#billie sacre coeur

[pretoriafics]

So happy you're taking requests for The Boys!! Could you please do something fluffy with Frenchie and with Hughie?? Theres not enough written for either of them 😭

Hi! I'm so glad to come back for the blog! I really was missing to write, but my job, anxiety, and academics didn't helped me to come earlier. Also, thanks for being patient with me! I hope you like it!

A jealous Frenchie

Word count: 1.154 Pairing: Platonic!Reader x Hughie Campbell, Reader x Frenchie Contain: Tons of fluff Warnings: None +16 only Closed requests Portuguese version here The Boys Masterlist

Your laugh echoed through the room. You and Hughie had stayed home that time. You had been hurt, and someone needed to keep an eye on you. Even if you insisted on going with the rest of the group and told everyone that you were okay, it didn't matter. It was better to let you fully recover before anything. Billy, Milk, and Frenchie came down the stairs, talking about something with each other. Upon hearing your laugh, Frenchie almost ran over Butcher and MM, running down the stairs and striding over to where you were. You and Frenchie were dating for a few months, and in the meantime, a friendship was born between you and Hughie. He was like your male version, and he understood you like no one else. It was making Frenchie jealous about you. He was ready to catch you and Hughie in bed, kissing each other. However, the vision he found and the reason for your laughter had been different from what he had imagined. You and Hughie looked like two kids, straight out of fifth grade: You were hiding behind the table, and Hughie was hiding on the couch. Through the room, several small balls of paper lay scattered on the floor. "Give me back my donut!" Your voice came out in laughter as you tossed a little paper ball at him. He had raised his head slightly in an attempt to see where you were. That caused the ball to hit his forehead, and he ducked again. He took the last donut from the box and lifted it up, rising. His action prompted you to drop the ball immediately, looking at the donut as if it were sacred. Hughie smiled. “Did you mean this donut? The one with icing and chocolate filling?” And then, he bit the donut. You opened your mouth, outraged. "Hughie!!" You ran towards him in an attempt to steal what was left of the donut. However, you stopped halfway. You put a hand on your injured abdomen and groaned in pain. Okay, maybe they were right, and it was good that you stayed home. Frenchie looked at the whole scene with a severe face. However, when he saw that you were in pain, his expression softened, and he ran towards you, worried. Hughie was closer, and he was the one who managed to hold you first. That was enough for Frenchie's expression to return to austerity - with a hint of concern this time. "It's all right?" Hughie looked at you, protector. You just nodded to him "Okay, I think I owe you some donuts." He released you "Go take some rest." "I would be resting if a certain person hadn't stolen my donuts." Your eyes were narrow, and you were smiling. Hughie laughed lightly and went up the stairs, out of hiding. That's when you looked at Frenchie. "Oh, mon amour!" With a wide smile, you threw yourself into his arms in a warm embrace. Frenchie, however, was not too reciprocal with you at that one time. Coldly, he wrapped his arms around you and then released. Kind of serious, he said: “You should go to bed. You need rest." You moved away from him, your eyes narrowed. Frenchie has always been kind to you, so that coldness scared you a little. Determined to find out what the hell was going on, you grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the bedroom. There, you closed the door and stood in front of him, arms crossed. "What is happening?" "Maybe you should tell me what's going on." You raised your eyebrows. "You are the one who's acting strange here." He looked away. He took a deep breath and finally said: "Is that you and Hughie..." You didn't even let him finish talking. You just let out a loud laugh. "Stop it. We are just friends, and I'm almost sure that we are both interested in different people. ” Hughie was very happy with Annie, and you were also happy with Frenchie. In fact, that same week, you had even helped Hughie prepare a romantic surprise for Starlight. You loved seeing the two together, and your heart even warmed when you saw the look of love and devotion they exchanged for each other. Frenchie's expression softened a little. "It's just that I always see you two laughing together, and ..." You rolled your eyes and approached him, holding his face in your hands. “Hey, I told you to stop this. It makes no sense. He's my best friend, and I don't see myself with anyone other than you.” He smiled, now looking into your eyes and wrapping his arms around you. "So we should make this official, Mon Coeur." You froze instantly, your face burning. "What do you mean?" "I also don't see myself with anyone else than you." "Guys, we will have a wedding!" Hughie just came out of nowhere at the door, holding a box of donuts. You and Frenchie didn't even notice when he opened the door. You opened your eyes wide. "Hughie!" He put the box of donuts on the bed, and, before anyone could say anything, Hughie hooked his arms around you and Frenchie, dragging you close to the others of the group. MM was watching you with a wide smile, and Annie and Kimiko - who had just arrived - didn't quite understand what was going on. Butcher only shook his head briefly, letting out a low laugh. "Boy, you are fucking their moment." MM got up from the chair, walking over to the refrigerator. "This moment calls for a celebration beer!" You didn't blush anymore because it was impossible. He hadn't even made the official request! "Guys..." Frenchie held up her hands in front of her, asking for some calm. "What is happening?" Annie approached the group with Kimiko. Hughie was overjoyed. "Y / N and Frenchie are getting married!" "Oh, congratulations, guys!" With a wide smile, Annie hugged you. You were frozen, as red as a tomato. Kimiko gave you a wide smile. "Guys, he didn't ask!" As soon as you clarified things, everyone was left without a reaction. However, it all started again when Frenchie finally said: “But I was going to ask. Y / N… ”Romantic as always, he took your hand and put one knee on the floor. My God, it was happening! "Will you marry me?" Everyone's eyes were wide with expectation. You were shaking with anxiety but, at last, you nodded. "I ... Of course I do!" The room was covered with laughs and whistles. Frenchie stood up and hugged you, and you could almost feel your body melt with pure love. Until, suddenly, you felt another pair of arms hug you: It was Hughie, hugging you and Frenchie simultaneously. "What will be the children's names?" You cleared your throat, awkwardly. “Too soon for this conversation, Hughie. Too soon! ”

[mama-orion]

Sacre Coeur, chapter 11: redbeard

 “So, I’ve got good news and bad news,” Sherrinford announces as he strides into Sherlock’s bedroom-lab. He’s still wearing his tie, the pressed dress shirt rumpled from the train, messenger bag slung across his chest. Sherrin’s favorite rat, Morpheus, is conked out in a carrier-cage from the morning’s demonstration, twitching with bad dreams. Sherlock, cross-legged on his bed and surrounded by piles of paper, braces himself.

“Good first.”

“They loved it.” He flashes Sherlock a triumphant smile. “TD-10 is proceeding to human trials.”

Sherlock buries his head in his hands, groaning with relief. He’s been trying to distract himself all afternoon by checking and cross-checking their data, but images of Sherrin being dragged off by armed guards kept interrupting his thoughts. He’d locked himself into a tower of his mind palace to avoid them.

“So… what’s the bad, then?”

“They want another.” Sherrin grimaces and Sherlock’s stomach flips. “It’s a real corker – isolate a newly-formed memory and block it.”

A terrible thrill runs up his spine. Sherlock can already see the pathways, the cascading catalysts flowing through his mind, and tries to make his voice passively curious.

“So, you on to anything yet?”

“Not me, idiot, we.” Sherrinford dumps his bag onto a cluttered table and gently places sleeping Morpheus close to the rat’s water drip. “No way could I solve this one without you. You’re perfect for it.” He crouches down and pulls a handful of sunflower seeds from his pocket, alternately tossing them into this mouth and sprinkling them into the enclosure. The rats scurry over to investigate.

“I thought you were done with these people, if TD-10 worked.”

“Yea…” Sherrin sighs. “Bit more complicated than that, unfortunately.”

He should want his brother to be safe. He should want this all to be over. But the pull of the puzzle, the thrill of this mysterious organization... it’s electrifying.

“So? What do you say? Partners?”

Sherlock gives him a wicked grin.

“Partners.”

“Yes! That’s my boy!” Sherrin hops up and claps him on the shoulder. “So, we’ll start mapping out some theories, take it slow. Don’t get frustrated, this one’s going to be loads harder than TD-10.”

Sherlock feels the thrill percolating in his belly, sees the starling-cluster of compounds ripple and cascade through his mind. He raises one eyebrow.

“Idiot, I’ve already solved it.”

“Like hell you have.”

Sherlock gives him his pirate grin and picks up a pencil.

…

That night, Sherlock and Sherrinford scuff slowly back up the stairs from a break, full of sandwiches and tea, pockets stuffed with stale scones and eating out of the same rumpled bag of crisps.

“Damn! Alright, best twenty-five out of thirty.”

They hammer the air with closed fists, suddenly opening their palms, fingers contorted.

“Yes! Molten lead beats pathetic strontium!” Sherlock crows.

“Wait, this isn’t fair, I can’t use two hands holding the damn bag.” Sherrin crunches it under one arm as they take the last few stairs and, pausing at the landing, face each other with competitive grins. “Go.” Their fists fly, landing on–

“Yea! Take that! Plutonium beats helium!”

Sherlock grins at his brother’s win, and is about to start the next round when he looks up to see Mycroft watching them from his bedroom door, bored and superior. Sherlock stuffs his ready fists into his pockets and looks away, cheeks burning.

“Didn’t you make up that imbecilic game for Sherlock when he was five?” He sneers. “So Sherrinford, back home hiding from your debt collectors? Or just bringing your homework by for Sherlock to do?”

Sherlock glowers at him. “Shut it, Mycroft.” It rankles him that he’s not far off from the truth.

“And what, pray tell, has had the two of you locked up for 36 consecutive hours?”

“We’d tell you,” Sherrin says lightly, popping a scone into Mycroft’s shirt pocket as he passes, “but then we’d have to kill you.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes, ignoring the scone. “Ah, so you’ve felt it appropriate to engage a minor in your illicit activities? How very big brotherly of you, Sherrinford.” He leans against the doorframe of his bedroom, immaculate in white shirt, dress pants and polished shoes. Even in summer, for god’s sake.

“He’s fifteen, Mycroft, he can make his own choices,” Sherrin snaps.

“At least tell me the codename for your thrilling project so I may inquire after your activities without threatening my very life,” he sniffs lazily.

Sherlock hates to admit it, but it’s a brilliant idea. He eyes his pirate-chemist brother, fresh from a kitchen raid, already edging away toward his room. “Redbeard,” he blurts. “Project Redbeard.”

“Redbeard? Ah, Sherrinford’s preferred moniker when he humored you with imaginary games as a boy. The parallel is not lost on me. Well, I’d love nothing better than to continue to be excluded from your childish nostalgia. I was only just popping out to tell you that Mum and Dad will not be coming straight home from Berlin. They’ve gone directly to Sussex to attend to Grandmere. Her health has taken a turn.”

“Grandmere?” Sherlock’s stomach clenches. Wiley, caustic and brilliant, with a tender streak toward him, she has been ancient as long as he can remember. He had vaguely thought of her as immortal. “What’s wrong?”

“Haven’t said, but it’s nothing urgent else they’d have asked us to come.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Mycroft is already turning back into his room. “Well then, back to your summer extracurriculars. Do warn me if any poisonous gasses are released, hm?”

“Only from your arse!” Sherrinford yells, cackling at Mycroft’s murderous look as he turns abruptly and slams his bedroom door. A moment later it’s flung open again, the scone hurtling through Sherlock’s doorway, before dramatically slamming again.

“Oy, you missed me!” Sherrinford hollers.

Stuffing his worry into a far corner of his mind, Sherlock tugs back the crisp bag back and helps himself to a handful.

“What that bloke needs is a good shag,” Sherrinford mutters as he crumbles up the discarded scone into the rats’ terrarium. Sherlock pinks and chuckles at Mycroft’s expense, hoping very much the topic won’t drift his way.

“And how about you, Billy, got a girl you’ve been driving wild with your curly locks and long lashes?”

Shite. Sherlock’s blush deepens.

“Not really my... area.”

“Oh come off it, Billy, you’re fifteen, you should be raging with hormones by now, can’t possibly be having wet dreams about the Trapezoidal Rule or the goddamn Goldman Equation.” ...

The rest of Chapter 11 is over here on A03!  

@pinkrose423 @brilliantorinsane @ineedhugz @sherlockisnolongeravailable

[billiesacrecoeur]

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[mama-orion]

Sacre Coeur, chapter ten: TD-10

Chapter one + chapter two + chapter three + chapter four + chapter five + chapter six  + chapter seven + chapter eight + chapter nine

In any spontaneous process, there is always an increase in entropy of the universe

    ~The 2nd law of thermodynamics

 Holmes manor, 21 years ago

It’s so beautiful.

Sherlock watches with delight as the sulfur-yellow molecules catalyze in his mind, the isothermal reaction creating blooms of rose-colored entropy. The variables sprout outward, tendrils of possibility as delicate as spring leaves. Becoming mitochondria-small, he accelerates into a double-helix, closer to the solution, closer…

“Wake up, lazy bones.”

“Mph, wot?” Sherlock frowns deeply, eyes pinched shut. “Leave it, Mycroft,” he mutters. His voice, just on the verge of plummeting into a rumbling base, is a soft alto, thick with sleep and irritation.

“Try again, sleeping beauty.”

Sherlock startles, waking fully. The heavy leather-bound book slides off his chest onto the grass. His eyes snap up to the tall, lean figure standing before him, dappled with willow shadow and sun, smiling warmly.

“Sherrinford! Aw, ace! When did you get here?” Sherlock leaps up and throws his arms around his favorite brother. The elder by ten years, they share the same piercing grey eyes, unruly black curls, and pale skin, though while Sherrinford’s supposed to be finishing a post-doctorate in chemical thermodynamics, Sherlock can tell from his ruddy, freckled skin and the dry mud ground into the leather of his shoes that he’s been doing a lot of what their mother disapprovingly dubs gallavanting.

Sherlock loves that his brother is part mad scientist, part Indiana Jones, somehow always getting tangled up in schemes that land him deep in crypts uncovering Celtic treasure hordes just by the chemical makeup of the soil above, or proving the guilt of smugglers with the salt collected from the hull of their boat. He’s practically a pirate, and despite Sherlock’s worldy 15 years, he has always had a soft spot for pirates.

Sherrinford cuffs him gently and retrieves the book from the lawn, brushing off the cover and rolling his eyes at the title.

“On the Equilibrium of Heterogeneous Substances. Ah, some light reading for your summer holiday. Mum put you up to this?”

“No! Gibbs is much lighter than slogging through Thermodynamik chemischer Vorgänge–”

“Helmholtz is not appropriate summer reading, young man,” Sherrinford mock-scolds. “Brush up on your German when it isn’t a beautiful day outside.”

“I like chemistry.”

“Know you do,” he sighs. “Seems to be our family weakness. But you’re a kid, allowed flights of fancy once in a while. Sit under this willow and read some proper Tolkien, Billy.”

Sherlock warms at the nickname. Of all the people in all the world, only one can ever call William James Sherlock Scott Holmes Billy. Sherrinford gave up tormenting Mycroft with Mikey after he tattled to Mum about a girl Sherrin had been sneaking into the manor several summers ago. But Sherlock loves the nickname from his eldest brother. And while Sherlock protects his own fragile eccentricities from other kids with well-deduced barbs and a general attitude of adolescent disdain, Sherrinford brings out all of Sherlock’s childlike, rascal tendencies. He is happy, relaxed in a way he usually isn’t with other people.

“So how much money do you need this time?”

Sherrinford scoffs. “Can’t a bloke come ‘round to say hullo to his family without raising suspicions?” He grins through the retort as they amble over the broad, neatly trimmed lawn toward the manor.

Sherlock arches his eyebrow dramatically. He’s only just figured out the trick of it and uses it relentlessly. Sherrinford notices and chuckles.

“To my credit, that is not entirely why I’m here.”

“Mum’s away. Conference in Berlin. Dad went with her.”

“Ah, good for her. No, actually, I’m here for you, Billy.”

A carbonated sensation prickles Sherlock’s solar plexus. He grins at his brother.

“Why?”

“Got a tricky thing I’m working on. Bit dangerous.” He smiles wickedly, but his face promptly falls, his eyes looking suddenly stormy as he gazes out over the wide lawn. “I’m well and truly stuck, is the thing.”

Read the rest on A03!

@pinkrose423 @brilliantorinsane @ineedhugz @sherlockisnolongeravailable

[mama-orion]

Sacre coeur, chapter 14 neutralized

“Billy. Hey, wake up–”

Sherlock gasps awake, sliding out of the bedside chair. His brother’s quick hand catches him.

“Whoa, easy now,” A warm chuckle.

Sherlock, now completely awake, watches Sherrin closely, his pulse pounding in his head.

“Thanks — I must’ve dozed off.”

“Just glad you got some sleep. I’m starving. Any breakfast on?” Sherrin pushes back the blankets and stumbles over to tie on his dressing gown. His eyes are clear.

No time like the present.

“Sherrin… are you going in to work today?”

Scratching his scalp sleepily, Sherrin suddenly snaps awake.

“Oh shite what time is it?” He whirls, seeing the clock. “Shite shite shite I’ll have missed the bloody train–”

He stumbles to his wardrobe and grabs a shirt off a hanger, but just as suddenly as his frantic rush began, he freezes, shirt dangling, one hand lightly pressed to his temple.

Sherlock gets up, approaching him cautiously as if he might bolt.

“Sherrin? You okay?”

His brother lets the shirt drop to the floor, then turns heavily toward him. His face is stricken.

“Sherlock, my god – I’ve got to get the police, the press, somebody. I’ve got to stop them — before it happens—”

“Before what happens? Who?”

“My employer! The Magpie Colletcive! Jesus Billy, we have to act fast. How long have I been out of it?” He suddenly growls with frustration and begins to pace. “Goddamnit they dosed me, how long was I out? And —” his eyes grow wide as they take in Sherlock. “Ohh no, no-no-no, what did those bastards make you do? Shite!”

Sherlock, stunned, begins to catch up with his mind’s observations. Sherrin is well. Sherrin remembers.

It worked.

His words tumble out. “I’m sorry Sherrin — I did whatever they told me to, I couldn’t just let you–”

Sherrin abruptly pulls him into a fierce hug, breathing hard. “No, stop, you did the right thing, Billy, you used your heart. I’m just—” His voice chokes and the rest comes out as a whisper. “I’m so sorry they did this to you. So sorry. It’s my fault. Utterly my fault.”

Bewildered, Sherlock returns the hug, his eyes wet against Sherrin’s shoulder.

Sherrin whispers almost inaudibly into Sherlock’s ear. “Don’t speak. They’re listening to every word. They’ll have dispatched a team the moment I woke. It’s not safe here. We have to go. Police. No phones, in person. Now.” He releases him just as abruptly and begins charging around his room, throwing on clothes.

…

The rest of the house is still asleep. They pound down the stairs through the early-morning calm.

“Will they be okay? Should we wake them?”

“It’s us they want, Sherlock.”

__________Read the rest of chapter 14 on AO3

@pinkrose423

@brilliantorinsane

@ineedhugz

@sherlockisnolongeravailable

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