#billy butcher x frenchie x reader

[staarboyyy]

Team building exercise

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

explicit - minors dni

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

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

word count ; 10.1k

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

"I don't trust them."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You ever shotgunned?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That so?"

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

"C'mon then."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”That's it, doll.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes.. Show me,"

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

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

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

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

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

"That's it, Mon cher."

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me show you, souris.”

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

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

"I know, I know,"

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

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

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

"Start slow, open that pretty mouth,"

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

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

"Oui..."

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

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

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

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

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

"Someone's eager, aye?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well done, mon cher."

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Wearing Their Clothes

Requested: i followed you for succession and currently im the boys brainrotted so you wouldnt believe my excitement when i realised you wrote for the boys too!!!!! i want to request maybe hc on how the boys would react to reader wearing their sweater/tshirts - anon

A/N: My love, the brain rot is so real!!! When I tell you I have an entire folder of The Boys edits, I mean I am kicking my feet and giggling at these people covered in blood lol. Thank you for requesting! Please feel free to again, I absolutely love writing preferences! I hope you like it!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher absolutely adores you wearing his coat. It drives him wild. It started one night where you two were alone, the group split up. While everyone else had their own jobs, you and Butcher were on surveillance. It was freezing out. He noticed the goosebumps on your arms. You swore you were fine, but he could tell you were putting up a front. Oi, just take it. Not wanting to blow your cover and fight, you put his coat around your shoulders, thanking him. It's a long night and you take shifts. When he catches you curled in a ball, his coat wrapped around you, it tugs at his heartstrings. Something about this image of you just makes him melt. After that, he's eager to see it again. Realizing this, you never turn down his offer. Now you basically have 50/50 custody. You like it. It's warm and worn, but it also smells like him and, when you're apart, remains a reminder that he's always looking out for you. Both M.M. and Frenchie are full of jokes when they catch you wearing it, but Annie and Hughie find it endearing.

Hughie loves that you wear his t-shirts and hates it. Not only do you look better in them than him, which is annoying enough, and now everyone finds them funny now that you're wearing them, but now he can never find the one shirt he wants to wear. It's either on your body or in your closet. Of course he would never stop you, he doesn't want you to stop, but he does wish there was a little bit more of a compromise. You wore it the first time you slept over. Your shirt had been discarded somewhere you couldn't find, but Hughie's was right there. He tried not to show it, he tried not to get caught smiling, but he was way too obvious. Something about seeing you in his shirt made his day, his life. It never gets old. When it's laundry day, most of your clothes end up being his. Now he has double the laundry. Still, it's worth it. His clothes always come back smelling like you. When they get ripped or torn from fights you apologize profusely, but he's just glad you're okay. Who cares about a stupid shirt?

Annie has always loved you in her clothes. When you moved in together, your clothes just sort of became jumbled. Neither of you felt the need to separate them, so you really can't tell if the sweater you're wearing is hers of yours. When she buys clothes she always makes sure you like what she's picking out so that you both can wear it. No one even noticed what you two were doing, that one day you'd be wearing a shirt and a few days later it would be her turn, it's just sort of become a thing. When something gets ripped or torn or covered in blood, you're the first to make jokes. I loved that sweater, you say, though Annie knows what you really mean is it's a stupid piece of clothing, you're just glad she's okay, that's all that matters. Your favorite thing is to look at pictures where, in one, you're wearing this sweater and, in the next, she is. Something about that puts a smile on your face.

M.M. feels a little insecure. You used to love wearing his shirts. Truthfully, no one can tell what's his and what's yours, your and his clothes are so blended. Since becoming in charge of The Boys, as close to a leader as possible, he's lost a lot of weight. Grown smaller, and his clothes no longer fit you. You of course still have his old shirts, but his new wardrobe just doesn't fit. You assure him it's just temporary. The anxiety, the OCD, it really hurts his appetite. He can't even think about food anymore. Still, realizing that you can no longer share, it makes him self-conscious. Something about you wearing his clothes made him think that he was there with you always, that this was a way to protect you, as silly as it might sound. Now that you wear your clothes more, he isn't there to save you. It just adds to his many worries. You assure him you'll be safe, you'll always come back to him, but he just can't help it. You make a point to wear his older shirts as much as possible, not wanting him to worry more than he does.

Frenchie literally can't tell when you're wearing his clothes vs. your own. His style is pretty eclectic. His pants alone are bright and patterned and, to his friends, a fashion offense. His clothes are rarely organized, so you end up picking through piles to find something specific. Most of the time you have to point out when you've got one of his jackets or shirts on. He of course thinks you look better in them than him and he makes it known. Your friends make fun of you and him for some of the outrageous outfits you put together. Everything is worn in and soft and smells like him, a mix of cologne and fabric softener and smoke. Not realizing, Frenchie wears your clothes, too. Only when you ask for a shirt back or where it is does he realize oh! so this belongs to you. Neither of you mind. It makes you happy seeing him wear your clothes. He definitely styles is better than you.

Kimiko's entire closet is all black. Not only is it easy to blend in with the crowd, and it all matches, but it can also hide the sight of blood. Neither of you can really tell whose shirt or pants or jacket belongs to who, considering most of your clothes are pretty identical. Still, she'll poke fun at you every so often when she realizes you've got on one of her shirts. Is that mine? She smiles. Is it? You didn't even realize. You always ask her if she wants it back, if she wants you to change, but she shakes her head. She tells you look good in it, badass even, and you shrug it off, though it means a lot. You and Kimiko both are still figuring out how relationships work. It takes a lot of trust, something neither of you were very well versed in. Sharing clothes is just another way you two show that you're a partnership. No one else can tell, but you can. That kind of attention would normally make alarm bells go off in your head, but you know Kimiko, you know she does it out of affection and not something more sinister.

Bonus! Homelander rarely, if ever, wears civilian clothes. If he's not in his suit, he's probably naked. You've never seen him in anything else. The only time he's done it was to see Sage and that was in secret. Still, you find a way to share by wearing his cape. Typically wrapped around you after you slip from the bed, in search of your own clothes, half-naked and embarrassed. He assured you you have never looked better. Homelander likes power. He likes when people listen to him, respect him, and show him their loyalty. You wearing his cape shows him all of that and more. He never thought he'd like you in his clothes, it's just another thing he's territorial about, but he's pleasantly surprised. Now he expects it. If you forget or just don't wear it, his ego is pretty wounded. You assure him it's nothing against him. Now you go out of your way to do so, knowing it makes him so happy.

Bonus! Soldier Boy feels such an attraction to you when you wear his clothes. He doesn't really wear anything but his suit, so one day you jokingly put it on. You filled it out differently than he did, but it didn't look horrible. When he saw you, he was all smiles. The first thing that comes to mind is wanting to take it off you *wink wink*. What was a joke is now something you do on special occasions, putting it on and parading around in it. The things he says are awfully dirty and make you laugh every time. You never thought something as silly and simple as putting on his suit would end up driving him this wild. You should have known, it makes perfect sense, but you just never realized. When he does, on rare occasions, wear regular clothes, he's the first to suggest that you share. It isn't as enticing as wearing his suit, but the attraction is still there. It makes him feel like you belong to him, that you want to show that off. Nothing matters more to him than that. Nothing makes him feel more seen.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: billy butcher, hughie campbell, frenchie, mothers milk, kimiko, and soldier boy

↳ warnings: canon type violence and happenstances. hinted to take place during season three at some points.

↳ notes: sorry butcher is in here so much. he's the kind of guy that can't shut the fuck up, so i feel like he's always getting in everyone business no matter what

↳ song: rock me like a hurricane—scorpions

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

• He has mixed feelings about you

• On one hand, you’re a great team player. Always making sure the job gets done, willing to put yourself on the line for the team, one of the most willing to kill a supe in a snap—second only to him—and always managing to make shit up on the fly whenever something inevitably goes wrong on a mission. Butcher has seen you fend off an entire team of armed Vought men before with nothing but a well timed lie and piece of pipe. That’s not something to scoff at, even if he does anyways

• But on the other hand, he has a feeling that you were just as much as an annoying shit as he acted sometimes

• “Sorry to say this guys—“ You said one night through the food in your mouth as Chinese takeout sat on a dirty table in front of you, curtesy of M.M and his pocketbook, “—but I think I’d betray you all for a fortune cookie. I’d betray my country for a fortune cookie.”

• "You say that like we ain’t already betrayin’ the cunts, sunshine.” Butcher eyed you from across the room as you nicked Frenchies own cookie from him while he was staring off at Kimiko for the tenth time that night

• “Too right, Butch.” You grinned like a shark at your idiotic nickname for him, and he ignored you as you did so; like he always did

• He definitely appreciates your enthusiasm behind his plans. Unlike Hughie or M.M, who despite working in the business of taking down supes seem to be hesitant about doing too much shit, you don’t seem to have a very strong moral code. That’s not necessarily a good thing in anyone’s eyes except for Butcher’s, who knows that he can always count on you to have his back in whatever situation he manages to squeeze himself into

• “Thanks for comin’.” He grunted at you while vomiting into a toilet, green bile spewing from his mouth. Butcher’s eyes burned with the urge to let out a laser beam, and he did so for a moment, splitting the porcelain throne we was leaning over in two

• “Want me to hold your hair back for you, honey?” You didn’t even miss a beat to start making fun of his situation, which made Butcher growl at you even from his current position. Despite your sarcastic demeanor in the moment, and the way he had just scorched an unexpected hole through the shitty bathroom, Butcher knew you’d help, no questions asked. And that’s exactly what you did, grabbing whatever he asked you to as he gave you a run down on the latest solo mission he had been attempting to get by with on his own

• “Jesus, poor Gunpowder huh?” You mused as you crossed your arms and leaned on the sink above him. For a moment Butcher thought you were granting the dead supe a bit of sympathy before he saw the glint in your eyes. “If the last thing I saw before I kicked it was your mug, I’d probably wanna get it over with yeah?”

• “Do me a favor. Go grab the toaster in the other room an’ take a nice bath with it, would ya?”

• “You first, Butcher.”

𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥

• The two of you are like peas in a pod. Two very weird, very cautious peas in a pod

• Even if Butcher is beside himself with annoyance at having another, as he put it, “soft cunt with a morality complex,” join the team, Hughie couldn’t be happier that someone seems to share his values on supes, on Vought; on the world, really

• In the first season or so, the two of you would probably spend a lot of time in between working with everyone else in the field to come up with a way to take Vought down the right way. Eventually,as we all know, that later falls apart, but it exhilarates Hughie to know that there’s people out there like him that want to try and put in the effort for things like that

• “Yeah, so if we can get one more witness about the Termite incident to come forward and testify—“ You bit your pen between your teeth and nodded as Hughie waved his hands over a stack of papers and talked at a million miles an hour, somehow understanding each and every word.

• “—then we could finally take a supe down legally. And that would make way for a whole round of others; Hughie you’re a genius.” You finished his sentence for him, slapping a hand down on the table with a grin as Hughie smiled. Somewhere in the distance someone snorted wryly, no doubt having heard the entire conversation. You had no doubt it was Butcher, but that didn’t matter to the either of you with how happy you were at the revelation. No matter how temporary it would turn out to be

• Hughie finds himself trusting you quite a bit. He can get attached pretty easily, so he finds himself willing to do anything to back you up—within reason of course. He still has some semblance of sanity left

• Listens to Billy Joel with you! Doesn’t matter if you all are coming back from a mission covered in blood—once it was whale guts—he will stick one earbud in and leave the other out for you as he presses play on a mix. More than once the others have found both of you passed out and snoring as the faint sound of Billy Joel plays through the headphones

• “Think we should wake them up, mon amie?” Frenchie tilts his head as he looks down on the both of you. Hughie chest rises and falls with a softness he couldn’t afford on the regular. You were positioned far away from him to have your back to him, somehow keeping your end of the earbud in as you drooled

• “Nah, let em sleep. God knows they need it.” M.M shook his head with crossed arms, the sight reminding him of better times

• “Oi! Stop ogling at the knackered sods and come help me with this, would ya?”

• “Fuck you, Butcher.” M.M said with a sigh, leaving the room to go and help anyway

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞

• He fucks with you so hard

• I mean, come on, someone that’s as excited about making bombs as he is? Someone that is willing to understand French? To shit talk everyone else to their face—especially Butcher?? He might have to marry you on the spot

• Please learn French. He will literally beg you to start. Conjugates, vocabulary, even a simple ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Anything at all. Will absolutely not judge you for your horrific accent or pronunciation if you have any

• Bomb lessons on the side, too. If you already know the basics, or are a pro, it’ll be a lot more breezy, but he’s willing to start from scratch. It’ll be nice to have a partner to help him with his creations on the team for once, and even better since he likes you

• The two of you, and Kimiko obviously, are practically joined at the hip. What I said about the shit talking earlier was real, too. All of you use different languages or sign to voice whatever you’re thinking. It’s nice to be able to speak your mind freely, and there’s the added bonus of not having M.M give you that sharp look of his, or Butcher calling you names. Anymore than usual, that is

• “What do you reckon the three of ‘em are always on about?” Butcher took a swig from his drink. He was sitting next to Hughie with a beer on one of their down days as the younger man typed away on a computer. He was watching you Frenchie and Kimiko from across the room as you all signed at each other with giant smiles on your face. Frenchie would speak occasionally, but all that came out was his mother tongue, and your face would pause for a moment as you let your brain process what he was saying. Then all of you would break out into another round of grins, something that Butcher had to deadpan at

• “Probably planning a coup.” Hughie answered Butcher without even looking up from his screen. He knew who he was talking about anyways. It wasn’t hard to guess thanks, to the occasional loud exclamation from Frenchie as you signed something particularly risqué or funny

• Butcher flitted his eyes away in annoyance from you all after he recognized the word ‘cunt’ in the passing conversation, along with a sign that was clearly supposed to represent him

• “I think at this poin’ I’d prefer tha’.” He grumbled into his cup, and all of you laughed

• “Cheer up, Butcher. At least Frenchie isn’t teaching them how to make homemade cherry bombs again.”

• “Shut up.”

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤

• Finally. Someone other than him can be the voice of reason in the group

• It’s tiring being the one to hold everyone together all of the time. It might help if Butcher wasn’t so much of an ass, or if Hughie didn’t feel the need to derail every plan with thoughts of his own, but M.M knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. So he’d take any help he could get with reigning everyone in

• Definitely bonds with you over your shared habit of wearing band t-shirts to meetups or hideouts. I’d like to imagine that at one point the both of you show up wearing the exact same one, and it goes exactly how one would expect

• “Same shirt.” M.M notices one morning, pointing at your torso with the initials N.W.A written over it. He’s smiling, and so are you as what he’s wearing in turn dawns on you

• “Same shirt!! Hell yeah.”

• Fist bumps. Fist bumps galore, man. The two of you fist bump a lot. To punctuate sentences, drive a point home, agree on stuff—anything. It’s your own way of communicating with each other without having to bat an eye

• It’ll take M.M a while, but eventually he’ll start to really open up about missing his family to you. Beyond just showing you pictures of his daughter at soccer practice, I mean. If he trusts you enough to have his back in a shoot out, then he trusts you with this

• At one point, it goes farther than his (regrettably ex) wife and daughter, and eventually branches out into what he’s willing to tell about his dad and brothers. You feel like you know all of them by the time he’s done, and that only makes the typewriter story hit harder when he finally decides to reveal it

• Let’s just say you were pretty willing to jump Soldier Boy on M.M’s half the first time you were left in a room with them

• “Just one swing I swear—“

• “He will literally beat you into a pulp.” M.M deadpanned, doing his best to avoid looking at the other imposing figure in the room as he clasped two hands on either of your shoulders

• “Listen to your friend, sweetheart. Would hate to have to scrub my hands clean of any of your blood. Getting under the fingernails is always hard.”

• “See what I mean, just one punch that’s all—“

• “No.”

𝐊𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐨

• It’s honestly great for her to be able to hang around someone that feels the same way that she does. Maybe it’s how silent you are that really draws her attention at first, but Kimiko really grows to appreciate you as a member of the team

• Probably gets a lot of joy from having a friend like you. She constantly asks to do things like have you watch movies with her or to do ‘sleepovers,’ which are really just the two of you crashing on the main room couch together

• She never got a chance at a normal childhood or friends, so you and Frenchie are the closest she gets to a peace of mind

• Not even a question about it, she’s making you learn her sign language

• Will stare at you for days on end, saying nothing but everything at the same time until you agree to learn. Once you do, it’s all over. She gets the biggest most happiest look anyone ever seen, and there’s no turning back from that

• “Kimiko, what are you doing. It’s two in the morning.” You groan at her from under the thin covers of your bed, doing your best to ignore her hands as they fly about. It’s the childish equivalent of ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’

• ‘No time to sleep. We have to go over stuff before the mission tomorrow. It will help us communicate.’ She was unnerved by your lack of enthusiasm. If anything it only spurred her on more, shaking your bed and pulling at your covers as you groaned. Even with the progress you had been making with signing over the past few weeks, your knowledge was still a bit shaky, and being half asleep didn’t help, so you only caught a few words. Enough to know what she wanted, however

• “Go away, Kimiko.” You whined. The shaking stopped, and for a moment you thought your request had worked. You were more than happy to fall back into whatever dream you had been having beforehand

• Then you heard the rushing of feet and a large weight slammed onto your legs

• “Goddamnit!—“

• Frenchie found the both of you the next morning; Kimiko looking bright eyed and bushy-tailed while you were practically falling asleep from where you sat. It was a teasing point for you over the next two weeks

• Between you, there’s moments like that where, despite Kimiko’s silence and your habit to keep your thoughts to yourself, nothing ever goes unseen or unsaid. The two of you know each other like the back of your hands, and sometimes you wonder if you’d even need her sign to communicate

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

• If the saying ‘this town ain't big enough for the both of us’ could apply here, it absolutely would

• It’s almost ironic how bad Soldier Boy handles another version of himself. You’ve got just as much snark and anger as him, and it pisses him the hell off. Constantly.

• Maybe it’s because you didn’t fan boy over him as soon as he flashed a few cheesy lines that keeps his disdain for you boiling, or that you didn’t keep your distance when he threatened to eradicate your entire bloodline if you didn’t stop running your mouth at him

• “Need help with that?” He cocks a brow at you one day, watching with poorly hidden annoyance as you struggle to tie a knot in your shoes for the fifth time in a minute. The offer isn’t serious, and even if it was, he has no doubt you wouldn’t hesitate to kick him in the face if he bent down to tie your shoe for you

• “Need help taking my dick down your throat?” You parroted back at him while raising your voice in a false-happy tone. Finally you get the shoestrings to cooperate, completely missing the way Soldier Boy glows in a harsh warning at your attitude

• “Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty.” Butcher calls from the room over, no doubt tired of the bickering between the two of you that had been nonstop for the past few days. “Let’s get a move on before one of you decides to claw the others bloody eyes out, yeah?”

• The fact that you’re not even a supe just ticks him off more. Only a few people have ever pushed his buttons like this, most of them being supes, and they always ended up being nothing but red paste in the next few minutes

• You make sure to point it out to him several times that you’re just acting like he always does, making sure to don a shit eating grin when he clenches his fist at your comment

• Please for the love of everything that’s holy tone it the fuck down. Some people may say that Soldier Boy has no self-control, but it sure is taking a whole lot of it not to kick you in the crotch as hard as possible

• “The feelings mutual.” You deadpan at him when he eventually shares that fantasy out loud. He knew full well that if you even so much as tried that, you’d end up with a broken ankle and your front pinned to the closest brick wall, but he had no doubts that you would go for it anyway

• Seriously. How has he not murdered you in your sleep yet

[writingbyshiloh]

Who Fell First vs. Who Fell Harder, ft. The Boys

Featuring: Butcher, Hughie, and Frenchie

WC: 500

CW: General The Boys world, confessions, fluff etc

AN: Struggled on the parts for my girl Kimiko and MM so I had to leave them out. Mon ange means my angel, no beta

Billy Butcher - Butcher knows how you feel about him. It’s hard not to see the way you look at him after a few too many beers, and how you care about Ryan. How you frown and scrunch your brows together when he comes back hurt and you treat his wounds first. But it’s dangerous. Hunting down supes and his morals makes it hard for him to imagine a life with you. Butcher doesn’t even venture into the possibility that he could like, let alone love someone, in case they leave him or worse, die. He realizes his feelings when you get injured in the field. As Butcher wipes blood from your nose he can’t help but admire how pretty you are that all of his feelings hit him at once. And he knows he's fucked. 

Hughie Campbell - Hughie knows he is in over his head. He can’t even handle half the stuff Butcher does let alone take good care of himself. But you think he's so cute and smart, it’s hard to not be a little in love with him. Your feelings only grow the longer he's on the team, becoming more confident in himself and his capabilities. You’re in love with him but it doesn’t hurt unless you really think about it. Hughie is focused on surviving, not wondering why his pretty teammate always goes out of the way to help him, even at his lowest. Hughie comes to his feelings about you at the WORST possible time. Arms poised, ready to shoot a gun (with improper technique but if you both live then you can teach him later), his feelings bubble up to the surface and he blurts out how deeply he loves you, while you're both trying not to get shot.

Frenchie - Frenchie falls first. He assumes it’s lust and that one night with you would get it out of his system. He swears to MM that one night is all he needs, a man can’t be tied down, right? Until it becomes two until it’s three. Until it morphs into a friendship. Even after sleeping with you three times, your pretty smile still sends his heart reeling. You just think he’s being sweet, giving you French pet names that make you smile, letting you choose what show for the both of you to watch. It happens one night, both of you practically sitting on top of each other to watch your favourite show, and it hits you. You’re in love with your best friend. And you need to let him know immediately. Tipping your head back against his shoulder, you catch his eyes. 

“Frenchie?” you ask softly 

“Oui, mon ange?” 

“I want to kiss you.” You tip your head back against his neck to look at his eyes, then his lips. They curve into a small smile. You can’t help yourself, overcome with emotion that you twist and manoeuvre Frenchie until he is flat on his back and you’re lying on his chest. 

“You have already, mon ange. We’ve done a lot more than that,” he says, one hand coming up to stroke your face and the other on your back. 

“Yeah, but I love you.”

[obsessedwrhys]

Can we have a part 2 Deadpool reader with the boys and maybe soldier boy too❓❓ if you want to of course

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Boys x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader's origin will be explained underneath, reader is still an asshole lol that comes with the character, mention about killing,death,gore, weed, drugs, Reader is gn!!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the seven, kiss kiss <3

Origin:

Quick summary, when you were born, your parents had agreed with Vought to have you be pumped full of Compound V so you could grow up and be a hero working under them, but the problem was when you were around 7, they changed their mind so Vought ended up sending several people to come to your house to settle the matter.

Your whole family was massacred in the living room during thanksgiving and when they tried to capture you. You were able to run away. Homeless and living on the street, you grew up in a life of crime, depending on nobody but yourself. Make sense? No? Good! Let's start now.

BUTCHER

To him, you were like a fly that won't leave him alone.

How he knew you was through Mallory, she thought you were okay and fit for the job since you hated Vought just as much.

Obviously he didn't like you once you were introduced to him and the two (M.M and Frenchie)

"No way am I lettin' a supe join us"

":("

Though after what happened to Mallory's grandchildren, the gang pretty much dispersed but wherever Butcher went, you followed. Since he was the only person you trusted... and also enjoy annoying the shit out of.

He'd head inside a club, relieved he hadn't seen you for the past few days so he decided to grab a drink by the bar to unwind.

"Whiskey" He said with his eyes looking around, paranoia shown on his face.

Once his drink was served, he would look back to find your eyes smiling at him, you were wearing a bartender disguise over your red suit.

"Did you miss me?"

"Oh christ..."

When you heard word that he was gathering back the team, you had to be there. What kind of friend would you be if you didn't?

Undoubtedly he had to admit, there were times where he was grateful to have you on the team but there were also other times he regretted it.

For example, that time when you guys needed to sneak into a lab to get something and the goal was to stay quiet but even that simple rule was hard for you to follow.

"Room's up ahead. (Y/N) I need you to—"

"Heads up!" You said as you threw a bomb at the metal door.

The explosion causing the alarm to turn on and it had the whole lab now on high alert. You shrug innocently when Butcher glared at you like he wanted to tear you apart.

Also, you enjoy constantly pissing him off. You can't die so you don't really care if he'll kill you for it.

"Maybe, if you didn' press the fuckin' button, we wouldn't have to come bac' to save yer ass from the guards"

"OOH GOD SAVE THE QUEEEN!! Please, cry me a fucking river. I got us the target didn't I?"

"He's dead"

"Well you weren't being specific when you said to capture him"

But it's fine, all his frustration will be solved once he uses you as bait. He knows you can't die but hey, it makes him feel slightly better watching you get shot at.

Despite your ups and downs, he appreciates you. When the team would turn against him on his insane journey for revenge, he always found you the only one still standing by his side. You're loyal and he likes that.

Compatibility? 75%

HUGHIE

You treat him like a child.

No seriously you baby talk him sometimes and it annoys him

"Awwwww is little hughie angry?"

"Stop..."

"Does baby want his milky?"

Since he's pretty much the only person who isn't that exposed to crime as the others, he's terrified 100% everytime when he's paired up to do any dirty work with you.

"Now listen buddy, you better start talking or I'm gonna shoot" You said, gun raised at the man who seemed to be begging you to spare his life in a language you didn't speak.

"I don't think he speaks English"

"Ah shit... ENGLISH!! SPEAK!! ABCDEFG??!"

"How is shouting in English gonna make him understand?"

"Eh, you're right"

BANG

"WHY'D YOU SHOOT HIM??!"

"Well did you expect me to pull out Duolingo and start taking classes?!"

You had to admit, it was a pain in the ass each time he starts giving you the cold shoulder whenever he gets mad at you for doing something terrible. It was like his way of guilt tripping you so you always try to apologise in your own ways.

"Hey..." You said, handing him ice cream.

"...I uh... I don’t like Strawberry ice cream... I thought I told you that"

"God you're so ungrateful!!"

Since he was such a scaredy cat, you try to tone down your craziness a bit. For the sake of him not going into cardiac arrest.

"(Y/N) STOP!! She has nothing to do with this!! She was tricked" Hughie grabbed you by the arm to pull your gun away from the innocent woman.

You turn your head to look at him, then at the woman, then at him again, then the woman, then him again.

"Ugh finnnne... you're boring..."

However, he does appreciate you trying to be a better person. Even you had to admit, after you met him and became friends. You noticed yourself being less brutal than you used to be. The thought keeps you awake at night and it scares the shit out of you.

But oh well, how could you ever say no to those scared little puppy eyes?

Compatibility? 55%

FRENCHIE

He's like your hype man which is concerning.

Not because you're not afraid to get the job done but also because you always have his back.

"Well... I need some gunpowder but I've run out of them" Frenchie said, telling Butcher that the plan was most likely not gonna happen.

"Hold on" You said with the typical comical ☝🏻 gesture before heading into a different room. Everyone exchanging confused glances at what you could possibly be doing.

After a few minutes you'd return with a bag of gunpowder while struggling to zip up your pants with the other hand.

"Don't tell me how I got it. It almost tore me apart" You said, rubbing your ass.

On stressful nights, you guys would enjoy smoking weed together by the sofa and share stories of your traumatic childhood. It's how you guys bond and it's oddly wholesome.

Also when he needs a shoulder to cry on, you were always there for him. You two shared a type of relationship that even Romeo and Juliet couldn't compete with. To be fair they're dead so they actually can't fight.

"Hey reader!! If you're gonna keep reading then you might as well give the post a like or a repost. C'mon, pleassssseeee pleasepleaseplease"

"Ma cerise, who are you talking to?"

Although he doesn't mind your behaviour sometimes but he won't tolerate it if you ever cross the line on something. He's like the owner who sprays water at his pet cat when they don't listen.

"What are you mad at me for?!?!"

"You damn near tried to get us killed!!"

"Hey! You're the one who said it would be a suicide mission so I made sure it was a suicide mission!!"

"WHAT?"

There's no way he can deny how curious he is about where you get your guns and things. He once went in your room to find boxes of dynamite and a RPG just placed against the wall like furniture.

Like do you have a supplier or are you your own supplier?

Compatibility? 99.9%

M.M

Everybody deserves second chances.

He always tells him that to calm himself down everytime you managed to fuck up a thoroughly planned mission.

"What did I say about pressing buttons (Y/N)?"

"Honestly I stopped paying attention after you said 'Listen here'."

M.M has to be the only person you fear to the fact you try very hard to avoid him, this is because his long ass lectures are such a pain to deal with.

"How many times do I have to remind you? You can't just go around doing shit like that. You gotta consider the amount of danger you'll put everyone in..."

"(Blah blah blah... he's still going... uggggh... make it stop...!)"

Unable to handle the lecture any longer, you ended up shooting yourself in the head.

"(Y/N)!" His tone more disappointed than concern since this wasn't the first time you did this to escape his talks.

You know that russian dollhouse he tries to build in season 2? Well you'd constantly be found standing or sitting near him when he's trying to finish the set.

Since you're aware of his OCD, you like to edge him on by sometimes rearranging the parts or stealing some of it so he ends up searching high and low for the missing parts.

You had to admit it was entertaining to watch him accuse other people for touching his stuff when it was you behind all the schemes.

I'd like to think that after every mission when you happen to die, he'd be the one in charge of collecting your remains so you'd grow back.

That's why it comes naturally that his job is to make sure you don't do anything extreme.

"Where are my bombs??!?!" You'd shout, storming around the place looking for them.

"I sold them. Thought it'd do us more good knowing you won’t accidentally blow us up"

"WHAT?! GOD! It's like the writers of the show couldn't afford another explosion for this season so they had to use this DUMB of an excuse!!"

Though he does see some good in you through the messed up parts, he once saw you give his daughter a cute teddy bear when they've been burned by Vought.

She still has the bear and M.M likes to think that maybe you have a soft spot for kids since you never had a proper childhood. That's why he chooses to understand you rather than just being ignorant about your behaviour.

Compatibility? 80%

KIMIKO

She finds you a little odd but she doesn't mind once she realises how everyone is used to you being like that.

Whenever you're bored, you'd come to see what she was up to. Just imagine you sitting on the sofa like a curious kid as you watch her write alphabets on the book.

She also tries to communicate with you since she thought maybe your fucked up mind would understand her better in a way. Like how in season 2 she was repeatedly writing 'boy' to Frenchie but he didn't understand, so she came to you.

"Woow... watching you try to talk to me is like watching a baby take it's first breath..."

"😐"

"It's beautiful..."

Turns out her theory was wrong, you had a harder time understanding her compared to the rest.

Since you're the only two people in the group with powers, most of the time you two are sent on dangerous missions together. It's a nightmare for her because everybody knows communication is key but one is mute and the other doesn't listen.

"(Be quiet! There's people in the other room!)" She'd sign to you but you were busy humming a song while throwing around the enemies equipment.

"Oooh, what's this?" You held up a Homelander figurine which made you laugh as you show it to her.

"Hey look! 'I'm Homelander, I'm God's favourite. I play golf with Jesus every Sunday."

"(Can you please take this seriously?)"

"You're right, you gotta stop messing around Kimiko! We have a target to kill here" You said and you threw the figurine away which apparently clashes into a stack of boxes that came crashing down. The sound making everyone inside the building grab their weapons and began cornering you two in the room.

"😡"

"Okay that wasn't me that was gravity"

For the boys, you were plan A and she was plan B. That's because you always end up rushing into a fight first which most of the time resulted in you getting dismembered, which she later comes in to save you.

For example when Stormfront had stopped you guys, your bright ass thought it was a good idea to charge at her even though everyone was signalling you to stop. Next thing you know you were just a head being carried by M.M, you ended up watching as Kimiko fought Stormfront with the help of Starlight and Queen Maeve.

"That's my girl!! Now can anyone lend me a hand? I think I lost mine"

Compatibility? 97%

Bonus +

SOLDIER BOY

You know the scene where he walks out of his containment with the gas surrounding him? You swore when you watched him step out butt naked, you could hear angels singing and trumpets playing inside your head.

Shockingly enough, he was the only person who appreciated your humour. Could be a generation thing. He's just relieved not everyone has gone soft over the years.

In a way, you feel like you've become his babysitter. Everytime Butcher and Hughie left to do some business, you were in charge of making sure he doesn't blow up anyone. You kept him entertained so he didn't mind. That's why on the hunt for his former team members, he immediately chose you to be by his side.

"I'll take red with me"

"Red as in the american flag or the russians?" You asked which had him do the typical boomer laugh.

"I like you, you're funny" He said with a strong pat on your shoulder.

Butcher doesn't mind you with him cause he trusts that you can keep him under control. Hughie on the other hand isn't sure if you can even keep yourself under control.

"Shhh... wait... do you hear that?"

"Ah shit, did I accidentally said my dirty thoughts out loud? It's just you look breedable in that suit"

Another thing he likes about you is that you're okay with killing pretty much anyone, just try not to overstep cause that could potentially piss him off.

"I told you he's mine" He said as he had you pinned against one of the trees, apparently you had shot Mindstorm in the head when he literally made it clear to you minutes ago that was his kill.

"Quite possessive aren't you? I can recommended a therapist I know. Her names Martha—"

"You shut your mouth before I shove my shield up your ass"

"Gasp don't you DARE threaten me with a good time!!"

At the end of Season 3, you would obviously side with Butcher when everyone started to turn against Soldier Boy. He had to admit he was kinda hurt though, he expected you to be on his side.

"So what? You're crawling back to him now? After what we've been through?"

"Sorry big daddy, but Butcher has been my day one and I also happen to love him veryvery much"

Cue Butcher rolling his eyes out of disgust.

Compatibility? 100% but after the betrayal? 0% ��

[cranberry-writes]

Dating Headcannons for The Boys characters!

Please send requests, i need motivation

Characters listed; Hughie, Butcher, M.M, Frenchie, Kimiko

Warnings; Mentioned drinking and cannon typical violence/language. Also i’m barely on season 2 please bear with me

Hughie;

- He’s so so sweet about your relationship

- He gets you flowers for no reason other than he saw them and thought you’d like them

- He has thousands of reminders so he won’t forget anything, from a drink you liked to your anniversary he will have it written down.

- Later on in the series he gets protective and cautious about the relationship, scared someone (homelander) will mess it up by hurting you

- He’ll probably push you away a bit to try and protect you but after you knock some sense into him he’ll be back to normal

- Loves park/library dates, going on a picnic during the summer and to the library when it’s to cold out.

- He will do so much for you (flowers, gifts, dates etc) and insist it’s nothing but will cry (happy tears) if you do the same

- Don’t get me wrong tho, he’s still a bad ass (sometimes). He just dosnt want you to think differently of him because of it, he’s hurt people, killed people, and he honestly isn’t too keen on focusing on it. Even if you two are in the same line of work.

- And if you two don’t work together he tries to keep his ‘work’ life and dating life separate, very separate.

“You’ve never told me what you do for work, maybe i could stop by and meet your co-workers.”

“Uh, actually, i don’t think that’ll work.”

“Why not? is everything ok there or something?”

“I-, uhm, work alone, so i don’t even have coworkers for you to meet really, it’s really boring infact you’d probably fall asleep just from me talking about it hahaha.”

- You find out like two days later

Butcher;

- Little shit

- I mean that affectionately

- His pet names will range anywhere from “Darlin’” to “Fucker” and i WILL stand by it

- He’ll probably introduce you to his work before he does his dog

- But his dog is the big ticket, you meeting Terror is essentially his way of proposing before proposing

- He’s protective but not in the “i’ll watch your every move” more in the “im teaching you how to use every weapon to ever exist” way

- Honestly work would probably come before you for a while before he sucks it up and actually makes an effort

- Dates will be at the most shity bar imaginable, unless he’s apologizing for something then he’ll take you to the nicest place he can and put on a suit. (it’s the Cheese Cake factory and he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt under his jacket but he’s trying)

- Unlike Hughie he will introduce you to his work at some point, granted it would still be a while before he did but he would at some point.

- He’s sweet in his own way

“Darlin’, look what i got ya.” And it’s a Garfield shirt a size to big but you still wear it anyways

MM;

- Definition of husband material

- remembers anything and everything after being told one time

- makes you baths with rose petals and candles and all that stuff if you mention you’ve been tired lately

- Takes you out to the movies and a nice restaurant at least twice a month

- Good gods he’s sweet to you

- He knows how to cook/bake and will make stuff for you all the time

- My guy will make a meal from your culture and practice making it almost daily just to give you a taste of home.

- He really loves back massages and cuddling after a long day

- Put on some crappy reality show for background noise and nap together

- He wants you as far away as humanly possible from his work, will literally say shit like “everyone at work has the plague you can’t visit” as a joke to try and change the subject

- Chances are you won’t find out

- His favorite flowers are tulips and nothing will change my mind about it

“Baby what are these?”

“Tulips, I bought them from a street market on 11th today. They’re your favorite, right?”

“Gods, sweetheart you’re perfect.”

Frenchie;

- When you two meet you both think it’s just going to be a one night stand

-…then it’s two nights, then three, then a week, then you start spending more time at his place than your own. One day you guys just realize you’re moved in and dating

“Are we dating?”

“…Was there anything else we could be mon cœur?”

- honestly i don’t think you two would get together if you weren’t working together, or at least you were also into some shady shit

- But overall you guys have a strong relationship, one gets hurt the other kills someone, someone is hungry the other is already cooking, stuff like that

- He also cooks but it’s only french food, it’s like a super power. He can cook any french food effortlessly but literally anything else he messes up

- If you are french he’ll be super happy someone else will appreciate the same stuff in a similar way

- If not then he’ll be happy to share stuff with you, teach you some french words and tell you about stuff he grew up with

- Honestly he’s just happy someone (other than Kimiko) will listen and take an interest

Kimiko

-I have a confession to make, Kimiko is my favorite and i have a very blatant bias towards her

- Kill anyone you want bby i don’t care ill always like you

- Anyways, It probably takes you a while to get close enough to her that she’ll consider dating you

- Once y’all get to that point i don’t think you could break it tho

- I think she would like constant minimal physical contact, like hand holding or leaning on each other

- I think she’d be pretty protective over you, like someone looks at you wrong and she wants to maul them

- Learn sign language with/for her she will love it

- Draw with her, get her supplies, like those alcohol markers i’m sure she’ll love them

- Honestly i don’t think she’d be big on pet names, she wouldn’t object to it but i don’t think she’d give you one first

- Cook for her, i just think it would be sweet and she deserves it

“I got you some of those markers you’ve been looking at for a while.”

Thank you, this is nice

- Please she’s perfect i love her

[nobitchs-world]

If you’re gonna make a smut fic please specify which sexual acts that will be in it I don’t want to be surprised attacked by a nigga getting his butt fingered

[masempaix]

Y/n: Looking delicious in that outfit, babygirl *wink*

Soldier Boy: did she just ca—

Hughie: It’s meant you’re attractive man

[scififettuccine]

maybe a frenchie x supe!reader? there’s not enough frenchie fics out there! like maybe they don’t get along but they’re forced to work together?

A Wild Fix: Part 1

Pairing: Frenchie x Reader

Summary: You, Wild Card, a 27 year old Supe newly signed by Vought, are recruited by Billy Butcher following an incident in Vought Tower. With the help of The Boys, you vow to destroy the corrupt system that wronged so many. But will your mission be tainted by your constant bickering with one of your new team members?

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Violence, drug use, Homelander (Obviously), mentions of drug use, questionable French

Notes: I absolutely LOVED this request. I slept on it once I saw it because I had so many ideas and I didn't know where to start...but my goal is going to be a 3-5 part series! I'm going to try my best to keep each part under 2k, maybe 1.5k each? No gender was specified in the request so I'm gonna keep it as a GN reader!

From the outside...Vought as a whole seemed like the shiny pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that every Supe had striven for since the company's creation. But you? You knew the truth. Only 24 hours into your career as a member of The Seven, you had been subjected to more violence than you expected from a group that was supposedly supposed to save people. Your first meeting with the rest of the group had gone south quickly once you questioned one of Homelanders statements, and stood your ground when he told you to back down. Before you could even blink, you were pinned against the wall, with a firm hand pressed against your neck, constricting your breathing. In that moment, you understood that being compliant was the only thing that would secure your status as living. So that's what you did, you nodded your head and said “yes sir.” Needless to say, you left that room with the fear of god, no, the fear of The Homelander, choked into you…But you knew you couldn’t sleep here. So you booked a hotel room for the night, hoping maybe the receptionist wouldn't notice the bruises on your neck.But while you walked there, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hugged yourself to keep the cool night air out of your jacket, you were approached by a man named Billy Butcher. The two of you had a lengthy conversation outside of the hotel regarding the truth behind Homelander, The Seven, and Vought as a whole. Then he made you an offer you couldn’t refuse: a chance to get back at Homelander. A chance to bring yourself justice, as well as bring justice to the others he had hurt in his desperate pursuit of ultimate power. Of course…you agreed. 

You had kept in touch with Butcher the following week on a burner phone he had given you, knowing that Vought had most likely bugged all of your personal technology…and on your next day off? You met him at a location that was unknown to you, one you would soon come to be familiar with. As he ushered you down the wooden stairs of the unknown building, you weren't met with the most reassuring of environments. Drug paraphernalia, along with various illegal weapons, and full ammo boxes littered the expanse of the rather unwelcoming looking hideout. You stopped at the bottom step and pointed to a literal stack of plastic bags containing what you could only assume was coke.

“That’s…” you swallowed, “That’s coke.” Butcher, who had been guiding you down the stairs with his hand on your lower back, laughed and shook his head.

“That’s right, love. Bags of coke.” Billy said with a small chuckle as he patted your back and stepped onto the broken concrete floor of the basement, greeting the others that inhabited the space. The first person you noticed was a rather lengthy looking young man who looked to be around the same age as you with slightly curly brown hair. Admittedly, you thought he dressed like a twelve year old. He was seated on a questionable looking couch, next to an older man with a bigger build and a darker complexion…who looked like he could snap you in half with little to no effort. Your gaze then flickered further into the room, and your gaze landed on a man who was around the same height as you. Not exactly tall…but not short either. The man in question had a buzz cut, a piercing on his left ear, and was wearing an orange and black tie-dyed shirt, along with cargo pants. He was seated on one of the tables that housed various pieces of drug paraphernalia, and was seemingly using a business card to arrange lines of coke on the back of an old phone book that sat on his lap.

“Well boys…here they are. This is Y/N L/N.” Butcher interrupted your silent evaluation as he addressed the room. He walked back to your side and put a hand on your shoulder, moving to point to the younger man on the couch. “That poor bastard there is Hughie,” he moved to the man next to him, “that's MM,” and finally…he pointed to the man sitting on the table. “That’s Frenchie.” Frenchie pulled his head away from the phonebook, white power dusted on his nose.

“Bonjour-” He said, cutting himself off with a sniffle as he wiped the coke from his nose. Oh, that's why they called him Frenchie. You narrowed your eyes, the greetings of the two other men falling on deaf ears as you looked Frenchie over. Clearly something important had been said during the duration of your staring, because you were knocked out of your thoughts by a firm nudge to the shoulder by Butcher.

“Oi, Hellen Keller! Are you up for it or not?” Butcher asked. He realized you hadn’t heard him and narrowed his eyes with a sigh. “We’re going to meet up with an info plug…You can either come or stay here with Frenchie.” You sort of just panicked and blurted out an answer, not wanting to ask any dumb questions about the info plug.

“I’ll stay…with uh, Frenchie.” You said. As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You weren’t an overly judgy person, you really weren't…but you couldn’t help but feel a bit of trepidation regarding staying alone with a man who had done coke off the back of a dirty phone book within the first minute of you meeting him. Butcher smirked when he saw the look of regret on your face.

“Right then. We’ll be back, love.” He said, gesturing for Hughie and MM to follow him out. “Make yourself at home.” With that, the three made their way up the stairs, leaving you alone with Frenchie. You took the moment of awkward silence that followed them leaving to look around the basement, your feet glued to the floor of course. The walls of the space were composed of a skeleton made of wooden posts, which were filled in with a mixture of red brick, and the same color of concrete that the floor was made of. The walls in question were littered with spray painted tags of many different colors, most of which you couldn’t read, due to the fact that they were in a different language, but they were oddly beautiful nonetheless. The lighting in the room, just a few hanging light bulbs, added to the strange ambiance of the room.

“You are Wild Card…Yes?” The silence was broken by Frenchie, who was still sitting on the table, but now facing your direction. You turned to him and nodded, albeit awkwardly.

“Yeah…Yeah. That's me. Just call me Y/N, though.” You said, trying your best to give a convincing smile.

“Y/N…” He nodded as he repeated your name, “Oui. A good name.” He looked at you for a moment, almost waiting for you to respond. When you didn't, he pursed his lips and blinked. “Remind me, Y/N…What are your powers exactly?” You sighed when he asked that. It was always strange explaining what exactly your powers were.

You were called Wild Card for a reason. While you were powerful…using your powers was sort of like playing a game of russian roulette, only with the gun pointed towards the other person. You could do a multitude of different things, along with the constant of your strength, speed, and agility. You could create different balls of explosive matter, you could manipulate and use the moisture present in the air for multiple different attacks, along with a few other niche things. The problem was…you never knew which would happen beforehand. All you could go off was the feeling you felt in your palms. You weren’t exactly the most reliable Supe abilities wise…but every one of your random attacks was extremely powerful, making you a good person to throw into the mix if things aren't going well for the rest of your team, which is why you were a valuable member to add to The Seven.

“Uhm…Have you ever played Uno before? Like the card game?” You asked. Frenchie nodded. “Well it’s kinda like when you put a wild card down in Uno, and you get to pick a color…Except you pick the color blindly.” Frenchie sort of stared at you for a moment, before he started laughing. You tensed up when you heard him laugh, but you tried to laugh along, due to the fact that you couldn’t tell if he was laughing with you or at you. “Forgive me, mon cher-” He stifled a laugh before continuing, “that is the silliest thing I've ever heard.” At that comment, you frowned, taking a step back even though you were across the room from each other.

“Silly? It’s not silly at all…I’m pretty powerful, all things considered-”

“But you just use it blindly?” He asked with a chuckle. “What happens when you want to shoot a fireball or something, but you summon a child’s teddy to your hand instead?” That ticked you off. Who the hell was he to insult your powers? He was a druggie, and didn't even have any.

“How can you sit there and insult me when you were doing lines off the back of a 30 year old phonebook when I walked in?” You asked, your words coming out a bit more spiteful than you had intended. Frenchie narrowed his eyes, but tried to shake off his anger. He wasn’t fond of fighting with people over small things, especially not when intoxicated. 

“Ah…I see…” He said with a chuckle that you could only describe as pathetic, “All Supes really do have an ego, don't they?” He asked, hopping off the table he was sitting on.

“Hey! You've known me for five minutes and you're already making assumptions about me?” You balled your fists and took an accusatory step forward. Frenchie raised a brow.

“And I’m safe to assume that you’ve already painted this image of me in your head like some sort of druggie asshole?” Damn. He got you with that one. But alas…You were too prideful to let him have the last word. You scoffed.

“Maybe I’ll change my opinions when you’ve done something other than do drugs and laugh at me.” You said with a roll of your eyes. You weren't a conflictive person…But the last few days had been long and hard, so you couldn't exactly help it.

“Ditto, mon amour.” He said, his face painted with an absolutely infuriating smirk.

“Fuck you.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know nothing about me.”

“Eh bien, va te faire foutre toi aussi.” He said, almost matter-of-factly, mocking your current stance. You didn’t speak French, but you could only assume he had said something insulting back. Well, fuck you too. You were about to spit something back, but thankfully, Butcher came walking back down the wooden stairs, an eyebrow raised.

“Everything's alright down here, love?” He asks, the look on his face a mix between suspicion and curiosity. 

“Yeah. Everything is fine.” You said, your tone strained. Butcher then looked over to Frenchie, who simply gave a thumbs up before leaning down to do another line off the phonebook. You huffed and rolled your eyes. You were too exhausted to say anything else.

The nerve of this man.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I think it's safe to say this mini series is going to be lots of fun! I love Frenchie as a character, and it was really fun to come up with a fun Supe persona for the reader! I hope you enjoyed, and stay tuned for part 2! I'm also working on a taglist form so keep an eye out for that! Adieu!

Masterlist

[lilacliquors]

Hey you're probably sick of the boys requests so take as long as you need with this

I was wondering if I could request how the boys would react to be called their real name in an angry voice by their gf instead of their nickname

Like for Frenchie it would be Serge

For Noir it would be Earving

For Billy it would be William

For Soldier Boy it would be Ben/Benjamin

For Hughie it would be Hugh

You get the jist, I hope you like this request 😊💕

i love this request nonnie!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ FRENCHIE

he's not expecting it at all. he's always just been frenchie. with you, with the boys, just frenchie. but then, you find out that he's worked out a deal with little nina, and you know her reputation. everyone knows her reputation. and it's a matter of life and death. not to mention she used to fuck your boyfriend. he practically drops to his knees before you the moment you yell 'serge!' and he's both begging for forgiveness while also trying to explain.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ NOIR

it's been a long time since anyone has called him earving. he's always been 'black noir' or 'noir'. he doesn't even register that you're angry with him when you shout 'earving!'. he's simply reminded that he's still human under the mask, and he lets you yell. but when you're done, he simply wraps his arms around you, and where you see an apology hug, he sees a thank you hug.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ BILLY

he thinks it's hot. you don't intimidate him by any means, but he can't deny loving that angry flair in your eyes. he hears you go 'william butcher!' and he knows there's gonna be angry sex tonight. he'll let you yell at him, be angry, get it out of your system, but then he makes that one sarcastic comment that just grins your gears, and you get started all over again.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SOLDIER BOY

like noir, he hasn't been called 'ben/benjamin' in years. not by someone who cared. and when you shout 'benjamin!' after a stunt he pulled, whether it be flirting with a backup dancer or getting a bit too insulting with a coworker of yours, he does pull back. he realizes that he doesn't want to actually upset you, and he does promise to do better.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ HUGHIE

he's caught off guard, definitely. to him, his father is hugh, not him. he's always been hughie, and robin never called him hugh. so when you find out that he's taken temp v, despite butcher telling him not to, you're furious. that stuff could kill him! so when you storm up to him, poking his chest while saying 'hugh campbell jr.!', he doesn't know what to think.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This is story non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being; 1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so. 2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad. Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask! Enjoy!

Word Count: 4k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: See the Masterlist for Summary. Contains usual tags.

Chapter title is from Growing Up by Fall Out Boy.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff.

Read on A03!

Chapter 2

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

You were not, and never had been, in the business of fighting your wars bloody. You fought them smart, and you fought them dirty. You wouldn’t call yourself callous; if anything, you could use a little more misanthropy in your life, but your moral compass was… subjective. You would steal bread to feed your family, you would cheat if you knew you wouldn’t get caught, and, as you had spent the last six months learning, you would quickly cover your hands in all the blood and grime in the world so that nobody else would have to.

Which was, unfortunately, not a figure of speech.

You let yourself lie in the mud, the cool texture soothing your always-warm skin, and fought the urge to sleep. You could hear someone shouting your name, strung together with an impressive array of obscenities and barely audible over whatever phase of the argument your companions were on, but god, you just could not bring yourself to give a fuck. Sure, the blood on your face was already dry, and the hay mixed into the mud itched and needled at your skin, but you’d live. You’d survived much worse, and at this point it was scientifically impossible for you to get sick, so everyone could just come back for you in a week or two. Maybe three. However long it took for the nightmare sheep to die and Vought’s stock prices to be lower in the mud than where you lay. Maybe a bit longer. Maybe until Homelander wasn’t a you problem anymore. Maybe they’d feed his corpse to the nightmare sheep when they came to get you.

You felt yourself smile a little at that thought. Dead Homelander, weak and pathetic; golden hair grimy; awful blue eyes milky and hollow. Dead Homelander, hands unable to hurt you, mouth unable to twist into that horrific smile. Dead Homelander, pretty face mauled and stupid outfit smelling like shit from being dragged in it to the barn. Dead Homelander, being torn to tiny pieces and eaten by sheep. Dead Homelander, the worst thing that ever happened to you, finishing his reign of terror shat out next to a creek somewhere.

Your smile covered your whole face at this point. It probably looked weird and creepy—the dire, life-or-death situation you were smack dab in the middle of not doing it any favors—but god, it was too perfect a daydream. You could live here forever, in the mud, with your fucked-up little fantasy on loop.

Tragically, you barely had twenty seconds in this ideal world when something hit you in the face.

“What the fuck?!" You sat up, ignoring the hand offering aid from Frenchie, glaring around the barn for your assailant.

“Bout time you join the land of the living, Love. We’ve got a fucking problem, and you don’t get to nap until it’s fixed.” Across the barn, Billy Butcher shot you a cocky grin that didn’t meet his eyes. To be fair, you weren’t sure it ever did.

“You didn’t have to hit me in the face, you ass.”

“That was me,” Frenchie cut in. “And you should thank me; Monsieur Butcher was going to shoot you.”

“You were going to shoot me?!”

“Would’ve felt the same either way, wouldn’t it?” Butcher shrugged.

“No! I’m not bulletproof, you dick!”

“You’d live.”

“So would MM if you shot him! I don’t see you gearing up for that!”

“Well, MM wasn’t sleeping in the middle of a crisis!”

You rolled your eyes, meeting Butcher’s glare from across the room. "Oh, please, you just wanted an excuse to try and kill me!”

“If I wanted to kill you, Sweetheart, it’d look more like this.” Butcher’s arms started to move behind him, where you knew he kept his gun, and you braced yourself, hands fisted at your side.

“Hey!” MM stepped forward, arms raised. “You, if you shoot anyone, I will throw you out to the sheep, I swear to God. And you,” he turned his gaze from Butcher, “turn it down; it’s the middle of winter in Maine, and I feel like I’m standing in the goddamn sun.”

You blinked, realizing that the room had rapidly become impossibly hot, and everyone had moved far as possible from where you stood. The new, alien feeling that sat under your skin was alight and sharp, almost buzzing through you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back. MM lowered his arms, a look of what might have been concern flashing across his face, but turned away as the conversation returned to the murder-sheep issue.

You took a few steps back; nobody stopping you or asking for your contribution, fully allowing you to shrink into the wall. You felt your hand move up to your throat, trying to slow the tense, short breaths passing in and out of your body.

“Try thinking of something that calmed you down before.”

You jumped, not having noticed Victoria Neuman move to your side, and gave her a small frown as you responded. “What?”

“Something familiar. Anything that takes the edge off. Trust me,” she gave you a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve been dealing with this my whole life. It won’t get easier on its own. And that,“ she gestured to your hand. “Won’t help it long-term.”

You nodded slowly, forcing yourself to drag your hand from your throat. Something happy. Something happy from before. What had been happy before?

Briefly, city lights flashed in your head, a song on a stereo accompanied by your own hum ringing silently in your ears. It vanished just as fast, but something in your chest loosened, and the feeling waned. Glancing over at Neuman, you saw a small nod of approval before she left your side, allowing you a second to steel yourself before following.

You found yourself standing next to Annie, who gave you a quick and, as far as you could tell, genuine smile before returning her attention to the tense conversation between Butcher and Stan Edgar. The former's voice had grown to a shout, somewhat ranting about a goose-chase for the bioweapon supposedly on this farm, the latter just watching with a cold, indifferent gaze.

“Are you done, Mr. Butcher?” Edgar’s voice betrayed no anger or fear; the only signs of emotion on his face his tightened lips and raised brows. “Because if you are, I would finally be able to share my plan to get us out of this hellhole you dug us.”

Butcher scoffed, but before he could call Edgar either a cunt or a twat—both seemed equally plausible at the moment—the stone-faced man continued.

“While I will be the first to admit that an error was made in regards to a possible weapon against Homelander, I could not call today a complete waste. After all, you introduced me to this… charming young woman. The Anomaly,” he turned to you, and a shiver ran up your spine as he used your supe name. “Is going to help us.”

“Uh,” you paled under the pressing eyes of your team. “No. I don’t, uh, I… no.”

“Yes. You will,” Edgar said. “The V variant you carry is Homelander’s attempt to duplicate the original, the one used on Soldier Boy. Most likely a good attempt. And though the original V was unstable and less than suitable in any practical means, it was potent. I do not think I would be wrong in guessing you are just as strong as Soldier Boy, and likely immortal as well.”

“No.” Annie cut it in. “If you’re going to suggest we use her as fucking bait, the answer is no.”

“I was not going to suggest that, Ms. January, why would I waste such a good product on sheep bait? I am proposing that she simply eliminate our issue. I hear sheep catch fire quite easily.”

Everyone was looking at you now. Waiting for you to step forward and say something, anything. But you were frozen, mouth slightly agape, a million scenarios playing out in your head. You saying yes, and failing to do anything but start a forest fire, the barn burning around you as everyone remained trapped inside. You saying no, and the sheep breaking in and eating everyone alive. You saying yes, but losing control and hitting someone, watching them burn to ash as they screamed. You saying no, and everyone just rotting away in the barn; you yourself unable to do the same. The silence hung in the room, taunt with the way breathing had become labored in your chest, and you thanked a god you didn’t believe in as Annie stepped forward.

“She can’t control it,” she told Edgar. “We’ve been working on it for months, and she’s gotten better, but she can’t. It’s more complicated than it usually is, and it’s new.”

“Well, then I guess we should start to pray she gets lucky. I simply will not die in a barn in Maine, and unless anyone else has a plan, I must insist we start moving. Before the structural integrity fails us, and we all become dinner.”

The room was quiet for another moment, Annie looking as if she wanted to argue, but MM spoke first, his voice laced with reluctance.

“He’s right. We don’t have time to come up with something better.” He sighed, turning to you. “You’re the best bet we’ve got.”

“Still a shit bet,” Butcher muttered.

You agreed.

But Edgar was right.

“Everyone will need to stay inside,” you said softly. “Even if it works, this could get… messy.”

Murmurs of agreement were made, and you turned to Kimiko. “You’re the strongest,” you told her. “You can open and close the door the fastest. Crack it open, I’ll run through, and slam it as fast as you fucking can.”

She nodded, moving to the barn's entrance. As she passed you, she paused, giving your arm a small squeeze and you a small smile before she continued. You smiled back, trying to ignore the flash of her anxiety running through you at the touch. Everyone else began to move to the opposite side, hiding pointlessly behind hay and barrels. Neuman paused, though, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“Something calm,” was all she said before turning to follow Edgar.

Something calm.

City lights. Music. Cheap burgers and cheaper beer. Carefree smiles. Music.

You stood before the doors, giving Kimiko a small thumbs up. She raised her hand, fingers falling from five to four, from four to three.

Two.

One.

You sprinted forward, waited for the sound of a slam behind you, and let go.

The world lit up.

It felt like a hurricane was spilling out of you, like a part of you was being ripped out and launched away. You could see the fire, but not quite feel it. If anything a chill had set itself through your veins, your skin becoming flushed not from heat, but exhaustion. Already darkness was creeping into your eyes, the effort to control the flames splitting the sky taking a toll. It was like a volcano trying to control its eruption, if any of its magma was under the control of the mountain.

But you had to. You could pass out after; you could sleep for a hundred years, but right now you had to control it.

The blood and muck on your skin had been long seared off, the clothes on your back turning into foul-smelling smoke. Your job was long finished now, nothing but bone and sinew remaining of the sheep, but a new problem emerged.

You couldn’t stop. You were burning and burning and burning, and the feeling in your skin wasn’t dulling, but growing. The exhaustion was gone, replaced by pure adrenaline, yanking you up and up, away from relief.

Something calm, Neuman’s voice echoed in your head, and you closed your eyes, trying to hear that long-gone music and see those phantom lights.

It wasn’t working. And you were only getting closer to an edge, a drop into something you’d been so careful to avoid. It was eating you, pushing you further and further. You'd jump into the freezing water of the river but it would just evaporate. You’d bury yourself in the mud but it would just boil, feeding into itself.

Sing, a small part of you begged the rest. Just sing. No use hiding yourself if you’re dead.

You gave in, and began to hum. An empty tune, your voice on key but strained. Slowly, you felt yourself come to, your body returning to your control. You followed the song to the end, and as it ended, just before you collapsed on the ground, relief rushed through you. The fire had lingered, a saving grace from your song. You hadn’t felt any effects, with no hallucinations plaguing your vision before it went dark.

————

The first thing you realized when you woke up was that someone had moved you from the dirt to rest against a tree. The second was that you were no longer naked. Someone had apparently managed to find you clothes, and though they were itchy and a few sizes too big, you were still grateful. The third was that you smelled like shit. You had thought you were covered in blood before, but that now seemed as if it had been bubbles and floral perfume. One might have thought thoroughly barbecued sheep would’ve smelled at least tolerable. They would’ve been wrong. Because you were covered in what of it hadn’t dissipated into smoke, and you smelled like a dumpster full of rubber and fish.

The only person who would come near you was Frenchie, who had forsaken his sense of smell years ago, and had evidently dressed you and pulled you to where you currently sat. Everyone else stood closer to the fence, waiting for their ride back to New York to pull up on the dirt road. You sat alone, eyes still drooping, startled out of your own head as Edgar’s voice cut through the air.

“I must say, I am glad to see my faith in you was not misplaced.”

"Yeah, well,” you shrugged, looking up at where he stood, only a few feet away. “I wouldn’t ask for an encore.”

“I am afraid I may have to. In our prior introduction, it seems you deeply undersold your capabilities.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t have time for self-evaluation when I was being kept in a fucking dungeon.”

Edgar sighed. “I must apologize for that. Though I was not made aware of Homelander’s little escapade, I recognize that you might feel as though I hold some blame.”

“Not an apology,” you muttered. “And I find that hard to believe.”

“Unfortunate, but I cannot force you to accept the truth.” He looked you up and down once before continuing. “And regardless, it is not what I am here to say.”

“I was wrong only once today, and it was when I said you were just as strong as Soldier Boy. You are not. You are much, much stronger. Not physically, of course, but overall. Overall, your power surpasses Soldier Boy’s, surpasses Homelander’s. I know you wish him dead, I would imagine you prefer it to be painful, and very few deaths inflict the suffering felt when one is burned alive. I suggest you learn how to control your gift, and learn fast. You were looking for a weapon, and I am telling you that you are it. Do not waste yourself.”

And he walked away, leaving your mouth open and your eyes wide. You stood to follow him, painfully pulling yourself to your feet, but made only a few steps before you felt a rock hit your back, and you whipped around to find Frenchie behind you, holding a hose.

“Starlight suggests you take a shower before our drive back,” he said, gesturing to the hose.

You blinked, looking back at Edgar, only to watch him be loaded into an armed van. Your brow wrinkled, a part of you wanting to chase the car down and demand Edgar elaborate, but you just turned back to Frenchie with a sigh.

“Sure, just count down before you–“

You cut yourself off as the freezing water hit you in the face.

Thankfully, Frenchie had thought to bring a towel—a gross, possibly moldy towel—but a towel nonetheless, and he handed it to you the moment the hose-down was finished. As his arm stretched out, you noticed a deep gash poking out from his sleeve.

“I can fix that,” you gestured to him. “I mean, I’ll have to touch you, but I won’t tell anyone what I feel, and you won’t have to let MM give you stitches.”

Frenchies frowned, looking at his arm as if only he now noticing his injury. “Are you sure? You must be tired, and–“

“I’ll be fine. Won’t hurt me for more than a few seconds.”

He hesitated, but gave you a nod, rolling up his sleeve before offering his injury to you. You took a deep breath and placed your hand over the wound. It hit you fast, it always did, the onslaught of emotions. You were suddenly twice as tired, a powerful and painful guilt sitting on your shoulders and a self-loathing that was familiar, but not yours, carved itself into your chest. After a second to adjust, you started to work. Your own arm, mirror to Frenchies, began to sting as the skin turned raw and red. You bit your tongue, ignoring it and focusing on keeping yourself going until the cut was gone, the skin was healthy, and there were no signs of any issues in the first place.

“Huh,” Frenchie stated at his unmarked arm, glancing at your own, which was already fully healed itself. “Merci.”

“No problem,” you offered him a grin. “Just don’t tell Butcher you accepted my evil supe healing.”

“You do not,” he frowned slightly. “You do not feel everything, yes? Just, simple, children’s emotions?”

It was your turn to frown. “Children’s emotions?”

“Oui. Joy, fear, sadness. No more.”

Oh. You hesitated to answer, debating if it was worth the lie. It would make him feel better, you reasoned with yourself.

But he wouldn’t trust you, a little voice whispered. And he’ll hate you.

You settled on the truth. You didn’t think you could stand another person hating you.

“No, I feel… everything,” you admitted. “But I wasn’t lying before. I won’t tell anyone.” You paused, watching his face carefully as you continued. “I won’t tell Kimiko.”

A look of shock passed over his face, but Frenchie nodded. “Good. Good. Tres bien,” he gave you a grateful look. “Merci.”

“Anytime,” you gave him a close-lipped smile, and the two of you returned to your group just as your ride pulled up. As you loaded into the car and began the long, tense drive, Edgar’s words replayed on loop in your head.

Your power surpasses Soldier Boy’s, surpasses Homelander’s. Learn how to control your gift, and learn fast. Do not waste yourself.

Do not waste yourself.

You thought back to the last time you saw Homelander. Though it had been from a distance, and he had not even known you were there, your body had frozen. Fear, white-hot and all consuming, had coursed through you. You had almost passed out from it. If you had been face-to-face with him, it might have killed you all on its own.

Do not waste yourself.

You couldn’t fight Homelander. You just couldn’t. You could be capable of overpowering him tenfold, and you still wouldn’t be able to fight him. You knew, in your heart, that his eyes would meet yours and you would be sent right back into that tiny white room, feel his hands holding you down, feel that hollow, empty hopelessness leak from you into the air.

But he needs to die, a small voice whispered in your head. And you’re the Anomaly. You could kill him. You’re the only one who could stop him forever, make sure he never hurts anyone, ever again.

No. No, you couldn’t be the only one. Yes, the biochem weapon had been a bust, and no one else could possibly rival Homelander and come out of it alive. But there had to be other options.

Your power surpasses Soldier Boy’s.

Do not waste yourself.

An idea started to form in your head. A terrible idea. A reckless and dangerous idea. But an idea all the same. And as it became fully formed, you managed to convince yourself more and more that it might somehow work.

Now all you had to do was convince everyone else.

——-

“No. No fucking way.”

The air in the meeting room was tense, mouths hanging open in shock. MM was glaring at you with a disdain you had previously only seen directed at Butcher, Butcher watched at you with a reverence you hope to never see on his face again, Grace Mallory looked all at once disgusted, intrigued, and impressed, and President-Elect Singer frowned as he listened, but gave you a nod to continue regardless.

“I know it’s crazy, but the problem last time was that you couldn’t control him, right? And I could. You can have us isolated, making sure we're out of the public eye and away from any possible collateral until you need us. I’d keep an eye on him, keep him in line, and he wouldn’t be able to hurt me.”

“I, for one, think this is an amazing idea. Best one I ever heard,” Butcher grinned at you. “Worst case scenario, it goes sideways, he kills her, we knock him out, and everyone still wins.”

“What part of ‘he wouldn’t be able to hurt me’ don’t you understand?” You snapped back.

“What if he blasts you with his fucking reactor?” MM pushed. “Makes you just another human? What’s your plan then?”

“That wouldn’t work on me,” you responded dryly.

Butcher snorted, but Mallory raised an eyebrow.

“Really? What makes you so sure?”

“One of the tests that was run on me was putting me in a room and blasting it with nuclear energy. They dropped Hiroshima on me, and it did jack shit. Soldier Boy throwing a temper tantrum won’t be any different.”

“And how do you think you could control him?” Singer asked.

“I can burn up to 5500 degrees Celsius. That’s hotter than a bomb. Won’t kill him, will knock him the fuck out. And it’ll hurt.”

“I just can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner,” Butcher mused. “It’s fuckin' perfect.”

You glowered at him. “Stop helping me.”

MM looked at Mallory. “The fact that America’s number one unstable asshole,” he gestured to Butcher. “Is on board should be enough to tell you how stupid this is.”

“Number two unstable asshole,” you said under your breath.

“Thanks, Love,” Butcher winked at you.

“Yeah well, don’t be so pleased. You’re only just losing to Homelander.”

Butcher shrugged, and you returned your attention to Singer. “Sir, please trust me. I, more than almost anyone, know how dangerous this could be. But Homelander is more dangerous. We needed a weapon,” you echoed Edgar’s words. “This is it.”

Singer nodded slowly, and MM scoffed.

“You can’t be seriously considering this. He’s a fucking unstable asshole murderer and a goddamn liability. What if we wake him up, she can’t control him, and he gets free?”

“We said whatever it takes,” you snapped. “I wouldn’t be pitching this if I thought it wouldn’t work. I can control him, I promise.”

“You’d bet your life on it?” Mallory asked.

“My life?” You snorted. “In a heartbeat.”

Mallory sighed. “Then fine,” she shot a look to Singer. “I’ll sign off if you do.”

“Sir,” MM said, sounding almost desperate. “I am begging you, do not do this.”

Singer just shook his head slightly. “Desperate times, they make you do desperate things. If I saw another way, I’d take it, but for now we’ll have to make do. I approve the request.”

“Thank you, sir.” You gave Singer a grateful nod, ignoring the searing feeling of MM’s anger.

“Don’t thank me, girl. If this goes south, it’s your head. Grace, set up a safe house for them ASAP, if I’m signing off on this I want it moving fast.”

Mallory nodded. “It’ll take a few days. We’ll have to transport him there before we wake him up.”

“Do whatever you have to,” Singer said as he stood to leave. “If this is our only shot, we can’t afford to miss.”

[murdockcastleslut]

Masterlist

bridgerton

benedict bridgerton ☾ blueberry macarons (fluff) ☾ id look for you in a crowded room (fluff) ☾ compromised (angst) ☾ enchanted (fluff)

colin bridgerton ☾ nose kisses (fluff)

anthony bridgerton

marauders

james potter

remus lupin ☾ pleading (angst)

sirius black

lily evans

poly!marauders

marvel

bucky barnes

sam wilson

steve rodgers

peter parker

natasha romanoff

matt murdock ☾ taking care of you (fluff) (disabled!reader)

frank castle ☾ home (fluff)

peaky blinders

thomas shelby

john shelby ☾early mornings(fluff)

arthur shelby

alfie solomons ☾ dancing (fluff)

the boys

hughie campbell ☾ you gotta eat (fluff) ☾ massages (fluff)

billy butcher

frenchie ☾ one of them (angst)

outerbanks

jj maybank ☾ jj saves kitten (fluff)

pope heyward

john b routledge

sarah cameron

kiara carrera

rafe cameron ☾ off topic pt 1 2 3 4 5 (smau)

stranger things

eddie munson

steve harrington ☾ beach day (smau)

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: You Falling Asleep

A/N: Not requested! I just thought it would be a cute idea! Requests are still open. Be sure to read my rules in the pinned post :) Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Butcher didn't want anyone visiting him in the hospital, but you weren't taking no for an answer. He'd been sleeping on and off, but when he work up again, you were asleep. Curled into a ball in one of the visitor chairs. You looked uncomfortable and cramped, but your expression was that of relief. For a little while you weren't worried about the state of the world or the future or his health. He knows you haven't been getting enough sleep. That didn't really matter when it felt like the world was ending every other day. When the nurses come in he makes sure to warn them. He couldn't be the cause of your fears and the one to wake you up. Someone brought a blanket and he gently placed it over you. He watched you, taking in this moment. You were finally relaxed. He knew you'd only done this because you were completely exhausted, you could barely keep your eyes open. It hurt him to know that he was a big reason why you couldn't eat or sleep or take care of yourself. He never meant to hurt you like this.

Hughie notices you can barely keep your eyes open. After that night at Tek Knights, you haven't been sleeping very well. You'd been so scared, so sure you were going to die with five new holes punctured into your body. You woke up from nightmares gasping for air, checking your skin for holes, afraid you were still in the sex dungeon. That you never got out. He's not sure how to talk to you about it and the guilt eats him alive. You and him are going through his files on Neuman when your head starts to fall only for you to startle awake. He insists you take a nap in his bed. You're reluctant, but you're so exhausted you eventually give in. He doesn't shut the door completely, wanting to be there if you have another nightmare. It's the least he can do.

Annie insists she'll stay awake for the both of you. The shape shifter captured you both. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. They ended up drugging the both of you. They switched between your two identities, tearing off their skin, taking your memories as well as your faces. Annie can see just how tired you are. Your skin is raw and you've run out of tears. She doesn't hold it against you. She fights against the chains quietly, hearing your breathing turn shallow. She would find a way out of this. She would get you out of this. You'd feel better after getting a good night's sleep. You weren't a Supe. You didn't have the abilities she had. And yet, she couldn't get them to work. She cursed herself for not protecting you, not saving you, not being a good enough Supe. She was grateful you weren't awake to see her fall apart like this.

M.M. does everything in his power not to wake you. You fell asleep on a surveillance mission in the van. You'd gotten so quiet, he felt like he was talking to himself. When he looked over, putting the binoculars down, you were curled in a ball in the passenger seat, fast asleep. He knows you haven't been sleeping well. If it's not the nightmares, it's the fear, the worrying. You recently admitted you'd kept a loaded gun where you could easily reach just in case. You were petrified something terrible would happen if you relaxed even a little, if you let your guard down. You needed this. He turns the engine off and puts his coat over you. He would've loved being able to talk about your heightened stress and anxiety, ways to cope, but this was a lot better. He hoped you'd feel safer, calmer after you woke up.

Frenchie freaks out a little internally. He thought you were dead. Your head was resting in your folded arms on your desk. Once he saw your body rise and fall with your breathing, he realized you weren't knocked out or dead. You were asleep. He thinks it's a little funny after getting over his initial panic. You've been working really hard lately. He wasn't sure how much sleep you were getting, if you were getting any at all. When the others walked in, bickering and laughing, he motions for them to be quiet. You needed this. Everyone whispers, going their separate ways. Frenchie turns down the lights, leaving a lamp on so that you're not totally in the dark. He wants you to rest as long as possible. You've been giving everything to this job, this cause, lately. You needed a lot more rest than this.

Kimiko knew you'd been having nightmares. It wasn't a secret. You confided in her one night that you haven't been sleeping well. Every time you close your eyes, you see Homelander. You feel his lasers slice through you until you're two halves. He's not just angry or upset, he's furious. You can't escape him. You two are hanging out when she notices you can't keep your eyes open. She tells you to lay down with your head on her lap. You laugh it off, but she's serious. She rubs circles between your shoulder blades, trying to ease you to sleep. When she notices your eyes are closed she doesn't stop. It brings her a lot of ease and relief knowing she can help you, at least a little. If you have another nightmare, if you face Homelander alone again, she'll be there when you wake up. She'll be there.

Bonus! Homelander either let's you sleep or orders you out of the room. If he likes you, he might warn the others to shut the fuck up. He'd move your meeting to another time and simply let you be. He might check on you every so often and when he sees you stirring he would gently wake you up, walk you to your room where you can sleep in a real bed instead of holding your head up in the board room. If he doesn't like you, he yells and berates and is this close to firing you before he realizes The Seven and Vought need you for your powers. You can apologize all you want, he won't listen. Either way you're completely embarrassed. You've just been so busy lately, it's been hard to fall asleep with everything going on.

[i-love-oldermen]

|Now you know my name| pt.1

A/n: I know it’s been a while but Ive recently started watching the boys and fell on my knees for this man. Literally on my knees for him, I love him so much.

Summary: After having a long mission all you wanted was a shower along with a sneaky link but What happens when you take a steamy shower pic and send it to the wrong person?

Warnings: Language, homel@nder (such a cunt)

Smut will happen in pt.2 I promise

Word count: 1.5k

Some of the basics you just joined the boys and have became close with Frenchie, Kimiko, M.M, Hughie, and even Annie. For some strange odd reason Butcher never seemed to be interested in you or even care to remember your name. You’ve tried being nice and understanding towards him but he either ignored you or walked off. That’s when you decided you weren’t going to pay attention to him anymore and for 3 whole weeks you haven’t.

You couldn’t think of Butcher at this exact moment though, the only thing you thought about was finishing a stupid mission to get some intel and get out quick. You sat with Frenchie and Kimiko in the van right behind Butcher who was driving. Everyone was busy talking who was doing what, when Hughie turned to you.

“You remember what your job is right y/n” he seemed nervous but serious.

To be totally honest today wasn’t the best day for you and you weren’t having it he told you your job over and over today least to say you were tired of it. Sure you were the youngest but you weren’t dumb.

Sarcastically you say “ You know what Hughie after the million times you told me, I don’t fucking remember”

The van got silent for a moment. Hughie was in shock along with M.M and Frenchie.

“Oí whats the matter with you” Butcher roughly says while looking in the mirror to look at you.

“Can you just drive” Rolling your eyes you avoid the gazes from everyone else by looking out the window. You see as Butcher he goes to say something but you just put on headphones and ignore him.

————————————————————————

After an agonizing car ride, the van comes to a full stop. You took off your headphones and climbed out of the van, Frenchie holding the door gave you an apologetic look. You pull down your pencil skirt fixing your blazer as well.

“You okay, mon amour” he put a hand on your face.

“Yeah Frenchie don’t worry about it” you gave him a comforting smile and turned to close the door.

The job today was to get into vought and plant a bug in Stan Edgar’s office. The seven haven’t seen your face around enough to remember it so you were the one going to sneak in.

Frenchie was hooking you up to a mic and camera so if you were to need back up you could get it within minutes. “Okay you should be able to get in and out with little obstacles” Hughie reassured you. M.M handed you the bug which you put in your phone case as Hughie did.

“Okay I think I’m ready to go” you were confident you were going to be able to do this.

“Aye don’t screw it up”

You turn to Butcher. He has a dumb smirk on his face that you want to punch off his face but you keep your composure while you put in your ear piece before walking away.

You pulled out your phone while walking in the building typing a message.

‘You’re such a cunt William , fuck you’

While walking through security and getting a pat down, you see Annie walk by she gives you a smile and a head tilt on which way to go. You are escorted by security up to the elevator. You had a cover as being an important investor to vought but you wanted to meet the man himself. Stan Edgar. Feeling your phone vibrate in your hand you look at it to see a message from Butcher. Without unlocking your phone to see the message you show it to the tiny camera connected to your shirt.

You hear through your earpiece, it’s Frenchie telling you to ignore the English man so you do putting your phone down to your side.

When you hear the elevator ding you are met with none other then Homelander. He has a disgusted look on his face as he looks at you. You start walking out of the elevator when he speaks.

“Have we met before”

You don’t know what to say almost to stun to speak so you just smile “No I don’t think so, maybe at a charity event”

You give a smile to reassure him. He looks you up and down seeing his expression change you change the topic. “Hey would you happen to know where Mr.Edgars office is?”

“Oh sweetheart you’re on the wrong floor” you cringe at the ‘sweetheart’ part feeling your skin crawl.

“Here I’ll take you” he states not making it seem like a question at all.

In your earpiece you hear Butcher -don’t fucking get in the elevator- he sounds furious so you take out your earpiece and take out earrings to cover it up and shoving it into your purse. Now your team can only see and hear you.

Homelander steps into the elevator holding the door for you, giving you an overwhelming smile “so are you coming or not”

You smile back to him before stepping inside the elevator. “Thank you so much for showing me”

He holds the smug smile on his face “No problem sweetheart” you cringe at the name again as your smile dies down. It becomes awkwardly silent as the building floors ding, you hear your phone starting to blow up. Homelander turns to you “You can answer that if you need to” you give him a head nod “oh it’s nothing important” he starts to speak as the doors open.

You take a step out quick not wanting to be with him a minute longer, leaving homelander in the elevator by himself. Thanking him you hurry to Stan Edgar’s office, he’s not in his office according to starlight. Quickly you pop in putting the bug under his office desk. You rush out of the office to be greeted yet again by the bitch in red white and blue.

“He wasn’t in there was he” he’s staring into your soul, taking a step closer to you.

“Oh no he’s not, my assistant was texting me that he rescheduled last minute” you smile to him hoping it would make your lie seem more believable.

“You’re a lying bitch” the supe threatens backing you into a corner with a freighting grin on his face.

“Excuse me”

“I do know you, you’re one of Huggies little friends aren’t you”

You try to shove him but he doesn’t move “I don’t know what you’re talking about” He pins your arms down.

“You’re lying, I can tell” His eyes start to glow red, when starlight comes into view.

She rushes to your side as she yells for him to let you go. He lets go “Oh hey starlight” he tries to play it off.

“Miss why don’t you come with me” She puts an arm around your shoulder, leading you back to the elevator. When inside the elevator and the doors close she turns to you with a worried look on her face.

“Did you really take out your earpiece”

“Yeah but Annie-“ you try to justify for yourself but she cuts you off.

“Y/n that was really risky, if it weren’t for Hughie who knows that homelander would have done”

“Okay im sorry” you didn’t mean it you still finished what you were suppose to and nothing that bad happened. You open your phone to see you have 10 messages all from Butcher.

Ignore the dumb cunt.

Don’t get in that fucking elevator.

You’re stuck with homelander how is that not in your fucking brain.

Y/n get out.

NOW.

Bloody hell stop being a cunt.

You’re going to get killed.

GET OUT!

He’ll KILL YOU!

Get the bloody hell away from him.

You have a shocked look on your face turning your phone to Annie. She has a puzzled look before grabbing your phone and looking at the messages. She’s shocked too. She covered your camera mouthing how she’s so shocked and didn’t know Butcher was this upset, totally agreeing with her as you are still in shock.

As the elevator doors open you separate now at the main floor, you step out of the elevator giving her a small wave. Walking towards the front door, you see a person you recognize pretending to read a newspaper. As you meet his eyes Butcher drops the paper and starts walking over to you. You stop walking standing in place in shock. He grabs you by your wrist before practically dragging you outside the building. M.m pulls up with the van before Butcher shoves you inside following you in climbing in the backseat. M.m drives away and that’s when Billy starts yelling.

“What the bloody hell were you thinking” he yelled.

“I think I planted the fucking bug” you yelled back at him getting into his face.

“You almost died y/n”

The van got quiet. Butcher had never said your name ever. To stunned to speak but still boiling with anger. You try to turn away putting on your headphones.

He pulls them off “I think the fuck not”

“Oh so now you want to act like you care like you’re my daddy”

You continued on “You treat me like shit just to care now, fuck you butcher”

Hughie tries to intervene “Guys come on-“

You turn to him “Hughie thanks for the back up but I swear to fucking god-“ you feel a hand go across your face. You hold your face.

You hear Frenchie in the back of the van “oh shit”

You turn to Butcher “Did you just fucking slap me”

[geminiwritten]

undercover ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you have to go undercover as butcher’s wife to vought’s annual supe celebration - prompt (that i don’t remember where i saw it, i’m sorry!): “I bet you one hundred dollars that you’re hard right now.” *he stands up and drops $100 on the table*

notes: i wrote this in one day and you can tell!!! it’s so rushed, i’m so sorry, but also i’m just hot for this man and refuse to stop??? let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, very small alcohol consumption, very light smut, and a bit of harassment from an unwelcome dude

word count: 6496

“You have a thing for Butcher?” Hughie gasps, the apartment door swinging open as he steps inside.

Annie’s eyes grow wide, her hand covering her mouth to try and hide her cheeky smile. You scowl at her before turning to Hughie, his face a comical mixture of disgust and amusement.

“What have I said about eavesdropping on movie night, Hubert?” you demand, calling him by the stupid nickname you know he hates.

He rolls his eyes, “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I texted Annie to say I was on my way home. It’s not my fault you’re practically shouting about the fact that you want to fu-”

“Hughie,” Annie giggles, “be careful.”

“Hey,” he says, turning to her, “I’m just repeating what I heard.”

You hold your face in your hands and groan, sinking back into the soft couch cushions and praying that they might open up and swallow you into a different dimension.

“I’m sorry,” Annie sighs, “I honestly just lost track of time.”

Hughie drops his keys and wallet on the kitchen bench alongside two plastic bags that wreak of cheap Chinese food. Your stomach grumbles at the smell, and you reluctantly pull yourself off the couch before dragging your feet toward the kitchen.

“So,” Hughie says with a grin, “how long has this been going on then?”

“Nothing is going on,” you state, “and it’s certainly none of your business.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not like I’m going to tell anyone,” he begins helping you unpack the bags of food, “besides, I had a sneaking suspicion. You do kind of look at him like-”

You pull a butterknife out of the draw and point it at him, “Like what?”

He freezes, his hands flying up on either side of his head in surrender.

Annie laughs again, “Okay, you two, cut it out.”

You put the knife down and retrieve three full sets of cutlery before setting a stack of bowls beside the containers of food. Hughie serves himself first before Annie fills her own bowl and you last, already shovelling mouthfuls of noodles into your mouth as you move back toward the couch.

“You know,” Hughie says between mouthfuls, “if you wanted to talk about it, I might be able to help.”

You scoff, “Yeah? How?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, talk to him.”

“And say what?” you drop your fork into your bowl, mocking Hughie’s voice as you say, “Hey Butcher, do you think Y/N is hot, because I know she dreams about fucking you.”

He scowls at you, “I can be subtle.”

Annie giggles, hiding her face behind her bowl as Hughie casts his glare toward her.

“I appreciate your concern, Hughie,” you say, “but I think I’ll just stick to fantasising about him in the shower.”

His expression morphs into disgust as he begins choking on his mouthful of food, his face turning bright red. Annie’s laughter fills the room, and you join her while Hughie struggles to compose himself.

To your surprise, and relief, Hughie agrees to keep your little secret to himself. He doesn’t even make a stupid face the next day when the three of you arrive at the boys’ current hideout, finding MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, and the man himself huddled around the dining room table.

“Righ’ on time,” Butcher says with a grin, “let’s get to it, then.”

You knew he was excited about this next mission, if you could call it that. Everyone was, in fact, because thanks to Annie’s excellent intel, you were all attending Vought’s annual ball. A night of celebration to thank the mighty Supes for keeping the streets safe, or as Butcher liked to call it, Vought’s annual wank-fest.

“Your invitations are all sorted,” Annie says, pulling a small handful of envelopes out of her bag. “Hughie came up with all your aliases, so please stick to them, or you’ll be kicked out in a heartbeat. Security is tough at this thing, and there’ll be no talking yourselves out of a bad situation.”

She looks pointedly at Butcher, but his smirk only widens.

“Frenchie,” Hughie says, “you’re going as a member of the tech team, so you’ll be behind the scenes and keeping an eye on the cameras for anything suspicious.”

Frenchie rubs his hands together excitedly, taking the envelope from Annie and tearing it open.

“Monsieur Felipe Lavigne, senior security technician,” he announces, reading the ID card aloud.

“MM and Kimiko, you’ll be with me,” Hughie goes on, “we’ll be posing as press on behalf of the city council. There’s a huge group of council members and associates, so all we have to do is blend in.”

MM takes two envelopes and passes one to Kimiko.

Hughie turns to you, “I originally had you listed as press too, but then decided it might be smart to double down on Butcher’s alias, give him another level of cover, you know?”

You frown, tilting your head sceptically as he hands you and Butcher an envelope each.

“You’ll be attending as prospective stakeholders, invited by corporate to bask in the glory of Vought in the hopes that you’ll invest in their cause,” Hughie explains. “An affluent couple from upstate New York, recently immigrated from Britain after growing bored of your rich English lifestyle.”

You’re almost positive your brows have reached your hairline as you stare at the envelope in your hands, your trembling fingers struggling to pull the ID badge out.

“Brooklyn Williams,” you read aloud.

Annie shoots Hughie a look, promising that he would be paying for this later, and you realise that he must have made this decision in the past twelve hours without consulting her.

“William Williams,” Butcher says, frowning at Hughie, “really?”

Despite being the target of several unhappy stares, Hughie chuckles.

Frenchie snickers too, “At least you will not forget it, eh?”

“Smart move, Hughie,” MM speaks up, “Butcher is the one most likely to be caught, but with Y/N in tow, he might think twice about putting himself in danger.”

Butcher rolls his eyes, “Do none of you ‘ave any faith in me?”

Hughie, Frenchie, and MM respond in unison, “No.”

The seven of you spend the next two hours going over the details of your aliases and the agenda of the function. It’s going to be a huge event, which meant little risk of actually running into Homelander or anyone who might recognise any of you. Annie won’t be able to help on the night, being one of the spotlight attendees, but that isn’t what’s was making you nervous. You’re going to have to spend a good five hours pretending to be married to Butcher, the one man you desperately want and the one man you were trying very hard not to fall in love with.

After what feels like forever, Frenchie announces that he is going to get dinner and Annie bids you all goodbye to check in at Vought tower. Hughie sets his laptop up at the desk in the corner of the lounge room while MM excuses himself for his nightly facetime call with Janine.

Kimiko turns to you, signing a question about what you were all going to wear on the night.

“Annie helped me organise some things,” you reply, gesturing toward the suitcase by the door. “You should try it on now, and if you don’t like it we can find something else.”

You know Kimiko isn’t a fan of cocktail attire, and you definitely didn’t want her walking into the dragon’s den worrying about the way she looked or if she’d be able to fight should the need arise.

“What ‘bout me, love?” Butcher asks, his signature smirk curling the corner of his lips.

Your cheeks burn under his gaze, “You don’t get a choice, you’ll be wearing a suit.”

He chuckles, “I do love a stubborn woman, must’ve been why I married you.”

Your pulse thrums in your ears, and you fail to think of a sarcastic retort, instead turning away in the hopes that he hasn’t already noticed the bright colour in your cheeks.

Kimiko drops the case on its back with a thud, unzipping it quickly and throwing it open to pull out each of the bagged costumes. There are four suits of various styles with varying accessories, and two dresses. She stands holding the one labelled with her name, dragging the zip right down the middle and revealing the soft black fabric of her dress. It isn’t quite full length, hemmed just below the knee in a pencil skirt style and devoid of any embellishments. A simple black dress with long sleeves, fitted but flexible.

She grins, signing to you that it is perfect and thanking you for not putting her in anything ridiculous.

“We chose two pairs of shoes too,” you say, “in case you don’t want to wear the heels.”

Butcher strides toward the suitcase and picks up the last bag, but you follow him, quickly snatching it out of his hands before he can pull the zip.

“My dress can wait until the night,” you hold it behind your back for good measure, “I’m still not sure about it.”

He quirks one brow, “You’re not wearin’ latex, are ya?”

You roll your eyes before turning on your heel, taking your dress into your room and tucking it into the back of your closet. You fall back on your bed, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths as you try to calm your erratic pulse. It’s just one night, you can hold it together for one night, right?

The next two days pass in a blur of preparations and planning, and before you know it, you’re staring at the dress hanging in your closet with a towel wrapped around your body. Your hair is clean and curled, pulled into a half up do with twisted gold pins creating the illusion of diadem just below the crown of your head. You took a little longer to do your makeup than usual, out of practice in the art of winged eyeliner and false lashes, but in the end, you were proud. Now, the dress.

Your fingers are numb as you pull the zipper down, revealing the red silk material of the gown that Annie convinced you would be a good idea. You blame her for this just as much as Hughie.

“Come on, Y/N,” MM calls through your bedroom door, “we have to go.”

You sigh and throw your towel aside, hurriedly pulling the dress off its hanger. The material is cool against your skin, sliding easily over your curves and fitting your body like a tailor-made glove. You twist awkwardly to secure the zip before turning to the mirror.

The dress is floor length, a few inches of the red silk pooling at your feet, with a long slit reaching scandalously up to your left hip. The straps are about an inch thick, and the neck cowled, showcasing your breasts and the perfect amount cleavage. The silk hugs your torso, and you’re a little startled at just how good you feel in this dress.

Another knock at the door has you rushing to slip into your beige heels, and you check that your underwear are pulled high enough to not be seen in the slit of the dress before opening the door. MM’s jaw drops.

“Holy shit, Y/N.”

You blush, “Thanks.”

Being the gentleman he is, he tears his eyes away from you, offering you his arm with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

In the lounge room, Kimiko is helping Frenchie with his tie and Hughie is struggling to secure his suspenders to his trousers. Your breath catches when your eyes land on Butcher, dressed in a classic and perfectly fitted black tux. He has even trimmed his beard and styled his hair, still a little dishevelled but holy shit, does the sight of him make your mouth water.

“Damn,” Hughie says when he sees you, “nice dress.”

“Nice suspenders.”

He chuckles, “Are we ready?”

Butcher turns to you, his jaw going slack and his eyes dark. Your chest squeezes, your lungs struggling to draw enough breath as your head spins from the lack of oxygen.

“Ready,” MM says beside you.

“Good,” Hughie tucks his ID badge into his shirt pocket, “I’ve organised two cars, one for Y/N and Butcher, and the other for the rest of us. Once we’re there, we can’t slip up, keep your masks up and don’t even look at anyone you think might recognise you.”

You check your small black clutch for your ID badge and phone.

“Earpieces are too risky tonight,” he continues, “so keep your phones on you, and if one of us is out, we all abort.”

Kimiko checks her own purse and the boys check their pockets before you all shuffle out the door. Hughie, MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko exit the building first, leaving you and Butcher alone in the lobby.

“You ready, sweethear’?” he asks, gazing at you with the same dark eyes as before.

You nod, “As I’ll ever be.”

After a minute, you exit the apartment and climb into the awaiting car. Butcher greets the driver as the car pulls away from the curb, and you take the chance to pull your phone out, typing out a quick message to Hughie.

‘I’m going to kill you.’

Your phone pings before you can put it away, and you quickly turn it to silent before reading his reply.

‘You’re welcome ;)’

A warm hand on your bare legs startles you, the heat sinking into your blood and making it sizzle through your veins.

“You sure you’re alrigh’?” Butcher asks.

“Yeah,” you mutter, “just nervous.”

His thumb rubs soft circles on your thigh, sending shockwaves of desire right to your core.

“Nothin’ to be worried ‘bout, love, I’ve got you.”

Your eyes almost roll back in your head at the sound of his deep voice. He truly does not know how much he does have you, all of you.

“Thanks, Billy,” you whisper, your voice unsteady.

His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of car ride, and your pulse refuses to settle. Anxiety and desire tangle in your stomach, twisting it into loops and winding the knot in your core even tighter than it already was.

Eventually, the car stops, and you both thank the driver before climbing out. You’re not at the main entrance of the building, but there is still a ridiculous number of security guards standing around, and barriers preventing anyone without an invitation from getting within twenty feet of the door. Butcher wraps an arm around your waist to guide you forward, his warmth shielding you from the cold night air.

“By the way,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you look fuckin’ delectable in that dress.”

Another wave of heat washes through your veins, and it takes every ounce of focus for you to not stumble up the walkway. Two security guards step forward as you both flash your ID badges.

“Mr. and Mrs. Williams,” the guard in front of Butcher says, scanning the barcodes on the badges, “welcome to Vought tower.”

The security guard in front of you is younger than the other, his blonde hair slicked back and his mouth etched into a sleazy smirk as his eyes rake up and down your body. He winks as he steps aside, and Butcher notices, his expression twisting into a scowl.

Just as you reach the doors, Butcher’s hand slips from your waist to your ass, squeezing it as he dips down and plants a hot kiss against your neck.

“Fuckin’ perve,” he mutters, before guiding you through the doors and down the corridor.

Your mouth is dry and your knees wobbly, but you move with practice and manage to appear cool and collected as you step into the huge event room. It’s extravagantly decorated with drapes of sheer fabric hanging from the high ceilings and a huge crystal chandelier in the centre. There are dozens of round tables, all set with fine silver-wear and obnoxious centrepieces made of red and white roses.

“Nice to know where all our money will be going if we decide to invest, darlin’,” Butcher says with a cheeky grin.

You giggle, letting him guide you through the clusters of elegantly dressed attendees toward where you assumed your table would be. You don’t remember ever finding out that piece of information, but you assume either Hughie or Annie told Butcher while you were still reeling about having to play ‘happy couple’ with him.

You listen carefully to snippets of conversations as you pass, waiting for anything interesting to catch your attention. Butcher stops at an empty table and pulls out a chair, you smile in thanks before taking a seat, quickly shuffling forward to avoid flashing everyone due to the ridiculously high split in your dress. Butcher notices though, chuckling to himself as he takes the chair beside you.

Before you can speak, he places a hand on your bare leg and squeezes, knocking every thought right out of your head.

You gasp, “I-It’s hot in here, is it hot in here?”

“I think that’s jus’ you, sweethear’,” he replies with a wink.

The room quickly fills with guests, conversations growing louder and drowning out the soft music playing over the speakers. Eventually, a woman takes the stage and the room falls quiet, listening to her lengthy introduction about how grateful Vought were for this night and how wonderful it is to be able to celebrate America’s finest superheroes. You can barely hear her though, your ears filled with the thrum of your pulse as Butcher’s fingers draw patterns on your leg. Your core aches, and you shift in your seat only to feel the dampness between your legs.

When the room erupts into applause, Butcher’s hand freezes, and you turn to see Homelander striding onto the stage, his hair blinding beneath the bright spotlight.

“Hey,” you whisper, placing a hand on top of Butcher’s, “you okay?”

He turns to you and his scowl relaxes, a soft smile pulling on his lips. “Yeah,” he replies, “I’m good.”

You slip your other hand beneath his, praying that he doesn’t notice how sweaty your palms are as you play with his fingers beneath the table. Although you had started in the hopes of calming him, you find your own sense of relaxation in his touch, focusing on the feeling of his skin as Homelander drawls on about Vought and The Seven.

After what feels like an eternity, he finishes his speech and the room cheers again. The woman returns to the microphone to announce the first course of food before music and conversation fills the air, and you turn your attention toward the centre of the table. Butcher grips your hand as you attempt to move it, entwining his fingers with yours and only allowing one of your hands free.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you two at one of these events before,” the woman beside you says.

She’s older but extremely elegant, with a pendant around her neck that you don’t doubt costs more money than you’ll ever get to see in your bank account.

“We’re new in town,” you reply, your voice very slightly lilted, “just moved from London’s east end, actually.”

“How charming,” she places a hand against her pendant, “I’m Lucille, and this is my husband, Jack.”

The podgy man beside her nods, his cheeks and nose bright red as he guzzles from his glass of champagne.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you say, “I’m Brooklyn, and this is my husband, William.”

You cast a glance at Butcher, only to find his eyes already locked on you, sparkling under the soft yellow lights. He has dopey smile on his lips and an emotion you can’t discern floating behind his gaze. Your stomach flips.

“You do make a charming, if you don’t mind my saying,” Lucille says.

You nod, your cheeks tingling with warmth, “Thank you.”

“So,” her husband, Jack, speaks up, his voice gruff, “what brings you here?”

You wait a beat for Butcher to reply, but he only watches you with that same expression.

“To be totally honest with you, I’m not sure,” you reply with a half-hearted laugh, “we have been thinking about investing, but I do wonder why a company of this immensity even needs investors.”

Jack chuckles, “You’ve got that right, seems greedy, doesn’t it?”

Lucille frowns at her husband before turning back to you, “We don’t do it for them, we do it for our grandkids, for their future. In the hopes that they will have a future, a safe one. This world is a nasty place.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” you sigh.

She nods, “That’s why it’s important to protect what you love, and hold on to it.”

Butcher’s hand squeezes yours, making your heart thump violently within your chest. You turn to him and meet his eyes, the fire in your veins blazing with a new intensity and heating every inch of your skin.

“I-If you’ll excuse me,” you stammer, pushing your chair back, “I need to use the bathroom.”

Butcher nods as you stand, and you can hear Lucille strike up new conversation while you weave between the tables toward the exit. Fresh air fills your lungs the moment you reach the foyer, and you pull your phone out of your bag, finding Hughie’s contact name with trembling fingers.

‘If I survive tonight, I WILL kill you.’

You hit send and turn toward the bathroom, almost stumbling when you see the same blonde security guard who had been stationed at the doors.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, his slimy smirk loading the question with innuendo.

“I’m okay,” you reply, “thank you.”

He steps forward before you can move, “You sure? You look a little flustered. Perhaps a step outside might help? It does get awfully hot in here.”

The first spark of fear rattles up your spine.

“I appreciate that, but I just need to use the restroom,” you say.

His smirk doesn’t falter, “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’d be more than happy to escort you. Can’t have a stunning woman such as yourself wandering the streets alone.”

You force a polite smile onto your face as you step around him and hurry down the corridor toward the bathrooms. With one subtle glance over your shoulder, you see him watching, still standing at the end of the hall looking almost predatory.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, turning sharply into the first stall.

You close the toilet lid and sit on top if it, holding your head in your hands and counting your breaths. After a minute of trying to wrangle your wild thoughts, you decide that Butcher is either a fantastic actor or… in love with you. Your heart aches to agree with the latter, but your brain fights for reason, reminding you that you’re in an incredibly sensitive situation and he is only acting like this to keep up the façade.

You sigh and stand up, panic piercing your chest when you remember the pushy security guard waiting for you in the foyer. You find your phone again, tapping on Butcher’s name and quickly typing out a message.

‘Don’t freak out, I’m totally fine, but I need you to come get me. Foyer.’

You count to thirty before exiting the stall and washing your hands, pleasantly surprised by your reflection in the mirror, aside from the deep red splashed across your cheeks. You walk calmly out of the bathroom and down the corridor, ignoring the spike in your pulse when you see the back of the security guard still standing there.

He turns around at the sound of your footsteps, a smirk curling his lips. “Hey gorgeous, are you-”

“There you are,” Butcher calls, striding toward you.

He wraps an arm around your waist, his hand splayed across your lower back as he presses your body against his. You don’t have time to respond before his lips capture yours. Your knees almost buckle, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as his mouth moves against yours and your mind goes completely blank.

He pulls back ever so slightly, his forehead still touching yours as he whispers, “I missed you.”

The feeling that bubbles in your chest makes your heart want to explode.

“Better get back in there,” he says, carefully releasing you.

You nod, unable to summon a single word as he looks at you like that, his pupils blown and his lips swollen from the kiss. He takes one of your hands in his and pulls you toward the doors before casting a menacing scowl over his shoulder at the security guard.

“Did he touch you?” he asks, his voice low.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Good.”

“Wait,” you tug on his hand before he can walk through the doors.

He frowns as you pull him to the side, into an alcove beneath the grand stairs that lead up to the private rooms above the event hall. He doesn’t resist when you press him against the wall, your hands on his chest and your body covering his. You look up at him through your thick lashes, and you can feel a soft groan rumble through his chest.

“I’m not sure we were convincing enough,” you whisper, before surging up and pressing your lips against his.

His hands hold the back of your head as he tilts his own to deepen the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips and making you whimper. Your ears fill with the erratic thrum of your heart and the soft moans from the man in front of you, making you forget about everything that isn’t him. The fire rushing through your veins collects at your core, burning with need and making you clench as his hands wander down your back to cup your ass.

Time loses all meaning as you tangle your limbs with his, your body throbbing almost painfully. You have to stop yourself from clawing at his clothes, every desire within you craving to tear his suit apart and absolutely devour him.

Eventually, your lungs begin to burn, and the short gasps between kisses aren’t enough to appease them, so you pull away. His pupils are huge, consuming almost all of the colour in his eyes as he studies your face with a small smile.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs.

You open your mouth to tell him the same when someone clears their throat, and you both snap toward the sound. Hughie is standing a few feet away, his ID badge now on a lanyard around his neck and a notebook in his hand. His face looks pained, struggling to contain what would be a hysterical laugh if you weren’t all supposed to be undercover.

You stumble back from Butcher with wide eyes, your mouth trying to form words but no sound comes out.

Butcher straightens his jacket and clears his throat, “Sorry, mate, as you were.”

Hughie takes a deep breath and turns toward the room, and you have to commend him for his self-control.

Butcher looks down at you, “D’you think that was convincing enough?”

You giggle, “Maybe a little too convincing.”

He smirks and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping at the smeared lipstick. You know you must look like a wreck, your makeup smudged and your face blotchy and red, but you don’t care.

“Better get back in there before you get me arrested for public indecency,” he says, taking your hand in his.

You laugh again as he leads you back into the room, guiding you through the throngs of people and toward your table. Lucille greets you with a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she surveys your flustered state. Butcher sits and shuffles his chair closer to yours before placing a hand on your thigh, much higher than where it was before.

“It’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Lucille whispers to you.

You frown, “What is?”

“That love and passion,” she replies with a grin. “He just adores you, I can tell. Don’t ever let go of what you two have, it’s rare.”

You try to hide your smile, but it’s almost impossible. “I won’t.”

You’re not sure what you’ve missed but you assume it was Annie’s speech as the chatter around you is filled mostly with her name. The woman from before returns to the stage to rave some more, though you don’t bother trying to pay attention. Butcher is watching you with hungry eyes, filling your head with filthy thoughts and absolutely soaking your panties.

“So, Mrs. Williams,” he says, his voice low, “got any plans after this?”

“Not really,” you reply, “but I do think there’s a toy in the top drawer of my dresser calling my name.”

He swallows thickly, “Is that so?”

You nod, “I’m feeling a little wound up.”

“Perhaps I could help you unwind,” he whispers, “think I’d do a better job than that fuckin’ toy.”

“That’s a bold statement, are you sure?”

His fingers dig into your thighs with enough pressure to bruise, making your whole body jolt.

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure.”

His hand slides up your thigh and you part your legs instinctively.

He smirks, “Good girl, so responsive.”

The burning in your core pulses, sending white hot waves of desire up your spine to cloud your mind. His fingers brush the crotch of your panties, barely a touch but enough to make you sigh softly.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers, “so ready for my c-”

Cheers erupt throughout the room, drowning out his voice and startling you out of your stupor. His hand slides back down your leg and his smirk breaks into a devilish grin when you look at him with a scowl.

“Sorry, love,” he says as he retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, drawing steady breaths and trying to focus on anything but the man beside you. He chuckles at his phone before tucking it back into his pocket.

“Was that your mistress?” you tease.

He raises his brows, “Is that jealousy I’m hearin’?”

You slide your hand up his thigh, stopping just below his crotch to squeeze.

“You tell me, do I have anything to be jealous of?”

His voice is almost a groan, “Never.”

“Good.”

You slide your hand over his crotch, relishing in the way his whole body tenses before you pull back and fold your hands in your own lap. He sighs and takes a generous gulp from his glass of champagne, grimacing at the taste before leaning toward you with an arm over the back of your chair.

“You’re a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”

You turn to him, your face barely an inch from his, “Oh, baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

He leans back in his chair, his jaw tense but his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You fond of that dress?” he asks casually.

“This old thing? Nah.”

He nods once, “Good, because I’m goin’ to fuckin’ destroy it.”

The woman sitting on his other side chokes on her mouthful of champagne, casting an abhorrent glare toward the two of you before completely turning her back. You have to swallow your laughter, averting your gaze to your lap as Butcher chuckles quietly.

You feel your purse vibrate at the same time that Butcher reaches for his pocket. You pull your phone out and check the messages, finding several from Hughie.

‘We’re here to WORK, not fornicate.’

‘I just spent five minutes laughing to myself in the toilet.’

‘The shows closing soon, we should leave before the crowds. Unless you and Butcher are busy ;)’

“D’you think you can make it out of here without your knees bucklin’, love?” Butcher asks with a smirk.

You tuck your phone away and twist in your chair so that your legs are toward him, parting them slowly. The red silk slides against your skin and the split opens with your legs. Butcher’s gaze drops, his whole face turning red as his eyes grow wide.

“I bet you a hundred dollars that you’re rock hard right now,” you whisper, leaning forward.

His jaw twitches as his gaze moves to your chest, and you smirk before twisting toward Lucille.

“We’re going to duck out before the masses, but it was lovely meeting you,” you say, “and best wishes to your grandkids. They’re lucky to have such incredible grandparents.”

She smiles at you, her eyes watery, “It was lovely meeting you too, dear.”

Her husband grumbles a farewell and you smile politely at the rest of the table who you hadn’t bothered to meet before turning back to Butcher expectantly. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the way he shifts in his seat.

“Pleasure meeting you,” he nods toward Lucille and Jack.

He pushes his chair back and stands up, drawing a hand out of his pocket and dropping two fifty dollar bills onto the table before stepping back. A grin breaks across your face as you snatch the money and stand up, taking Butcher’s outstretched hand and letting him lead you out of the room. You almost stumble at the pace at which he drags you through the crowds, not stopping until you’re through the foyer, out the doors, and a good distance from the building’s entrance.

“You owe me,” he growls, yanking on your wrist so that you fall into his arms.

“Take whatever you want,” you whisper, “I’m all yours.”

Another rumble vibrates through his chest, and the knot of anticipation in your stomach twists tighter.

“Good, you’re here,” Hughie calls, his feet slapping against the pavement as he jogs toward you.

Butcher’s hold goes slack, and you take a reluctant step away from him as MM and Kimiko follow a few paces behind Hughie. The cold air nips at your bare skin, making you shiver.

“Where’s Frenchie?” MM asks.

“On his way,” Hughie replies with his phone in his hand, “and the car is close.”

You startle at the feeling of material falling around your shoulders, and glance up as Butcher steps in front of you, his arms guiding his blazer over your trembling body. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him through your thick lashes as his lips curl into a soft smile. He moves back to stand at your side and wraps one arm around you, pulling you against side.

Hughie’s grin is so wide you want to slap it off his face.

“Not a word,” Butcher mutters.

Hughie chuckles, “I didn’t say anything.”

MM is clearly amused, and even Kimiko is giggling when Frenchie comes jogging up behind them.

“Did I miss something?” he asks, his brows raised as he looks from Butcher to you.

“Car’s here,” Hughie announces, and you all step toward the curb.

Hughie climbs in the front seat and greets the driver before texting rapidly on his phone, no doubt messaging Annie to let her know you were all safe and heading home. Kimiko and Frenchie shuffle toward the back of the van, and MM grumbles when neither you nor Butcher volunteer to join them. He squeezes between the two of them on the backseat before Butcher helps you into the van, and you take the single seat behind the passenger as Butcher falls into the last seat behind the driver.

You shrink into his jacket, enveloping yourself in his scent and relishing the warmth that his body had left behind. His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of the trip, studying your face, lingering on your lips, and moving up and down your body over and over again.

The drive feels much longer than it should, but the car finally pulls up outside your apartment block and you all pile out. Frenchie begins rambling about pieces of information he overheard, and MM fills in some of the gaps with snippets that he picked up in the press crowd. You almost feel guilty that you did nothing but dry hump Butcher and chat with an elderly rich woman, but that guilt washes away the moment you step inside the apartment.

“Bed, now,” Butcher tells you, tugging you by your hand toward the master bedroom.

“Y/N,” Hughie calls before you can disappear, “I thought your bedroom was that way.”

You turn to him with a frown, finding that stupid boyish grin stretched across his lips as the rest of the room watches you with amused faces.

“I’m not going to sleep, Hughie,” you say, before turning to Butcher, “I’m not tired.”

You catch a glimpse of his disgusted expression before you turn and rush into Butcher’s bedroom, followed closely by the man himself. His hand catches the collar the jacket and pulls it off of you as you step toward the bed.

“Not tired?” he asks, starting on the top button of his shirt.

You sit on the edge of the bed and kick your heels off. “Not at all.”

“Good.”

In two strides, he’s right in front of you, using his knee to nudge your legs apart so he can stand between them. His eyes trace up your bare leg, stopping where the red material reveals an inch of your black panties, and he sighs.

“So,” you say, leaning back with your hands on the bed, “what do I owe you?”

His self-control snaps and his hands yank at the opening of his shirt, ripping the rest of the buttons apart before he shrugs it off his shoulders. He straddles your hips and pushes you back, his lips assaulting your neck as you writhe beneath him.

“You said, I could take whatever fuckin’ I want,” he mutters against your skin.

You only moan in response and he sinks his teeth into your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise before soothing it with his tongue.

“I’m gon’a take all of you,” he growls, “but first-”

He sits back suddenly, his fingers making quick work of his belt and the fastenings of his trousers.

“I made a promise to this dress,” he finishes, before gripping the material on either side of the slit and ripping it.

You gasp as the silk falls loose around your body, tearing right up to the neck and cleaving the dress apart entirely. His eyes rake over your bare skin as he licks his lips and drops onto his hands to hover over you, grinding his hips down and eliciting another moan from your mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighs, “you’re gon’a kill me with those pretty noises, sweethear’.”

“Butcher,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I need you.”

His elbows buckle and his body falls on top of yours as his lips capture yours in a searing kiss.

“You have me,” he murmurs against your mouth, “you’ve got all of me.”

END.

[obsessedwrhys]

The Seven and The Boys with forced supe reader(like Billy’s little sister as revenge for billy and the boys constantly causing problems)

Rouge powers reader————powers turn on and off randomly

can absorb life forces and powers(which they can steal(albeit accidentally))

Very stubborn and sarcastic just like her brother

Home lander is probably extra yandere for tons of reasons and keeps the reader in a glass room(enclosure or whatever)(think a zoo exhibit or big aquarium tank without water—— that one room from You or the glass apartment In Supernova for the kid with the same sort of powers)so that he can see his pet/prize/whatever tf he plans to do with them

-🌑

I keep seeing this as a full blown fic in my mind but I don’t have the skills to pull it off so I’d like to see other people’s takes on the idea!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Boys x Rogue!Reader

ᯓ★ I read your req and I'm intrigued so this is my attempt on it, hope it meets your expectations. This is like a full on story lol (angst, gore, death, killing, looooots of cursing like I'm not even exaggerating, homelander being homelander, some fluff at the end?)

Parts: 2

With your brother's reputation, it's hard to ever live your whole life without the constant need to look over the shoulder. You always liked to tell yourself that after cutting ties with him, it will ensure you your safety, but those words were nothing more than just lies.

Losing Becca changed him completely. You could still recall the last time you spoke to him, the talk regarding your concern escalating into a heated argument.

"I'm telling you! You have no chance against a literal superpowered person! You'll get yourself killed!" You raised your voice, standing on the other side of the kitchen counter.

"Yeah, but this ain't a life worth livin' for anyways" He brushed your words off like he usually does. You watch in disbelief as he pours himself alcohol.

"Fuck you. You're such an asshole..." You said and he nods at you as he lifts his glass up.

"I'll drink to that" You scoff when he actually drank from his cup, the sound of him sipping ticking you off.

"Okay, fine, get yourself killed! But I won't stand to be here when it happens. I want you out of my life. I never wanna see you. I never even want to hear from you again! You're... you're..." You gasp as you start to sob. He turns to you, nothing but a blank expression on his face.

"Hey... take it easy—"

"No! Don't you fucking tell me to take this shit easy when you just admit to me that you're willing to throw away your life for some blonde american supe! You are a shitty brother! You're just like dad!"

"Don't you fuckin' compare me to that cunt!"

"I fucking said what I said!"

"Fuck you!"

"FUCK YOU!!"

The sound of your heavy breathing filled the kitchen. You could feel your chest rising and falling, your face burning from the overwhelming anger. Butcher sighs at the sight of you as he looks away with his eyes closed.

"You don't know half the things I know sis... you have to understand..."

"No... don't bother telling me. I already know that you'll never change..." You grabbed your things and before he could stop you, you left the house, slamming the door while you were at it.

For the next 8 years, you would find yourself living somehow a happier life. Making friends, going through relationships and heartbreaks, getting multiple jobs to pay for your apartment. It was like an ocean wave since it was never steady but you couldn't deny you've never felt more alive.

However, even on these good days, there were nights you'd find yourself waking up to nightmares. Nightmares of your brother dying. Nightmares of being abandoned. It always left you covered in cold sweats and sometimes you couldn't go back to sleep so you'd just sit by the window or watch some videos online to keep your mind off it.

Even though you convince yourself you were happier.

You never felt secure.

You always felt like something was out to get you.

Especially after you saw the news of him theorised to have killed the senior vice president working at Vought. You couldn't bother to remember her name cause the image of your brother was hauntingly enough. That's when you realised, if they were after him, what if they were also after you?

You stood at the counter of the restaurant you worked at. The job was new as you interviewed for the role of the cashier. Though all these days of dealing with rude customers and having to force a smile is making you want to rethink a different job. Just then, the door to the restaurant opens.

"Welcome!" You said as cheerfully as you can. Instead of searching for a table to sit, the customer approaches you.

"I'm sorry but where's the restroom? I really need to go" The customer spoke, he was wearing an awfully lots of layers, even shades indoors.

"It's just at the back to the right, there's a huge sign, it's hard to miss it" You smiled and the customer stares at you for a while before nodding.

"Thank you"

Finally, he leaves and you couldn't help but be relieved. Why were you holding your breath in the first place? After a couple more hours of standing around and smiling, your shift was done. You did your daily duties and cleaned up the place, making sure it was clean before you leave.

"Bye (Y/N)! Don't forget about our hangout this Friday night!" Your friend spoke as she leaves first.

"Trust me I'm looking forward to it!" You replied before heading to the back of the building to throw the trash away.

You were on your way to the huge bins until you felt the trash bag become lighter. You stare down and was annoyed the second you saw that the bag had tore. It's settled, you're getting a new job after you get your salary. You crouched down and tried to think of ways to solve the issue.

Once you stood up, you felt a sharp pain on your neck. Before you could even do anything to find the source of the pain, you collapsed. The last thing you could feel before becoming unconscious was the touch of someone catching you.

....

"Will it work?"

........

"We've only tested on rats. We're not sure sir"

...........

"Do I have to rephrase? If she dies, you fucking die with her, you understand?"

...............

"Yes sir"

.....................

"Good. Now do what you're only good for, you fucking worthless piece of shit"

...............................

Lights... knives... syringes... you slowly awoke on the floor as faint images of what you would recall as a memory began flashing in your head. Did that happen? It felt real. You opened your eyes and blinked a couple of time to register the room you were in.

You were... in a cage?

You looked around, the walls and floors made of white marbles which made it cold when your skin made contact with it. Now that you realised, you were no longer in your uniform, you seemed to be wearing some kind of gown patients would wear for surgery.

"Morning sunshine!" Your body jumped when you heard a familiar voice, a voice you only heard on the tv or radio shows. You stare at him as he walks to the center, a few feet from your cage.

It was Homelander. You never thought the day would come where you would be face to face to the person behind the reasons of your brother's rampage.

"Did you rest well?" He asks, an eary grin on his face. You looked around the inside of your glass cage.

"Couldn't you have given me a mattress?" You said. Your concern catching him a bit off guard but he didn't show it.

"Well, we tried to give you something more comfortable to sleep on but it seems like anyone who tried to even touch you ended up well... what's the word for it... withered. Dead. Nothing but a corpse suck dry of it's life" He said but you had no idea what any of his words meant.

"Is this some joke?" He chuckles.

"No. No joke (Y/N). I'm simply just giving my hypothesis on your new powers"

Powers? You have to be high right?

Did whatever pain that you felt was the mark of your death?

Is this some sick twisted illusion of yours created in hell?

"Yeah right... and I'm fucking Beyonce. Would you like to see my collection of Grammys?" You said sarcastically, clearly not taking anything seriously.

Homelander doesn't say anything but just laugh, since you were clearly convinced this was hell and that you were dead, you laughed along with him. He trembles his shoulders as if he's cold, that devilish grin still on his face.

"Wooo! You're a jokester aren't you (Y/N)? I know I'm just gonna love you. How about I bring you a gift as a symbol of our blossoming friendship?" He asked but he had already left the room. Your answer never even needed at all.

As your laughter died down, you were left alone in the room. You felt high. Too realistically high. Were you pumped with drugs? Shit... you grabbed your head as you tried to process the feeling until you heard the sound of a high pitched scream. You turn your head to find it to be your friend from work. She was shoved into the room and right when she stood up to leave, the door was shut.

"Let me the fuck out! You fucking bitch! You promised me weed!" She slammed on the door a couple of times after attempting to twist the doorknob open.

"Cleo?" She turns to you, her masacra ruined from her tears.

"(Y/N)? Holy shit what happened to your hair?" She said and you were confused until you checked to see the front strands of your hair now dyed white.

Okay now what in the actual fuck is happening...

"I don't know...? Why are you here?" You questioned.

"Some fucker promised me weed for some cash. I should have known better when I saw how cheap it was" She sighs as she sits against the door.

Suddenly the glass door on your cage sprung open. The two of you exchanged confused expressions. Is this some kind of trick? You wondered but either way you stepped out from your cage and began to approach your friend. She sighs as she curls up into a ball.

"What the fuck even is this place...?" She asks after you finally sat down beside her. You rubbed her arm to provide some comfort.

"I don't know... this feels real and fake at the same time. Hey, if by any chance we were in a puzzle just like in Saw, how much do you wanna bet who'd win—?" You nudged her playfully but instead of getting a response. She falls over.

Her face was pale white. Eyes dilated. The veins on her body growing visibly purple. The sight left you in shock and you quickly grabbed her by the shoulder to jerk her a few times. No words left her mouth except sounds of gasping, as if the air was getting sucked out of her lungs.

"Cleo! What the fuck! Holy fucking shit!" You cursed and it didn't take long until her body grows limp. Like a skeleton with a thin layer of skin left.

Afraid the same would happen to you, you quickly ran into your cage. You sat at the corner, trying your hardest not to look at your friend. That was real. This isn't some stupid trick set up by Satan. This is fucking real.

But why is this happening?

Why you?

The glass door slammed shut and the noise made your body jump. The door to the room opened but got stuck at the weight of your friend's corpse. You could hear the sound of disgust come from Homelander as he ends up kicking body aside to be able to open the door fully.

"So... did you like my gift?"

"What the fuck did you do? Did you poison her?" You said which he seemed offended at.

"Me? Oh please, I can shoot fucking lasers out of my eyes and I choose to poison some fucking nobody? I mean look at her" He chuckles, his eyes staring at the corpse of what was your friend.

His tone and words growing a small wave of anger within your chest.

"What do you want from me?"

"You know what I want" He said, the smile on his face gone. He was now serious. His gaze cold enough to send shivers down your body.

"(Y/N) Butcher. Butcher. I didn't know he had a little sister" He took a step closer, then another, until he was face to face to the glass, staring down at your figure hiding away in the corner.

"He really doesn't get scared huh? Not afraid of death, to take a life, not even me. And well... since he fucking hates supes so much, then I might as well make his beloved sister one. If I can't strike fear in him, you will" Homelander spoke, the corner of his lips twisting into a grin. As if all of this was bringing him some sick enjoyment.

"Everyone will be the pawn and you'll be the queen... so save your strength. You're gonna need it sweetheart" He turned around and as he leaves, he stares at the corpse for a quick moment. Even from inside the cage you could hear him shout for the people working to clean the body.

Fuck... this cannot be your life now...

You're now an animal kept in a cage.

Hours progressed to days then months. The only thing keeping you entertained was... the toilet? Aside from that was the visits Homelander would pay you every now and then to make sure you were alive. It almost seemed like he had expected you to be dead by now but you weren't, which he's impressed about.

You laid on the ground, staring at the ceiling. You were bored so you decided to try to count from 1 to 10000 this time. Just as you got to 482, the door opened and you turned to see it wasn't Homelander but rather a worker. Assuming he's just here to clean, you turned back to the ceiling to continue counting.

"Pssh, ma dame, do you hear me?" He knocks on the glass, his french accent caught your attention.

"I don't care. I'm not gonna strip for you"

"Nono! That's not why I'm here, your brother, Billy Butcher? He sent me here" His name striking something in you. You got up as your eyes are slightly widened.

"He knows I'm here?"

"Yes... he's here as well. He's gonna try to get you out of here"

Just as he finishes talking, the glass door sprung open. He gets in the cage and reaches for you but right as you reach for his hand, you remembered you weren't the same anymore, you were cursed, so you quickly pull your hand away. Your action causes the man to tilt his head in confusion.

"Do not worry, I'm not here to hurt you" He tries to take a few steps closer but you quickly stepped back.

"No.... no stop! That's enough!" You raised your hands gesturing him to stand where he's at.

"Don't touch me..." You added and he stares at you for a moment before taking a few steps back until he's out of the cage.

"Okay... but you must follow me. We don't have much time left" He said, walking out of the room and you hesitated for a while before following after him.

When walking down the hallway, you couldn't help but look around the area. This was your first time seeing the place you've been trapped inside for supposedly months. As you followed the strange man who saved you, you noticed that he seemed to be talking to someone over his earpiece. Was it Butcher?

After managing to sneak past several guards and having a few close calls, you two finally made it out from one of the back doors. You hurried as you followed the man somewhere. You couldn't believe it. The feel of the wind and the smell of the grass was making you wish you appreciated the outdoor more.

"Were you noticed?" His friend who's been on the look out asked. He shakes his head.

"No" After hearing his reponse, his friend turns to look at you.

"I'm M.M.... C'mon, your brother put in a lot to save you" He began walking away and the two of you simply went along.

He did?

"I haven't introduced myself. I'm Frenchie. It's nice to meet you" The man who saved you earlier said with a smile and you weakly smile back.

The moment the three of you reached a van parked in a safe area. The door slide open and your eyes widened once you were locked eyes with someone familiar. Yet he looked so much different now. He grew a beard. You had to admit, it made him look less ugly.

"(Y/N)..." He got out of the van and was ready to embrace you but you quickly avoided his grasp. This causes him to stand there with his arms hanging there awkwardly.

"Ooookay.... get in" M.M told Frenchie and they did just that, sliding the door close to give you both the privacy.

"All these years and you still hate your ol' brother" He jokes as he drops his hands down to his sides, but it was clear that he was upset at your actions and trying to hide it.

"Don't touch me"

"I got it"

The two of you stood there and you were staring at him a little too hard. Thoughts racing in your head like a racetrack. What the fuck has he been up to these years and how did he even find you?

"So... are we jus' gonna stand here and wait for 'em to realise you're missin'?" He nods at the facility nearby and you sigh.

"You're taking me home" You walked over to the passenger seat but the sound of Butcher clicking his tongue made you stop halfway in your tracks. Now you were standing in front of the van.

"Not gonna happen. Is your head loose of screws sis? They know who you are now, which means they know where you live. You're gonna be stayin' with me" He said.

Shit... there's really no chance of a normal life now. You really are cursed.

"Stay with you? With these guys?" You point at the van and from the front of the vehicle, you could see his friends all huddled in the back, the whole time they've been secretly listening to the conversation but once you pointed at them, they tried to act as though they haven't been doing so.

"They can protect you"

"I don't need protecting. The last thing I need is someone doing that"

"Oh really? Then mind sharing your experience in there? Was it a luxury? How much longer do you think you could have lasted if I hadn't found you" He took a few steps closer and you gave him a warning look.

"You're my sister... you think a few fights is gonna change that?" He tried reaching for your shoulder and you quickly dodged it. Failing to notice, tears were beginning to well up in your eyes because deep inside, you were desperately in need of comfort, a hug, anything physical but you couldn't even have that.

"You can't touch me... nobody can.... f-fuck... I killed my friend just by touching her..." You began to sob, your hands grabbing onto your face in an attempt to hide your expression. A frown appears on his face.

"What the fuck did they do to you...?"

"They made me a freak! They gave me these fucked up powers!! I don't want this...!" You cried, wishing this was another of your nightmares and that none of this was real.

"It's okay... come here..." He began to step closer to you but you were too numb from the feeling to even react.

Taking off his coat, he puts it securely around you before wrapping you in his arms. For the first time in months, you finally felt the presence of another person's embrace. The warmth felt so good. It was like you were melting from it. Your sobs grew weak as you nuzzle onto his chest, the fabric separating the contact of your skin with his. This was everything you needed right now.

"We'll get through this... these powers of yours ain't gonna scare me away" He said, rubbing your back gently.

"Thank you..." You muttered.

After you escaped and made it safely away from your prison. Homelander was alerted of your escape a few hours later. He arrives at the facility, walking down the hallway as the doctors walking by were scared to see him and trying their best to avoid his sight. Once he walks in the office of the head security, the man sprung up almost instinctly.

"Sir" He greets him. Homelander doesn't say anything but stare at him... before breaking into a smile.

"Great job, at least you're good at failing at your job. Now show me" He walks over to the guard's side who's hurrying to click a few things on his computer to show him what he came here for.

"The tracker we planted in her is working well and fine. She's currently in a vehicle heading somewhere"

"Good... it's like sending a cat to a bunch of rats" Homelander then gave the man a strong pat on the shoulder.

"Do we go after them sir?"

"No, keep an eye on her for now. I'll tell you when the time is ready" Without any further discussion, he left the office. A plan already set in his mind.

(I might make a part 2 but I'm not sure if anyone would be interested, it'll be sort of fluff where the boys figure out her powers, some angst? Idk, tell me if you think I should)