#The Voices: mallory. every time. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

macfrog · 8 months ago

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backspin | bbf!frankie

surprise! we're taking a quick detour to fuck around with our brother's best friend again. what else is new.

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x fem!reader summary: you try to get even with frankie. it works. warnings: reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, enemies to lovers, mention of throwing up, alcohol consumption, cursing, oral, more dickhead frankie and more sassy reader word count: 6.3k

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So, you fucked around with Frankie.

It’s no big deal, right? It was just a one-time thing. There was tension, you guys relieved it. Scratched an itch. Served a purpose. You still fucking hate the guy, and he still fucking hates you.

Nothing’s changed.

Right?

Mal sprays wine all over the kitchen table when you tell her. Gargles a, Sorry – fuck – sorry, through what little of the alcohol is left in her mouth.

You wipe your face clean in the crook of your elbow. It’s in your fucking eyelashes. You blink the room back into focus, and – “Jesus, Mal!”

Dark droplets teeter around the edge of the table, threatening to plunge straight down onto your mom’s chair cushions – thus damning you to her very own personal hell for all eternity. You can feel the flames licking at your feet already.

Your best friend rips a sheet of paper towel and drags it over the wood – white bleeding violet at the first swipe. “Why’d you tell me as I was taking a sip?”

“I didn’t think you’d fucking hose me down,” you hiss, taking the soaked crumple from her hands.

“You didn’t think I’d be a little surprised that you and Catfish Morales hooked up? Are you fucking ser–? Actually, you know what? I’m not that surprised.”

You glare at her from the sink, upper lip curled.

Mallory Bennett has been privy to your every thought since you were six years old. Hand in hand, arms swinging as you marched into first grade together.

Most days, you barely have to open your mouth – one flinching expression, one flash of eye contact, and she can parrot your own thoughts back to you.

Francisco Morales going down on you two nights ago is the first thing you’ve ever had to confess to her. It’s the first thing she never saw coming.

“Shut up,” you breathe, eventually thawing and sweeping over to your chair. The table sticks to your arms when you sit back down.

“There’s a lot to unpack there, alright? A lot of tension. I mean, you gotta fuckin’ feel it. You two hate each other’s guts! And you’re both single, and you’re only here for two weeks. And – he’s Santi’s best friend. It’s just…it’s the perfect storm.”

Another exasperated sigh passes your lips. You settle back, eyes closed, and lift your palm. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”

“You wouldn’t’ve told me if you didn’t wanna talk about it. Was he good?”

“Mal.”

“Was he?”

“I was drunk. I don’t remember.”

“Bullshit.” Her face screws up; the gold hoops wobble from her ears. “Like hell you don’t remember. Tell me.”

Your eyes slip from her over to Ange. The old pup pushes herself to her feet with a huff, her joints stiff and bones frail. She moseys over to your side. You scratch the back of the dog’s neck, shrugging to Mal.

“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way to a free round of drinks, I’d remember enough to share.”

“Fuck you,” she snorts, voice rounded by her wine glass. “Maybe that just means you gotta do it again – sober.”

You scoff.

Angie looks up at you – watery eyes blinking, tail slowly fanning.

Mal’s already recounting the time Frankie snitched on the two of you for raiding your mom’s makeup bag. She waves her hands in the air, eyes bulging.

Do it again. The thought actually makes you want to laugh.

You and Frankie – you and Catfish, hooking up again. As if the first time wasn’t a total mishap, the biggest mistake in judgement you think you’ve ever made.

He drove you home, he made you come, he left.

One nil, right? You have one up on him. You got yours, and he probably went home and jerked off to the thought of it. Alone in his room, tongue licking at the corners of his mouth where he could still taste your release.

You won.

You won, against Frankie Morales.

“…and then fuckin’ – Pope tried to help us tidy it up, remember? He was scrubbing the hell outta the lipstick on the mirror. But that asshole – Frankie,” she seethes, “he went downstairs as soon as your mom came home. As soon as she…And he fucking ratted!”

She growls, balls her fists. Screws her eyes tight shut like the enraged eight-year-old she was back then. She still has the same little crease between her brows. “What the hell got into you that night? We hate him, junior!”

Ange slumps to the floor with a sigh.

“Me too, girl,” you mutter to her, twirling the base of your glass. You look back up at the crazed woman opposite. “I don’t know,” you insist. “I was drunk, we were on our own…It just happened, alright?”

Her shoulders roll in a shrug. She lifts her glass to clink the neck of the bottle against the rim, purple wine spilling in a swirl. “Maybe it’s the start of something.”

You scoff. “Mal. Come on.”

“I’m serious. Perfect storm.”

“Nope. No storm. Stop that.”

She jabs a tipsy finger in your direction. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you messed around with your arch fucking menesis– arch fucking…with – with Frankie, and you just – still feel nothing for him?”

“No,” you admit, “I feel plenty for him. I hate his fucking guts. I used to wish every birthday that he’d disappear. One time in church, when Father Joseph told everybody to bow their heads ‘n pray, I actually asked God to kill him for me.”

“Not Father Joseph!” Mal shrieks, grinning. “He was so fucking hot, by the way, for a dude with no hair. When the sunlight caught that cueball just right…that was a real fucking miracle. Goddamn.”

You bat her snicker away. “Me and Frankie used to brawl so bad that our moms had to separate us,” you continue. “I had to sit in the front seat if we drove anywhere – and that still didn’t stop him! He’d reach around the headrest and flick my fucking ear.”

“You gave as good as you got, though. I’m surprised he can even still get hard, the number of times your foot…” She swings her leg and kicks your thigh softly. “He was an ass, I know.”

“He was an ass then, he’s still an ass now. That’s all there is to it.”

“Okay,” Mal concedes. Her dark, glossy hair surfs around the lip of her wine glass when she leans in. “But you wouldn’t’ve told me unless it was still on your mind. ‘s all I’m saying.”

You throw yourself back with a quick, angry shake of your head. Your tongue flicks over your top lip.

“All I’m saying,” she repeats, holding her hands up.

But I won, you think – in a petulant little whine. Like you could shake your fists and stamp your feet at the same time. You got one up on him. He – he made you…

He made you come. He saw you. Felt you. Tasted you.

He knows what you sound like, whimpering his fucking name. Drunk on him, begging him not to stop. And now, the image of him fisting his cock over the memory of it feels less like a victory, and more like –

Another fucking loss.

You have no idea what he looks like, coming undone. No clue what his fragmented moans sound like as they tear from the bottom of his throat and rain down over you. You don’t know the weight of him in your hands, the wet slip of his tip as he leaks over your tongue.

Mal’s onto something new. Taken by a Facebook post from some girl you went to high school with. Biggest head I ever saw on a fucking baby, she mutters, wincing and then sprinkling a handful of salted peanuts on her tongue.

Frankie’s cocky smirk clouds over the sight of her at the opposite end of your kitchen table.

Francisco fucking Morales. The asshole wins again.

All at once, you hear his rotten little jeers in your ear – curbed painfully by his middle finger searing across your lobe. You feel his heavy palm on your skull, fingers scrunching roughly into your scalp.

A temper boils between your ears, heavy over your head. It feels juvenile, as if it’s armed with a Barbie in one fist and a juice box in the other. Sunken and wallowing in shame and rage, red-hot waves which wash over you as Mal cackles at some video on her phone.

You feel Frankie’s hands around your legs; the flicks of his hair tickling the inside of your thighs. The swarm of butterflies deep in your belly as you watched his figure swagger back across the street to his truck.

Loss after loss after loss. Each one wearing a satisfied smirk and a Standard Oil baseball cap.

Each one staining deeper than red wine in varnished oak.

You grit your teeth.

Frankie –

fucking –

Morales.

Santi floats the idea of a barbecue. Because of course he fucking does.

He says his place is too small, too many neighbors in earshot – and as long as Ms. Teller takes both hearing aids out, she won’t even know it’s happening.

“Just the guys ‘n us,” he chirps. “You, me, Will, Benny…Fran-kie…?”

You gag down the line. Body instinct whenever his name is mentioned, worsened by the latest developments in your relations. Ange glances up from her spot beneath the oak tree – her milky fur stark against the velvet green grass.

Santi chokes on a laugh. “Mal, too, if that helps with the Catfish thing.”

You lean the phone on your collarbone, sitting forward to apply a second coat of polish to your toes. The red gloss shines in the early morning light. “He is not welcome in my house.”

“First off: not your house. Second –”

“My house for the next eleven days.”

He says your name flatly. It sounds like a door being slammed. It shuts you up as though you’re nine again. “…Second: he won’t be in the house. He’ll be in the backyard.”

“You owe me,” you protest. “For ditching me the other night. I’m cashing in, Santiago. You want a cookout? No Frankie.”

Your brother sighs. “And how am I supposed to explain that to him, hermana?”

“Don’t,” you tell him. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Santi mutters something incoherent, though you know from the razor-sharp tone of voice that it’s no compliment. Still – he’s a man of his word.

Eventually he agrees: no Frankie at the barbecue.

The store is chilly, plucking goosebumps along your arms.

You round the aisles, scanning your list. You’ve been battling with a janky front wheel which has squealed and veered off-course at every fucking turn. It almost mowed over an elderly woman in the meat aisle.

You’ve cleared most of what Santi told you to get. Drinks, ice, buns, meat, corn on the cob. He wanted to use Mom’s dinner plates – but that, you countered, runs the risk of them being scraped, chipped, or worst of all, smashed.

That’s not a risk you’re willing to take. So you’ve piled in some paper plates and plastic cutlery, too – just to be on the safe side.

The cashier cuts a familiar figure at the checkout: her navy apron and full-cheek grin. She’s a staple sight from your childhood – a pair of dimples and sweet giggle trailing after you as you’d follow your mom’s skirt back out to the parking lot.

Her eyes widen and she clasps her hands when she notices you approaching. “Well, would you look who it is?” she sings.

“Hey, Pol,” you say, fanning yourself with your scrawled shopping list. “How you doing?”

The belt jolts your supplies closer to her bejeweled fingers.

“Same as always, honey. Rockin’ and rollin’. What brings you back to town?”

“Housesitting, dog-sitting…Santi-sitting. Mom and Dad are on a cruise.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she says, nodding. “She told me last week. Caribbean, right?”

You nod, sucking a deep, unenthused breath in.

Pol hums, smiling to herself as she clicks the barcode for your hotdogs into her computer. She begins telling you what her granddaughter thinks of second grade – her two times table and the tadpoles they’re keeping in class.

Your eyes sweep around the store as she chats. Everything looks the way it always did, a time capsule from the nineties. Speckled floor and fluorescent lights; placards hanging overhead which sway each time the great glass doors pull open.

Baskets of fruit and veg lined alongside a lawn set on offer. Beside that, heaps of flowers and stacked planters. Beside those, a discarded shopping cart. And beside that –

Frankie fucking Morales.

Well – the silhouette of him. It’s pretty bright outside. But you’d recognize the outline of that dumb baseball cap anywhere. He’s talking to one of the assistants.

You hand Pol the cash Santiago gave you, and she trades it for a receipt. Dumping your bags back into your cart, you nod to her in thanks and stalk off towards the sliding doors.

Frankie tosses and twirls a pack of cigarettes in his hand. The assistant is telling him about some big college football game.

Your grip tightens on the janky-wheeled cart. You feel your skin begin to heat; prickling all over your arms, flushing down between your shoulder blades. Gathering somewhere south of there.

But you walk by him with purpose, choosing to ignore that warm feeling. Choosing to ignore…him.

He doesn’t turn. Thankfully.

The doors grant you exit and you give your cart one good shove across the threshold, back out into blinding daylight and sticky heat.

“Alright, man,” Frankie’s voice calls from behind. “Good talkin’ to ya.”

You nail your eye on the car. It’s, like, fifteen paces. You can make it fifteen steps without having to deal with him, right? If you take longer strides, it’s probably more like ten.

Ten steps, and then you’re in the sanctuary of your car. You don’t have to see, speak to, or deal with him.

So why are you slowing down?

You’re slowing down. You are. You’re borderline fucking loitering. Quietly hoping he’ll notice, catch up, maybe talk to –

You click the unlock button. The car beeps in response.

Five steps out. The front wheel is rattling. You’re doing your best to ignore it.

Four.

Three.

The wheel spins, flitting like a confused compass needle, and stops dead in the opposite direction. The cart hurtles out of your grip for less than a second before you recover it and haul it close to your car, cursing under your breath.

But a force – stronger, steadier – reaches around your body and takes hold of the thing. It guides it back to course. A force which, when it speaks, sounds a shit ton like –

“Woah, lil Santi,” Frankie mutters, and your chest leaps.

You freeze in your tracks. His weight is still around your back. He’s right fucking there, when you turn to look.

The brim of his cap bumps against your head. He steps back with a smirk on his face. He’s so fucking smug, you could slap him. “You tryna cause a goddamn accident with that thing?”

You pull a disingenuous smile. “Hey, Fish. Ever tried minding your own business?”

He feigns a wounded sound and clutches his chest. “Ouch. I’m just looking out for ya.”

“Feels more like you’re pestering me.” You pull on the door handle and slot the first bag along the backseat.

Frankie lifts his chin, peering in at the contents. The star-spangled plated, the dripping bags of ice. “Having a party?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.

You yank the bag from his sight, spinning to push it alongside the others. “Nope.”

He crosses his arms. “Sure looks like you’re having one.”

“Well, I’m not.” You slam the door and turn back to him, staring blankly.

“Forgot,” he sniffs, “you need friends to have a party.”

“Hilarious. Those shit jokes how you make all your friends?”

He nods, impressed. Pouts his lips like an annoying little fish. Suits his stupid fucking nickname. “Then why’d Benny call ‘n ask if I’ll be at Pope’s parents’ tonight?”

Shit. Fucking – Benny.

You sigh, eyes rolling closed. Your fingers massage your temples. “It’s not…it’s…”

“Cookout, right? Yeah. That stings, baby. No call, no text. You owe me, remember?”

“I owe you jack sh–”

“Two drinks,” Frankie clips, holding a finger up to shush you. “Three, if you count saving your car from one hell of a scratch.”

“Fuck off,” you breathe, and then give voice to, “It’s a small gathering of friends, and – now you, apparently.”

He sways forward, bumping the cart into your hip. “You need me to bring anything?”

You heave it straight back at him, hopefully hard enough to bruise. “Tranquilizer gun, if you’ve got one.”

“Can get something even stronger, if it’s a party you’re after.”

Your eyes thin. “Wouldn’t be my mom’s favorite for much longer if she found out you were doing coke in her backyard.”

Frankie smiles. That trademark Catfish grin. “I’ve done worse in her kitchen, baby.”

He’s so goddamn cocky. So full of it, it makes you want to scream. He studies you, eyes shadowed by his cap. His hair flicks out around his ears, dark curls doused in golden sunlight.

When your eyes trace the shape of his jaw, the wiry hair above his top lip – the faint flicker of a memory glows across your skin.

The weight of his hand on your stomach, pinning you to the bed. The bristling feeling ghosting the inside of your thighs. Your desperate wet, his tongue covering ground across your body like claiming territory.

Every shade of wrong. Ignoring every atom in your body – betraying every version of yourself for ten minutes of euphoria. He brought every numb nerve under your skin to attention, the second he knelt between your knees.

But he’s looking at you now, the same way he did the other night. It’s boyish and dangerous. A naked match just waiting to fall.

Maybe you’re waiting for an excuse to drop it.

Frankie gives his cap a quick tug, and makes off for his truck.

“See you at seven, Garcia.”

Daylight melts into dusk and with it, goes the sharp sting of summer. A pale blue rolls across the horizon, covering the yard in a hazy sort of chill. A relieving breeze, like satin over newly burned skin.

You’re still fucking sweating.

“Are you going to help me, or you just gonna lie there and text your girlfriend?” you call across the yard.

The dark figure spilling over the edge of the hammock grunts in response.

“Santi.”

Your brother groans, rolling free from the marigold fabric. He strides across the lawn, swinging an arm down to ruffle Ange’s ears. “Not a girlfriend,” he says, slipping his phone into his back pocket. “She’s…she’s more of a…”

You lift your hand. “Not something I need to know.”

He laughs and looks at the spread on the table. He lifts the corner of a tricolor napkin, straightens a plastic fork. The foil over the hamburger buns crinkles. “We did a good job. Looks great.”

“We?” You scoff, slapping his wrist away. “Yeah, me and the fucking dog, more like.”

“How much did it all come to? The food and shit?”

You shrug. “Like, forty dollars. I don’t know.”

“Gave you sixty. Where’s my change?”

You frown, hands on your hips. “If you don’t know how to budget properly, that’s not my problem.”

“And if you don’t know when to just lie and say you spent it all, that’s not mine. Twenty bucks, kid.” He holds his hand out, fingers beckoning.

The squeal of the gate interrupts, followed by a barrage of voices. Will and Benny and Mal and – as you lean back to watch them parade through the yard, you spot the figure of Frankie at their heels.

“Pope?” Will calls. “Pope, do me a favor. Remind me which one of us threw up at Busch Gardens that one time. Remember – right after we rode Gwazi?”

Santiago chuckles. “I remember Mallory wearing her raspberry slushie.”

Will guffaws in Mal’s face.

“I spit up!” she protests. “I spit up in a flowerbed. I was not wearing my slushie.”

“You were fluorescent pink the whole day,” Will says. He slings an arm around your shoulders. “You remember, lil Santi?”

You frown. Yeah, you fucking remember.

You remember being forced to sit between Frankie and Mal the entire way home. Santiago got dibs on the front seat by pretending he was carsick, and Mal had to sit by an open window so she didn’t stink your dad’s car out with all her raspberry-flavored puke.

You and Frankie bickered the whole journey. Both absolutely certain that the other was leaning too far over your seats. Your dad vowed he’d never let you both in his car at the same time, ever again.

“Mhm,” you grit, shooting daggers at your best friend.

She mouths a Sorry, and then places her salad bowl in the middle of the table. “Enough about throwing up. I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

The boys spend twenty minutes arguing over how the barbecue works, before a single bit of food is cooked. You and Mal watch from the table, sneaking Ange slices of cheese and giggling when Will and Benny break into their fifth argument of the night.

Santi and Frankie take charge, shoving the brothers out of the way.

Pope passes over the meat, while Frankie mans the grill. He lifts his cap and wipes his brow with his bicep, giving his head a shake as he flips burgers and turns sausages.

And no, you’re not watching him. You’re focused on Mal and her story about some guy from work. Or – it might be a guy from her yoga class. The instructor, maybe? You’re not sure. Frankie just flapped the collar of his shirt and the hem lifted, exposing a sliver of his tummy.

You’re not watching him, though.

He runs his tongue along his top lip, focusing on the sizzle and spatter of the grill. His arm tenses, turning the tongs over and over. Wide shoulders stretch when he reaches for a plate.

He’s laughing quietly at whatever Santi’s babbling about at his side. His eyes are stuck on the barbecue in front of him. His fingers twirl around the tongs again. He never looked so lean and so broad and so fucking different, all at once.

Weird different. Good different?

You feel your cheeks flush with heat. This time, it’s not so much anger, as it is –

Oh, shit.

Mal gets up for a refill at the same time Santiago jogs inside to grab more meat. You and Frankie are alone on the patio – Will and Benny are kicking a ball for Ange to chase on the grass.

Morales turns, and you instantly stare down at your beer. You take a forceful swig as he approaches.

“Hotdog?” he asks, holding a plate down to you.

“Huh?”

He glares at you and scoffs. “Are you dumb? Hotdog.” He slips it onto the table in front of you.

You squint at the grill marks, and then squint up at Frankie. Puzzled and…offended, at the same time. You come back to your body with a jolt. “Why the hell are you–? Have you laced it with something?”

He shoots a glance over his shoulder, tongue between his teeth. “No, I haven’t fucking laced it with anything. I just figured you should have the first one, since you put all this on for us. But – Jesus, give me it.”

Your fingers lock around the paper plate when he tries to steal it back. For all that he’s a dick and might actually try to poison you – you’re fucking starving.

You figure you can stomach the poison.

Frankie sighs. He lets go. “I’m tryna be nice, alright? You know nice?”

“I know nice. You’re not it.”

“Shut up and eat your hotdog, lil Santi.”

You mimic him in a squeak as he strolls off, shaking his head. Still, the second he’s back at the grill, you rip into the hotdog.

Frankie stays at the opposite end of the table for the entire meal – closest seat to the barbecue, and furthest seat from you. There’s too much chatter, too much hilarity being thrown back and forth between you for either of you to kick up a row.

Probably better for the guys’ sakes, but – you want to fucking row.

It’s like a hit, now. A rush of electricity, any time Frankie looks at you for longer than it takes his face to twist into a grimace. You’re hunting for ways to ignite something – anything. Looking for an excuse to drop that naked match and set the whole thing alight.

Because it’s fun, when you’re in the heat of it. Feeling his eyes on you, as hot and angry as flames. Being suffocated by the smoke of it all; breathing in less and less air and more…him.

And, anyway – who knows you better than the one person who pisses you off the most?

As the sun is snuffed by the heavy hand of dusk, you disappear to a quieter corner of the yard. Tucked between two thick beech trees, you throw yourself into the hammock – one leg draped over the side, swinging idly through the night air.

A beer bottle balanced on your tummy, the round base seeping a chilled ring into your shirt. The swish of leaves overhead and the annoying midges at your ears for company.

That is – until the sound of footsteps over crisp grass, and the creak of an old, splintered garden chair disturb your peace.

Frankie adjusts his cap, flatting his fringe beneath it, and sits back. “You never change, do you, Garcia? Still the same little longer you always were.”

You hold your hands out, gulping back beer – and glee. “Can I fucking help you? I’m minding my own business.”

“Thought you might want some company.”

“Not yours, dickhead. You think I’m way the hell over here ‘cause I wanted you to come annoy me?”

He hums, picking at a flake of paint on the armrest. “Sure wanted me to annoy you the other night.”

“Alright,” you clip. “Cheap shot. You been practicing that one all afternoon?”

“Since I saw you at the store.”

You roll your eyes.

Frankie slips a cigarette from its pack and lights it, tipping his chin to blow a white cloud to the sky. “You’re too much fun,” he tells the stars.

You squint through the dark, staring at the glowing cherry. “What?”

“You. You get so pissed, so easily. Always have.”

“Well, you antagonize me. Always have.”

His cheeks lift. It’s something softer than a smirk, still laced with too much attitude to be a smile. “That’s ‘cause you were always around. Everywhere Santi went, there you were. Closer than his shadow.”

“Well,” you glower, “’s what happens when you have a big brother. You’re void of love; I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“No, I get it,” he says. “It just got fun to mess with you, after a while.”

“Uhuh,” you take another swig, “so is that what you’re doing? Messing with me?”

Frankie’s shoulders jump. “You tell me. There were two of us in your room that night.”

You swing your legs down to the grass. It’s brittle under your socks when you stand, still focusing on the end of his cigarette. “Damn, you really can’t shut up about it, can you? How many times have you tugged one to the thought of it?”

“Tugged one,” he snickers, but he seems nervous – watching as you approach. “What age are you?”

You push his knees wider, slotting between his thighs. “Which part does it for you? What sends you over the edge?”

“Come on, lil Santi,” Frankie says, averting his eye. “You’re embarrassing yourself now.”

One knee up, resting on the crease of his jeans. You lean forward and nudge his hip, lay your hands gently on his shoulders. “I bet you still hear me in your dreams.”

He scans up and down your body, lingering on your bare thigh. “Not – not gonna work, kid,” he promises, shaking his head. “You still annoy the fuck outta me.”

“Right, right.” You pinch the pale stick from between his teeth. “’cause nothing’s changed, yeah?”

His head sways in agreement. He’s distracted, watching as you lift your hand to your mouth.

You smile down at him. “’cept you know how I taste now, so.”

You slot the damp end of the cigarette between your lips and suck. Sharp, acrid heat sails over your tongue and down your throat, filling your chest in one inhale. You cough a little, batting the smoke as you blow it out.

“Tastes fucking disgusting,” you croak. “How can you smoke these?”

Frankie’s eyes never leave your lips. “You get used to it.”

You take another draw, letting the smoke soar through the space between you. “Gross,” you say, and prop the cig back between his lips. “Just like you!”

“Sh…shut up,” he groans, adjusting in his seat.

“Make me.”

But he doesn’t bite. Doesn’t flinch. He just stares back, rolling the smoldering stick between his thumb and finger. Running his tongue along his teeth.

You spill the last of your beer onto your tongue, cocking an eyebrow at him, and push from his lap.

You make it no more than five steps, before that same weight from the parking lot is around your shoulders.

He pings the cigarette somewhere in the grass, and grabs onto your elbow.

“Fran– Jesus – Where are we–?”

He drags you through the dull dusk to the other side of the lawn, ignoring the click of the motion sensor. You’re thrown through a wooden door onto cold concrete before the yard light floods over you.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. Weak slivers of moonlight illuminate each tool hanging from the wall. The fairy lights outside lose their battle against the darkness the second they creep through the window.

Before you can sling something mocking at him, Frankie has you pinned against the wall.

“You want me to make you shut up?” he growls, teeth grazing your neck. His fingers slip behind the waist of your shorts, plucking at the button. “I’ll make you shut up. Make you shut up all goddamn night.”

“Frankie,” you gasp, grabbing hold of his shirt. You push on his chest, walking him backwards over to the workbench.

The thing shudders when he rocks against it.

“The fuck are you doing?” he murmurs, watching as you kneel before him.

“Getting used to it,” you reply.

You pull his belt apart, loosen the fly on his pants, and pull until they’re low on his hips.

Frankie holds onto the bench with a white-knuckle grip. He lays his hand over the crown of your head, rubbing small circles. A laugh slips across his tongue. “This what you’ve been thinkin’ about?”

You ignore him, instead focusing on the solid shape in his underwear.

His hips flinch when you drag your palm along it. He’s hard already. He hisses at your cold fingers on his stomach, tensing as your knuckles skim below the elastic.

And then…he’s in your palm. All of him. Frankie fucking Morales.

You’re trying not to think too deep about it.

Your fingers wrap around him, barely meeting around his width, and you slip him from his boxers.

His cock springs free, swaying once, twice – then settling to the right.

Your mouth fills with saliva. Suddenly – there’s no way not to think too deep about it.

He’s…he’s big. He’s thick; smooth and sculpted, veins trailing around his shaft. It’s not like you ever considered what he’s walking around with before, but looking at it now – you can’t believe it’s him.

Without thinking, you lean in and kiss him all the way down to the hair at his base. A wet trail, lips curving around the size of him. You run your tongue up and down, circling the tip and toying with it.

Frankie cups your cheek. “Pretty little mouth,” he utters. “Put it to good use, huh?”

You don’t need him to ask twice.

You sink down on him. Every inch of him – every aching, choking inch. Your jaw slackens to take him; nails digging into his thighs when he bumps the back of your throat.

“Oh, shit, baby,” he hisses. His hand comes down on your head a little too heavily.

You yelp and pull back, gasping when he slips out. “Prick,” you breathe, closing your lips around his tip again.

“Just too sweet with it,” he murmurs, guiding himself back across your tongue.

You suckle on him, using your hands to pump the inches your mouth can’t take.

Frankie’s head tips back, panting at the roof. His hips thrust to meet your movements. “Feels so – goddamn – good,” he moans, and you hum with glee.

You take his balls in your hands, kneading them as you work your way lower. He’s so deep in your mouth that it makes your eyes water. Each slip of his tip against the back of your throat makes you gag, pulls a lewd, muffled sound from your chest.

It shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t be enjoying it this much. But he’s falling apart under your fingertips, he’s unwinding right before you. He’s whispering your name, begging you not to stop. Just like that, just like that, just like that. Oh, fuck, just like that.

It’s addictive. Now that you know how he looks, how he feels, you’ll never go back to before. When the most thrill he gave you was a burning temper; feeling your pulse jump in your throat with rage.

This – whatever the fuck this is – is all you know, now. Pulling threads from one another, watching the way they unravel. Watching each other unravel. Flashes of eye contact, salt and slick and sex dripping from every secret word.

Frankie’s hips jerk. His cock spasms.

You don’t want him to come down your throat. You don’t want him to climax when he’s too deep for you to taste it.

You want him all over – your lips, your tongue, dribbling down your chin. You want to mix him with your saliva and swallow; warm, salty, Frankie.

He got his taste. Now you want yours.

You bring your hands up to his thighs, purposefully pushing back off him.

His grip loosens, and he looks down. Brows low and close, eyes blown wide like he’s higher than any drug could take him.

He’s as addicted as you are.

“My mouth,” you mumble, head of his cock circling your glistening lips. “In my mouth.”

“Yeah?” he says, and the weight of his cock slaps on your bottom lip. “That where you want it, baby?”

“Mhm.” You wrap your lips back around him.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” Frankie spits, laughing. “Shit – just like that. Yeah, that’s it.”

Three, four more soaking strokes of your tongue and he’s twitching again.

You pull back only enough to rest his tip on your tongue, feeling the pulsing heat as he comes. Watching the way his face tightens, the pull of his brows as it overcomes him.

His eyes stay locked on you. Your fluttering lashes, your puffy, glossy lips. He fills your mouth and then some – semen spilling from the corners and dribbling down your jaw. And the sound he makes – this broken, scattered moan, bordering on a fucking whimper – is fucking perfect.

Frankie’s hand locks at the base of your skull, holding you steady until he’s done. His cock slips from your bottom lip. He gives one last satisfied sigh, petting your head as you stroke him slowly, tenderly – swiping kitten licks at the dripping mess of him.

“Fuck,” he moans, letting his eyes close over. His weight slumps against the workbench. “The fuck do you spend so much time yapping for when you’re that good with your mouth?”

You hum in amusement, tongue dragging along the underside of his cock. He’s softening, but still a decent size. Still a weight to it that makes your cunt clench around nothing.

One last little kiss, and you tuck him back into his boxers. You drag the back of your hand across your chin.

Frankie holds his hands out, and you pull yourself up. He fixes himself into his jeans, turning away to do up his belt. He had his cock in your throat two minutes ago, and here he is pretending to be shy.

He turns back around, half disappeared to the dark shed. “I, uh…I don’t want you to think that I came here just to…just for that.”

Your tongue dabs at the inside of your cheek, all salty. “Then this is awkward, ‘cause that’s the only reason I hadn’t kicked you out yet.”

He laughs, dropping your gaze. “You…” he shakes his head, “…are such a little shit, you know that?”

It’s nicer than he would’ve worded it half an hour ago. But still – having an exchange with Frankie that doesn’t involve spitting insults or jagged glares, warms your blood in a way that’s new and…unsettling.

“We should probably…” You toss a thumb over your shoulder, eyes flitting to the string bulbs outside. “We don’t want them wondering what’s…you know.”

He nods and strides over to the door. The wood squeals against concrete as he pulls it open.

The summer swirls around you again, sweetening the stuffy heat of the shed. Mal’s voice surfs through the breeze – she’s still arguing over the Busch Gardens story.

You make to step out, and Frankie’s arm halts you.

He opens his palm. “Even,” he tells you. “We’re even.”

He seems sure of himself. Sure of you. He looks you in the eye and doesn’t blink.

You smirk. Your hand slips into his, letting him shake your fist once. You stare straight back at him.

“We’re just getting fucking started, Francisco.”

#frankie morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales smut #bbf!frankie #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fic

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jennaispunk · 3 months ago

Text

Someone Like You

Summary: A vacation you didn’t want to take turns into something you never expected.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.3 k

Tags/Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, allusions to smut, shitty ex-boyfriend (not Marcus), brief mention of infidelity (again, not Marcus. He would never), meet cute, instant attraction, Marcus being Marcus (aka perfect), reader is shorter than Marcus and has hair that can be tucked behind her ear but no physical description is given

A/N: I wrote this for @whocaresstillthelouvre follower challenge (I hope you enjoy this Mallory!!). The moodboard was dream vacation with Marcus. This moodboard is gorgeous and I am so in love with it. I’m sorry I held onto this for so long. I went at the idea of a “dream vacation” a little differently. This was the idea that immediately came to mind when I saw this moodboard. This is for all my Marcus girlies (gn). Marcus deserved so much better and this is my (lame) attempt at a fix-it fic for Marcus. Thank you @clawdee for the beta read. The title is taken from a Van Morrison song.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You didn’t even want to go on this stupid trip. You’d planned it with Justin, and it was supposed to be a romantic getaway…until you caught him in bed with his ex-girlfriend, the one he called crazy and told you he wasn’t talking to anymore.

Your friends had convinced you to go on the trip anyway. "Fuck him!" they said. "Go on this trip and have the time of your life." Since the trip was paid for already, and you couldn’t get a refund, you reluctantly packed your bags.

The plane ride to Miami was peaceful. The older married couple sitting next to you was celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary. They showed you pictures of their grandkids, and you smiled politely. They were the goal…one that was looking increasingly out of reach.

You dropped your bags in your hotel room with a loud thud. You fell onto the bed and let yourself sink into the soft comforter. The sun shone brightly into the room, warming your skin, and you slipped into a peaceful afternoon nap.

Most of that night was spent sitting on the balcony listening to the ocean crash against the shore and feeling sorry for yourself. How did you not see the signs that Justin was cheating on you? They were there, you just chose not to see them. Every time that little voice in the back your mind started to chirp, you ignored it and told yourself it was just your insecurities. Looking back now, you should have listened. Hindsight is always 20/20.

You woke up the next morning with a renewed determination. You were done thinking about the past, it was time to live in the present. Today was going to be different. Today, you were going to go the beach and soak up all the glorious South Florida sun you could handle. You were going to let the ocean breeze carry all your worries away. This vacation was meant to be enjoyed and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

In your cutest bikini (bought specifically for this trip) and cover-up, you confidently strolled across the hotel lobby. It might be considered modest by Miami standards, but it showed off your assets. A small smile played on your lips as you remembered how sexy you felt the first time you put on the hot pink fabric. All around you were happy couples, holding hands and stealing kisses. Your resolve to not wallow in your sadness faltered just a bit as you made your way to the door, but you held your chin higher. You weren’t going to think about Justin anymore.

“Excuse me…”

You jumped as someone touched your shoulder and wheeled around to see a handsome man looking down at you. If you had to guess, he looked to be around your age. The style of his chestnut brown hair screamed young professional, and his mocha eyes were the kind you could get lost in.

“I think you dropped this.”

His large hand held a hotel key card toward you between thick fingers. Your brow furrowed and you patted the pockets of your cover up only to realize that your room key was missing.

You smiled at him and the heat rushed to your cheeks. Your carelessness struck again. How did you not realize you dropped your key?

“Thanks. It was sweet of you to track me down.”

The smile he shot back at you almost made you melt. It was so genuine, and the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled made you weak in the knees. Your eyes darted over his shoulder, half expecting his wife or girlfriend to be standing behind him, waiting. He was alone, and you smiled just a bit wider.

“It’s no problem.” His soft voice carried to your ears like a sweet melody. “You’re probably going to need this later.”

Your soft laugh was met with a nervous chuckle of his own. His soulful eyes studied you like a work of art but somehow it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t looking at you like other men do.

“I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Marcus.”

He extended a hand toward you, and you froze for a moment. You couldn’t even remember the last time a man introduced himself to you this way outside of a professional setting, and you found yourself intrigued by this stranger.

You offered your name in return and placed your hand in his. His skin was rougher than his appearance suggested, and the warmth radiated right through you.

“So, Marcus, does your wife or girlfriend know that you go around saving strange women from being locked out of their hotel rooms in your spare time?”

His laugh came from his belly, like you told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. It was warm and genuine. Suddenly, you had butterflies in your stomach.

“Actually, I’m not married or even seeing anyone right now.”

Your brow raised and those butterflies intensified. How in the world was this man still single?

Stop! This isn’t what you were here for. The last thing you needed was to get mixed up with anyone while you were here. The purpose of this trip was to stop thinking about your ex, not lust after a handsome stranger.

“Well, there’s a beach chair out there calling my name.” Your eyes darted toward the door and then back to him.

“It was nice to meet you, Marcus. Enjoy your vacation.”

You turned to leave without giving him a chance to respond. It was better to walk away now, before you did something you’d regret later.

Marcus watched you walk away, rubbing his chin as he huffed softly. He certainly hadn’t expected to meet anyone on this trip, but maybe it was fate.

You told yourself that you’d never see Marcus again, that it was just a fluke meeting, a fleeting moment in time that was never meant to be anything. You didn’t believe in fate or destiny. That was for other people.

It seemed that fate was trying to prove its very existence to you, because the very next morning at breakfast you ran into Marcus once again.

“How was the beach?” Marcus asked with that heart stopping smile. “You didn’t get sunburned, did you?”

Your cheeks felt warm as he looked you over. How could such a simple question get you flustered?

“Nope. I got the perfect amount of sun.”

The two of you chatted for a few minutes before your phone buzzed in your pocket.

“Sorry, but I gotta go or I’ll be late for my massage.”

His hand jutted out to stop you as you turned to leave.

“This is going to sound crazy, but would you have dinner with me tonight? There’s this amazing restaurant overlooking Biscayne Bay.”

You bit your bottom lip as you considered his proposal. What would be the harm in having dinner with him? Why shouldn’t you have fun while you’re here? You needed a distraction and Marcus certainly fit the bill.

“Dinner sounds nice.”

His body visibly relaxed when you agreed, and you could have sworn you heard him sigh.

“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby at seven?”

“Seven it is.” You responded and headed off to your massage.

That was the moment that everything changed, although you didn’t know it at the time. You’d spent every night with Marcus since then and the more you learned about him, the harder you fell for him. The two of you lived closer than you thought, he was in DC and you were in Baltimore. You scoffed when he told you that he was an FBI agent with the art theft division, but he showed you his badge and swore you to secrecy under penalty of death. He winked and laughed, and you were sure he’d stolen your heart then and there.

He was here on a case and decided to stay an extra week to use up his vacation time. He was a total foodie, he talked at length about the amazing restaurants in DC. Every detail you learned about each other just made the attraction grow.

The week practically flew by as your time was occupied by Marcus. He took you to the institute of Contemporary Art and Pérez Art Museum and watched you with a smile as you marveled at the art, and he explained the finer details. The way he spoke about the art had you completely captivated.

On your second to last night in Miami, he took you to a bar with a live band. You couldn’t believe your eyes when he jumped up on stage with the band and they played one of your favorite songs.

You couldn’t stop smiling as you watched him on stage. The image before you didn’t jive with the mild-mannered, soft-spoken man you’d spent the last few days with, but it intrigued you all the more.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

The smile was still plastered to your face. He looked so carefree up there on the stage.

“It was definitely worth it to see you smile like that, Sunny.”

He wasn’t going to tell you that he’d cashed in a favor from the lead singer. He wanted you to think it was totally random.

After leaving the club, he took you for a moonlight walk on the beach. The night sky was crystal clear. A thousand stars dotted the sky, like a painting created for just the two of you.

During a brief moment of silence between you, he took your hand and laced your fingers together. It all felt so perfect, too good to be true. You never thought that you would meet someone like him.

He suddenly stopped walking and tugged your hand. His heart hammered in his chest as he looked down at you. After everything that happened with Teresa, he wasn’t looking for anyone. She had broken his heart, and he wasn’t sure if he was even ready to try again. Looking at you now, with the ocean breeze in your hair and the moonlight illuminating your skin, he knew he couldn’t walk away.

“Everything okay?” You asked

He smiled at you and looked down at the sand before looking back up.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all week.”

Before you could say anything, he closed the distance between you and gently cupped your cheek. He gazed into your eyes, almost hesitant before he leaned in and softly pressed his lips to yours.

You tensed for the briefest of moments, you didn’t expect him to kiss you, but you were glad he did. You kissed him back, slightly parting your lips to let his tongue in your mouth. It couldn’t have been any more romantic: the moonlight, the soft swish of the waves upon the shore, and the most perfect man you’d ever met holding you in his arms.

As you packed your suitcase to head to the airport, you couldn’t help but think about the last few nights. You got lost in the memories of the way he made you come on his fingers before he made you come on his cock, how he intertwined his fingers with yours as he pinned your hands to the mattress, the way he talked you through your second orgasm: That’s it, sweet girl…just like that…so beautiful. He even held you afterwards, something Justin never did.

It really was like a dream come true. This vacation was wonderfully unexpected, and you didn’t want it to end. You didn’t want to go back to the real world, back to your job and your old life….not when you’ve had a taste of what could be.

Marcus paced the hotel lobby waiting for you to check out. After Theresa, he’d almost sworn off love completely, then he’d met you and he was smitten. He knew that this could work, he would be kicking himself later if he didn’t try.

You smiled as his sweet face came into view. Your heart clenched in your chest. Was this this last time you would see him? You couldn’t let that happen. This couldn’t be the end.

“This week turned out better than I expected.” you said with a soft laugh.

You wanted to say more. You wanted to tell him that this had probably been the best week of your life, but you held your tongue. You didn’t want to ruin the moment.

He took your hands in his, smiling as caressed the back your hand with his thumb. His mocha eyes took in every inch of you, committing it to memory until he saw you again. It was now or never. He was going to tell you that he didn’t want this to be the end, the two of you could make this work. A short train ride was no big deal, and you could see each other often. All he knew was that he couldn’t just let you go.

The way he said your name made your heart stop. It sounded so beautiful rolling off his tongue, just like when he had you in bed.

Your lips pressed softly against his, swallowing his next words. You didn’t need anymore words. You just wanted to keep the magic alive for a few more moments before reality came crashing down.

The hum of the car engine behind you broke the spell. It was over, your Uber was waiting to take you to the airport and back to your life. You shoved a piece of paper into his hand and smiled as your eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

“If you’re ever in Baltimore, give me a call.”

He chuckled softly as he watched you walk away and get into your ride. As you drove away, he looked down at the small piece of paper in his palm. There was no way in hell he was going to let you get away. He’d be calling you sooner than you thought.

#someone like you #marcus pike #f!reader #fluff #allusions to smut #strangers to lovers #the mentalist

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anundyingfidelity · 6 months ago

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I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part IX)

Summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader

Word count: 2.3k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings for this chapter: some spoilers and references to S4 and Gen V, mentions of sex, mentions of kindaping, so much lying from these fuckers!!

Notes: idk who's still interested on this crap because my original drafts went to hell once S4 dropped (but also my fault i was waiting for that lol), anyway I'll try to be consistent with this is giving me nightmares i swear. thank you if you're still here 😭

<<< Previous Part

get yourself in the taglist!

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

And if it wasn’t much worse, there he was still, lying down on the other side of the mattress, sleeping and snoring like a stray dog you just took in to protect him from the dangers of the night. Who would have thought? But you wanted this. You fell for it eventually. And you didn’t give a single shit about it, not yet. It was great, you had to admit that. In the end, Ben was right, he could fuck pretty good and could bark about that with good reasons.

Part IX: Nobody’s Business

Rolling on your side of the bed, your eyes fluttered open. There was a warmth coming from the mattress, one that you were not used to every time you woke up. That side always came up empty, but then your mind replayed the memories of last night's events. The small and soft light emanating from the window forced you to sit up abruptly, covering your breasts with the bed sheets. The clock told you it was almost 9 a.m.

But duties are duties, you told yourself, sitting down and reaching your phone on the nightstand. There were six missed calls from an unknown number; you were pretty sure who that was. With a scoff, you got on your feet and full in your naked glory, stepped out of the room, just taking your dress from the floor to put it on as best as you could while you heard the line from the other side.

“Oi, I’ve been calling you, answer the damn phone,” the British voice on the other side spit.

You grimaced, pulling the phone away as he yelled at you before speaking. “I had important things last night. Sorry for having a life,” you lied gracefully, making your way to the kitchen to boil some water for a tea. “Besides, since do you care? I barely fucking know you, so tell me what is it before I hung up.”

Butcher sighed from the other side of the line. “I need the kid back.”

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, and I need something for it. I don’t wanna force him, but tough times require even tougher methods…”

There was a silence coming from you, trying to process his words. Soldier Boy wanted the kid, Butcher wanted the kid, and Homelander of course wanted his fucking kid. You didn’t know who was the best for Ryan. Homelander was out of the league immediately, but maybe Butcher was the only sane motherfucker between them to take care of him. After all, he was his dead wife’s son.

“What do you want me to do? You’re not gonna kidnap him, right?” you asked, unsure of what would happen if you agreed to help Butcher on it.

“No, but don’t play innocent. Can imagine you have plenty of analgesics to take down an army, doctor.”

You pictured that fucked up smirk on his face at his words, and followed his game to see if you could get somewhere.

“And what do I get in exchange? I’m not giving anything for free.”

“Novichok. Put him to deep slumber and can test the strongest drug you have on Soldier Boy without getting killed,” he whispered over the phone, as if someone was hearing his words.

“Alright, deal,” you accepted, taking off a cup to pour your tea. “Send me the address and we can meet today. Just don’t mess with me, I don’t have enough arguments to trust you right now.”

“And I can respect that. Should be receiving it soon, darling.”

With those final words, Butcher hung up the call.

Your head felt spinning, as if something had crushed you so bad. Your body hurted, and you were sore. Probably you regretted it. Not because it wasn’t good, it was something else. What had happened between Ben and you wasn’t supposed to be. It just simply couldn’t. He was a killing machine you were just reaping, eventually discarding him when you took what you needed. However, the right time to test the Anti V prototype had yet to come. Sipping from your hot tea, you heard hard steps from the stairs, and for some reason, you were not prepared to face him the morning after.

“Ah, preparing my breakfast already, doll,” Ben said cheerfully, much to your liking, and approaching you as you faced your back to him.

His arms wrapped around your waist, and as much as you wanted to enjoy his touch, you pushed him away and turned on your feet to see his confused grin.

“First of all, good morning. And second, no. You can make yourself a sandwich,” you replied.

A smile appeared on your lips as his own slowly faded away.

“So, nothing for me, even if I made you feel so good with my cock?”

“God, you’re so gross…”

Ben snorted, leaning to give soft kisses on the skin of your neck as he whispered. “I don’t remember you complaining about it last night.”

As an impulse, you shut your eyes. His touch and lips over your sensitive skin were too intoxicated for you to react quickly and stop him. Ben took the cup of tea from your hand, putting it on the countertop; the place he fucked you so good the night before. He would kill to go again, with you beneath him, yearning and crying for his dick. Or maybe he’d fuck you in the couch before taking you to your bed, exactly like he did after you did it in the kitchen…

“Stop,” you said, pushing him away softly.

He did as you asked rapidly, licking his lips, and watching your lustful gaze intently. You wanted it as much as he did, but it wasn’t the right time.

“I’m still sore,” you continued. “And I have some stuff to do right now. I have to go.”

He nodded. “Right.”

To your surprise, Ben gave you some space and you stepped up, not before taking the cup and your phone between your hands again. You stopped, standing by his side for a moment.

“Maybe later?” you said, watching his face attentively.

That sleazy smirk curved on his lips. “Later.”

You walked away then, feeling his eyes over your figure. God, you were so fucking regretting offering yourself to him already for some reason.

You sat down on the dining table as he settled down a saucer and two cups of tea with a bowl of biscuits.

“It’s not necessary–”

“Nonsense, take it,” Butcher said, taking a seat in front of you.

He served you and him the tea with an elegance only a British man could ever have, not that you expected him to have that inside. Butcher was a soldier once, now an undercover agent whom you had no idea what to expect, besides the few things Grace had told you about him, but she wasn’t there. This meeting was hidden from everyone. Butcher crossed his arms on his chest, looking at you with an expression you could not decode. You were barely knowing him after all.

“I’m not trying to poison you,” he joked, taking his own cup to taste the tea.

“Well, thanks for your kindness,” you took the cup and sipped the warm drink. It was surprisingly good. “So, weren’t you after Victoria?” you asked, following the previous conversation you had with him before sitting down.

“Yeah, cunt’s indestructible,” he remarks. “Can’t do anything now, planning on just retiring and just leaving it all...”

“There’s a fucking outburst right now between Homelander’s cult and Starlight fanatics, Victoria is almost there along with Robert Singer at the White House. Why you wanna give up on that?”

“I’m not part of the team anymore,” Butcher confessed, taking you aback.

“Is that the reason you want Ryan back?”

He nodded and you sensed vulnerability coming from him. The tough facade, the immoral plans, the thirst for revenge for the fucker who screw up his life and made his wife’s a living hell… Even your own thirst for payback and burning Vought to the ground wasn’t as big as his own grief. After all, you were just another piece on the chessboard. Butcher saw you as one, and you did the same with him and Ben. You were just taking in things that would help you to reach your own, selfish goals. One can’t compete with that.

He coughed in the middle of the silence you shared, and you noticed there was a black liquid coming off one of his ears you have never seen.

“Are you okay?” you worriedly asked.

Butcher looked like he noticed your eyes staring at the side of his face and wiped up the substance with his finger, cleaning it up with a napkin.

“You stopped taking the temp V?” you insisted on his silence.

“Yeah, I fucking did, and then had it again. The true V this time, didn’t help. Just accelerated my own death,” Butcher seemed like he didn’t give a shit as he told you.

“Fuck, are you crazy?!” you exclaimed.

“Thought it’d save me, alright?!” he ranted. “Thought it could. So I could say I had more time with Ryan, but I don’t. That’s why you’re here. Do you have what I asked or not?”

Grumbling, with your jaw tight, you took from your jacket a small packet of white powder and tossed it on top of the table.

“A sedative. Will keep him asleep for days if you’re not careful,” you announced. “Give me the gas now.”

Butcher stood up abruptly, and searched for something in one of the kitchen cabinets. He took out a grey cylindrical vessel, similar to a fire extinguisher, and left it on the floor by your feet.

“There you have it,” he said, before taking his seat back.

You didn’t say ‘thank you’, neither did he, but Butcher dared to speak out again.

“Can you come when Ryan is here?”

“Excuse me? I don’t know the kid, I don’t see why I should be here.”

“Another secret is good enough for ya,” he insisted. His face was just as plain as yours.

You didn’t know what else to expect from him at this point, but you followed him up.

“And?”

“There’s something down Godolkin. A virus, created to exterminate supes,” he explained, leaning forward and whispering as if someone else could hear outside the walls. “If your cure ain’t working, maybe you could use some help from there.”

Ben emptied the last drawer in your room. There was fucking nothing. The only pleasure he took in from sniffing into your stuff was checking your underwear, from the most comfy cotton panties to the lingerie he’d love to see on you while he fucked your brains out. And then, nothing. Emptiness. No secrets, no files. Nothing.

Not caring of putting your stuff in place, he just tossed them into the drawer. If you were to indulge back there, you would certainly notice the mess. But he didn’t care if you did. He fucked you good, but that didn’t mean he trusted you. That’s why he spent the last hours of the day checking the whole place after you left him all alone and by himself. The past few days, he had spent checking everywhere to find a clue or something that could give you away easily.

Tired, Ben went down to the living room and checked between the bookshelves, only to find dust and old books he didn’t give a shit about. He scoffed to himself, and walked to the back of the room, where the aisle ended. The carpet felt different, as if another floor was down there. He knocked on the floor with his fist. He was right; there was another floor down the living room.

“What are you fucking hiding in here?” he mumbled to himself, his mind pulling the tricks of any stuff you could probably have down there.

He pulled the carpet away and found a small metal knob, unlocked. He opened it just to reveal stairs and he went down carefully. A heavy metal door stood in front of him, an electronic panel with numbers by the side. The walls were also made of the same material, and he tensed. It wasn’t a good sign. Before, he noticed you would sneak out of your room some nights. There was no other place you should be visiting but here.

He thought of breaking the door, but it wasn’t that subtle. There was a code to get inside, probably he could get it. It had to be something important for you, right? Shouldn’t be so difficult.

But he knew better than to continue playing this fucking game of hiding the thruth from him. Anger seized him in a second, thinking of endless possibilities this could be a hidden lab. You were a doctor after all, he knew what those cocksuckers were capable of. You were no exception.

He clenched his fists tightly, and heard in the distance the sound of your car. Ben quickly climbed the stairs and covered the door to the basement. The click of the door announced you were home and he made his way to the kitchen to take out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

Once you stepped up, he poured the liquor. You left a couple of bags full with groceries on the kitchen counter as Ben gave you a dirty smile and offered the whiskey to you. It was his way of disguising what he really felt.

A quick fuck should do, he thought.

“So, later, right?” he said, taking a sip from his glass.

Immediately, you knew what those words meant.

“You’ve been waiting so long I see,” you smirked.

He pulled you closer with a single hand before claiming your lips in a harsh kiss. He smiled when you moaned against his tongue and he pulled away, this time his lips claiming the sensitive spot on your neck.

“And can’t wait any longer, sugar.”

this fic tags:

@k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @thesilmarillionblog @deans-spinster-witch @girlsforpjm @delaynew

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy imagines #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy/ben x reader #soldier boy the boys

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zepskies · 2 years ago

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Break Me Down - Prologue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

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

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

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: For those of you who enjoyed “Checkerboard,” here’s the requested prequel series! It’s going to be a long and bumpy road to get to that version of Soldier Boy. Technically this is an AU set post-season 3. [18+ only! This story is rated M.]

Song Inspo: For this story it's "All My Livin Time" by Radio Company! You'll notice it in some of the chapter titles.

Word Count: 2,800Warnings: Violence, character death, bondage (not in the good way).

Prologue:

Well, this fucking sucks.

The thought rattled through your mind as you were led down a hallway, across a cold expanse of tile floor.

You couldn’t see where you were going with this stuffy bag over your head, but you knew it was tile. Your bare feet all but scraped across it as they dragged you.

Whoever held your arms in a vice grip eventually forced you to sit in a rickety wooden chair. They pulled your wrists behind the chair and bound them together with a zip tie.

You felt the slit on your dress sliding open, so you crossed your legs, for whatever good that would do you. At the very least, it would give the impression that you were sitting here casually, and not (figuratively) shitting yourself with fear.

“What the hell is this?” a deep, familiar voice asked.

“A gift.” You knew this voice as well. Neither one instilled you with calm.

Then the bag finally came off your head. The gag did not, however. You knew your red dress was in unfortunate tatters. You knew you were bruised and scratched, and overall worse for wear.

But when your gaze found your kidnapper, you glared up at him with a stubborn tilt to your chin.

Soldier Boy stared back at you with raised brows, and instant recognition in his eyes. His lips curved into a smirk.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Three months ago…

You watched the footage in disbelief.

Soldier Boy managed to grapple Homelander long enough to blast him right out of Vought Tower.

The two of them tangled in a big ball of nuclear light, and the resulting impact into the ground created a tremor throughout New York City. You had felt it even from the Surveillance office of Supe Affairs.

But now, an hour later, you stood at the site of the crash landing. You still couldn’t believe that Homelander’s lifeless body (complete with two suspect bullet holes to the head) was already wrapped up by the CIA.

The body would be destroyed, if Grace Mallory had anything to say about it. Though you knew that Vought would try to claim custody.

They can try, you thought. Grace had briefed you of the situation: Soldier Boy’s strange new power had taken away Homelander’s in the blast. That had allowed Billy Butcher to finish the job.

But as enormous a win as that was for the S.A. (for the world, really), Soldier Boy had unfortunately escaped in the aftermath of the crash.

You watched Butcher’s team being treated by paramedics. They all seemed to be in good spirits, considering. Talking and laughing through their bloody cuts and bruises. Butcher seemed the most contemplative, maybe because his nine-year vendetta had finally come to a close.

But you knew, even with this victory, their troubles were far from over.

Mother’s Milk snapped back at something Frenchie said, but when he looked up and caught you staring, you looked over pointedly at the massive crater in the ground. His lips thinned into a determined line.

Soldier Boy’s still out there.

You took a break from staring at the double surveillance screens at your work desk to answer your cell phone.

“Hey, Yvette. How’s it going?” you said, smiling.

“Oh, good. Just clinging to a sinking ship,” she said wryly. “My department’s down to two people.”

Your eyes widened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. In customer service? Is Vought insane?”

Yvette was the only friend you still talked to from your time at Vought. Though the two of you had been in different departments, they’d been on the same floor in the tower.

“Company shares have dropped into the toilet after…well, Homelander,” she explained. “Somehow I made it through the preliminary mass layoffs. But they want us to operate on a damn skeleton crew with no support.”

You bit your lip in sympathy. “You’re looking for another job, right?”

“Of course,” said Yvette. Her tone was hushed, and you heard her underlying worry. “Chris and I can barely afford Devon’s private school as it is. We won’t be able to renew for next year if I lose my job.”

You frowned. Her son Devon was in elementary school, a bright kid. But unlike his wealthy classmates, he’d gotten into the school on a partial scholarship. That alone was enough to single him out among the other families (even the kids, unfortunately).

“Do you want me to see if there’s anything for you here at the S.A.?” you asked. “I make an excellent reference.”

As in, you’d track down whatever department was hiring and talk them around until they agreed to look at Yvette’s resume, if for no other reason than to shut you up.

“That would be great,” she said with a sigh. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Of course!” you agreed.

Yvette had been one of the few people to actually support you after you left Vought. After that, she’d cemented a place in your life from “work friend” to something real, and as honest as you’d let yourself be in a long time.

When the phone on your work desk started to ring, you let out a sigh.

“Sorry, Yvette. I’m getting another call.”

“No problem. Still coming for dinner on Friday? I finally talked Chris into making his arroz con gandules. And in honor of you, I’m making pain patate. My grandma's recipe, if I might add.”

“Oooh, excellent,” you said, already mentally rubbing your hands together. Yvette was Haitian, married to a Puerto Rican man. Both were ridiculously great cooks, and had been teaching you their ways in the kitchen for the past few years.

Before you became friends with Yvette, you could barely boil an egg. Your mother, bless her, wasn’t the best cook. So you and your sister had survived mainly on boxed meals growing up...mainly on Hamburger Helper and the like, if you were honest.

But you were a quick student, according to your friend. You could even make baked macaroni from scratch now.

“I’ll definitely be there,” you said. “See ya then!”

You hung up your cell and picked up your work phone just as it was about to stop ringing.

“Surveillance department,” you answered.

You positioned the phone between your ear and your shoulder and checked on the surveillance cameras you were monitoring. Nothing was amiss (yet), but you were watching in case a telekinetic went off the rails on her next drug bust.

There had been reports of this particular supe being too careless with her arrests, even putting a teenager into a full body cast after flinging him off a second-story building.

But you were only half-shaken out of your thoughts when a woman greeted you on the line.

“Can you come up to my office please?” she said.

“Who’s this?” you asked distractedly.

“Grace Mallory.”

You paused. Oh shit.

The head boss lady of this whole operation was on your phone, and she wanted to see you.

“Uh…yes, ma’am,” you said. “Right now?”

“…Yeah. Right now,” she said dryly. And she hung up on you.

You heaved a sigh as you also hung up the phone at your desk. Your manager (and the head of S.A. Surveillance) was already working your team over time.

And for some reason, Grace Mallory wanted to have a little chit chat.

You didn’t know why she singled you out, but you had a handful of guesses. All of them were making your stomach churn.

You popped your head out of your cubicle and leaned over to the one next to yours.

“Hey Jess, I need you to cover for me for a bit,” you told your coworker. Jess didn’t have as much experience as you, but she was solid at her job and you could count on her to handle things while you were gone for a bit. The blonde smiled and bobbed her head.

“Okie! No problem, friend,” she said.

Her bubbliness grated on your psyche a bit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her either. It wasn’t her fault the world hadn’t kicked her in the ass yet.

You nodded and went up to Grace’s office, where she welcomed you in and asked you to sit down in the plush chair in front of her rather large mahogany desk.

It was leagues above your small, plain gray cubicle, but you supposed these were the kinds of things that came with being the head of the operation.

The S.A. was now strictly her domain, following the clusterfuck of Victoria Neuman departing the organization to join Robert Singer’s presidential campaign.

“What can I do for you, Grace?” you asked.

The other woman gave you a patient, if knowing look. “I think you know why I asked you here.”

“Can’t say that I do,” you replied, tight-lipped.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, the manhunt for Soldier Boy is now this organization’s top priority,” she began. “I’d like to recruit you, beyond surveillance. I want to put you in the field.”

You were already shaking your head before she’d finished speaking. You’d been happily sitting at a desk for a year now.

“I don’t think I’m qualified, ma’am.”

She gave a small huff of a laugh. “I beg to differ.”

You shifted in your seat, impatient and uncomfortable, as she folded her pale hands on her desk.

“Before you joined Supe Affairs last year, you were a private investigator…on Vought’s payroll,” she said. “I promise, you will have even more resources at your disposal. And my full support.”

“You’re CIA,” you said, hiding your nervousness. “Why do you need me?”

For a moment, Grace just stared at you. Her head tilted just so, lips pursing.

“Because this is an all-hands-on-fucking-deck situation. I need every single body I can throw at this,” she said, her blue eyes unyielding. “I’ve seen your track record. Here at the S.A., your years at Vought, and before. When you worked at your father’s firm.”

Your spine tightened at the mention of your father, but you forced yourself to relax.

“You get results,” Grace continued. “And I think you’ll do well working with Butcher’s team.”

Your eyes widened.

“Billy Butcher?” you repeated. “Oh, hell no. I’m not working with that crazy bastard…with all due respect, ma’am.”

You lowered your eyes in embarrassment.

You’d only worked in Surveillance for the past year, but you’d often heard Victoria Neuman’s bitching to Hughie Campbell down the hall—especially in the break room.

“I understand your reservations, believe me,” Grace said wryly. “But he’s the one who found Soldier Boy in Siberia, after forty years of him being presumed dead.”

“In part, thanks to you,” you couldn’t help pointing out…maybe a bit too petulantly to a high-ranking CIA agent.

Grace’s lips thinned even further, but after she considered you a moment longer, she relaxed with a slight smile.

“I think you’ll fit in just fine,” she said.

You let out a deep breath. After Hughie clued you in on Victoria Neuman being an undercover supe, you’d laid low at the S.A., waiting for the right time to quit. After Neuman left the organization, and Homelander’s death, you’d actually thought it was safe enough to stay.

You’d left Vought for several reasons, all of them good ones…

“What if I don’t want the job?” you asked.

Grace tapped a finger on her desk. “As I understand, you have a younger sister.”

Your lips pulled into a frown, your shoulders tightening. Your family had nothing to do with this. Was this the part where the CIA agent threatened you in order to get her way?

“Why do you ask?”

Grace raised a brow.

“I know exactly what Vought was paying you for your exclusivity clause. Which was then rescinded when you began working for Supe Affairs,” she said.

“They kept approximately six months of your backpay on ongoing assignments, and even tried to sue you for breach of contract when you gave Neuman your intel on their supes. Drugs, prostitutes, the whole gambit.”

You crossed your arms and leaned back in your chair; you saw her game now.

“You tried to fight back in the courts, but the earnings that once sustained you have since dried up," she added, and with a nod, "Yes, I checked your bank statements.”

You were affronted at the breach of your privacy, but you weren’t exactly surprised.

“Our American justice system at work,” you snipped. Grace smiled.

“I’m prepared to double their fee,” she said. “As I understand it, your sister Luisa is a gifted girl. First chair violinist. Auditions for Julliard lined up for next month. Tuition increases every year.”

And that was when you faltered. You still didn’t think hunting after the world’s most wanted ex-superhero was a smart decision. Not even for money…but damn this Mallory. Damn the CIA and Vought, Neuman, Stan Edgar, and everyone in between!

Julliard was your sister’s dream. For the entirety of her senior year, you’d been wracking your brain (and your pitiful savings) trying to find a way to give it to her.

Your mom was a hospital receptionist making barely enough to support herself. As it was, you were supporting Luisa financially.

Since the two of you were kids, you’d done your best to protect your sister. To be the one she could always count on when your mom just…couldn’t.

But still. Making this deal with Grace felt a bit too much like making that deal with Vought five years ago. And look at how that had come to bite you in the ass.

“I don’t think—” you started to say.

“Up front,” Mallory said.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’ll get double your fee, up front,” she said. “Then you’ll get triple if Soldier Boy is caught and brought back into U.S. custody, or eliminated in the field.”

Dead or alive…

You knew what this decision meant for you.

Grace Mallory was Don Corleone, making you an offer. Could you afford to refuse?

After a beat to think, you drummed your nails on the chair’s arm and looked up at Grace decisively.

“You mean when he’s caught.”

Somewhere in South America…

Soldier Boy was having a great fucking time.

Thoroughly debauched, he’d rented out an entire casino for his 101st birthday. Bottomless drinks, drugs, whores, and poker. Didn’t get much better than that, in his (literally) high opinion.

Until a bullet ripped through his champagne glass.

The fuck. He glanced up and watched the unit of military personnel line up around all four floors of the casino. If his nose was mistaken (and it never was), most of these guys were hopped up on V. It smelled like the temporary stuff.

Good fucking job, Wannabe President Singer, he thought.

The group of women that had been hanging out at his table had already fled, save for one cowering at his feet when the first shot rang out. She was a thin blonde with big Bette Davis eyes, but she was much easier on said eyes than that fucking broad had been.

Soldier Boy grabbed the girl up off the floor, like the dead weight she was, and gave her his room key.

“If you make it outta here, catch me at my place, would ya?” he told her, though his attention was on the guns surrounding him. She took the key with shaking hands and looked up at him. He spared her a glance.

“I’d go now, if I were you. Things are about to get fuckin' crispy.”

And that was when they tossed the tear gas.

The futile sniping began, tearing through his new silk suit but bouncing harmlessly off his skin. The girl screamed and cowered under the table.

Soldier Boy snapped off a roulette wheel from a nearby table and tossed it like a frisbee at the closest guns. The tear gas was just making him want to sneeze.

But he smirked and rolled his neck. Here we go...

By the end, Soldier Boy was the only one standing. And that included the casino. It was a mess of broken wood, overturned tables, and the blood and bodies of soldiers, staff, gambling patrons, and Bette Davis Eyes under the table.

Straightening his ruined blazer, he stepped out the back of the casino and disappeared into the dark.

On the only table left standing was a hand-written note, pinned down with a steak knife:

Try harder.

S. B.

AN: Well, then. 😂 I can say this is a very different story than I'm used to writing, but I couldn't not explore Soldier Boy. 😏

Let me know what you think of this little intro!

Keep Reading: PART 1

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0

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bcacstuff · 1 day ago

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From Outlander to intrepid hiker to whisky distiller, Sarah Tucker meets a warrior spirit in actor and entrepreneur Sam Heughan…

There is something of the poet adventurer in Sam Heughan, the actor best known for his eleven-year tenure as the handsome Jacobite warrior Jamie Fraser in the series Outlander, who meets and falls in love with time-travelling 20th-century nurse Claire Beauchamp, played by Caitriona Balfe.

Meeting him, albeit over a zoom call, I get the feeling this is a man who never sits still, is eternally curious about life, has boundless intellectual as well as physical energy – a doer who enjoys getting his hands dirty.

“I don’t think Fraser would like me,” Heughan commented recently, “He would consider me a stupid actor.” I disagree. When Heughan speaks about his life, and work, he shows a keen sense of purpose, practicality and determination. He shows a wit and versatility which makes him resourceful. All qualities of which Jamie Fraser would approve.

Heughan’s deep-rooted passion for Scotland and all things Scottish is evident in how his face lights up when he describes the mysterious landscapes he has encountered while working on Outlander and Men in Kilts. The images he conjures are visceral.

“My uncle, for a time, lived on the Isle of Eigg, and there’s a group of Islands, Muck, Mull, Rum, really interestingly-named places, lying south of Skye. My family would visit every summer; catch a ferry across to the Isle of Eigg and see the landscape completely differently. Once we hit the North Sea, I would feel like an explorer. The Ferry was the only way to get around before the [English] military built the roads. The clans controlled the ocean.”

From the standing stones of Clanais on the Isle of Lewis, where Outlander was filmed to the Schiehallion, one of Scotland’s most popular munros, he seems bewitched by the legends as much as the energy surrounding these places

Although he admits the final chapter on Outlander left a void in his schedule (the crew became like a family, the wrap party was held outdoors with bagpipes and a ceilidh), in December he will be in Nepal, trekking up Everest to Base Camp (the hard way) with acclaimed mountaineer Jake Norton. He met Norton while preparing for a role in a film about the explorers Stanley Irvine (1902 – 1924) and George Mallory (1886 – 1924), whose ill-fated attempt on Everest has gone down in history. Norton was on the team that found Mallory’s remains in 1999. Irvine’s partial remains were only found earlier this year.

“We will be trekking through a lesser-known valley that no one has ever been to before, which will mean reaching a 19,000-foot ridge and rappelling down into the valley, so that will be quite an experience. I’m terrified, but I have a great respect for that mountain. I am not doing this for television or film – I am just doing this for myself.”

Heughan’s voice is as smooth as his whisky. His latest venture is his multi-award-winning whisky and gin, ‘The Sassenach’, the Gaelic word for ‘outsider’. He feels he is an outsider to the industry, but the idea behind the name seems to have emerged from his mother, who is an English artist and was called ‘Sassenach’ when she arrived in New Galloway, and in Outlander, Jamie Fraser calls his wife Sassenach as s term of endearment. “The name is very special to me,” he tells me.

“Five years back, I travelled a lot, and I remember being in a bar in London. It was a Scottish celebration of some sort – St Andrews Day or perhaps Burns Night. There was a single malt on the bar’s top shelf, and as soon as I tasted it, it reminded me of Scotland. I have an emotional reaction to it, but with other spirits, less so. It made me feel quite homesick. It is Scotland in a bottle…it is personality in a bottle.”

Watching Heughan talk about the whisky, the research which goes into it, the foibles of flavour, which leaving it outdoors, or adding water or ice to it, has on the ABV (alcohol content), it is clear he enjoys learning about the alchemy of the blending possibly even more than he does enjoy drinking the final product. He talks of the influence of the terroir and water, how he likes the taste to weigh heavy on the palate, and the influence of Asian whisky on the final blend with its balance of butterscotch, honey, crab apple, rhubarb, which reminds him of picking the fruit from his mother’s garden.

Something of the ghost of Jamie Fraser has lingered in this entrepreneur. As Heughan admits himself, he has been playing someone else for eleven years, and observing him talk about Scotland and The Sassenach brand, he appears to have captured some of that warrior spirit. Or perhaps, it is the other way round, and he injected his own spirit into the character.

Sam Heughan reached Everest based camp on Friday 20th December.

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nyqii21 · 1 month ago

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Break Me

A/N: Hey guys, just letting you know that this is a warning! This story contains mentions of blood and it's sexually graphic. SO that means 18+ . Warnings: unprotected sex, p.i.v., wounds, blood, nudity, fingering, squirting. I think that's all. Now enjoy! Let me know how I did, on my first smut story...Please. :-) xoxo

It is late at night, and you just got out of the shower. With a towel wrapped around you, you make your way to the dresser. Just as you're about to pull out the deep green silk pajama set, you hear the obnoxious hammering against your door.

You know who it is, and by the sounds of it, he sounds needy and desperate. Still wrapped in a towel, you go to unlock the front door. You see him standing there, looking like he is out of his mind with blood covering him from head to toe, he's holding on to his side. And that's when you notice the massive patch of blood around his hand.

"Help...", that's all he says, before collapsing on top of you, thankfully, you are a supe, you aren't powerful like Annie or Soldier Boy. Your supe powers are strength and healing, like a witch, if you will. Using your supe strength, you get up with Butcher. You manage to maneuver him so he's on your back and you make your way to the make-shift ER in your living room.

As gentle as you could, you lay him down on the bed and start working. Dozing him with enough morphine through the tiny needle in your skin, making sure he'll be fine.

"You need to calm down," you think to yourself, and you try your best to be calm and collected, but this is Butcher, the one guy that you have been in love with ever since Grace Mallory asked you to join the team, years ago. Every time you fucked someone else; you always imagine it being him. And always afterwards you're left with the ache of knowing that he'll never be with you in that way.

Taking a deep breath, you shake yourself from your thoughts. You start taking care of Butcher, stitching him up and cleaning up his wounded side. Once you are done, you plant a soft kiss on the stitched line, and within minutes the wound is already halfway healed. Just enough to make sure he won't rip the stitches out once he leaves and back into the field.

After about 2 hours ,"Ugh", you finally hear him groan. "Hey, Billy," you say softly, that has his snapping his head in your direction. "Thanks, luv, appreciate it," he states not making eye contact. "Classic Billy, hates all supes, even the ones actually doing good in the world", you think to yourself, rolling your eyes.

Butcher's POV:

I came to the one place; I knew that could help me. Her place. As much as I hate supes, this one really is different. She takes care of people; she's kind and loving. I knock on her door and within seconds she opens up. "Help...", is all I can manage before darkness consumes me.

I wake up, on a table, feeling stiff as fuck, but the second I heard her voice; it was like everything else faded away. I look at her. I thank her, avoiding eye contact. Not because she is a supe or because I hate her. No, I couldn't let her get a glimpse of my eyes and see into my soul. I noticed she's in a towel, covered in blood, obviously mine.

She comes closer to me, and I feel her ever soft hands on my side, checking the newly forming scar. I can't help but feel the electricity coursing through me in that moment. I don't know what's happening, I have always thought that she is ridiculously stunning, and she is this petite creature, yet she doesn't take any of my shit. I would never admit it to anyone that I fancy her. After Becca, I never thought I would ever feel this way about anyone ever again, but she woke something up in me.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her flush against my chest. She let a small yelp escape her lips and I had to refrain from chuckling at the sound. I don't know what possessed me, all I knew was that I had to have more of her skin touching mine.

Reader's POV:

Feeling his chest against mine, I am too confused to bother with breathing as I can feel and hear his heartbeat pick up slightly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have done that", he whispers but not making a move to let me go. "I-it's-I", the words won't come out, cursing myself internally, for this just had to be the moment, where my ability to speak stops working.

He leans closer to my face; I can feel his warm breath wash over my lips and nose. Before I can collect myself, he softly brushes his lips against mine. I feel like I could die from the sudden burst of emotions flooding my mind. I was hesitant to kiss him back, because what if this is one of those things where he is just doing this to fuck with me. He kissed met again, this time making his intentions clear, his hands find their way to my hips, where he grips on tightly, pulling me closer. I couldn't stop it if I tried. I kissed back, with the same intensity as he was.

He grabs my face in his massive hands and looks me in the eyes, "Tell-Tell me to stop and I will". I stare at him for a second, blinking. I don't answer him, I just pull his hips closer to mine and I hear him chuckle softly. He kisses me again, with more urgency and excitement than before. He taps my cheek twice, signaling me to jump. Jumping up I wrap my legs around his waist as he catches me, holding me under my ass. "Fuck, I. have. wanted. this. for. so. long", he says in between as he is trailing down my neck, leaving open mouthed kisses. I can feel my cunt throb at his words, making me wetter than I already am.

Butcher's POV:

"Fuck this is happening. I am kissing the woman who I have been dreaming about since Grace introduced us". My thoughts are racing in my head, as I feel her soft ass under my hands. Her curves are enough to make any man go insane. I spin us around, placing her on the make-shift bed. I move my hands to palm her tits, and I swear I could cum just from the sweet sounds she makes.

My cock is throbbing painfully in my jeans, but I can't rush, I want to savor everything about this moment, burn it into my memories. I pull away from her lips, and the whine that left her throat, almost had me lose control completely. I pull the towel open and like reflex she tries to cover up. "No, luv, don't hide f'me". Slowly she lowers her arms, and I moan at the sight. Without thinking twice, I wrap my mouth around her nipple and tug on the other with my fingers.

Reader's POV:

His assault on my breasts makes me squirm and moan loudly, as I lock my hands in his black hair. As I am moaning, I feel him moan against my tit, sending vibrations through me, making the feeling so much more pleasurable. I tug on his hair, bring him up to my lips for another kiss. "Please", is all that leaves my lips, before he strips at lightning speed. He catches me staring at his dick and chuckles. "Like wha' you see?", he asks me, and I nod slowly.

He helps me off the make-shift bed and leads me to my bedroom. Before we reach the bed, I turn to him and say, "Don't hold back, break me." With that he gives that alluring smirk of his and he shoves me onto the bed, crawling over me. I feel his hands wander down to my cunt and I know what's coming. I feel his fingers start to rub between my folds and I can't help the moan that escapes me. He slips a finger inside and I moan louder as he brushes against that spongy bump, that I struggle to reach sometimes.

"So wet f'me, fuck, can't wait to fill you up", he says, his voice dropping a few octaves, as he inserts another finger. I look at his eyes and I can see that they are filled with lust. He starts pumping his fingers at an alarming speed, hitting that spot that makes me see stars over and over again. I feel that familiar knot in my belly and I know I am on the edge. I am sure he feels my walls fluttering around his digits, because he just says, "Cum f'me", and with that I let out an animalistic moan as my walls contract around his fingers. He starts rubbing my clit, with his thumb, making my high even more intense. I feel a strange full feeling, and before I can figure out what is happening, I am squirting all over his hand.

"Fuck me, I didn't know you could do that," he says, his voice raspy, "Again!", he exclaims as he shoves his fingers back in. I moan loudly as he trusts his fingers in and out of my sensitive cunt. I am still so sensitive, that it doesn't take long for the knot to become tighter and tighter again. Nearly screaming his name, I cum again, "Billy!!". I squirt over his hand again.

Smiling down at me, I feel him remove his fingers gently, bring them to his lips, licking them. He groans as he sucks his fingers clean from my juices.

Butcher's POV:

She's a squirter, fuck me. If that is not the hottest thing on the planet that I have ever seen, I don't know what is. I bring my fingers to my mouth, and I can't help but groan at how sweet she tastes. Like honey. I can't wait anymore; I need to be inside her. Now!

I move between her legs, pushing them apart. "I need you- need to be inside you", I say. She nods almost frantically. I line myself up with her entrance. Slowly I push in, just the tip. I see her eyes rolling back slightly as she lets out a soft whimper. I push in more, and more, until I am flush against her dripping cunt. I moan at how tight she is gripping me. I know I won't last long with this delicious cunt.

Reader's POV:

I feel him entering, the stretch is a pleasurable pain. The kind that drives you wild. Once he is flush against me, I hear him moan. Not wasting another second, he starts dragging long thrusts against my walls, leaving just the tip inside before thrusting back in. "I-I told you to break me," I say while gasping at how full I feel. "Yes ma'am", he grunts out, before he starts railing me nine ways to Sunday.

His pace never falters, and I feel that knot getting tighter again. I feel my walls flutter around his cock, I moan his name to let him know that I am close. "Hold it", he grunts as he is thrusting at an unforgiving speed, hitting deeper than I thought possible.

A few more thrusts and he says, 'Now", his hips faltering a little, his thrusts becoming sloppier and I let go. Moaning and sort of screaming, I cum so hard, I swear I see heaven. He thrusts once, twice before I feel him painting my walls white.

He collapses on top of me, still making sure he doesn't crush me. I feel him kiss my head and he pulls out, falling down next to me on the bed.

After sort of catching our breaths, he turns to me, placing his hand on my cheek, making me look at him. He kisses me softly resting his forehead against mine. "I love you", he says softly. I know in my soul he means it.

Kissing him again, I say, "I love you too". We remained entangled in each other's arms as sleep takes over. I am happy and sated, at peace, knowing that Billy Butcher, loves me.

#billy butcher imagine #billy butcher the boys #karl fucking urban #smut #romance #billy butcher smut

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 10 days ago

Note

hello, my dear Mallory 🩶

with this ask I challenge you to write a ficlet (or anything bigger if you want) inspired by this screenshot:

may the writing muses be with you,

kissing you on your forehead (if you allow it not then just waving from the distance!)

Oh Aly! This was so fun and lovely to write this morning. Jackson Joel will always have my heart.

---

His chair scrapes across the worn floorboards. He settles on the seat, across from her.

“Remember what I showed you last time?” he asks. His voice is deep and affectionate.

“Yeah, I’ve been practicing a lot.” She responds, holding the guitar the exact way he showed her how.

“Go ahead,” he says, nodding encouragingly. "Show me what you've learned."

Her fingers find their spots over the rungs. She gently clears her throat, adjusts her posture, and takes a deep breath before strumming the first note. The first few chords are a little clumsy, but as she continues her confidence grows.

“Good,” he praises, nodding along to the rhythm.

Pride swells in his heart as he notices the small improvements in her technique. This feeling inside his heart once seemed so foreign and long forgotten, buried under the years of grief that wrapped around his heart in a tight hold.

A smile forms on his lips, almost unconsciously, as he watches her play. The wrinkles around his eyes soften, warmth spreading throughout his chest as if he’s being embraced by every note she strums.

Her face is set in determination, brows furrowed above her brown eyes that roam across the instrument.

Memories of Sarah and the way he used to teach her swirl through his mind. He can almost see her sitting there instead, her curls catching the sunlight, her small fingers fumbling over the strings just as Ellie’s are now. She’s not Sarah, but she’s here and she needs him, just as much as he knows he needs her.

She misses a chord, but instantly corrects herself.

“That’s it,” he encourages softly. “You did good. That G chord is a pain.”

She bites her lip in concentration, gently humming along to the music.

The final chord rings out, she looks up at him expectantly with a mix of hope and nervousness in her eyes.

“You did good, baby girl,” he says with a nod.

“Yeah, well, I couldn't have done it without you,” she grins as she gently puts the guitar down. “You’re like… really good, Joel.”

He looks away with a bashful grin. Years of heartbreak and cold still haunt him, but within the walls of their shared home, where her boots lay carelessly in the middle of the walkway—no matter how many times he trips over them—there is warmth and love.

#joel miller #joel and ellie #joel miller tlou #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller ficlet

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hughiecampbelle · 5 months ago

Text

Imagine being Frenchies younger sibling and finding him again after years of being apart:

Requested: anon / based on this preference

"Je suis un monstre."

"No. You are not a monster. Do not say those things about mon bébé." After all these years, you never stopped being his baby. You were different, of course. Older. Colder. Worn. Your features became sharper, losing the baby fat. But you were still his. He thought about you every single day. Years ago, he asked Mallory to look for you. But even with the technology she had available, the last anyone had heard from you was when you were a teenager. He didn't want to be hopeful or naive, he had to face reality. She was so sorry, but if she couldn't find you, you were probably gone. Dead. He blamed himself for your death, for leaving you behind with your father, for being a bad big brother. You told him you never once blamed him. He got out. You were grateful for that. Eventually, you would too.

"It's been a long time, you don't know me anymore." You didn't talk about the years in-between, what you did to get by, only that you couldn't outrun the shame. You hurt a lot of people and you hurt yourself. You did things you weren't proud of, things you could never tell him. He spent your childhood protecting you, saving you, and in return you sold your skills and talents to horrible people. It was the only way to get out. It was the only way to make a life for yourself. Seeing your brother again, it reminded you how much haf changed. You weren't little kids, you weren't playing in abandoned buildings and coming up with elaborate escape plans to get away from your father. You were adults, adults who made decisions that turned you into a monster. You couldn't look at him. You didn't want to see the pity in his face, there was enough of it in his voice to push you over the edge.

"Nonsense. I raised you, I know you better than I know myself." When you got to New York you tracked him down. It was easier than you expected. Everyone knew about him. Frenchie, they called him, but he would always be your Serge. He didn't recognize you at first, him and his friends instantly defensive that a stranger had broken in. But as soon as you started speaking, as soon as he heard your voice, he dropped his knife. Before you could react his arms were around you, cradling your head, apologizing over and over again. He stopped looking for you. Eventually he introduced you to everyone who, immediately and affectionately, nicknamed you Mini Frenchie. You met Kimiko, too, who loved you from the start. You had a home here, a family, something you hadn't been allowed to have in a very long time.

#requested #frenchie #frenchie imagine #the boys #the boys imagine #ennasfavorites

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chaotic-orphan · 7 months ago

Note

Hey! Excitedly waiting for the next intoxicating fear update, no rush tho take your time:)

Intoxicating Fear (XV)

A foreboding calm

Part one // Masterpost // continued from here

If you noticed Kit’s face-claim change, ahahah… no you didn’t ;)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ambrose didn’t come back for days. Kit didn’t have any of the strange headaches, there was nothing. No shred of contact. No stupid texts, no phone calls, nothing.

It was eerie. Strange.

Kit had to re-learn how to be a person again. How to exist without the constant threat of violence or pain, or Ambrose. The further they got away from Friday, the greater Kit’s anxiety grew that Ambrose would come back.

It was a quiet Saturday, too quiet. Kit woke and checked his phone to see if Ambrose text but nothing. It was… unsettling. As if there were tiny ants crawling through his veins and scurrying along his nerves pulsing to see if they could sense Ambrose’s presence lurking.

Every electric pulse of stranger’s nerves sending signals their brains prickled Kit’s fight or flight just in case it could be Ambrose. He couldn’t escape it in the shops, walking down streets, on the metro, in his apartment block because he could feel someone walk up the steps to his floor… and walk right past it.

He couldn’t seem to relax, to find any sort of peace on his own. Music didn’t help not even when he blared it on max volume in his ears. Tv shows barely served as a distraction and by the time Sunday rolled around Kit decided he needed to go back to work, just to be somewhere he knew Ambrose couldn’t ambush him.

That’s what found him staring at the Hero Tower as he emerged from the sea of commuters. He took the overground train on the raised train tracks that ran through the city. The Hero tower loomed above them all in the old-town, inner district at least. Maybe if they built it in the business district there would be some competition. Maybe it wouldn’t look as impressive.

It still managed to make Kit’s thoughts turn static, almost mute, as if he was staring out at the sea, bare feet on the sand and listening to the waves come in and out.

Even with all the cars and honking noises of the city’s traffic. Kit disentangled himself from the bustle and took the revolving door into the lobby of the Hero Tower, and for the first time in days? Weeks? months, he felt safe. The familiar smell greeted him with a sudden burst and he almost sighed at the scent. It smelled refreshing, clean, but not to the sickening degree of a clinical, hospital smell. It was more personal, more like a showroom in a beautiful house on the outskirts of the city— that was definitely outside his budget— would smell of.

A small voice in his head said that it smelled like how Mentor’s house smelled when he was a teenager, but Kit ignored it and continued to the lift. It was directly opposite the lobby entrance and had a keypad in front of it. Kit lifted his hand to key in the passcode when tanned, lithe fingers beat him to it.

Kit’s alarm system had alerted him to the individual approaching him, but it was the smell of the pungent cologne that identified them.

“Well, well, well Mallory. Risen from the dead. Poor Superhero was worried sick,” a voice dripping with mock concern slithered from his left. Kit tilted his head up to watch the numbers on the lift drop, ignoring the idiot.

24, 23, 22—

“Are you sure you’re able to come back to work? We were coping just fine without you, Hero of Heroes.”

“I figured you’d miss me if I stayed away too long, Sawyer. God knows what other poor soul you’d make suffer your company.”

The doors opened and Kit stepped towards them, but it was Sawyer who got in first. Seeing Sawyer’s weasel-like face put a dampener on Kit’s mood. Sawyer had a long face, with a pointed nose and long thin lips that were always a little bit unsettling. Not to mention his mocking jade eyes that judged your every move.

Though, to Sawyer’s credit, he wasn’t Ambrose, and Kit joined him in the lift with that reassurance, pressing the button for his floor.

“Just the atmosphere when you were gone was so refreshing, Mallory. It was as good as the academy days after you left. Everyone was happy, not having to look at the moping orphan and listen to his poor excuse at humour.”

Kit leaned back against the corner of the lift, as far as he could get away from Sawyer and let out a small scoff of a laugh.

“I’m sure they got plenty of laughs out of seeing your ugly mug everyday.”

“Wow, playground insults,” Sawyer deadpanned, swiveling his head to Kit. Kit smiled. “What’re you? Five?”

“Outta five.”

Sawyer scoffed and looked back to the numbers go up in the lift.

To be fair to Sawyer, he wasn’t a bad looking guy. He had a sort of elegant charm working for him, with his slicked back hair and strange features. It was mostly his personality that was hideous, cold and distant like his powers. His shadows always kinda creeped Kit out, even in their academy days. That fear seemed laughable now; compared to Ambrose… Sawyer was a saint. Not to mention the fact that Sawyer was actually a competent Hero, unlike Kit.

“The class prodigy. The crème de la crème,” Sawyer said. “The poor orphan graces us with his presence. How marvellous a day. Aren’t we all blessed?”

“I’m not feeling very blessed to have to stand this close to you, pal,” Kit retorted, smiling sweetly at Sawyer. “Especially in such a confined space.”

Sawyer scoffed. “You’re so full of shit, Sparky.”

Kit shrugged. “I eat a lot of fibre.”

Kit barely had time to enjoy the retort before a giant, shadowed hand slammed against his chest and pinned him to the metal wall behind him. His head bounced off the metal on impact, but Kit didn’t make a sound or struggle. He just stayed still as Sawyer closed the distance between them and slammed a hand beside Kit’s head, leaning in even closer.

Sawyer’s smile was lopsided as he stared down at Kit, but his eyes burned like two coals. “You don’t even know what it’s like for the rest of us normal, mere mortals, do you?”

Anger flared hot in Kit’s chest and he was about to retort when Ambrose flashed into his mind and he faltered.

“Us heroes and villains, we’re all where we are today because we didn’t fit into the normal life…” his silver tongued voice repeated in Kit’s mind. “A normal person would be dead if they had that much electricity coursing through their body.”

“God,” Sawyer said with an exasperated sigh, pulling Kit back into the moment where he was. In the lift, with Sawyer, at the Hero tower not basement where Ambrose kept him chained. “You’re not even paying attention are you? What? Too good to respond to me now? Hey!”

Sawyer slammed his hand on the wall again and Kit flinched. Wide eyes shot to Sawyer’s black and it was as if all oxygen had left the lift and Kit was horribly aware of the confusion that was painted clearly across Sawyer’s features.

The shadowed hand dissolved from Kit’s chest but he didn’t move. He stood frozen. Sawyer the headlights, Kit the deer.

Kit never flinched.

Never.

Not even when they were in the academy.

Not when Nemesis beat the shit out of him and told him run back to whatever whore he crawled out of.

Not when he was assigned his first mission as a hero in training under Mentor.

Sawyer’s eyebrows drew down over his eyes. His voice softening as he asked: “why—”

The ding of the lift snapped them both out of a trance and Sawyer jumped back to the other side of the lift, hands behind his back and staring at the doors as they slid open. Kit did his best to appear normal too, though the heaviness in the elevator was suffocating.

Kit’s eyes flicked up to the floor number, 19, then went to the doors that were to reveal Tides. Kit’s heart stopped seeing her. She smiled at the two of them as she stepped into the lift.

“Hello boys,” she said in her bright happy way.

Kit swallowed, trying to force moisture back into his mouth while the doors closed again and Sawyer asked Tides what floor she was getting off on. His tongue was heavy and felt like sawdust, and practically scrapped his already chapped lips instead of soothing them, because Tides was the Hero who was with Kit on the docks that day.

She would have to remember Ambrose, right? Unless he made her forget, but did he even have time to do that? A million thoughts zoomed through Kit’s mind, some too fast to even catch because what if she remembered? Could she help him? Could he tell her about Ambrose, describe him even if she didn’t? Probably not with the fucking conditions of Kit’s freedom cemented into his brain and… Kit’s glanced at Sawyer from the corner of his eyes, whatever that was.

The lift stopped again at floor 27 and Sawyer walked out, saying bye to Tides, and it was just Kit and Tides left. Tides worked out of the same floor as Kit so they could ride the lift up together. This was his chance. He had to say something.

It was Tides who spoke first. “I’m happy to see you’re feeling good, Kit,” she said, and Kit looked at her. “Superhero said you had a bad flu.”

“Yeah,” Kit began, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. It’s good to see you actually, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that night on the docks.”

Tides turned her body to face him, resting her back against the opposite wall. “Of course. You saved my life.”

“Do you…” Kit began, but trailed off. How was he going to word this? “Do you remember the Villain we were fighting?”

“Of course. It was Omen.” The words hit Kit’s chest like a freight train. She remembered! She knew! That would make explaining his current predicament so much easier. “He’s…” Tides began, but shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself, a distant glaze coating her eyes. “I still have nightmares about that night.”

Kit’s heart lurched in his chest because he knew exactly how she felt. He knew exactly what being Ambrose’s puppet felt like. As if she was covered in a layer of dirt that she couldn’t shake, like a film of grease around her entire body and inside of her, violated. A small voice wondered if she flinched at the thought of Ambrose too.

“Can you explain the feeling?” Kit asked, voice gentle. Tides’ bright green eyes found his, almost pleading.

“Kit…” she said instead, reaching forward and wrapping her hand around his forearm. “I know you must be thinking about Mentor and how he felt, but you can’t let vengeance consume you. Omen is a monster, you can’t torture yourself with this. We’ll catch him.”

“It’s not—” Kit began but the words caught in his throat and he wanted to curse. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and let out a sigh. He let out a huff of a breath and lifted his gaze to meet Tides’s green eyes, “it’s not about Mentor. It’s about you. About… why he was there that night, on the docks. When there was a co-ordinated attack on the city.”

Tides hummed thoughtfully. “You think Omen recruited a group of Villains to attack me on the docks?”

Kit shrugged. “Maybe not Omen,” he said as the lift doors opened again onto their floor and the pair stepped out. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Ambrose would do, he didn’t exactly seem like a team player. “Maybe some other Villain is pulling the strings.”

“Have you told Superhero this?” Tides asked, flicking her dyed pink hair over her shoulder.

“It’s just an idea that’s been bouncing around my head,” Kit told her honestly. There was something about that night that he felt like he was missing. Some part of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. It almost seemed like Ambrose was waiting for him, but then again… his reaction to Kit the other day was strange, so maybe not Kit? Maybe he was waiting for someone else.

Tides pulled him out of his thoughts as they rounded the corner to Tides’s desk. “I think you should clue Superhero in on your theory. Maybe he can help you paint a fuller picture.”

“Yeah,” Kit said with a nod, moving to leave. “I think I will. Thanks Tides.”

Tides hand shot out, wrapping around Kit’s forearm stopping him in his tracks. Her smile was reassuring, as she said: “and Kit, seriously, don’t beat yourself up about that night. You saved me. Remember that.”

Kit swallowed a scoff.

Oh he would remember if he could, if Ambrose hadn’t taken that memory from him. He just smiled in reply and squeezed her hand on his arm before stepping back. Maybe Tides was right, he thought, walking straight to Superhero’s office, he could use a second opinion on all of this.

He couldn’t talk about Ambrose or Omen, or what he did to Kit personally, but he could talk about it in a roundabout way. He was sure he’d find a way. Ambrose wasn’t always flawless in his commands, Kit proved that when he was able to stay in his childhood home, he’d find a path through if he was careful.

Superhero’s office was half a flight of steps above all the other desks that the normal heroes worked out of. It’s walls were made of a tinted glass which meant that he could see out but you couldn’t see in. A good security measure for the boss, Kit remembers Superhero telling them with a self-depreciating laugh when the architect was installing the new glass.

Kit remembers humming in response, watching as Mentor’s normal two-way glass was removed and couldn’t help but feel the difference in authority immediately after Superhero took over.

Now, Kit didn’t really care what kind of wall Superhero’s office had as he climbed the short flight and walked into the office without knocking.

Superhero wasn’t alone, and Kit felt a conversation die as he entered the room. “Oh, sorry,” Kit said, standing in the doorway. “I didn’t realise you had company.”

Kit met Superhero’s bright eyes over his guest’s head and he made an effort to smooth out his pinched up features. He offered Kit a smile, “not at all, Kit.”

The grey suit Superhero was deep in discussion with turned his body and smiled when he saw Kit. Kit offered a grin back, letting the door close behind him. He would recognise those warm silver eyes anywhere.

“Kit,” Mr Silver said, taking Kit’s outstretched hand and clapping his other hand to Kit’s elbow, squeezing it reassuringly. “How have you been?”

Kit shrugged, patting Mr Silver’s shoulder in return as they let go of each other’s hand. “Good, good. It’s good to see you, it’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has,” Mr Silver replied with his smooth voice. “You’ve already made your mark on the city.”

“Wouldn’t be able to if people like you didn’t keep it running,” Kit shot back. Mr Silver wasn’t a hero, but he was a gifted individual. His power lay more in his mind than a physical, typical Hero power. He had a gift for patterns, facts and numbers, all very cerebral he told Kit when they had first met. Mentor had taken Mr Silver on as a liaison between the Hero agency and the government, but he was more like a family friend than business associate.

Kit looked between Silver and a disgruntled Superhero, who was trying very hard to hide his expression below a pleasant façade. “What’re you doing here today?”

Silver straightened his posture, inclining his head a little and Kit’s eyes went to Superhero and back again. “I’m sure Superhero will fill you in on the details,” Silver said, fixing his suit jacket. “I think that’s my cue to leave, Superhero.”

Superhero smiled with thin lips as he nodded politely to Mr Silver. “Of course, Mr Silver. Always a pleasure.”

Silver raised his eyebrows as he passed Kit, and Kit frowned, following the man with his eyes. Silver opened the door and paused just before he stepped out, glancing back to Kit, his features conflicted. “Give Mentor my best when you see him again, Kit.”

“I will, Silver,” Kit told him earnestly. Silver smiled before he left the office and closed the door behind him. Kit’s head snapped to Superhero who had his back to Kit, hands on his face, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“What was that all about?” Kit asked, watching as Silver walked through the office towards the lift and press the call button.

“Bureaucratic bullshit as usual,” Superhero said with a huff behind him. Kit turned to face Superhero once the elevator doors opened, fixing his gaze to Superhero instead. “I need a cigarette.”

“You’re a hero, Superhero,” Kit told him lightly. “You can’t save the world if you’re out of breath rescuing kittens.”

“Mmm, a drink then,” Superhero said, walking around his desk and settling heavy into his chair with another sigh. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses. He raised his eyebrows to Kit who shook his head in reply. Superhero shrugged and poured two fingers of whiskey, almost slamming the bottle onto the table.

“Why was Silver here?” Kit asked, taking the seat in front of Superhero’s desk, reclining into it.

Superhero shook his head, as if it was too serious a subject to remember. Kit stared at Superhero expectantly while he gulped down the whiskey in one shot.

“Jesus, Superhero, are you okay?”

Superhero shook his head, going to grab the bottle again. “What did you need?”

Kit watched as Superhero poured out three fingers of whiskey and screw the cap back on the bottle before reclining into his seat.

“Uh, yeah, I was just talking to Tides on the way up about a theory I have about the villains uniting.”

Superhero paused, eyebrows furrowing, casting deep shadows over his already deep set eyes. “Thank god I’m already drinking,” he said, tone anything but humourous. “Continue.”

Kit leaned forward in his seat and began, careful to avoid saying anything about Ambrose. “I don’t think the day Tides was attacked on the docks was a coincidence. That the attack just happened to coincide with the attack in first and in the business district.”

An unreadable expression flashed across Superhero’s face, more like how it was when Kit walked in on him and Silver. Kit almost winced at it, and said after: “listen, I don’t want to pile shit on your plate—“”

“No, no,” Superhero said with a sigh, leaning forward too and setting his glass down on the desk. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and let out another long frustrated huff. Then he looked up at Kit almost sheepishly. “How did Mentor do this for so long?”

Kit’s face broke into a sad smile. “I honestly don’t know.”

“He made it all look so easy, even the government visits.”

Kit licked his lips, the question written all over his face. Superhero scoffed and shook his head before standing and walking to the window that overlooked the office. He stood there, looking onto the floor like a disappointed parent. His hands on his hips, shoulders slumped, head dipped slightly.

“Silver’s not really the government, though, Superhero,” Kit said standing too. He didn’t join Superhero by the window, instead he turned and sat back against the edge of the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s part of the regulatory—”

“Regulatory Office of Powered individuals,” Superhero said over Kit, cutting him off. “Yes thank you, Kit. I know.”

“So what was the problem?”

Superhero sighed again. He was sighing too much. Too despondent. Did Silver say something bad? Has he noticed something that the world was skimming over? Something substantial?

“He said the same thing you’re alluding to, something I don’t want to know about.”

Kit straightened, his stomach bottoming out. “What?”

“There’s something big coming, apparently. Some new villain in town that has been, as you hypothesised, recruiting villains to a common cause.”

Kit’s mind raced at the information, his mind too slow to process it. Was he right? Was it Ambrose? Omen? Was he organising a group of Villains for god knows what?

“Do you know—”

“No, nothing,” Superhero said gravely. A soft slightly hysterical laugh burst from his lips. “We’re barely managing now, Kit. I don’t think the Hero agency will survive this! It’s ridiculous. Nobody wants to become a Hero after what happened to Mentor and most people have either resigned like cowards or decided they want to keep their powers to themselves.”

Kit frowned. “What do you mean? When I left the Hero academy it was—”

“Full? Yeah.”

Kit bristled as Superhero turned to face him again, expression grave. Superhero walked over to the two armchairs at the far side of the office, settling heavy into one of them.

“You were one of the last classes to graduate. Well,” Superhero paused, eyes flickering almost sardonically to Kit’s, “not you obviously, what with Mentor taking you in.”

Kit ignored the silent accusation in Superhero’s voice as he said that, but it must have been written plainly on his face.

“No, no, I don’t mean— in a bad way, Kit. You were the best in your class, obviously Mentor would take an interest in you. You’re a good kid. A good hero. A good guy. Everyone likes you, I just…” Superhero continued with a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Kit swallowed, sensing the tension that was weighing Superhero down. He walked over to the armchair opposite Superhero and sat down.

“What is it?”

“Some parents pulled their kids from the academy after Mentor was attacked.”

Kit stared at Superhero. He hadn’t heard this. Surely Sawyer would’ve told him, or someone would have messaged him to tell him.

Sawyer’s words replayed in his head: “Just the atmosphere when you were gone was so refreshing, Mallory. It was as good as the academy days after you left. Everyone was happy, not having to look at the moping orphan."

Maybe he misread his friendships at the Academy. Maybe they all just secretly hated him but Sawyer was the only one with any guts to tell him to his face. Or maybe someone did reach out and tell him but he couldn’t remember because of Ambrose’s stupid compulsion.

“But… what?” Kit blurted out, bewildered. “Why? I don’t understand.”

“Mentor was a symbol more than a man, Kit. He was hope. It wasn’t just a dark day for you when he was attacked. The city mourned with you.”

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat. This wasn’t at all how he expected this conversation to go. That’s what was wrong with Superhero, he had lost hope, but Kit didn’t— well, he didn’t know the current situation was so bleak.

You didn’t know because Ambrose didn’t want you to know.

“But you’re Mentor now, Superhero,” Kit said, his voice insistent. Superhero lifted his head, eyes wide like a boys. “You’re the new symbol of hope. We can stop this new villain like we’ve stopped every villain before them. Together.”

Superhero let out a breath of startled laughter, running his hand back through his hair.

“Who’s supposed to be who’s support again?”

Kit stood from the chair, shrugging with a charming smile and said: “I’m the Hero for Heroes, remember? That includes you.”

Superhero laughed, shaking his head.

“One good press release and you’ve already let it go to your head.”

“What can I say? The people love me. The masses love me. The heroes—” hate me “love me. It’s so hard to be everything for everyone all at once.”

“Uh huh. How about you do some work instead of talking me to death?”

Kit paused once he opened the door to the office. “If you need another psychiatrist session you can always come to me.”

“Get out before I kick you out," Superhero said and Kit laughed as he left, closing the door behind him. He descended the steps with the smile on his lips until he got to his desk and sat down, facing the small partition. Only then did he let his concern morph his features, safe from anyone else's scrutiny.

Superhero's worry was more than just the standard concern for the city. The very Hero profession could be at stake if they didn't find and stop this new villain on the scene, and Mentor had worked far too hard to let it all be for nothing.

He needed to talk to Ambrose, find out what the bastard knew. Only then could Kit plan properly… but after Ambrose stormed out of Kit’s apartment he had been quiet as a mouse. Kit could only hope that he would drop by again.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @stefaniesblogs @shinokoro

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jumpywhumpywriter · 2 months ago

Text

Vampire Captures Vampire Hunter to Use as Bloodbag part 24

Warnings: aftermath of escape attempt, vampire carewhumper, recovery whump, drowning

At least the vampire agreed not to take off his underwear, letting him keep that small sliver of dignity despite him being stripped of shirt and pants.

Mallory hobbled into the bathroom on his own, unsteady but determined as he made his way to the bathtub. It was a fancy one, fitting for such a large and extravagant mansion.

The human sat on the floor to rest as Alex turned on the water, filling the tub up before gesturing to his pet to get in.

Mallory reluctantly complied, slipping into the water with a weary sigh. He hated to admit how good it felt on his chilled skin. He averted his eyes shamefully as Alex brought out a sponge and soap, before roughly rubbing at his filthy skin.

Mallory flinched and hissed in pain every time the vampire touched a bruise or other injury, unable to hide it. The worst was when he grazed over his cracked ribs, making him cry out.

"What did I do to deserve such special treatment? A master serving their 'pet'?" Mallory taunted dryly when Alex was almost finished bathing him. He couldn't help poking the bear a little, testing his boundaries and seeing where the line was.

Alex cut him a sharp look. "Anisa's idea," he replied flatly. "Says it's good for humans."

Mallory forced out a strained laugh. "You seriously know nothing about humans whatsoever, do you? Weren't you human before becoming a vampire? How do you not know this stuff?"

Alex's gaze darkened, and Mallory felt him stiffen from where he was scrubbing his shoulder. "I don't like talking about my past," the vampire said in a clipped voice. A statement meant to end the conversation topic, his tone a subtle warning not to pry.

But of course, Mallory couldn't help retorting with some snark. "Why not?" He drawled challengingly. "You got some hidden trauma there? Friend issues? Or maybe--" he never got to finish, as his whole head was suddenly shoved underwater.

He couldn't breathe, flailing weakly as he was held under, soapy water flooding his nose. He struggled uselessly, lungs burning. Panic seized his heart, and he clawed desperately at the hand on his throat keeping him down.

This must be the belated punishment for his actions, he reasoned, that he would die of drowning. The consequence for daring to attempt to kill his captor.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy @floral-comet-whump

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @nevermore-ramblings

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jessjad · 11 months ago

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Unexpected

Chapter 2

Summary: After a Halloweenparty Y/N actually didn't want to got to, her life seems to be turned around. The reason is a very stubborn Supe that seems to have her in his visier. Is it just a coincidance or more?

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Word Count: 2164

Warnings: use of drugs, uncomfortable situations, some language

A/N: And we're back. Now we gonna get settled into the new situation and we'll see what's gonna happen next. All mistakes are mine. Let me know what you think. 😊

My Masterlist Series Masterlist

The world outside seemed to move in slow motion as Y/N watched it passing by through the tinted windows of this black car she was sitting in. Here, on the backseat, Soldier Boy was sitting next to her and she could feel him looking over to her every now and then. What was it with this day? Why did she decide to leave her apartment anyway? It was not lifesaving for her to go to the café, so why did she not just skip it for another couple of days? Unfortunatley, Y/N knew the answers to those questions.

It didn't seem that they would be driving to Vaught Tower, but Y/N couldn't be quite sure. Next to the driver, a man who could probably disappear as someone's shadow unnoticed, was Grace Mallory sitting with a stoic face.

Y/N was surprised when she heard the woman's voice behind her. She didn't even saw the black vehicle infront of the café, after she stormed out and tried to get away. Totally distracted from the man next to her. Mallory didn't say much else and Soldier Boy had rushed her into the car. And now, they were on their way to god knows where.

Y/N's nerves started to get the better of her, her hands shaking as she kept looking out of the window. The strong smell of the blunt the man next to her was smoking stung in her nose. Y/N never been a fan of drugs, never tried it herself and if she was honest, she had to fight with the inner instinct of grabing the joint and just throwing it out of the car. But the supe would probably not appreciate it. And instead of making the situation more complicated as it already was, the woman decided to just stay calm and quiet. There was nothing she could do now anyway.

"Are you gonna go all Brue Willis on me now?"

The low rumble of his voice shook her out of her thoughts and she glanzed over with wide eyes, not knowing if she even should give him an answer. But Soldier Boy kept talking.

"Last time you were way more fucking noisy. But I let it slide 'cause I was balls deep inside you."

Y/N huffed and suddenly she found her voice again. "Is that all there is for you?" and then she drew a short look to the front seats. "And could you please be more quiet? Not everyone needs to know what kind of a mistake I made."

Soldier Boy's gaze became a little more cold. "You be trapped in a fucking metalbox for over fourty years and we fucking talk again. I told you, I wanted to have fun. And don't worry. Mallory already knows."

"What?"

The car came to an apprupt halt and the blonde woman turned her head with an annoyed look. "Not willingly. Now, let's get inside and talk."

It seemed like they arrived to an old factory building that was abandoned in the middle of knowhere in the depts of an forest. Y/N didn't even realized that they had left New York behind them. She was a little hesistant to move, an eerie feeling creeping up her spine. It felt like she was going to set foot into a trap that she wouldn't be able to escape again. The supe appeared behind her and left her no choice but to follow Mallory and the driver.

It took some minutes before they crossed the open space of the hall through old machinery and different kinds of materials. After they walked through black double doors they continued their walk in an hallway down to an elevator at the end of it. Noone talked until they arrived several floors down. When the elevator doors opend Y/N stared into another hallway, but this one looked more like she expacted it. Bright, white light illuminated every creak and corner and she had to squint her eyes for a few seconds. She was led to what looked like a conference room at the end of the hallway and after all four of them stepped through the door she was closed and locked itself. With an healty amount of panik Y/N stared at the door, her only way out of this building,

"Don't worry, Y/N. You'll be free to leave once we're done talking. It's just better to have some privacy now."

"And... and what is it, that we need to talk about?"

"The next steps." Mallory went around the table and sat down.

Soldier Boy did the same as he lighted another joint, much to Mallory's dismay. But she didn't say anything to it and focused back on Y/N, who decided it would be best to sit down too. This whole situation was surreal. All this time Y/N tried to stay out of any Supe's hair and now, she was in the middle of the tornado.

"Next steps?" she asked, but she had a feeling that she wouldn't like the answer.

"As you probably know by now, the puplic still isn't aware that Soldier Boy here is back. Originally, we didn't plan to break him out of his cryostasis again, but..." Mallory took the remote in hand, that was laying on the table and pointed to a wall, which Y/N just realized now, was a screen. "... then this happed."

The screen lit up and Y/N knew right away what they were about to see. Homelander was talking to people on the street. Ryan was standing next to him and than Homelander killed several people with his laser eyes. Live. On television. For millions of people to see. Y/N had to look away. Eventhough this was shocking enough to see, it was not her first encounter with a supe, it was nothing she hadn't already seen before. But she noticed how Soldier Boy's eyes were locked on the screen and a couple of emotions played over his face.

"Homelander has always been a risk, but since the events of the last year, it gotten worse." Mallory turned the screen black again. "The world is turning tables and he has to be stopped. Unfortunatly, Soldier Boy is the only option we have, because he cannot be killed."

"Thanks." The man chimed in, but got ignored.

"But the problem is, that after all of this went south, other threads appered. It's almost as if the world is becoming a powder keg and the slightest spark could set it off. Which means... when the world will hear that Soldier Boy is back, it could be that spark."

"Okay. But... what does that have to do with me?"

"We needed to figure out a safe way to spill the news and get the world on Soldier Boy's side again. Homelander gathered a lot of followers who stand behind him and his insanity. And it probably will not take long until poeple will know that he is Homlanders father... in a way."

With surprise Y/N glanzed over to the man next to her. Now, that were some news.

"By the time all of this happens, Victoria Neuman and the FBSA will be on Soldier Boy's heels and try to take him down again. So, we need to give him some... positive purpose with his return."

"And... and what would that be?" Y/N knew the answer before she heared it, but she still tried to deny it.

"A fucking love dripping relationship, doll." heard she Soldier Boy saying.

"WHAT?" now Y/N couldn't deny it anymore. "With...with ME?"

They couldn't actually be serious, right? But they weren't laughing. This is not what she wanted. All she wanted to do was enjoying her time off of work, relax and sleep a lot. But now she had a radioactive landmark on her neck. And that again brought up a whole nother problem.

"Wait a minute..." with a shaking head Y/N stood up and started pacing through the room. "When... when the world will hear about Soldier Boy being back... you said that it would put a big target on his back. But if I'm gonna be apart of it too, then it will put a target on my back as well."

"Nothing's gonna happen to you." Now Soldier Boy stood up too.

"How can you be so sure about that?" this was really a trap and she got stuck in it. "I have family, friends, a job! This... will change everything! I don't want that!"

"I'm sorry, but you have no choice here." chimed Mallory in.

"We got something?"

Victoria Neuman walked through the doors into the operation room and let her gaze wander over the screens. Most of the men didn't react to her entry and kept their eyes infront of them, but the one who stood near the table turned his head.

"No. Nothing yet."

"Johnson, we need to find him. Or at least the place were Mallory might've hid him."

"We're watching every cam there is, nonstop."

"But this is taking to long. It's been over six months already."

And eventhough nobody knew what Victoriy Neuman was doing here, it was clear to Johnson that this was a urgent matter. But not just for Neuman, for him too.

"Boss!" one of the men yelled. "I think we got something here."

Neuman and Johnson went over to the monitors and watched the scene the man was talking about. The camera pointed at the street infront of a café. They saw a black car and a woman who quickly stept out on the sidewalk. But she didn't get far. A tall man got a hold of her arm and stoped her from runniny away. Victoria got a little closer.

"Is that... him?"

"We can't be sure. We never get to see his face."

"What do you mean?" Johnson asked.

"That's all we get to see, because now..." the man pointed to the scene on the monitor. "...the camera went off. For two whole minutes. And when the camera starts recording again, they're all gone."

And he was right. No car, no persons, just a normal street in New York.

"Did we at least get the license plate of the car?" Victoria asked, but the man infront of her denied it.

Well, that was not good."

Again, Y/N was sitting in the black car, Soldier Boy right next to her on the backseat and they were driving back to the city. She had to sign some sort of NDA, but didn't bother to read it fully. She had a feeling that there was nothing she could do against it anyway. The zivilasition was slowly coming back into view and Y/N was deep in thought, when the man next to her started to talk.

"You not gonna talk to me anymore?" he rasped.

"Why don't you get your live taken away from you and then we can talk." her frustration seething through her words.

Soldier Boy huffed and within seconds Y/N realized what she just said. With a quick glanze she saw the furrowed brows on his face and his tight jaw. She didn't need to like the supes and she definitly was entiteld to be upset about the whole situation, but that just wasn't fair. Because if anyone would understand her right now, it would be Soldier Boy.

"I... I did not mean..."

"It's fine." he cut her off. "I'm not gonna get hurt over your fucking words. I'm not a fucking pussy."

Now it was Y/N who huffed and shock her head a little.

"Is that a Biggerson's?" Soldier Boy suddenly asked as he watched out of his window.

Y/N looked his way and saw the burger place he meant. "Yeah. It's one of the last around her."

"Paul!" he called the driver who got the hint and drove to the parking lot of the place to park the car.

The supe got his wallet out, sorted through some bills and hold them infront of Y/N. "Go in and get me a Pepperbelly Hombre Burger with Tijuana Mariachi sauce and large fries."

Y/N needed a second to comprehend, before she answered. "First off, they don't sell that anymore out of various reasons..."

"Why the fuck not?" he actually had the audacity to ask, but Y/N just ignored it.

"... and second of all, I'm not your servant or maid! Go get it yourself!"

Soldier Boy looked at her for a second, then gave the money to Paul in the frontseat. "Just get me something greasy and bring some food for her too."

Paul nodded his head and got out of the car.

"In case you fucking forgot, I can't get out there and be recongnized. It's not the time yet. And since we're gonna be together a lot more, it would be best you start practicing. But we can talk about that when we get to your apartment."

"Oh, your not coming to my apartment with me!" she fighted off.

"Oh yes, I will. 'Cause we're gonna be living together."

A/N: Yup, you guessed it right. 🙈 We're diving into fake dating and forced proximity. We need to start somewhere, right? 🤭

@lyarr24 @leigh70 @k-slla

#fanfiction #soldier boy #the boys amazon #jensen ackles #unexpected

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zamoimagines · 2 years ago

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New Girl in Town

Chapters: 1

Word Count: 2,475

Tags: Cordelia x Reader, pure sapphic fluff, fem!reader

Summary: You moved out of state for a change of scenery, but you figured all you'd find was comfort in a new life far away from your old one. You never expected that you'd fall in love... Let alone with your neighbor that lived directly across the street from you.

A/N: This is a cute fluffy series I've been wanting to start for a while. It's been a hot minute since I've written a fic, so I hope I'm not too rusty. Hope ya'll like it <3

The rays of the morning sun pooled in from your bedroom window as the light seemed to touch every surface of your home. You stirred very gently, though when you realized what was waking you up, you smiled a little to yourself as you remembered exactly where you were.

It had always been your dream to get away from your roots and experience living somewhere completely different. Everyone you’d ever known in your hometown ended up stuck there, and you had always vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t end up the same way. Luckily for you, your dreams had become reality when the sudden opportunity to move clear out to Louisiana opened up to you. You jumped on it as quickly as you could. Before you knew it, you were moving out a week later and all of your belongings were completely settled in your new home.

Not that the house was new; On the contrary, it was a bit run down, as most historical homes in this area seemed to be. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours. That was all that truly mattered to you.

When you had moved into town, the locals had asked you where you resided. You told them right across from the girl’s academy, and to your surprise, nearly everyone you’d met had given you a look of terror.

“You live there?! Don’t you know how dangerous that is!” One of the seniors had told you.

Another man had said, “Those girls practice devil worship! It’s unholy- Are you crazy?!”

“I heard that one of the girls set fire to the house next door. And one of the others killed an entire bus full of innocent college boys. It’s not safe there!” A local mother had said. All of their accounts seemed so far from reality that all you could do was smile, nod, and thank each person for their concern. You weren’t necessarily religious, so an eclectic all girl’s academy didn’t scare you at all. Until proven otherwise, it was just a school and you were just the woman that lived across the street.

You finally sat up in bed and stretched your arms upward, yawning and trying to regain consciousness. The move had taken much more out of you than expected. It was a good thing that you didn’t have any plans today considering your mind was a little foggy and your muscles felt completely worn out. Once you felt somewhat like a person again, you swung your feet out from your mattress and stood up to put on something comfortable for the day. Nowhere to go, nowhere to be. The only thing you’d really been sure about was that you needed coffee to function.

“Mm… Coffee.” You muttered groggily to yourself, echoing your own sleepy thoughts.

You took your time in the kitchen making a perfect cup before making your way out to your porch. As you sat down in one of the rocking chairs, the warm summer breeze gently brushed your face. You could smell all the flowers in bloom and a family of sparrows chirped happily from overhead. Taking a sip from your drink, you hummed gently to yourself as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment to enjoy this time with yourself. This place was like your own little slice of heaven.

“Mallory! Wait up, girlfriend!” A shrill, unfamiliar voice cut through your morning like a sharp knife. It was strange that it sounded as if the owner of that voice was getting closer and closer to where you were sitting. When you opened your eyes, you noticed two girls approaching your home.

“Mallory- You are walking so fast right now! How do your tiny feet do that?!” That same shrill voice said again. It was coming from a blonde woman who was slightly taller than the other. Her friend, Mallory, had slightly darker hair yet both were wearing all black. They almost looked like they were getting ready to go to a funeral.

“Cordelia is gonna be so pissed if she finds out we’re late to classes.”

“Since when do you care about being late?” Mallory asked. Her tone was much softer, warmer, even.

“Well- I… Fair point.” The blonde seemed to shut up for a moment after that. They seemed to know each other well enough to call each other out.

Mallory stopped at the first step to your porch and put on her best smile. She was beaming from ear to ear, and her friend seemed to smile much more awkwardly from behind her.

“Good morning!”

“Uh… Hi. Morning.” You said, trying to be polite but also caught off guard. You wanted to ask them both what they were doing on your property, but they seemed nice enough that they didn’t mean any potential harm.

“We live across the street! I’m Mallory, and this is my friend, Coco.”

“Sorry to bother you this early in the morning. You looked like you were having your Eat, Pray, Love moment and I told this one to leave you alone.” Coco replied with a small wave.

Before you could get a word in, Mallory cut in, “We both go to Robicheaux’s. There hasn’t been a new neighbor in a really long time from what the other girls said, let alone one that lives right across the street! So, we figured we’d come to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“We who?” Coco chimed out, “Let’s be clear, this was all her doing. I had no personal investment in this.”

You chuckled lightly at their banter, and it only made you grin even wider. At that moment, you thought about all those people that had told you troublesome girls attended that place and they were all up to no good. Right now, all you could see were two adorable nerds trying to make a kind gesture.

“You aren’t bothering me at all,” You began, “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Y/N. You can sit down if you’d like.”

“We really shouldn’t-“ Coco tried to say,

“We’d love to!” Mallory cut her off yet again as she made her way up onto your porch. The younger girl sat on the ledge while Coco took the chair next to you. As you opened up the conversation, the both of them explained that they’d been attending the school for a year and that everyone was lovely there despite the aspersions spread across town. They spoke of other girls they went to school with, of what was expected of them, and little anecdotes about their time there, though they never explained exactly what they were studying for.

“Today’s our first day back in session, actually,” Coco explained, “We live at Robie C’s on the off seasons too. A couple of us have become like a chic all girls family like that, which is pretty cool considering we’re all sort of outcasts where we’re all from.”

“I know the feeling. I’m so glad you all have each other.” You replied with a warm smile.

“We’ve talked so much about ourselves. Tell us about you!” Mallory suggested excitedly.

“Yeah, spill it. Why’d you come to New Orleans out of the blue?” Coco urged just as much. You laughed lightly at how intrigued they were, but you caved anyway and started to explain yourself.

“Well, I’m actually from (y/h/t). I was born and raised there, but I never really loved it. I wanted something new and something out of the ordinary since I was kind of an outcast myself back there. My real estate agent called up about an opportunity one day about a month ago, and I hopped on it the second it was offered to me and… Here I am.”

“Good for you for paving your own way. That is so big dick energy of you!” Coco complimented as she clapped her hands together in applause. Mallory clapped along with her as if to agree while all three of you laughed together about the wording. Though, Coco seemed to stop smiling altogether when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. “Shit-” She hissed under her breath. You were confused as to why there was such a sudden change of tone, so you looked in the direction she’d glanced in.

Two new women were approaching your porch; One that looked closer in age to the girls in your company, and one who appeared to be slightly older than all of them. You couldn’t quite make them out yet, but they were very clearly getting closer. “What did I say? I knew this was gonna happen!”

“Surely she’s not gonna be that mad-” Mallory tried to reason with her companion. You were still completely out of the loop so you asked, “Wait- Who’s gonna be mad?”

“Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt! Mallory Montgomery! What have I told you both about running off during Admissions Day?” The older woman said, staying at the edge of the porch. You still couldn’t catch a good glimpse of her quite yet, and it was even harder to see now that Coco had gotten up to block your view. “Ms. Goode, I had no part in this! It was all Mallory this time, I swear!”

“Way to throw your sister under the bus, Coco.” The other girl that accompanied the alleged ‘Ms. Goode’ retorted with a small smirk. She had straighter, darker blonde hair and a very kind smile.

“You have to believe me, Zoe! I was trying to do the right thing this time, I swear-”

“She’s right,” Mallory chimed in as she stood as well now, “It was my idea. I just wanted to welcome our new neighbor, that’s all. We were going to come right back.” Coco and Mallory both left the porch to go stand alongside their peers, and as they did so, you followed slightly behind because you were curious now. “Mallory, sweetie, that was a very kind gesture but please inform an instructor next time so we know where you are. This is the most important day of the year for the academy and you know that- Oh…”

The headmistress seemed to trail off when she saw you, and you felt much the same when you’d finally gotten to see her. Ms. Goode was so stunning that you were sure your heart was going to fly out of her chest. She had such a gentleness about her; Her golden curls rested softly against the frame of her pretty face and her deep brown eyes seemed to glitter when she gazed back at you. She was dressed in a floral, knee length dress that flowed freely around her form which seemed so different from what a normal boarding school head would wear. The look of concern she’d had completely melted away as she gave you the sweetest smile you’d ever seen before. It was a good thing that you’d been holding onto the railing of your porch considering that her very presence was making your knees weak.

“My apologies. I hope my girls haven’t disturbed your morning.” She addressed you with such a melodic tone.

“Wha- Oh! No, no, they’re fine. It was actually a nice surprise to have some visitors, and such polite ones, at that.” You assured her.

Coco, Mallory, and Zoe were all glancing at each other now with matching smirks as they watched you interact with their teacher.

“I’m relieved,” Ms. Goode said as she placed a hand on her chest, sighing as if a weight had been lifted from her, “Not many people are as kind to us here, so thank you for allowing them to your home.”

“Really, it’s no big deal,” You insisted, “You all are welcome here anytime. I’m just happy I have friendly neighbors.”

“I could say much of the same.” Ms. Goode replied. She was gazing at you with such warmth that you were sure you could get lost in her presence for hours. It was as if she couldn’t look away, her smile softening the longer you both stared back at each other and neither one of you wanted to let go of this just yet. You’d never seen anyone as beautiful as her in your entire lifetime and even though you didn’t know it yet, she was thinking the exact same thing about you.

“I uh- I don’t think I caught your name.” You said, cutting through the arising tension that was now hanging thick in the air. The older woman’s eyes lit up as she sort of laughed at herself. “Oh! Where are my manners- I’m Cordelia Goode, Headmistress at Robicheaux’s Girls Academy. And you are?”

“Y/N- Y/N Y/L/N.” As you introduced yourself, Cordelia took your hand and shook it very gently, though she didn’t seem to let go right away. She held it there as her thumb caressed over your skin as if to relish the physical connection she got to have with you in this moment.

“What a lovely name.” She said fondly. There was a sort of dreaminess in her voice that had you in some sort of trance, but the sound of giggling girls cut through that. It seemed to have caught Cordelia off guard just as much as she took her hand away. “I’m afraid I must get my girls back to the academy. Classes will be starting soon, but perhaps we will see each other again soon.”

“Sure thing. You know where to find me.”

Cordelia seemed to chuckle lightly and when you heard such a pretty sound, you realized how much her presence just seemed to shine a light on your whole morning. You hated to watch her walk away from you. There were so many things you wanted to say, to ask, to do just for her, and yet all you could do was stand there and politely wave goodbye. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Goode!” You called out as they all moved further from your porch. The headmistress glanced back in your direction and gave you the brightest smile.

“It was very nice to meet you as well, Ms. Y/L/N.” She called right back. Your name rolled right off her tongue and you swore that when she spoke it, everything felt right in the world.

Maybe the people in town were right. Perhaps that building across the street really was a school for witches. Maybe they’d come over just to put a spell on you with their magical powers. Or, maybe they were just normal women trying to be polite to the new girl in town and all of the rumors were the rambling dramatizations of paranoid, closed minded people. There was really only one thing on your mind now, and you knew that it was absolutely certain;

You couldn’t wait to see Cordelia Goode again. FIND MORE GAY SHIT HERE

#cordelia goode x reader #ahs imagine #coven imagine #cordelia x reader #sarah paulson #wlw imagine #here ya'll gooooo

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cigarettessmokeandberries · 1 month ago

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Chrysanthemums (Cordelia Goode x reader)

Cordelia Goode was a force of nature. She was green all year round and her words were bulbs from the most beautiful flower. She walked like she knew where to be and she spoke like she knew everyone was listening. Her hair was golden in the sunlight and her eyes were milky coffee in the moonlight. She wore her beauty as if it didn’t impact you everyday. And you were already mourning her as she sat right next to you.

Warnings: Death mentions, grief, hurt slight comfort, panic

a/n:

You had had a hard time settling into this little family. It felt everyday as if this dream would be stripped away from you. Madison was snarky with her comments, but you knew they held no bite. Zoe was kind with her words and her actions followed suit. Coco was spoiled but delightful company. But, Mallory. Mallory you had no read on. You knew you didn’t want to know her, didn’t want to know anyone who would take your Cordelia away. The Cordelia that tucked you into her at night, the Cordelia who kissed you awake every morning. You knew you couldn’t know anyone who would take that away. You couldn’t.

The dinner table was set and the food was being passed around. You had dealt your serving and passed it on. The conversations flowed like water but your mind was elsewhere. You had only recently learned about Cordelia’s fate. She was meant to die. A part of you was reluctant to believe such a tale, it felt like a scary story your mom would tell you to keep you in order. You couldn’t look at Cordelia’s soft face right now without seeing it pale and cold. It didn’t feel right to go on normally.

“How was your day, Y/N?” Mallory’s voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard, ringing through your thoughts like a gunshot. You paused for a moment, the fork halfway to your mouth before placing it back onto the plate. ‘how was your day?’ you spent it grieving someone who’s still alive. Mallory had never done anything untoward to you, but she was killing Cordelia. She was a predator and Cordelia was the prey and everyone acted as if they couldn’t see it. Mallory’s mouth was stained red in your eyes as she chewed on the meat in front of her.

“Good, the girls were well behaved.” It was short and less than sweet with a sour tone soaking through it. You felt like you were in a twisted confessional, her smile was too soft, too forgiving, before she’d tell you your penance. Tell you Cordelia is to die and there’s no prayer that can save her. Nothing you can do. Mallory nodded as her smile melted and her eyes fell. She cleared her throat before moving back to her conversation with Zoe. Cordelia looked at you as if you were a wounded animal. Her brows were furrowed and a frown had melted her own smile. She reached for you under the table and you gripped tight, afraid to let go with Mallory in the room.

The dinner continued for you in tense silence as everyone around continued their conversations. Their mouths moved but all you could hear was the ringing in your ears. The ringing sounded like church bells, mourning the loss of someone who still sat right next to you.

—

“You’ve been acting strange, baby,” Cordelia’s voice broke you out of your trance staring at the chrysanthemums. They looked to be dying and you reminded yourself to water them. You didn’t know how to respond to Cordelia. You had been acting strange but there was no way you could tell her all you saw was death looming over her head. It still felt like it could take her at any moment. You felt as if this was some sort of reprieve before the worst came to be.

“Just been a busy week,” Your voice betrayed you, sounding weak against the dry walls of the green house. You should really water those chrysanthemums, they look thirsty. Cordelia lifted her brow, another frown painting her lips. Her lips always reminded you of the pink dahlia bushes: soft, inviting, and smelling sweet like her lip gloss. The lips you would miss in due time. You knew you couldn’t avoid this forever, but you’d like to try. Cordelia wouldn’t let you, though.

“I’ve seen your schedule, I also know you’ve been hiding out in our room during breaks.” Cordelia wasn’t stupid, which is why she hadn’t brought this up. But, it had been a week and you had been avoiding her as much as you could. Hell, the only way she got you to the greenhouse was to help her water the plants. You’ve got to water those chrysanthemums. Cordelia sighed before dropping her watering can onto the table, it clinking against the little water still left, she sat down next to you on the stool, casting a glance at the mums you’d been eyeing. She placed a piece of her golden hair behind her ear before licking her dried lips. It was too hot here.

“I’m not dying right now.” The words caused your chest to constrict, a sudden bout of panic rushing through you. You knew she wasn’t but it wouldn’t be long til she was. And she had spoken it into existence. You felt a lump start to block up your throat as you swallowed and tension weighted on your waterline. You stared at the chrysanthemums, refusing to look at her. Her hands gripped your own and you felt as if you had stepped too close to the edge. Your heart was beating faster than it should have. Cordelia was holding on too tight, your hand was tingling. You broke free from her grasp, leaving her hands on your thighs as yours flattened your hair, and a low sigh left her lips as she bit back her words that were causing your brain to ache. Your hand was still tingling. Those goddamn chrysanthemums needed water. You abruptly stood, Cordelia’s hands falling from your lap.

You all but yanked the watering can from the table, the water sloshing inside of it as you rushed to fill up the flowers' soil. The flowers were dying, they needed more, you cursed as the watering can ran dry. You moved over to the sink and filled the can back up before turning to water them again. Before you could reach the plant, Cordelia stood in front of you, her hands held up in almost surrender.

“You’re going to drown them, Y/N.” Her voice was soft against your aching brain but your chest still felt constricted. The lump was still there. Cordelia, the lump was still there.

‘They’re dying, they need more water,” It sounded more like a question than a statement, just breathy enough to make Cordelia worry more. She carefully reached for the watering can, and when she took it, quickly set it down before opening her arms for you. You wanted desperately to hold her, but those chrysanthemums would not leave you alone. You had given them water, but they needed more. Cordelia wouldn’t let you give them more. They were dying, you swear. Your hands moved to cup your face, needing to block out the flowers. But, their wilting image stuck in your head until you all but growled, moving quickly past Cordelia.

The pot stood no chance as you smashed it. As the soil spilled out of the pot, the broken clay mixed with the living flowers. They didn’t look thirsty anymore. They looked wounded. Their petals shined against the water on the ground as their wilted image faded into one of distress. They weren’t dying but now you’d killed them. You rushed forward to save the flowers but Cordelia’s guiding hands stopped you, holding tight onto your hands as she spoke again.

“Stop.” It wasn’t a question. Cordelia helped you over the broken pot before sitting you on the stool again, it dug uncomfortably into you as the flowers whined in your ear from the ground. Cordelia wiped some tears off your cheeks, her calloused fingers brushing gently over the flushed skin. You didn’t even know you were crying.

“I don’t know why we have them, they remind me of a fucking funeral.” the words left your mouth with a bite. It wasn’t aimed towards Cordelia and she knew it. She also knew what the chrysanthemums had done to you. She shushed you before wrapping her arms around your back, pulling you into an embrace. The chrysanthemums protest left your eyes as you forced them shut.

Your hands moved to the back of Cordelia's sun dress, digging into the fabric as you breathed deeply into her shoulder. They were still there, lying on the floor, but if you closed your eyes you didn’t have to face them.

“I am not dying now, Y/N,” She mumbled into your hair and all you could think of was how she said the word ‘now.’ The chrysanthemums were dying now,

The word spiraled through your mind until Cordelia pulled back, her eyes slightly glossy as she moved another strand of hair from your face. She kissed your forehead, protesting at the slight temperature, before pulling back with her hands resting on your shoulders.

“Stop that. My time will come, as all of ours do,” Cordelia gave a glance to the chrysanthemums on the ground. “But I will not have you work yourself into a mess. Into making a mess.” Cordelia reprimanded, needing you to hear her. She poked your forehead to emphasize “I don’t know what’s going on in there, but I am out here,” her voice was calm, as if she wasn’t talking about her own demise, and it soothed you slightly. Cordelia wasn’t ruminating over this. But, then again, she doesn’t have to live without her. “I am out here, right here, right now. We have time.” ‘we have time" Something clicked inside of you. Something that had been missing as Cordelia continued to speak. The chrysanthemums weren’t dying til you pulled them over the edge. Til you worried them to death. They had time until you spent it worrying. Your own thoughts block her out and she can tell you aren’t listening but she continues to whisper against the air. You had time to process this. You had time to grieve. You didn’t have to do it now. In fact, it would take time if you did. The chrysanthemums would be there. You didn’t have to do all of it now. You shouldn’t do it now. You had Cordelia now, she would help you water them. You had Cordelia right now. You can feel a weight lifted from your shoulders as you take in a deep breath. You had Cordelia now. Your chest still hurt and your hands were just beginning to not tingle. Your breaths started to space out as your throat became raw with the new air flow. You had time.

“-now, let's re-pot the chrysanthemums and call it a day. They’ve have a rough one. “Cordelia smiled as she saw you trying to hide a smile thinking of just being with her. But, you first had to water the chrysanthemums with Cordelia (after you found them a better pot to grow).

—

Mallory hadn’t done anything wrong, but now that you’ve had time to process you can’t help but be angry with her. She was the reason Cordelia was going to die. Mallory. As the meeting went on, you couldn’t help sending a glare her way. Zoe whispered something in her ear before Mallory turned her head towards you with furrowed brows. A frown on her lips as she studied your frown. You turned away.

The meeting progressed and blah blah blah, you weren’t paying attention. Something was said about a field trip but you were too busy thinking of ways to avoid Mallory at all cost. You didn’t have to be hateful to her, you just had to not be around her. You couldn’t break the pot, it would only make it worse. By the end of the meeting everyone had had their ear talked off and quickly exited the room. You moved towards the door with the rest of the group before a voice called you. You thought of pretending not to hear her at first but deciding against it for lack of better reasoning.

Mallory caught up to walk with you, silence being the middleman for a few moments before she spoke up.

“Are you alright? I haven’t stepped on any toes, have I?” Mallory questions with the same furrowed brow from earlier. She placed her hand on your shoulder gently. It burned your skin.

“Don’t, please,” you said as you shook off her hand. Her touch was a deadly nightshade to you, feeling like poison on your skin. She apologized before silence came back between you two. The walls of the hall passed by too slowly as each step was met with more silence.

Eventually, you reached the staircase and before you could descend Mallory stopped you once again with a hand on your shoulder. You turned back towards her with an unamused expression before she spoke as you shook her off again.

“What did I do?” She questioned bluntly, tired of the chase. Her eyes shone with kindness, a need to know how to fix what she’d done, but you could only see crocodile tears. Your words pounced at her.

“You stand there as if you aren’t killing my girlfriend. You look me in the eyes as if Cordelia isn't just some victim to you. She means something to me.” This time, you don’t try to hold back. Cordelia might not be dying right now, but soon she would be. And Mallory being here only proved it. Maybe you could find some peace if the next Supreme wasn’t always looking you in the eyes. Maybe you could find some peace if she wasn't wandering the same halls Cordelia had to say goodbye to. Maybe.

“She saved me, saved all of us. This was the deal, I had nothing to do with it. Cordelia saved us. She means the world to me.” The venom in her voice wasn’t surprising. You knew a confrontation would lead to it. But what you didn't account for was her words having an impact on you. ‘Cordelia saved us’ repeated like a mantra in your head, ricocheting through your skull. You stared at Mallory with your mouth slightly agape, for once having no words for her despite earlier having a whole monologue of hatred. That wasn’t who you were. None of this was.

As an act of mercy, Mallory nodded towards you, locking eyes for a moment, before walking off and leaving you hanging onto the banister. You had broken the pot.

—

You’d felt terrible all day since the confrontation. Cordelia had saved everyone when deciding her fate and now you were blaming her inevitable death on Mallory. It didn’t seem right that you had thought to meet her kind eyes with scornful ones and yet you did.

Cordelia lounged on bed as you got ready for the night. She had been keeping a closer eye on you since the green house so she hadn't missed the way your eyes didn’t shine with your smile. She waited for you to be dressed and in before pulling the covers over you both, turning to face you.

“What happened today?” Cordelia's fingers loosely laced with yours, resting on your stomach as you faced the ceiling. Your palm grew slightly clammy at the thought of telling Cordelia what you had said. You swallowed thickly before turning to face her, her hand falling from yours and resting on your hip.

“I went off on Mallory and I feel horrible,” your hand started to trace the little flower design on Cordelia's hip from her nightgown. You refused to meet her eyes as you continued.

“I blamed her for your-” the words stuck in your throat, afraid to come out. Cordelia had comforted you in the green house and spoke those words and nothing changed. Nothing changed, you tell yourself.

“I told her she was to blame for your fate. That because of her you were going to die. And-” Cordelia listened intently, her hand resting firm on your hip as you spoke. The words were trying harder and harder to come out but the lump in your throat made it difficult. You knew why you had lashed out at Mallory and it wasn’t her fault. The flowers didn’t need any more water.

“I just wish I had met you at a better time,” you cry out softly, tears coating your waterline as you move the hand from Cordelia to wipe at your eyes. You had limited time with Cordelia and it wasn’t fair, but it wasn’t fair to blame anyone else either. The tears burned your cold cheeks as they made their way down. Cordelia quickly enveloped you in her arms, shushing you as you cried. Her embrace felt like a solace you had been searching for. Her hands rubbed up your shoulder blades as she kissed the side of your head. Her sweet, soft lips. Cordelia was right here.

“I know. Me too, baby. Me too.” Cordelia's voice barely registered in your mind as your thoughts spiraled. The pot had been broken, the flowers were on the ground, Cordelia would die. But, she wasn’t dying now. She had helped you pick up the broken pot and rehome the flowers. She would help you do it again and you would help her now. It wasn’t fair to her, either, but she was here now. Cordelia was here. And you would pick up the mess together.

The world would eventually take all its time back but you would gladly give all of yours for a few more with Cordelia. You just wished you had met at a better time.

#american horror story #cordelia goode x reader #ahs #ahs coven #cordelia goode x you #cordelia goode fanfic

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spoopydooblr · 9 months ago

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Demons | Chapter 1

Pairing: Billy Butcher (The Boys) x Supe!OC

Summary: Over a year ago, Lilith Murphy escaped the experiments and torture of the Sage Grove Center. After laying low and stripping at Super Girlz, she’s found by Billy and The Boys.

Warnings: descriptions of sex work, sexual violence, sexual themes, mental illness, eventual smut (!)

AN: omggggggggg so anyways….here’s ch 1! get excited y’all!!! please do let me know what you think! comments and likes keep me writing lol

Lilith Murphy was running late. So late that her boss at Super Girlz even noticed.

“You’re on in ten, Murph.” He grumbled, barely looking up at her as she entered the back office.

“Sorry, won’t happen again.” She breathed, pushing past him. They both knew it would definitely happen again.

Her manager grunted in response, staring down at his nude magazine.

Lili made her way to the dressing room, smiling curtly to the other girls as she made her way to a chair. She wasn’t really close with any of them—Lili preferred to stay on the outside. It was safest there.

The reflection in the mirror was a sore sight—her red hair was a mess and she still had last night’s makeup on. Smudges of black lined her eyes while leftover glitter stuck to her cheeks. She took a makeup wipe from her bag and wiped her face, preparing it for another night of heavy makeup and sparkles.

The routine was the same every night now. Lili was basically nocturnal at this point, her sleep schedule a mess and social life nonexistent. But she had to be there, it was the only way to survive after escaping Sage Grove.

It was hard for Lili to believe it had been over a year since the facility got broken into by some randos. She had been stuck there for years, enduring endless pain and torture because of the abilities she possessed.

Now wasn’t much different, though. The endless pain and torture didn’t stop, even now that she was free.

She was so used to pain she felt numb.

——————————

“Are you sure this is it?” Hughie asked as Billy pulled the car up to a dark alleyway.

“This the address Mallory gave me.” He grumbled, done with Hughie’s shit.

Hughie felt a shiver down his spine. They were in the middle of a bad neighborhood, about to walk down an alleyway.

“And you’re sure she’s here?”

“What I just tell ya? She’s here.”

Hughie gulped as Butcher led the way into the alley. Black clouds looked over the city. They reached a locked metal door, to which Billy banged on.

A disgruntled man swung the door open.

“Password?”

Hughie looked expectantly to Billy.

“Sixty-nine.” He said.

The man nodded and led them inside a dark room.

“The girls start in five.” He told them, pressing a button and opening another, more heavy door.

Inside, pink and purple lights filled the dark space. Supes were all over, sitting at the bar and on luxurious couches.

“What is this place?” Hughie whispered to Butcher.

“You never been to a supe club before, kid?”

He shook his head. Billy chuckled, looking around. “You ever been to a regular club?”

Hughie laughed nervously. “Um, no.”

“Well, maybe if yer lucky, one of these broads will give ya a wank.”

“I don’t know if I—“ Hughie started, hesitating when the lights started to go down.

“Stay close.” Billy said, walking towards a stage in the middle of the room. It was crowded, but they were able to find room towards the front.

“Butcher, I don’t know if we have time to watch the dancers—“

“Would ya fucking shut it, Hughie?”

“But where’s…uh…where is she?”

Billy didn’t have time to answer as music erupted from the speakers.

————————

“Are you ready?” A voice boomed from the stage. A twinky-looking EmCee had appeared.

The crowd erupted, the men almost feral for the girls that were about to come out.

“Introducing…the Super Girlz!”

The crowd once again went nuts, hooting and hollering.

Hughie looked at Billy, who kept his eyes on the stage, smirking. Work could sometimes have a little play, right?

The lights went off and everything was black. Hughie wondered if they had stumbled into the wrong place.

Pink lights flooded the stage as three girls stepped into view. They were all clad in lingerie, barely covering their asses. The men around them were practically frothing at the mouth.

Rap music started to play and the three girls began their routine, but something was missing. It was almost like they were waiting for someone. They shook their asses in a line, staring seductively into the crowd.

From the behind the stage curtain, a long, pink tongue appeared, snaking around the girls. The tongue licked one of the dancers on the cheek and she grinned.

A man next to Hughie hollered at the girls. It was all so, so weird. Who was the owner of this tongue?

Suddenly, the tongue snapped back into the curtain. The purple fabric was pushed to the side and a new girl appeared.

“Is that…” Hughie whispered.

Billy just smiled, keeping his eyes on the girl with the tongue. He had never seen her in person—just her mugshot in the file Mallory had given him. She was beautiful, of course, but he wasn’t expecting her to be that beautiful. And that body…

————————

Lili stepped out of the curtains, her heart audibly beating. All of the Supes around her could probably hear it.

It was so embarrassing to be nervous every show, but she couldn’t help it. One, she was on the run, and two, it was scary to be naked in front of randos.

Her outfit tonight was an all black bikini, contrasting her fellow dancers’ pink sets. The bottoms were definitely too small and the top barely covered her nipples, but Lili didn’t mind. Less clothes was equal to more tips.

The men in front of the stage cheered for her, sticking out their tongues. It was something her regulars did, thinking she would appreciate the solidarity. She didn’t.

Lili started her routine, dancing along with the other girls and showing off her twisty tongue. She had told her boss that elastic tongue was her only ability, which he was fine with. The other girls barely had powers in the first place. If only they knew who she really was.

Each girl took their turn doing a small solo for the men, grabby hands pushing dollars into their underwear.

Lili stretched her tongue in her mouth, moving her hips to the beat.

When it was her turn, she let her tongue fly, the pink thing seemingly having a mind of its own. The men yelled, begging for it to touch them. She smirked, letting her tongue lick at her own thighs as she knelt, ass out.

Her hands went up to cup her tits, swinging her head around, letting her bright hair flow.

The crowd was getting crazier, as they usually did, but she didn’t mind. It was easy money.

Hands reached out to her, stuffing one’s into her bra. Lili smiled seductively, her tongue also grabbing dollars out of the air.

She was almost done with her routine when she saw a large, strong hand reaching with a twenty.

Lili looked up, mostly expecting some old, rich creep. Instead, her blood ran cold.

————————

Sage Grove, 1 year ago

Lili sat in a damp, cold room. They had just done one of their “sessions”, which was basically just legal torture. The doctors at Sage Grove had specific instructions for her, because of her background. She was apparently too powerful for V experiments. Instead, the doctors at the facility did the opposite, pumping her full of V Inhibitor to control her powers. She felt weak and tired all the time, her once great powers pouring out of her like blood.

She sat on the icy floor, wishing that tomorrow would be the day that the V finally killed her.

Suddenly, sirens wailed from outside. The door to her room opened, but no one was there. Carefully, she got up and walked to the doorway, eyes widening at what she saw.

Patients ran through the halls, their various powers surging. Lili smiled, she was finally free.

She sprinted down the hallway, unsure if her powers would even work. The V Inhibitor was still in her system, slowing her down.

The front of the facility was open, with patients causing chaos all over. She could’ve probably beat the shit out of anyone there, but that would make her more of a target than she already was.

————————

The minute the grass touched her feet, Lili felt like she was home already. Not that she had a home, but if she did. She pondered her next move, the idea of a home on her mind as she ran through the forest.

Then gunshots rang in her ears. Lili ran to the nearest tree, hiding behind it as she searched for the origin of the sound. Fifty feet away, one of her friends lay on the ground, bullet holes in his chest. She gasped, looking to the assailant. A man in a Hawaiian shirt held a smoking AK. Next to him was a blonde woman who kind of looked like Starlight.

No, no. That was Starlight.

What was she doing at Sage Grove with a mysterious gunman?

————————

Lili couldn’t forget a face.

Like literally. Her brain was so powerful she remembered most things.

The face of the man in front of her was the same as the gunman from Sage Grove. Sure, he was hot, but he murdered a kid. Why was he, and the twink next to him, at Super Girlz?

Lili took the money from him, shoving it in her bra and backing up.

He stared her down like she was some kind of prey.

Lili turned, her nerves almost ruining the other dancer’s routine. She had to go. Now.

The dance was almost over and sure, her boss would be mad she left, but Lili was in danger. Even if the guy didn’t want to kill her, he was surely being followed. The Seven had their ways.

Lili left the stage, her stilettos clicking on the floor as she ran to the dressing room.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” she mumbled, trying to grab her clothes and bag. She couldn’t be on the run in lingerie.

“Well, well, well, look what we have ‘ere.” A British accent perked her ears. Lili turned, heart dropping.

“Who are you?” She pushed. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

Billy looked her up and down, eyes lingering a little too much on her tits.

“Just a little chat, right Hughie?” He motioned to the skinny man next to him.

“Uh, uh yeah.”

“Whatever you want from me, I don’t have it.”

Butcher took a step closer. “We don’t want nothing from ya, love. Just a little help, that’s all.”

“Help?”

Billy smirked. “I got a tip that a little lassie gave Homelander a run for his money few years ago.”

Fuck. Lili’s body went rigid. Her mouth dried. “Well then you got the wrong girl.”

Butcher laughed. He got even closer.

“Nah. I think we got ‘er right here.” He stared into her eyes. If she wasn’t on the run, she’d consider it a tender moment.

Billy paused. “Eh, Demoness?”

The nickname stung her like a fucking wasp.

“Don’t call me that.” She spat.

“Ah, there’s the spunk!” Billy turned to Hughie.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“M’ sorry love, how rude of me.” He stepped forward, again. “I’m Billy Butcher, and this here,” he clapped the twink on the shoulder. “This is Hughie Campbell.”

“Okay, and?” Lili looked past the men and to the door. “How the fuck did you find me?”

“Not hard when ya stripping around in ya knickers and using that tongue of yours.”

Rude, but true. Lili shivered, crossing her arms in front of her breasts. She was still practically naked. Again, Butcher’s gaze lingered a bit too long.

“You two enjoy the show?” She spit back, turning to grab her clothes.

“Eh, seen better.” Butcher replied. Hughie looked uncomfortable.

Lili scoffed. “Sure.” She rummaged through her bag, desperate to cover up. “Doesn’t matter anymore, though, does it?”

Butcher was silent. Lili took a step towards him, almost as tall as him with her heels. “When The Seven finds me, which they will, no thanks to you, they will kill me.”

“That’s why we’re here first, love.”

Lili almost pressed her thighs together at the nickname. “And what makes you think I’ll come with you?”

Billy laughed. “You got anotha option?”

Lili thought for a second. She really didn’t have another option, but Billy and Hughie were still suspicious to her. How did they find out about her in the first place?

“I—“ she started, but before she could get the words out, the door to the dressing room burst open.

For the second time that night, Lili’s blood ran cold. In the doorway stood The Deep.

“Lilith!” He said, seemingly relieved to see her.

Frankly, Lili was too stunned to speak.

“Ah, how nice of you to join us!” Billy said, standing in front of Lili. She didn’t expect him to try and protect her. “Looks like you were searchin’ for the little lady here too.”

He looked past Billy. “I’ve been worried sick about you!”

Lili rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Kevin.”

Billy looked back to Lili, giving her a questioning look.

“N-no you’re not! Look at you, Lil!” He motioned to her bra and panties. “Why didn’t you find me when you escaped?”

Something inside of her snapped. After the years and years of torture, she was finally free. There was nothing holding her back from finally showing The Deep what she was made of. No Homelander watching over her or power inhibitors.

“You don’t fucking own me.” She spat.

“But, but I thought—“

“You fucking raped me, Kevin!”

Billy turned to Lili, then to The Deep.

Lili could hear his heartbeat pick up.

“The fuck ‘e talking about, Lili?”

She ignored him. Fight now, traumatic backstory later.

“I did not!” The Deep wined. “Why does everyone say that?”

“Maybe because yer a fuckin serial rapist bastard, ever think about tha?”

Lili felt her hands get hot. Oh no. She hadn’t felt her powers in a long time. The energy surged through her body, lighting her nerves up. Her heartbeat rang in her ears. There was no doubt The Deep could hear it, too.

“Lili, please.” He begged her. “Come back with me.”

“Never.”

“Please?” He pouted.

“The lady said no, Kevin.” Billy smirked, stepping towards The Deep.

They stared each other down. Lili didn’t know if Billy or Hughie were Supes. If they weren’t, it was going to be up to her to defeat The Deep. Her hands heated up more.

“Kevin.” She said, pushing past Billy. “You need to go.”

“Lilith—“

“Now!” She yelled, hands lighting on fire. Long, pointed fingernails grew from her fingers. Her eyelids flickered, revealing blood red irises, contrasting to her usual ocean blue.

Billy lunged back, but was unsurprised by her power. He must’ve read her file.

She spoke through new, pointed teeth, with a deeper, more ominous voice.

“If you don’t leave, I’m going to have to fucking kill you.” She couldn’t help the way she was feeling. After years and years of repressing her powers and taking the V Inhibitor, Demoness was back.

“Lili, baby—“ The Deep had only seen her powers once, ten years ago.

Lili opened her mouth, half expecting her tongue to slide out like a big joke. Instead, she breathed fire, flames shooting out of her mouth.

The Deep barely got out of the way before the fire scorched him. He fell to the ground.

“Fuck! What the fuck!”

“Get out!” She yelled.

The Deep scrambled up, grabbing the door handle.

“And Kevin,” Lili smiled with her fangs. “Do tell Homelander I’m back,” she looked to Billy, then back to The Deep. “Tell him I’m coming for him.”

Billy smiled to Hughie, who looked terrified. Lili forgot he was even there.

“Y-you can’t defeat him. He’s too powerful.”

Lili laughed, entire body in flames now. “Well a girl can try, right?”

“Lili—“

“No. Fuck you. Get out!” She shot fire from her hands, burning his skin.

The Deep crawled away, leaving an ablaze Lili with Billy and Hughie.

“Fuck.” She whispered, the fire on her body dying out. It was exhausting being a supe. Lili felt her body relax, but the relief was too much and she faltered, barely able to catch herself.

“Haven’t used those powers in a minute, huh?” Butcher grabbed her shoulder.

Lili’s eyelids fluttered. She was not going to pass out in front of a sexy older man.

“Uhh—“

“Here.” Butcher shrugged off his long black coat. “Don’t want ya lookin like a whore when ya meet the boys.”

He said that, though she could tell he would rather have her in her underwear (or nothing at all).

The boys?

#billy butcher x oc #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys

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