened space between your quivering legs. He slowly moved, tantalizingly taking in your slight reactions to the shifting weight of his finger against your sensitive clit; He drank down your reactions with a low satisfied hum, chuckling darkly with a throaty tone, more like a growl than anything else.

“Wonder how wet they are just from sitting on my cock, hm?” Butcher let his gaze lazily move towards Frenchie, who now moved to get on the springy bed, wearing his boxers and striped ankle socks. He wet his lips, peering down at you, his large fingers weaving through your hair - The motion was loving, contrasting how Butcher now used his other hand to gently press at your clothed entrance. To say it was warm would be offensive; It was searing, the cotton damp, your arousal seeping through the fabric as Butcher tutted.

“Oh - Baby; You really need it bad, don’t you?” The brit’s tone was playful, just mocking enough for Frenchie to join in on the soft teasing.

“Poor thing, sweet little devil,” The man continued to slip his fingers through your hair, brushing it away from your face before letting his digits tangle in the wefts - He tugged gently, biting his lip as he used one of his hands to pin down your shoulders. Butcher leaned in, his rough palms sweeping down your thighs as he let his lips push onto your soft clit, his tongue darting out just enough to soak the space of fabric. His tongue was smooth, working over the spot with deep breaths; He couldn’t even taste you yet, but you knew that Butcher was yours. The man's fingers tightened around your legs, keeping them tucked over his shoulders as he felt you begin to buck into his movements.

Your underwear was stripped quickly down your legs, Butcher keeping his eyes on your body - The prospect of more and more flesh being revealed to him was enough to make one of his hands drop to his still aching cock, demanding his attention as the underwearfell to the ground. Butcher leaned in as he palmed himself, lips and facial hair sliding over your thighs as he shuddered, taking in the sight of your exposed body. He messily undid his belt as he let his teeth gently sink into your skin, groaning at the soft warmth. You gasped in turn, eyes swimming up to meet Frenchie's, a nearly sheepish expression tracing your face. Butcher's free hand moved to your clit, gently pulling the hood back before rolling his tongue over the sensitive nub. He took in a slow breath, savoring the taste and feeling of you in his mouth as his fingers now gripped his own cock, moaning into your heat. As much as the man wanted to hold back for your sake, he found it impossible, his mouth sinking over your dripping cunt with a low growl - Like a starved animal devouring a meal. The vibrations of his rumbling sounds gently reverberated against your clit, his tongue working in slow circles around it as his thick fingers came to rub against your entrance. The feeling of how wet you had become made him almost smug with pleasure, chuckling quietly to himself as his middle finger slowly began to sink in. It wasn't anywhere near the width of your own - It stretched you deliciously, the small bend of the digit pulling upwards into your cunt, coaxing any moans and sharp gasps he could from you. Your fingertips tingled, biting your lip harshly as the sensation of Butcher's smooth tongue contrasted to the rough tickle of his facial hair. You gave a quiet gasp as he sunk into you, his finger reaching the depths you were never able to by yourself, rocking slowly back and forth now. Frenchie watched wickedly, one hand moving to intertwine his fingers with yours, how he had done on the couch only an hour or so prior. His voice came in a slow purring wave, still using his other hand to string through your hair.

"That's it, Mon cher."

Butcher pressed his face hungrily to your cunt, now using his mouth more feverently, thick fingers still rolling in and out with obscene noises. His beard beaded with your arousal, his heavy lidded eyes sweeping up to catch your gaze. His eyes were soft, yet completely and entirely sure of what he wanted. Upon seeing you, Butcher didn’t slow down; in fact, he bent his finger ever so slowly, moaning at the feeling of your heat clenching obscenely around his digit. As he drew his soaked finger from you, he pulled it to his mouth, dragging it over his tongue, coating his middle finger with a dripping mix of saliva and your arousal. He pressed both of them to the other, beads of slick tangled in his beard, as he breathed raggedly - He wasn't finished; in truth, he had hardly even begun. Butcher rocked his own hips into his hand, taking in slow, drawn-out gasps as he slid his fingers in slowly. He took his time, drinking down your shifting expressions and soft moans, only propelling his need to make you his. Entirely, and absolutely. His fingers were thick, curving at the second knuckle, pressing his fingertips against your searing slick walls with a shuddered groan.

“Fuck, baby - Look at the mess you’re making,”

It was true; Your glossy arousal dripped down towards Butcher’s wrist now, his sweater sleeve rolled over his muscular arms, veins bulging as he rocked his fingers in and out of you. He enjoyed this, reveled in this feeling of watching you shake around him, legs trembling as he chuckled quietly - This would be fun. Your breathing quickened, hands desperately grabbing at any stability nearby with a tight grasp.

Frenchie was gentle with his movements as he held your flushed face now. He didn’t mind the harsh clenching of your fist now on his leg in the slightest; Perhaps you could feel just how much that power made him ache for you so hungrily. As your face became level with Frenchie’s thighs, boxers leaving little to the imagination, Butcher had taken ahold of your waist. It seemed both men were finished playing games. As you were now on all fours before the two, Butcher’s hand slowly extended, large palm meeting the small of your back and pressing down ever so slowly. Just enough until he was satisfied with the arch - Perfect to use you, Butcher’s hands on your waist as he forces you back into his hips; His mind raced nearly as fast as his heart did. As he lifted his hand, he gave a short sigh before letting it hit crack down against your ass. The sound the contact made was delicious, but the sound you made was something otherworldly entirely. He gave your soft skin a squeeze, soothing the now raising hand print with a satisfied bite of his bottom lip - He couldn’t fall off track, though. He needed this. Butcher’s hands grasped at your thighs as he returned his tongue back to your clit, taking it into his mouth greedily.

Frenchie strung his fingers through your hair as he watched the clashing mix of pleasure and pain seem to cause an onslaught of different expressions. He let a slow pleased purr leave him as he cocked his head, looking down at you. Frenchie had always looked at you with warmth, even when watching Butcher overstimulate you - Yet now, it was something else. No smile, full lips parted as he pulled in ragged breaths, as if the sight of you alone, so close to him, was enough to take his breath entirely.

“Let me show you, souris.”

He spoke as he drew one of his large hands from your hair, moving to slide over his boxers, the friction causing his hips to hitch forward - He was desperate, yet seemed to think he hid it well. He didn’t. The stain of precum on the fabric was evidence enough. You breathed hard, gasps and soft yelps passing your parted lips as you kept the contact of Frenchie's pointed gaze. Butcher was ravenous, your thighs shaking and beading with sweat as your body ground against the man's tongue desperately.

"B-Butcher... Oh fuck," You managed to gasp out of the words as your eyes squeezed shut, Butcher's tongue lashing at your clit feverently. Upon hearing Butcher's name uttered in such a desperate whimper made the man sing; He hummed, a sound emanating from the back of his throat, pushed up from his chest in a deep pleased purr. His fingers continued the motion, not wanting to push the you too hard, but still keeping a consistent pace - Just enough to make you squirm, just enough to make your knees shake. Butcher's tongue continued, unwavering as he matched the pace of his fingers; He was cruel, to say the least, yet the mewls and passing whimpers he managed to pull from you, only egged him on.

"I know, I know,"

Frenchie smiled sadistically down towards you, thumb stringing through your hair with a quiet hum. It was almost mocking, his words comforting yet laced with a teasingly playful chuckle. It was sweet watching you writhe like this - It reminded him of himself the first time with Butcher. He couldn't wait to see your reaction to be taken so ruthlessly. The thought made him twitch, arching his back almost instinctively as he kept his dim eyes on you, speaking quietly.

"You make so much noise, huh? Let's fix that,"

Frenchie sighed quietly, other hand moving to wrap over the base of his cock - He looked down at you for a moment, hand slowly moving over his length with hazy eyes; He had thought countless times about this, looking down at you on your knees with a flustered expression, tentatively using your mouth and listening to Frenchie's orders. He could see the hunger to please, down deep in your now teary eyes; Frenchie moved your head downwards, silently guiding you with a bite of his bottom lip. He exhaled sharply as your lips met the sensitive tip of his cock, beading with glossy precum - As much as he wanted to force himself into the your mouth, he held back. He enjoyed the slow movements, gentle caresses and hitching breaths, even as you trembled with flushed cheeks, clearly reaching a level of intense desperation.

"Start slow, open that pretty mouth,"

As Frenchie spoke, his hand slid from your hair, down to your jaw. He clutched it firmly, yet his thumb moved gently over your cheekbone, working towards your bottom lip. He rolled the pad of his thumb over the gathering drool on your lips, a silent request to enter - As you complied, Frenchie's thumb slid into your mouth, slowly rolling over your tongue with a shuddered exhale. You could never know just how badly he needed this. You moved slowly, still dazed, your eyes glossy as you looked up to Frenchie, and when your lips finally met the man's cock you felt the heavy veil of euphoria roll over your shoulders, the need to please, to obey. As you opened your mouth, your hot breath rose goosebumps on Frenchie's neck, who now took short sharp inhales, only able to focus on the feeling of you. You were so close, and as your tongue began to gently press against the base of him, he couldn't help but let a whimper surpass his lips. With that sound, you sunk slowly around him, tongue slowly guiding his twitching cock deeper into your velvety mouth.

Frenchie sucked his teeth, hissing a sharp breath - Despite the harsh noise his fingers still threaded through your hair gently. He wouldn't push you, he knew this feeling would just get more electric, gradually teased by your movements. His cock pulsed at the motion, a glaze of sweat already glinting at his temples, eyes rolling back to slide shut in euphoric anticipation. He couldn't get too excited, taking in the sight of you was too much at once, instead just allowing the feeling of your soft tongue to numb his senses. His fingers shook in your hair, thighs twitching as he bit back to urge to stutter his hips forward into the welcoming heat of your mouth.

"Oui..."

Butcher continued the assault on your exposed body, tongue messily lapping at your clit, swallowing down anything you were willing to give with a greed of a starved animal. His cock was aching at the feeling of you around his fingers, the resistance fighting against his quickening thrusts as he moaned quietly. The sound alone was obscene, flesh against flesh, shuddering gasps and growing moans escalating as the seconds passed by at a mind spinning rate. Butcher slowly drew his fingers and mouth away, working at his cock with his palm, now soaked in your arousal. Butcher slid his tongue over and between his fingers, refusing to let any go to waste as he lined up his thick cock to your desperate entrance.

"I won't lie to you," Butcher murmured the words, the tip of his cock slipping over your sensitive clit, teasing your entrance with a pleased hum. "It's gonna be a tight fuckin' fit."

There wasn't a beat missed, the slow burning sensation of being stretched open grasping wrecklessly at your senses, the electric basis of it forcing Butcher's body to crave more. He sunk in slowly, a growl reverberating from his chest in a deep wave of pleasure; You were a vice around him, only halfway inside you and Butcher's head was filled with the sound of his rushing heartbeat, biting his lower lip harshly.

"That's right, love - Doing so fucking good for us,"

You felt the warmth of Frenchie's cock invade your mouth, his hips twitching with restraint. Your throat began to tense against the intrusion, the sensation of forbidden pleasure flooded your veins; You wanted to believe it was the weed, the way your movements slowed as you now felt your own hips rocking, the sound of Butcher's voice a lush cacoon, coddling your sweat glazed frame with calloused hands. You felt the tip of his cock tease your swollen clit, the promise of a tight fit making your body quiver. The first thrust was a shockwave, pulsing through your body - He was telling the truth. You moaned loudly, a guttural sound that was cut off by Frenchie's cock hitching at the sudden vibration. The sensation was overwhelming, yet both men groaning in unison was a symphony. Your body lit ablaze, firing off soft gasps and muffled yelps. Butcher's low growl and praise sent waves of head spinning need through your body, your pussy greedily taking all he had to offer, grinding yourself against his thighs.

"Someone's eager, aye?"

Butcher chuckled darkly, letting the sound fall into a deep groan. The sounds of your hips rocking against Butcher's thrusts filled the room, the wet slapping of skin against skin accentuating the symphony of your shared pleasure - You let out a muffled whimper, your mouth full of Frenchie's cock, your throat working to accommodate the imposing length of him. You could feel Butcher's cock pulsing inside of you, each merciless thrust sending shivers up your spine. The combination of Frenchie in your mouth and Butcher inside you was a crescendo of sensation, your body a willing instrument in the orchestra of lust. The growls and groans of the men filled the room, the raw carnality of it all pushing you closer to the edge. As Butcher's pace increased, you felt the spasms of your senses roll waves of electric heat over your body. Your thighs twitched, the praise from Butcher, like a whip, lured you to do more, to be more. You focused on taking Frenchie deeper, the vibrations from your moans a delicious torment to him. You could feel your orgasm building, a storm crashing in your foggy mind. The heady mix of being filled by two men, one in your mouth, the other in your pussy, was a testament to your skill, a siren's song that would leave the men wrapped around your finger. The idea was mouthwatering.

Sweat glistened on your skin, your body shaking with the onslaught of pleasure. The realization of being shared between the two men, the thought of their pleasure being at the mercy of your body, sent you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, the strained sound muffled by Frenchie's now throbing cock, your heat clenching tightly around Butcher. Your orgasm pulsed through you, a tide of pleasure that threatened to drown you, pull you under with the two men that infected your mind.

"F-fuck," Frenchie's voice was practically trembling. "I'm so close

The sight of you moaning around Frenchie, your body quaking with orgasmic bliss, was enough to send Butcher over the edge alone. The taste of him was intoxicating, his hips stuttering up into your welcoming hot mouth, whispering under his breath as he focused on the feeling of your tongue. His chest rose and fell, taking in ragged breaths that began to speed up, desperate to release himself down your throat, a heady potent mix of dominance and submission, fighting to please. Frenchie came with a soft whimper, eyebrows knitting together tightly as he filled your mouth, spilling over your lips in a messy thrust. Butcher's hips began to buck, thrusts unsteady and punctuated, cock tensing and pulsating inside you as you swallowed all Frenchie could give. Tears of overstimulation peaked at his lashes, gazing at you holding him in your mouth as Butcher pounded slammed into you, his hold on your waist tight as he came, his cum flooding your quivering pussy. The pulsing of your walls around him like an insatiable vice, the near instant feeling of release a cathartic relief.

You laid there for a beat, body still trembling, the taste of Frenchie lingering on your tongue, Butcher's hot cum dripping down your thighs. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, sex, the sound of all three of you collectively catching your breaths. Butcher was the first to move, to break the hazey moment as he drew away from you with a soft grunt. You rested your head against Frenchie’s stomach, legs shaking and nearly collapsing as Butcher released his grip from you. For a moment, you feared Butcher would simply leave - Though slowly, he eased down onto the creaky mattress beside you. His large hand rose slowly, brushing the ruffled hair from your face. The the two men lay on either side of you, their hands lightly stroking your skin and hair as you all relished in the high of your shared orgasm.

"One hell of a team building exercise." Butcher muttered softly, his low voice rumbling as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your hair.

"Well done, mon cher."

#bowies fics #billy butcher #frenchie #billy butcher x reader #frenchie x reader #billy butcher x frenchie x reader #butcher x reader #the boys x reader #serge x reader #billy butcher/reader #the boys #the boys season 4 #the boys fanfiction #x reader #the boys imagine #billy butcher imagine #frenchie imagine

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bettyfrommars · 6 months

Text

the corner of Heartache & Jameson

18+only, cemetery meet cute, talk of grief and death, allusions to depression and alcohol consumption. Eddie is grieving and so is reader.

wc: 706

You hug yourself against the brisk, icy wind, flexing the collar of your coat up to cover your ears as you stand in the cemetery staring with wet eyes at the headstone in front of you.

“Sometimes I hate you for this, you know?” You scowl and shuffle your feet. “For dying on me like you did, for leaving me alone here in this shitty world. It’s not fair.”

Your grandmother’s name is spelled out on the cement slab, and there are fresh poinsettias just below it that will soon suffocate under the freshly fallen snow. The sun is down and darkness crowds in around you, as if stumbling over shafts of light in its eagerness to be by your side. You don’t avoid them like others might; you let them curl into you like stray cats and make a home.

You silently dare the gathering shadows to do with you what they will.

You sniff back a sob and wipe tears from your eyes with angry yanks across your cheeks. “I came to say I love you and I miss you and I wish you were here. I don’t have anyone to spend the holidays with so—-”

Footsteps crunch in the snow and you hear a lighter flick.

You look up to see the small flame from a few yards away, and then, a face.

“Did I scare you?” A man's voice asks, lit cigarette bobbing between his lips.

He sucks in a drag, and you scoff at whoever it is, irritated that he would dare to interrupt your therapeutic, sulking rant to your dead grandmother at her grave.

“Quite presumptuous of you to think you’d have any effect on me,” you bite, wrapping your arms around your ribcage tighter, feeling for the pepper spray in your coat pocket, just in case.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. He lowers the cigarette, and you can only see his silhouette against the falling snow. “I’m just not used to bumping into people out here this time of night.”

“You hang out in the cemetery a lot? How hardcore of you.” Your tone is mocking, you want him to leave. You wish to be alone with your misery and the several travel-size bottles of Jameson.

“These past few months, yeah,” he admits with a shrug. You can see the outline of his hand and the bright cherry glow on his smoke. “Since my uncle passed. He’s right over there.”

He sticks his elbow out to the right, in a general direction. As if he can’t look, as if it’s still too hard.

“He raised me,” he offers, as if to accentuate the point that the man had not been just any uncle. “So, I like to come here and get sad, too, you know?”

You relax your hand on the pepper spray. You relax your jaw too, and for a brief second, you hope that he is the grim reaper coming to take you away from this earthly hell.

He takes a tentative step closer, and in the dim glow of the moonlight, you can finally see the gentle curves of his face. “Names Eddie,” he shoves one hand into the front pocket of his jeans and flicks ash from his smoke with the other. Other than ripped jeans and sneakers, he only has on a threadbare concert tee and a thin leather jacket.

You don’t tell him your name because you’re not sure if you want to know anyone anymore. Being alone is better, being alone is safe.

But you can’t help but notice: “Are you cold?”

He snorts a laugh. “I kinda am, yeah. I didn’t really expect to come out here. It just…happened.”

You understood the compulsion. You’d driven to the cemetery in your pajamas once in a fit of grief.

You felt in your other pocket for the tiny bottles of alcohol and rolled them around in your fingers so that they sounded like crashing marbles. You held one up to him by the glass neck. “You want to come back to my car and get warm? Be sad together?”

“Well, it is the holidays,” he tried not to smile but couldn’t help the grin that crept up one side of his face like the Grinch with an idea. “Sucks to be alone this time of year.”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson blurb #grief #loss #heartache

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greatstormcat · 8 months

Text

Numbness

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x gn!reader

TW: MDNI 18+, depression, suicidal thoughts, implied self harm, blood

Author’s note: Please seek help if you need it, never suffer in silence

It happened to everyone at some point, the voices in your head would start to spiral, images of deeds and their consequences playing behind your eyes like a slideshow of death and destruction. Blood and fire a constant background to everything you did, thought, heard, tasted. Food became ash and dust in your mouth, not worth the effort to eat, so you did so less and less. You’ve heard older soldiers complain that it gets harder to drown your demons with time, that they learn to swim. The monsters in your head are beginning to win, take over and drown you instead it seems.

You’d taken to spending your downtime alone, it helped with avoiding questions from the rest of the team. In truth though, you found their banter and efforts to cheer you up like walking on glass shards. There was no energy to spare anymore, to let you put on a facade of enjoying the drinking and chatter.

Everything about you felt hollow, fake, dead, not quite human. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d actually felt anything. You wanted to feel something and cut through this numbness, like you were existing under a sheet of ice. You hadn’t even been able to shed a tear for yourself or anyone else since this ice bored into you.

All this brought you to the present, a crossroads in time and right now the grim reaper stood in front of you. Or someone who looked a lot like him anyway. Your skull masked Lieutenant had found you after you’d been avoiding him for weeks. He was too observant, to switched on to the signs of fatigue and stress you were showing more everyday. Everytime he looked at you it was like being pinned under a microscope and your every thought and feeling was flayed open to his gaze. You hated it, hated being perceived like this, by him.

The towering dark specter stood, arms folded as he watched you, shoulder hunched as he leant against the bathroom wall where he had cornered you. You held a combat knife in your hand, twisting the handle so the dim light above caught the blade.

“What were you planning on doing with that?” he asked without preamble, tone low and carefully even.

“Couldn’t say, sir,” you answer, hearing the flatness of your own voice, knowing he heard it too.

“You need to talk to someone,” again, straight to the point, no fluffiness or fake friendship from Ghost.

“I’ll go to medical in the morning, sir. Promise,” you lie, almost believing your own words that you’ve used over and over again. You push away from the wall, done with this conversation, totally unbothered by the concern of your Lieutenant as you go to move past him to the bathroom door.

Ghost takes the knife in one hand, your arm in the other and twists it. You move to try and counter the grab but you’re too slow, too unsteady and he knows it. You end up turning away from him, as he intended, and you are suddenly facing the mirror with your back to his chest. He has the knife held in front of your face, and his other arm snakes around your middle to brace you against him. The warmth of his body bleeds into you, making you more aware of your own physical body than you have in a long time. The sensation of another human touching you, supporting your weight feels alien.

There’s a surreal moment where your eyes meet his in the mirror, shock on your features and no expression on the cold, skeletal plate he wears. You suddenly are staring into the eyes of Death himself. Ghost moves the knife closer to your face, his eyes watching you as you stare at the blade closing in slowly.

“Is this what you want?” he asks so quietly you aren’t sure he even spoke the words or you thought them. The tip of the knife slides slowly along your jaw, the cold steel making an almost musical sound as it rasps over your skin. “You could move right now, make the cut yourself,” he continues, his hand steady as he traces the blade down under your chin and across the delicate skin of your throat, pressing the flat of the blade down.

You press back harder against his chest as you feel him apply a tiny extra amount of pressure to the blade, and an indentation presses into your skin.

“Answer the question,” he rasps, words as sharp as the knife he presses against your neck. “Is this what you want?”

Your mouth is so dry you cannot move your tongue, but your mind is crystal clear for the first time in weeks, maybe months.

“No,” you mouth soundlessly, dragging your eyes from the silvery blade up to his eyes behind the impassive skull plate of his mask.

“You sure about that?” He asks as he tips the blade slightly, the edge bites in and a tiny bead of blood wells up, bright scarlet against the shining metal. You feel your body want to tremble, but you force your muscles to stay still, to be as steady as Ghost’s hand is right now as he holds certain death against your throat.

“I’m sure,” you croak, trying not to move as you speak. You stare into his reflected gaze avoiding the sight of your own blood on your knife. You let him stare into your soul, the very thing you’ve been avoiding, letting him see the fear and hurt in your eyes. The vulnerability you expose to him cracks something inside you and tears build suddenly, burning your eyes and stealing your vision.

There’s a clang as the knife hits the deck and you are suddenly weeping, great heaving sobs that wrack your entire body as you feel the pain and despair you had sealed away. Ghost holds you, speaks to you calmly, no longer the bringer of your destruction, but of understanding, empathy and forgiveness. You cling on to him as you break and fracture, raw emotions spilling out in place of what would have been, until you are left raw and empty, breathing harshly against his shoulder.

“Let’s get you to medical,” he says, keeping his arm around your shoulders and walking you back out into the light.

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flowerbetweenfangs · 17 days

Text

Of A Feather

M!Harpy x F!Human

This was an entry into a little contest. I went with a harpy plague doctor as my character. Some people liked it and that was enough for me.

When the village head informed me that he could not pay me in gold or goods, I was sympathetic. A bad harvest combined with a harsh winter had left them with little to spare. What little resources they had were used up to try and keep the remaining people healthy, at my behest.

While I had no intention of exploiting him, there was still the matter of payment. After all, services had been performed, supplies used, risks taken, and time spent.

If he couldn’t pay me with such things, what was left?

Favors and flesh.

I was taken to the man’s home, where a small gathering of people awaited me. They had obviously picked from the best looking and available people in the village. Hair combed and styled, attire perfectly coordinated to match skin and eye color, and subtle perfumes that did little to mask the stench of death that still clung to the doors.

Even in the dim light of the candles, I could tell they were dazzling.

The life of a plague doctor was a lonely one. Constantly traveling from town to town, potential suitors being scared off by the rumors that disease still clung to me, and many that I met died within the week. An omen of Death, bringer of the Reaper, harvester of Life. Titles that did not grant me land or wealth.

The lot in front of me showed a fear I was all too familiar with. Some cast their eyes downward, but it did little to hide it. A few dared to glare or even scowl when they thought I wasn’t looking.

I was about to depart, not wanting to further upset those still grieving, when the door opened.

A chill from the autumn night stirred the curtains and made the candles flicker. As shadows danced across the walls, I could hear a few muffled whimpers and whispers.

Labored breathing followed.

The woman at the doorway was still wearing the gowns of mourning, her hair tucked away under a scarf. Despite this, her eyes weren’t red and puffy.

In fact, she looked almost… Relieved to see me. She clutched a lantern, but I could see it shaking in her hand. For an instant, I feared she would drop it.

When I took a step toward her, there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She stared at my gloved hand, the fingers slightly limp.

As her lips parted, I expected a biting remark or curse thrown my way.

Instead, she tightened her grip on the lantern and set her jaw.

Standing up straight, she drew herself to her full height. The lantern shook in her grasp, the flame dancing and moving the shadows on the wall. While far from an intimidating stature, the boldness that rolled off her gave me pause.

Determination now gleamed in her gaze, the lamplight making it look almost like a hunter’s glint.

Tension rose in the room. Eyes flicked back and forth. The crowd cleared a path as she walked up to me, no hesitation in her step.

There was no need to ask who I was. The mask and robes left little doubt.

Without a word, she curtsied to me. She looked back at the villagers, as if daring them to try and stop her. No one said a thing. In fact, everyone seemed to be relieved at her presence. There was a glimmer of hope.

No one would have to choose a sacrifice to give to the boogeyman.

We left the home, the door slamming behind us.

I led the way, and she followed me to the outskirts. Not one person stopped to thank her or bid farewell. It suddenly made sense to me. They had wanted to be rid of her, and she of them. A few faces in windows twisted and contorted with disgust. Never with sorrow.

Like me, she was an outsider.

Once we reached the border, where the dirt road gave way to the sprawling beyond, I saw her hesitate. She stared over her shoulder, and for a moment I thought she would weep.

Clumsily, I reached into one of the pouches on my belt and produced a handkerchief. She stared at the square of fabric, and then began to laugh. Tears still welled, but I felt better knowing they weren’t from sorrow.

I found myself entranced with the emotion and expression. She quieted too soon, and we were once more on our way.

We walked in silence, and I was beginning to work out the terms of a contract and the conditions of my new companion’s stay.

She continued to look out of the corner of her eye at me, smirking when our gazes met. I didn’t pry into the details of her life, nor did she mine. Perhaps it would come in time, when she became accustomed to her new position.

When we arrived at my home, I allowed her inside and set up her accommodations. She explored the rooms and seemed satisfied. Rather than shrink away or cry out at the sight of my more macabre collections, she seemed intrigued.

It was far from luxurious, but she would be comfortable until we found a more long term solution. I also supplied her with books so we could begin her training proper. She took them, but seemed confused, raising a quizzical brow.

“We will start your studies tomorrow. By the end of the week, you should know what to expect moving forward.”

I bid her goodnight then went to my own room to draw up the contract of her stay.

An assistant would help relieve the burden of a few jobs, but I couldn’t afford to keep one for very long. My focus was purely on this new endeavor that I never removed my clothing to prepare for slumber.

I was perched at my desk, having scribbled out dozens of lines on my papers when I heard the bedroom door open. Living alone, I had never gotten into the habit of locking it.

She came into the room, wearing only her shift. It was threadbare, leaving little to the imagination. Her eyes flicked around the room, perplexed at my lack of a bed. The confusion didn’t last long and she approached the desk, standing behind the chair.

While both of us were about the same height standing, she nearly towered over me.

I turned to face her, and she leaned forward, putting her hands on the desk behind me. The bare flesh of her arms barely brushed against my robes. Even through the thick material I could feel their warmth. Breath fogged up the lenses of my mask, obscuring my vision.

It was then I realized while I had expected a repayment in the form of a favor, she had chosen flesh. Perhaps she assumed that doing so would end her stay with me sooner and she could flee back to her village, or wherever she decided, after.

Slowly, I lifted up my glove and pressed the back of it to her lips as I waited for the fog on my mask to dissipate.

Her eyes became lidded as I felt the pressure of her lips against the leather. With an intentionally gradual pace, she brought them further down, where the glove went under my sleeve.

She seemed perplexed at the material going so far up, but I could still feel her warm breath rolling down my arm. I was statue still as it flowed to my chest and heart.

Blood sang in my veins as desire long buried began to claw its way from the grave.

I retracted my hand from her. Her fingers twitched, curling on empty air. Slowly, she stepped away, eyes averting apologetically. Lips moved, tongue flitting nervously as she prepared to speak.

Instead, I put my gloves on either side of my mask.

Without waiting for a request for assistance, she slipped it off.

I expected her to recoil in horror, or to flinch. But she only stared, eyes hungrily taking in the details of my face. While I was certainly far from a beauty, she clearly expected something more grotesque or marred. Her gaze seemed to focus on my hair, the long plumes that caught the light in a strange way, the way it frayed out.

I stood up, expecting her to take a step back. Instead, she was resolute, not moving from her spot in front of me.

My gloves found her hand. I could feel it shaking. She laced her fingers with mine, breath still tickling my lips.

Gingerly, she set the mask down with her free hand. Dexterous fingers worked open my robes, running softly over the pebbled skin. Inhaling sharply, I flinched away reflexively as the shed material fell to the floor, leaving me in only my breeches and boots.

While I possessed the same flesh as her on my head and torso, black feathers began to dot and eventually cover my arms, giving way to wings stuffed inside gloves. They too fell to the floor, no longer being held in place by sleeves.

I could see her eyes going lower, wondering what lay beyond the clothing. Ironically, the one part of my outer clothing that resembled a bird masked my human features.

Then, she finally hesitated. Blinking, she traced over my shoulders and ran fingers down my bicep, stopping where flesh ended. The slightest edge of her nails made my feathers ruffle. A few formed a black ring around my boots.

I could see the worry in her eyes. An unspoken question.

What are you?

I made no move to pull her closer. Nor did I push her away. Neither of us spoke, not wanting to frighten the other.

When she stepped back, I could feel a pang in my heart. The small space now between us cut through me like an icy blade.

She grabbed her shift’s hem. Pulling it over her head, she let it join my feather’s on the floor. Despite all the heat coming from her touch, nipples were erect, skin covered in gooseflesh. I found myself closing the gap, letting our bodies share the warmth between them.

Soft lips pressed against mine, arms encircling my waist. Legs wrapped around, bare flesh of thighs and calves rubbing against breeches and boots. My touch feather light, I followed every curve and crevice of her skin, unable to fully embrace and grasp her like she did to me.

As I traveled downward, I could feel her breath catch against my neck, fingers digging into my back. I lacked the dexterity she did, but I could feel the trickling folds between her legs. Since I didn’t possess fingers, I moved my human mouth down and parted her thighs.

The clothing we’d shed formed a slight cushion as she sat, hands tangled in my hair. I could feel her fingers exploring as my tongue plunged in and out of her. Each quiver and shake brushed against my feathers, the sensation only seeming to add to her enjoyment.

Ankles locked between my shoulders, pulling me more into her. I increased my efforts, hooking her legs in the crook of my elbow. The gasps and moans became cries and screams of ecstasy, begging for more.

The fingers in my hair formed a fist. My lips pressed to hers, groans and growls escaping me in a carnal language we both knew all too well, my tongue exploring as hers called out for more.

When she finally loosened her grip, I shifted. Breeches brushed against her soaking folds, betraying the hardness within. Shaking legs spread wider. In the moonlight, I could see her shimmering wetness. Shallow breaths betrayed her ache. The need to be filled.

With some difficulty, I molted the last bit of my clothing. My boots clomped noisily on the floor. My breeches had barely slipped down my thighs when she managed to get up, her whole body shaking with the effort.

Once more, she leaned over, hands resting on the ground behind me. Straddling me, she lowered herself down.

The warm and wet gripped me tightly, and I could see her spread across the girth, before vanishing behind my feathers. She tossed back her head at that, breath catching as she took a moment to recover, before starting again. I met her with each movement, once more devolving into the ancient language.

However, she seemed to have had enough of it, and her lips covered mine. Her tongue explored, no doubt tasting herself. This only seemed to invigorate her further, moans and whimpers rumbling through the both of us. Even muffled, the sounds rattled me to my core.

I wrapped my wings around her, not wanting a feather’s width of space between us. I wanted this to last. But I was dancing so close to the edge already.

My taloned feet traced over her calves. The sharp tips must have lightly scratched her, because she stared at me, finally parting our kiss. Trembling legs gave out then, and she collapsed on top of me, labored breaths telling me she was at the brink herself.

Despite the hesitation, she gave me a nod to continue.

They gripped her ankles tightly, locking her in place. Taking her under my wings, I let her rest against me as I rolled my hips. Each thrust was punctuated with a sigh or a moan. The slow pace drew out each motion.

Soon, I could feel her trying to wriggle down onto me, begging me to fill her faster. A few times I gave in, remaining inside her, only to draw back out again. She would bite her lips, scratching at the floor. The request was loud, despite a word not being spoken.

Each breath and sigh further fanned the heat inside me. My motions were rough and out of practice, but she craved it all the same.

Finally, I hilted and held her fast, feeling the flame of passion sputter out. She twitched around me, soft sighs telling me she could feel each drop inside her. It spilled out onto my stomach and hips, my grip finally loosening.

We stayed entangled, clothes and feathers scattered around us. I managed to get my robes and drape them over her. The shivering eventually ceased, and she laid against my chest, hand resting on my shoulder. Slowly, her eyes closed and I could feel the soft breathing of slumber.

The lenses of my mask gleamed in the candlelight, watching over the two of us.

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