Argyle Saying “got Me Stressed Out Its Not Even My Girlfriend” Was The Funniest Line For Me This

nina cried power ; frenchie.

track one of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; frenchie x gn!reader

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

words ; 1.9k

themes ; angst, fluff, mild action

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

main masterlist.

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

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

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

You still couldn’t really remember what happened. 

Supes… there were supes there. One moment you were helping M.M. reload his gun, and the next, half a dozen quills were sticking out of your abdomen, dripping with strange green liquid you’d come to learn was venom. You were going to die, weren’t you?

Frenchie had screamed your name—you couldn’t remember the last time he called you that. See, he always referred to you with endearing french nicknames that you really didn’t care for (lies, you were quite fond of his silly little pet names). You, however, called him an asshole. Sometimes affectionate, and most of the time, you really meant it.

But not this time.

Instead, you glanced at him with mild confusion, before looking down at your stomach, then back up at him. “Frenchie…?” you asked quietly, before collapsing to the ground.

The car ride back to base was painful. Butcher drove like a madman, and Hughie was sweating bullets in the passenger seat, constantly glancing back at you writhing in the backseats. Frenchie had situated you so your head was in his lap as he crooned reassurances that you couldn’t even hear.

God, everything was so dark. So loud. You wanted to claw at Frenchie’s arms and tell him that you hated him. Or that you loved him. Either would work. Damn it, the venom was messing with your mind. 

And that’s how you ended up with Frenchie’s shirt shoved between your teeth as you screamed bloody murder, calling him a bastard as he dug his fingers into the sloppy mess that was your stomach, muttering apologies over and over and over again.

“STOP!” you wailed, kicking at his knee when the agony tore you apart, tears streaking lines through the dirt on your cheeks. “You fuck—fucking asshole!”

He didn’t stop. 

If he did, you’d die. You weren’t a Supe, no matter how tough you presented yourself to be. Ironically enough, your utility belt clipped around your waist was shoved lower so he could work on your wounds, various sharp blades pressing dangerously against your back.

You had passed out from the pain at one point, going limp in his hold, which sent him into another frenzy. He snapped at Butcher with a fiery rage he’d never shown him before when the man offered to give you some temp V to speed up your healing. 

It took hours until he was done. You’d lost a lot of blood, but he managed to staunch it enough—it was messy, but it’d do. The red slick still left a part-sticky, part-dried residue over the skin of his hands, but he didn’t bother to wash it off. He refused to leave your side. So there he sat, shirtless and filthy, pressing kisses to the side of your sweaty head. It wasn’t often that he cried, but he cried for you. He didn’t even care that M.M. and Kimiko were sending him concerned glances. 

He just wanted you to be alright.

It was reassuring to see your chest rise and fall rhythmically. “Come back to me, mon chou. Come back.”

You woke up with a start. The first thing you registered was the thirst. Your throat was barren of any moisture, so you croaked out a raspy, garbled noise, barely loud enough to alert Frenchie who had passed out with his head propped on your shoulder. 

He sprang upwards, eyes flying wide open and lips parted as he cradled your face. The calluses of his fingers felt rough on your cheeks, and normally you would’ve grumbled at him, tell him to bugger off in true Butcher-like fashion, but all that came out was a quiet rumble of temporary relief.

“Wa… er,” you hacked out, grimacing at the scratchiness of your voice.

“I’ll get you water, ma puce, I’ll be right back,” he rushed to say, chapped lips coming forward to hastily slant over your forehead. “Don’t move.”

You had half the mind to chuckle at that. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

He disappeared through the door, and you suddenly felt cold without his presence. A tremor spidered up your spine. The pain in your abdomen was still there, now dulled to a faint throbbing. You realized that your bandages were far cleaner than when you had passed out, face clean and free of dirt.

A queer sort of sadness wrapped its dark palm over your heart. Frenchie took good care of you.

M.M. appeared by the doorway, wearing a mildly guilty expression.

“Hey,” he said, ambling closer. “How you feeling, kiddo?”

You lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. 

Gingerly rubbing the back of his head, M.M. whistled out a long exhale. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you’re hurt. And you saved my life. Thank you. Frenchie definitely gave me a mouthful when you were asleep.”

You allowed for a small grin to play at the corner of your lips. 

“He never left your side, you know,” M.M. mumbled. “He really cares about you. Loves you, even.”

After a considerably lengthy silence, you cracked open your mouth to hoarsely whisper out, “He’s an asshole.”

M.M. regarded you with a quirked brow. “And you aren’t? Come on. The two of you are perfect for each other.”

“He doesn’t love me,” you said in a small voice, staring at a particularly interesting spot on the floor. “He loves the idea of me, but not me.”

“What?”

The sound of that French accent by the door made your heart drop down to your stomach. Your eyes shot up to see Frenchie holding a glass of water, staring at you with an expression that so clearly read anguish.

M.M. pursed his lips awkwardly and sent you one last nod before doggedly bowing his head and striding out. Frenchie didn’t acknowledge him, gaze glued on you, shuffling forward and holding out the glass.

You made to take it from him, but he merely tutted, using his free hand to lift your chin and raise the cup to your lips. If you weren’t so desperately impatient, you would’ve protested. Just this one. This one time, you’d let him take care of you.

The water was heaven on your tongue. You gulped down so quickly that you nearly cried with relief, droplets falling from the corner of your mouth and meandering down your jaw. 

“Slowly, slowly, mon trésor,” he crooned, before placing the glass down. There was a tender look to his eye that you misliked. Asshole. “Good?”

“Good,” you croaked. A frown molded over your visage.

“What was that about, mon amour?” he asked, sitting on the mattress. “You think I don’t love you? Why on earth would you think that?”

When you refused to meet his eyes, Frenchie slotted his palm beneath your chin once again, gently running his thumb over your jaw until you reluctantly moved your irises to meet his.

“There you are. Bonjour, mon chou.”

“Hey, asshole.” 

Much to your chagrin, Frenchie threw his head back and laughed. It was a genuine laugh, full-chested and lively. 

“I love you. I love you so fucking much. I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know how to get you to believe me.”

You wanted to believe him so badly. Was it because you loved him, too? Or was it because you just wanted any love?

 “Then show me.” The words were soft—so quiet it was near indiscernible. 

Initially, there was a beat of shocked silence. Then, Frenchie didn’t waste any time leaning forward and kissing you gently, enveloping your lips with his own. He cradled your jaw with shaking fingers, nose slotted against yours so that it brushed your cheek when he angled his head to the side. It was so slow, so soft, so very warm that you nearly crumbled into a million pieces under his touch. 

He kissed like it was the last time he’d ever be able to do so. His brows furrowed in concentration, as if this was his one and only chance to show you just how much he adored you. 

When you finally broke away, you had a palm pressed against his bare chest. He knocked his forehead against yours affectionately, a pleased grin playing on his lips.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked. Before even giving you the chance to reply, he swooped back down to kiss you again. “And now?”

“You’re annoying, you know that?” you replied easily, though with a fond smile etched over your mouth. A sudden wave of bashfulness tumbled over you. You tilted your head slightly, averting your gaze once more. “Thank you. For saving my life. I could’ve died if it weren’t for you.”

He waved your sentiment away. “Bah, I didn’t do much. I cried—and I nearly pissed my pants. I was afraid you’d… you…” The words died on his tongue. He didn’t have the heart to finish his sentence.

“I’m okay,” you susurrated, leaning forward so that his nose bumped into yours. “Thanks to you. I owe you one, asshole. I owe you big time.”

“You don’t owe me anything, mon ange. I just need to know that you’re alright,” he whispered, lips only a hair's breadth away from yours—

Before Butcher sauntered in with his stupidly loud voice.

“Honeymoon’s over, you cunts!” he announced with his incredibly thick accent. Frenchie looked as if he was ready to commit homicide, and you could only muffle a snort of amusement, patting his bare shoulders in mock sympathy. The bearded man saluted you with a roguish leer. “Y/N, glad to see you’re back in tip-top shape. Hughie’s been a nervous little bird ever since you went down.” You most definitely weren’t in tip-top shape, but you supplied him with a forced smile that was far too wide to be deemed natural. It was nice to hear that your old friend was worried for you, though. 

Butcher clapped his hands together. "We’ve got some business to attend to."

"lesbians for a free Palestine"

downtown Ottawa, Ontario, Canada

[GUNSHOT] [CAR CRASH] [BOOM] [PEOPLE SCREAMING] [SIRENS] [GLASS BREAKS] [DISTANT YELLING] [EXPLOSION] [HELICOPTERS AND NEWS TRUCKS] “...WE’RE REPORTING LIVE FROM THE SCENE—“ [AMBULANCE SIRENS] “MY LEG... MY LEG”

Cardan and Juliette collaborating tho💀

:/

“my child is fine” your child wants to marry multiple fictional characters

idk about you but joaquin drunk confessing that he's been in love w you since he first saw you is so personal to me

Enamorado

summary: Joaquín’s drunken love confession. 

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: alcohol, drunk behaviour, established relationship

word count: ~760

A/N: i’m honestly not even sure if this was meant as a request or not but it was too good not to write something for 😩💕 you're so right anon,, have this lil blurb mwah (be safe when drinking, kids)

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(title means "in love" in spanish)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Usually, you don’t go to bars much, but this time it was a special occasion, so you went out with Joaquín and Sam. Even Bucky joined you, but now that he's a proper citizen and all, he left early. 

You glance at the time on your phone, it’s 2:46 am. Looking over your shoulder from where you sit at the bar, you see Sam on the dance floor, and smile to yourself. He’s having a good time, it seems. Joaquín is next to you, and as your eyes go back to him, he’s putting down his drink he just emptied. He looks at you with a goofy grin. 

“Alright, then, that’s enough for you,” you say with a gentle smile, pushing his glass a little farther away from his hands. “Let’s take a break, yeah?”

You’re fairly tipsy yourself, but Joaquín is proper drunk now. He doesn’t let himself get to this point often. Luckily he doesn’t get angry or physical when intoxicated, instead he turns to absolute mush, incoherent mumblings about how much he loves you and Sam leaving his lips incessantly, muttering about how glad he is to be part of the group, how badly he wants to meet the Avengers. He also gets a little clingy, not that you mind. His hands will always be on you somewhere, your leg, your back, your face. 

Right now, he’s leaning his forehead on your shoulder, grumbling under his breath, but you can’t make out what he’s saying.

“Wanna go take some fresh air?,” you offer.

Joaquín nods, getting off his stool, and he lets you pull him to the back, where you exit to a small patio. You breathe in the cool night air, the buzzing in your ears starting to dissipate. You lean onto the wooden fence and look out to the city below, the lights moving and dancing in the distance like a painting. Or maybe you just can’t focus your eyes right now.

You feel something warm coming up behind you, and Joaquín’s arms snake around your middle as he hugs you into his chest. He hums, swaying you both lightly from side to side, and you laugh, turning within his hold to face him, and you cup his face. His skin feels hot, and you can see the redness on his cheeks even in the dim light.

“You need to learn to pace yourself,” you say.

“Ssshuddup. Sam’s fault,” he retorts, and he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

“Right,” you chuckle. Sam and Joaquín did make some bet or other about how many drinks they could have before losing the ability to walk a straight line.

When he pulls back, his chocolate eyes find yours, albeit slightly out of focus, but his gaze holds so much warmth and affection, you can’t help but get lost in them. He hums again, a smile spreading on his lips. You tilt your head.

“Whatcha thinking about?” you ask.

“You.”

“Yeah?” Your heart flutters.

“Always,” he confirms.

“Anything specific?”

“I, when you…” he starts, struggling to form real words. “Desde el primer momento en que te vi…”

You chuckle, softly pinching his cheek, then cup his face again.

“English, please.”

“You, it’s always been you,” he speaks more clearly this time, and quickly turns his head to place a kiss to your inner wrist. “From the very moment I first saw you, I’ve been in love with you.”

You swallow, tears stinging behind your eyes as you smooth over his cheekbones with your thumbs. Joaquín’s hands slide from your waist to your back to push you closer into him.

“Madly,” he says, and places a kiss on your forehead. “Entirely.” Another on the tip of your nose. “Desperately.” His speech is a bit more slurred on that one, and he kisses the corner of your mouth, giggling goofily as he pulls back to look at you.

You mirror his love struck gaze, softly running your fingers through his curls before you hold the back of his head to pull him close, capturing his lips. It’s not as elegant as it could have been, kissing somewhat sloppily in the dark of night, but you can feel how earnest his words are in the way he holds you, breathes you in. And with every wet kiss he places wherever he can reach, he whispers ‘I love you’s into your skin, the press of his lips leaving a trail of fire, burning his words into your body, to remind you that you’re his and he’s yours. Madly, entirely, desperately. 

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @f1-tennisgirlie @magikdarkholme @tsunchani @Chuchu8293 @bitchy-bi-trash @guynamedaurel @crumbledcastle28 @sarahskywalker-amidala @crazy4lyricb

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

Red Flags

CO-WRITTEN WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)

Summary: Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way.

Or alternatively: You get to use that ankle restraint on Steven and sit on his beautiful face.

Rating: really fucking explicit

Warning/content: will cause unrealistic sex expectations, bondage/restraints, cunnilingus (face sitting), safe sex; unsafe relationship choices.

Word Count: 9.2k (ahahahah please don’t look at me)

[Series Masterlist] [Tag List and Masterlist]

The warning signs were written all over him like a marquee outside a theatre, lit up in gold and bright flashing red neon. 

On the first date you were supposed to have, he stood you up, only to call you four days later on a Wednesday night. Closer to midnight than dinnertime, oblivious and confused and asking where you were with a slight panic in his voice. 

“Date’s tonight, yeah? Saturday at seven?”

Un-fucking-believable. 

Keep reading

hyperfixating on top gun is so fun there's so many shirtless men

Hello!! Would you be able to write a request for finnick? Just like he’s the capitols darling, reader is the capitals hound dog. Known to be fiercely protective and exceptionally violent and brutal. During the third quarter quell, katniss’ group is afraid of reader because they haven’t seen her all match, but they run into her and she defends them brutally against something? Sorry I know it’s specific:) love your writing!

my body is a cage

finnick odair x reader

synopsis: his focus was protecting katniss, but he sleeps with an eye open as long as you’re still out there..

a/n: i made some changes, jus go with it lmao

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“she’s still out there, katniss.” finnick had made this pointedly to katniss, who wanted to go out hunting for the remaining victors with johanna. you were shrouded in mystery, out of all the victors, finnick knew the least about you.

“where would she be?” peeta looked at finnick, who sighed, shrugging, “the arena is different than the arena she won in, i assume somewhere low to the ground-“ finnick sweeped the beach, eye catching on a rustle in the bush, straight across from them, “and close.” he remembered now how you had won your games.

you had tracked all the tributes like prey, manipulating their surroundings to kill them, it had been one of the most invigorating games for the capitol ever. “she’s a bloodhound, probably sniffed us out before we realized.”

johanna watched the area that finnick had saw you, but still offered her commentary, “she’s brutal, katniss.”

katniss looked at them all, surrounded by skilled people yet found herself doubting their abilities, especially her own. none of them were sure they’d win, not against her.

“the careers are the least of our worries with her out there.” peeta noted. finnick looked at him and shrugged, “she might just kill them herself.”

they knew getting back on the island was a bad idea. katniss ducked at the sound of a mysterious voice, feeling as something flew past her head, stabbing cashmere right in the chest.

“get up.” katniss looked up to see you, standing over her. you had an array of weapons on you, and you were reaching for another one. katniss felt the panic in her throat until you launched it at enobaria, who had thrown herself at katniss. “get up!” your voice sounded more frantic and katniss did, struggling from keeping her eyes off of you.

suddenly the island began to spin.

your grip was loosening, and you groaned with slight fear as you felt the cold water thundering against your feet. katniss reached out for you, “grab my hand!” she screamed, but the water trashing drowned her out.

you could see her hand amidst all the water and grabbed it tightly, closing your eyes as the island slowed to a stop.

you sat on the beach, alone as the others argued over you. katniss had defended you, deciding she wanted you as an ally. but finnick and johanna deemed it too risky, “she could kill us all in our sleep, then what?” johanna had made that point as one of your methods, and you inhaled sharply.

finnick glanced at you, noticing the solemn expression on your face. he had known that expression far too many times, and it made him change his mind.

“johanna.” finnick called her name and sighed, “she saved her life. that’s not something we can just ignore, we don’t even know her.”

there was silence between them all, katniss had looked to johanna, watching as she fought internally before giving in. “i’ll go get her, maybe threaten a little.” she stood up, taking her axe with her.

finnick looked to katniss as johanna left, “i’ll keep an eye on her. for you.” he knew that once katniss settled on allies, she settled. her choices weren’t always the best, but somehow it would work itself out.

“why did you save her?” finnick had taken the first watch with you. johanna had convinced him, as just having you as watch would be ‘asking for it’.

you shrugged, “why not.” there hadn’t been much decision making on the island. it was either her or cashmere, and you didn’t see much of a choice.

finnick looked at you, “i don’t believe that.” his eyes slid themselves back to stare at the beach and you scoffed, “and why is that?”

finnick shrugged, “no one would just randomly save someone without an ulterior motive.” he said it like a fact and you smirked, “do you have one?”

“have one what?” he looked confused, obvious by the furrow in his brow.

“do you have an ulterior motive?” you repeated the full length question and watched as finnick practically whipped his head around.

“no.” he stated plainly, and you rolled your eyes, “i saw you saved katniss, similiar to how i did. you and johanna can’t just be doing this,” you glanced back to katniss and peeta sleeping, “for nothing. whatever it is, finnick, is an ulterior motive.” finnick pursed his lips, almost as if he couldn’t believe it.

“i’ll let you have yours if you let me have mine.” you finished, catching his gaze. finnick knew there were layers to you. you were different than most victors, your brutality is what made you like the rest of them, the willingness to kill. but you were turning out to be way more than what meets the eye. whatever your motive was, finnick sensed it wasn’t malice.

finnick settled to watch the sun rise upon your face, ending the conversation with a nod.

finnick watched as you sat by the beach. it had been post jabberjays, you, him and katniss had all been trapped with the birds, fluttering and screaming your names. now it seemed, like you had decided to decompress by the beach, just as he was going to.

he piled up next to you, close but far enough to give you a good amount of space.

it was then that finnick realized you had been crying, tears evident on your cheeks. he had heard katniss yell her sister’s name, and he had heard annie. you had just screamed in response, as if you were trying to drown out the birds with your own voice.

“i’m sorry.” you apologized to finnick, wiping your eyes as he settled down. you sniffled, watching as the waves moved.

“don’t apologize, there’s no need.” finnick spoke, “who did you hear?”

there was silence for a moment, until you spoke, “my best friend.” your mind shuddered back the sound of his screams and you laughed, painfully. “he’s been dead for years. i killed him.” you admitted, “he died because of a mistake i had made during the games.”

your mind flashed back to the games, where you had accidentally launched a knife to his chest, thinking it had been another tribute.

“he had spent all of his games searching for me. and once he found me, i had killed him.” it was cruel for him to be your district partner, for only one would survive, but you “never thought it would be me.” you glanced at finnick, who had been listening.

“it was supposed to be him.” you cried, “i killed everyone else to get to him, and when it was down to four, was when he came to get me.” you shook your head, “there is nothing in this world that i loved more than him, finnick. now that he’s gone, there’s nothing left for me.”

finnick shook his head, “stop. you know that’s not true.” he tried to comfort you, your words mirroring his own thoughts.

“that’s my motive, finnick.” you revealed, “my body is a cage, and i can’t stand to live in it much longer.”

johanna had woken up abruptly. she clutched onto her weapon, eyes glancing around before she settled on the two figures on the beach. she squinted and made out finnick’s hair, and you. the only two missing from the group. you had your head leaned on finnick’s shoulder, as the two of you watched the rising sun.