#ennasfavorites

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine being Hughies older sibling whose a doctor and Butcher instantly liking you:

Requested: anon

"Get out of my way."

Butcher had never been talked to like that before. Immediately, he liked you. He took a step back, giving you your space. The wound wasn't bad, but it didn't mean you were happy about it. The stitches were done quickly, messily, and your brother would probably have a scar, but he was alert, his breathing was normal, he was even making jokes. "Don't you ever do this to me again." You say, your words hostile, but your tone petrified. You were scared out of your mind, covered in Hughies blood. You were used to blood. You worked with blood. But when it was seeping into your couch, your clothes, hemorrhaging from your brother, it left you rattled. They didn't know where else to go, though. Hughie told them your address and they followed instructions. He knew going to the hospital was out of the question, they'd ask too many questions none of them could answer. So, you were the next best option.

"Promise, it won't happen again." He smiles. The painkillers you gave him were finally setting in. You placed your hand against his forehead, wiping off the blood. You and Hughie were always close growing up. You took care of him, he was your baby brother after all. You and him and your father were all you had. They supported you when you went through medical school and your father couldn't have been prouder of your career. As soon as you got your white coat your father changed your contact name to Dr. Campbell. After Robin was killed, you sort of became estranged. He disappeared more often, took longer to text back, rarely returned your phone calls. Then, a few months ago, he appeared out of the blue and told you everything. He couldn't keep it a secret anymore. The guilt was eating him alive. He didn't want to hurt you anymore, it was bad enough he was keeping it from Dad. So, you listened. No judgement, or yelling, just listening. You never thought it would lead to this, though.

"You," You say, turning your attention towards Butcher. "If you ever put his life in danger again, I will personally perform an autopsy on you while you're still alive. Got it?" You weren't like Hughie. You were bossy, and sarcastic, and crude. You didn't put up with any bullshit and you wouldn't let anyone get away with it, either, especially not Butcher. The last time you met, weeks ago, Hughie came to warn you, tell you about what was going to happen, that you might need to leave for a little while for your own safety. You refused. Butcher tried talking to you, but you were only interested in what Hughie had to say. You didn't like the looks of Butcher. Now, you actually had a reason not to. But he liked you. You were smart, you had an attitude, and you weren't afraid of him. He wanted to talk to you, to show his interest, but it was never the right time. Especially not now.

"Understood."

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine being the only teammate Soldier Boy doesn't want to kill:

"You don't want to go after y/n?"

"They had nothing to do with it." Ben shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. Hughie couldn't imagine a good enough reason. He'd killed Crimson Countess, the woman he wanted to have children with. What could be so special about you? They'd all done their research about his old team. They weren't flashy and they definitely weren't doing well these days. Maybe except for Noir, but he didn't speak, he didn't have any emotions, he was Voughts puppet. He was Homelanders puppet. The twins became nobodies, Gunpowder was dead, Mindstorm was a mystery, and Countess had been singing about apes. Every one of them had had trouble moving on from the spotlight. Every one of them except you. You'd moved on, shed the suit for a typical small town life. You seemed happy. When Ben had read the stories about you, how you learned to live your life on your own, he had smiled. He was glad you got out. You deserved it.

"How do you know?" Hughie asks. What they had found about you was limited, but there were plenty of rumors about an ongoing relationship between you and Ben behind the scenes. Whenever you were spotted together without your team, headlines spoke about a forbidden love. While neither of you ever accepted it, you never denied it either. Even now, you only spoke lovingly about Ben. You brought flowers to his statue once a year and lit candles. You truly had mourned him. You were still mourning him. As far as Hughie could see, it was real genuine emotions. They had yet to talk to you. Ben forbid them. He didn't want to disrupt your life. He was adamant that you knew nothing about what happened to him. You were knocked out with Mallory when the team came for him.

"Because they're the only person who ever cared about me."

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Finding Out About Sexual Trauma

Requested: hello, I would like to start off my request with saying that I know that this subject if a little tiny bit iffy and it’s a bit specific and personal. I read your blog rules as i am new to your blog and tried to follow them as best as I could, but the general subject matter of my request my be a bit triggering so if you don’t want to write this I wholeheartedly understand and will continue to enjoy your other works.may I please request the boys (any characters, just some general headcannon stuffs) with a reader who has s/a trauma and has trust issues throughout the relationship because of it (thinking that people only want them for that reason)? whether they find out accidentally or not is up to you, I hope that you are having a good morning/day/afternoon/night! :) - anon

A/N: My love! Thank you for requesting! I am writing from my own experience, so apologies if not everything is universal!! I don't go into detail or write anything graphic, mostly generalized emotions, thoughts, etc. Please don't read if this could be triggering. I am always here if anyone wants to talk!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💕

Butcher is upset. Not because it changes how he sees you or feels about you, but because you really thought he was only interested in you for your body. Butcher is a pretty sexual person. He likes having sex, especially when it's with you. You've had to take a step back and figure out why he's with you. You fear he's only with you for sex. Butcher makes sure you know, from now on, he loves every part of you. You never told him about what happened, thinking it was in the past, but it's not, and that's okay. He doesn't pish you to share what happened, but he lets you know that if you want to tell him, you can. He definitely takes a look at his actions and change them so that you never feel this way again. It kills him to think of how long you must've assumed this before bringing the subject up to him. He never wants you to be scared to bring this up or any other issues. He talks more about the things he like and doesn't like, hoping it'll start the conversation so that you know you can always be open about disliking certain touches or acts while also saying what you do like. He wants to make sure you never feel like you have to hide something like that from him again. He wants to do better, be better, and he is. Slowly, but surely.

Hughie could tell something happened, but he never wanted to assume anything. You were so hesitant to go out with him, hesitant to call and text, afraid he'd want to do things you weren't able to at the time. When he asks if you're okay, you open up about what happened. You have to go slow, very slow, but you don't want him to have to wait for you. It's not fair. He smiles, telling you he would wait forever if he had to. He wants to be with you, that's all that matters. If your relationship is unconventional, so what? He never wants to put you in a position where you feel triggered, scared, or unsafe. He waits for you to make the first move/step, and he follows. When you feel ready to kiss him, he's more than excited. He's all for slow and steady. He's the first to come to your defense if Butcher or anyone else says something. You've never seen him so upset. Whatever you decide to share with him, he's grateful for. He never wants you to feel pressured to explain why certain touches, acts, features, etc. make you upset or angry or irritated or scared. Hughie communicates everything. In fact, he might even over communicate, though of course you know he means well. Nothing changes how he feels about you.

Annie is the first to open up about her experiences. She tells you about what happened with The Deep. She knows she told the whole world, but it's still a conversation she wanted to have with you now that you're together. In return, you tell her about your experience/s. She listens carefully and makes sure you know she understands. She assures you she would never, ever do anything like that and would make sure anything you do, everything ranging from hand holding and kisses on the cheek to all types of intercourse, are talked about beforehand. You both have certain boundaries you won't cross, and it's an open, ongoing conversation as to what you do and don't like, what feels most comfortable, etc. Neither of you thinks of the other any differently because of these boundaries. When you are triggered by certain words, gestures, people, etc. Annie is right by your side, talking you through it, making you know you're safe with her, you're safe now.

M.M. didn’t know, but he kinda put two and two together. You made it very clear in the beginning of your relationship that you'd have to go slow, building a new kind of trust from the ground up, going from friendship to partners. You jumped at the slightest touch, and he learned quickly to ask if you wanted a hug or to hold hands. When he realized something must have happened, he sat you down and explained you'd never have to tell him if you didn't want to, but he'd be more mindful from now on. He didn't want to assume anything, but you did confirm something happened, and you were still healing from it. After that, he was so much more careful and thoughtful with his actions. He never wanted you to feel judged or odd because of these changes to your relationship. You need a lot of reassurance that he isn't judging you, that he doesn't think of you any differently or mind being extra patient. He's never for a second thought of you or your relationship milestones as any different than past ones. You're still you, the person he loves. That's all that matters.

Frenchie suspected something might have happened. You fell apart when you had to go undercover with Kimiko in Russia. You couldn't bear the thought of someone even wanting to touch you like that, even if they'd end up dead afterward. He assures you you don't have to do it. It scares him a little. Not your reaction, but that fact that he wasn't paying attention beforehand. That's when you tell him what happened, why you can't let yourself be seen in that way, just for your body. Frenchie feels sick thinking you were put into this situation, forced to explain why when you might not have told me when you were ready. He doesn't tell why. He just says to Butcher, "Y/n's not doing it." Sensing something is wrong, Kimiko doubles down that she's got this handled alone. You voice your worries when you're home that he sees you differently. He doesn't. At all. He loves you. He loves you for you, not for your body or the kinds of pleasures you can share. Just you. He opens up about what happened with Little Nina, knowing you could understand. He doesn't do this as a way to turn attention towards him. Rather, it's to share so that you feel more comfortable opening up about your own experiences. He's more careful to show his affections, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable, and is far more committed to communication after your trip to Russia.

Kimiko sees red. She loves you more than anything. The fact that someone decided they had the right to do those kinds of things to you made her furious. She knows this is not at all helpful for you and immediately apologizes, assuring you she's here for you no matter what. She can get angry about it in her own time. She becomes so much more protective over you. You both have a lot of things you're relearning to do. The biggest challenge is intimacy. She never makes a move or tries something without consulting you and neither do you. Kimiko is shy as it is, something you're immensely grateful for. Your relationship is slow, and both of you are patient with one another. Taking baby steps is how you do it. You worry others will judge you for taking it so slow, especially since you've been together for quite a while, but Kimiko makes it known it is no one else's business. You take as long as you need. If anyone has an issue with it, they can take it up with her. She loves you. Nothing changes that. Nothing will ever change that.

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine The Boys reactions when they see you use your powers for the first time:

"Jesus christ!"

"I told you it would be bad." M.M. said. He was the only one who didn't flinch. Hughie thought he was going to be sick. Even if the cameras were a little grainy, they could clearly see the way you tore people apart. You didn't even have to touch them. The second you looked at them, their body started falling apart. Skin melting. Muscles tearing. Organs pooling out from their wounds, falling to the floor is a gooey, wet mass. Their blood didn't just pump or pool, it fell in sheets, drenching the floors. One by one, everyone in the room began to die. They screamed and cried and tried to hold themselves together, but you were too strong. You weren't even breaking a sweat. They couldn't believe you could do this and you'd kept it hidden for so long.

"Y/n told you they could do this?" They all turn to M.M. You weren't proud of being a Supe. As soon as you were old enough to be aware of your powers, you knew it wasn't good. Your family was scared of you. They sent you away. You grew up around others Supes who'd been deemed too dangerous to he around others. You tricked the staff into believing you were completely "rehabilitated", whatever that meant. They let you our with no resources, no help, no identity or basic life skills. You made sure anyone you came into contact with didn't know what you could do. Not until you trusted them. Marvin was the first person you trusted. He told you he would never judge you or be scared of you. He kept that promise. Even as the bodies disintegrated before you, all he could do was focus on you. You weren't scared, you seemed relieved, like you'd been holding yourself together for so long, you could finally let go. You were reluctant to show The Boys. Marvin assured you none of them would treat you or see you differently.

"They warned me before they went in."

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine Butcher trying to protect you from Homelander, who takes a special interest in you:

"Y/n-"

"Nothing happened!" You didn't mean to yell like that. Everyone turned towards you and Butcher. Some, like M.M. and Kimiko watched with pity. Others, Hughie and Annie, with understanding. It was only a few minutes, that was all. Trapped in an elevator with Homelander. If it were anyone else, they would have been dead. But you weren't just anyone. Your ear piece lost it's connection, the signal, and he was smart enough to destroy the cameras. A few minutes, that was all. It was nothing. He let you leave just like that. The Boys couldn't believe it. They thought you were a goner. Instead you walked right out. Supposedly unharmed. No one bought it. You wouldn't talk about it. You wouldn't mention it. Everyone tried, in their own way, to get you to talk. Butcher was their last resort. He wasn't exactly the most gentle. Still, he needed to know what happened.

"Doesn't sound like it." It was a kiss, that was all. He touched you and kissed you and when it was over, he laughed. Made a promise to see you again sometime soon. You froze and he was too strong and you froze. You felt like an idiot. You could have pushed him off or screamed, you could have done something. And now he was waiting for you. Butcher doesn't want to badger you, he doesn't like interrogating you like this, but if Homelander tried something he has to know. He has to know so he can punish him accordingly. This obsession he had with you was dangerous. He was a monster, a psychopath, and now there was a target on your back. You couldn't ignore that. None of them could.

"I'm done talking about this."

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine being Soldier Boys younger sibling: Pt. 1

Requested: anon / Pt. 2

"Soldier Boy."

"Y/n?" His voice breaks. Ben doesn't know what happened or how long it's been, but he does know, the last time he was awake, lucid, you were trying to escape. You were running, escaping, and then there was the gas. That stupid fucking Novichok gas. Did you get away? Did you break free? He looked past the array of strange faces, searching for your familiar features. "Y/n?" He says again. Your name sounds familiar. Hughie remembers reading it somewhere during his research. Were you a friend? A lover? And then it clicked. You were his baby, the only person he was willing to share the limelight with. Supposedly, everyone on the team hated you and Ben together. You were the most famous Supe sibling duo, the first, and that made everyone else jealous. You two partied together and got into trouble and, as far as The Boys knew, were sold off to the Russians together, too. After that, your trail goes cold. Did you escape? Did they kill you? No one in the room knew.

"What? You mean-"

"Y/n!" He yells, disoriented, stepping out of his chamber. He searched the room, but everything was different. Everything changed. Who were these people? What did they do to you? Ben had spent years listening to your cries, your pleas, your begging. One minute you were on top of the world together. You were the best, the most powerful, the most famous. You could have anyone and anything you ever wanted. And then, suddenly, you were lab rats. You were being experimented on. You were forced to suffer through tests and surgeries and all kinds of taunting. They laughed at you. They spat at you. They enjoyed doing what they did to you. If you escaped, where would you be now? Where would you have gone? What would have happened to you? "Where, where's y/n?" The look in his eyes crushes Hughie. He wanted his family, he wanted to make sure you were okay.

"We'll help you find them, okay?"

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine The Boys reactions when Firecracker exposes your past:

"Y/n, please open the door."

"I can't." Your voice was so small, so defeated. It broke something in Hughie. You'd always been so brave, so stubborn, so hard to get through to. In an instant, Firecracker turned you into a child. The minute your name popped up on the screen, your heart sank. You'd always been elusive about your past. None of your friends ever pushed the subject. They figured there was a reason behind that. A good reason. And there was. In a past life, not too long ago, you were someone different. A monster. A killer. And the worst part was, you were good at it. The best. Everyone wanted you on their side. You were brutal, and dangerous, and violent. Those skills carried over into your new life, your job. You thought you had finally put it behind you, though. They liked you for you, not for what you could do.

"Forget what that c-nt said." Billy says, attempting to make a joke but you just end up feeling worse. Tears stream down your face before you can stop them. You try not to sniffle too loud, hatred burning in your chest. At yourself, for what you've done, but also Firecracker and Homelander and everyone at Vought. You were pathetic. Stupid for thinking you could ever get out, start new. The names of all the people you've ever killed popped up on the screen. There were too many to count. Behind them, she spoke about how you should be locked up, that you were a danger to society. She had no proof though. Just the names and accusations. It was all true, though. You could deny it all you wanted, but it was true.

"Mon couer, we have all done things we are not proud of." Frenchies voice was close you, he must've been crouching. You sat on the bathroom floor, spine against door, knees to chest. Every night you'd lie awake and think about what you did. You'd replay every mission, every kill, every awful thing you've ever done. And then you'd get up in the morning and face the day and pretend it didn't happen. Now you couldn't do that. She called you terrible names. You deserved it. All of it. The hate, the disgust, everything. Your friends didn't think so, though. When they all looked back you were gone, the bathroom door slamming from down the hall. None of them knew how to make you feel better, what to say, but they had to try something. Anything. Firecracker had no right to do what she did. They were going to make her pay for this.

"Everyone knows. Everyone knows what I did."

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine The Boys catching you and Ben together:

"Really y/n?"

Hughie shielded his eyes, turning around. Beside him, Butcher laughed. You pulled the covers up, searching around for your shirt and pants. Ben, on the other hand, was more than confident in the state you were in. He stood up, nude, grabbing the kimono he'd let slip somewhere on the floor. You and Ben had been getting together since you found him. There was an instant attraction. You didn't feel right going behind your friends backs, but you were having too much fun with him. For the first time in a long time you were happy. Was that so selfish?

"Raincheck?" Ben asks, unable to read the room, smiling at you as you dress. He'd found you attractive instantly. Watching you fumble like this, suddenly self-conscious, it was cute. Sweet. Endearing. He knew you couldn't tell any of them, and truthfully, the hiding just made it sexier. Sneaking around, leaving early, stealing glances across the room. It was exciting. He didn't care what anyone thought, but you did. By Butchers reaction, you both knew it wouldn't be long before everyone else found out. You provably traumatized poor Hughie, too.

"Will you two get out of here?"

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Finding Out You Have Panic Attacks

A/N: Not requested. I don't know what's wrong with me. I can't calm down. It's so hard to sleep. I think nights are the worst. This happened after my dad passed when I'd break out in stress hives almost every day for a year 😅 If anyone knows any tricks or tips or hacks, please let me know. I hope this can offer comfort for anyone experiencing similar issues 💕💖💓🩷💗💝💘

Butcher wasn't sure what was going on. Truthfully, he thought you were dying. All of a sudden, you're gasping, trying to catch your breath. You're shaking, curling into yourself. Tears are welling up in your eyes. You can barely explain what's going on and what you're thinking, and he isn't very comforting in the moment. He panic himself, asking you what you need. You don't know, though. After it's all over and you've spent some time apart, you go up to him and apologize. It was completely out of the blue. Nothing you could think of brought it on. At least, nothing specific. Everything, it seemed, put you in a panic these days. He shrugs it off, not wanting to make it a thing. He brings it up later, though, when it's just the two of you, asking you when it all started. You admit it started when you joined The Boys. Danger was around every corner. You were wanted. You'd spend hours worrying about every scenario that could ever play out. They all ended badly. He understands to a degree. Your lives are hard, complicated, and full of danger. It's only a natural reaction to be afraid. To worry.

Hughie learned about your panic attacks one night after you were cleaning yourself up, splashing cold water on your face. It was over, thank goodness, but it took a lot longer to get rid of the feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. You admit you've been dealing with this for a while, but was afraid to bring it up to anyone. It could be embarrassing. You were hysterical. And the worst part was you knew it was irrational. Hughie assures you it's not silly or irrational if it's causing you this much stress. He doesn't want to pry, of course, but he does want to know about it. When it started, what kinds of things worry you, how he can help, etc. Hughies had his fair share of panic attacks. He's no stranger to them. When you're feeling overwhelmed or like your brain won't stop thinking, he's the first person you go to. He tends to use distractions. Goofy stiff about movies or TV shows or random facts he's acquired through the years. Anything to take your mind off things. He's completely free of judgement. He just wants you to be okay.

Annie could kind of already tell. With the way things were at Vought and being part of The Seven, it was a pretty anxiety inducing situation. Homelander was cruel and reactive and all over the place. You could never tell if he'd laugh off something major while tearing everyone and everything apart over the smallest mistake. Annie found you hiding in the bathroom just before a team meeting, trying to talk yourself down. She knocked softly on the stall door, assuring you it was only her. It all comes out. The fears and worries, the stress making you so sick you were barely eating or sleeping. She opened up about her own fears around Homelander and pretty much everyone involved with Vought, slowly coaxing you out. When you've pulled yourself together, you immediately apologize. You don't know what came over you. It definitely wasn't right to put it on her. Annie thinks the opposite, glad you could trust her, reminding you you can always come to her. She gets it 100%.

M.M. never knew you struggled with panic attacks. You hid them so well that no one did. It isn't until you're at the Sage Grove Center that you're faced with Lamplighter and Stormfront that he sees fear and shock and panic. You freeze, your breathing ragged, tears welling up in your eyes. You have to move. You have to think quickly if you're going to get out alive. But first, he has to calm you down. He holds your shoulders, talking you down, reminding you to breathe. It takes a little while, but eventually, it starts to soothe you. After you're out and safe, far from the both of them, you thank M.M. apologizing for your behavior. He tells you there's no need to be sorry. He's just glad he could help. Marvin becomes a confidant when you're feeling anxious. Now that he's aware of it, he can pick up on the little signs before it becomes a full-blown panic attack. Even when it does, he's always there to help. He never wants you to feel like you have to face it alone or that it's an inconvenience to him. He cares about you. He wants you to he okay, to feel safe.

Frenchie found you one day, music blaring in your headphones, trying to calm yourself down. He startled you, his hand on your shoulder, making you jump. When he asked what was wrong, you were hesitant to say why. You didn't want to come off as weak or like you couldn't handle being part of the team. You loved the cause you were fighting for. It was just a lot. Finally, you told him, unable to keep it under control. You even tell him about your worries that if any of them ever found out, they'd kick you off the team, out of the friend group. Frenchie assures you they need you. Panic attacks don't change that. He wishes you'd opened up sooner instead of suffering alone. They had plenty of issues, this isn't as big a deal as you thought it was. It's hard, of course, but they've seen this before. You tell him music helps, but there are still so many times you can't stop it. You feel like you're dying. He offers the support he can, wanting you to come to him when you feel it coming on so that you're not alone, so you can figure it out together.

Kimiko finds you up late one night, curled into a ball on the couch, watching TV. She can see the tear marks on your cheeks illuminated by the screen. By the time she finds you, the crying has mostly subsided. When she asks what's wrong, it all comes out. The fear, the anxiety, the panic attacks. They used to be so much more manageable. Lately, it's been out of control, especially at night when there are so few distractions and you're all alone. You try not to bother anyone with it, having had poor experiences in the past. She tells you those people suck and you shouldn't feel like you have to hide it. Ever. It just ends up making it worse. She thanks you for telling her, asking if there's anything she can do to help. You're not really sure. After that, Kimiko is always checking in with you. She doesn't make a big scene about it. Keeping it between the two of you, she'll ask if you're okay or if you've been feeling okay. You're always honest with her, knowing she'll catch you if you fib. She ends up sitting with you at night, watching TV together. Her presence alone is comforting enough.

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine The Boys looking after you:

"Y/n's not doing to well."

"Hughie-"

"Butcher," M. M. interrupts, keeping his voice low. "Look at them. They're, they're-" They all turn towards the couch, the TV, where you lie, curled up in a ball. Unblinking. Watching the nature documentary about the birds of South America. You haven't washed any of the blood off you. Your clothes were soaked, your skin sticky with red, hair matted. Everyone came back to the hideout and went their separate ways, washing and changing, taking time to ruminate on what just happened. No one noticed what you were doing, how quiet you'd become. Only when they came back together, making half-hearted jokes, did they notice. Hughie tries to talk to you, but you weren't really there. Your face was blank, your eyes stuck on the screen. He was worried. They all were, even if Butcher wanted to pretend he wasn't, he was. Denying it was easier than dealing with it.

"Falling apart." Frenchie finishes. Kimiko signs to him, worry in her expression. "Kimiko is right. We need y/n. We cant keep doing this to them." Ignoring the problem. Ignoring all the little ways you were putting yourself in danger. Ignoring your sleepless nights, the contrast between constant worry and feeling nothing, the ways in which you threw yourself into dangerous situations without a second thought and then reacting like this, becoming a shell of yourself. You were vital to the team, yes, but you were also their friend. They cared about you, they worried about you. They couldn't let this cycle keep going, it would end up killing you. You'd barely moved since you got back. Butcher knew this life had been hard on you, but, he hoped like with everyone else, you would bounce back to your old self. The longer this went on though, the worse it got. There was no denying it anymore. Something was deeply wrong and they had to figure it out before it was too late.

"Fine. I'll see what I can do."

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine being Soldier Boys younger sibling: Pt. 2

Requested: anon / Pt. 1

"You get me what I want, I'll help you. That's the deal."

"All we found were these." Hughie placed the stack before Ben. With his fast food, his pills, and his booze, he'd asked for any information about you. Just like he remembered, you had escaped. Broken free from one of your torture chambers and killed everyone you could. You ran, fleeing, and you never looked back. That's when they put him to sleep for good, afraid he would do the same. He never blamed you for leaving him. He was glad you got out. Though, at the time, it felt like a fever dream. With Hughie and Butchers findings, there were spottings of you from all over the world. Russia at first, but then it seemed like everyone had seen you. If they could track down the most reputable source and the most recent, maybe they would find you. A haircut and a some dye, you'd be unrecognizable to a generation who only knew of you by name, by reputation. It was perfect. The perfect way to disappear, which sucked for them. He wouldn't make a move without you.

"You got me papers?"

"No, it's what's on them. They're y/n's files. Maybe we can track them down with this, ask around. It's all we've got right now." Hughie shrugged, looking at Butcher for help. He had nothing to say, though. The whole car ride Butcher had been nothing but negative. It didn't matter if you stayed in Russia or left, your trail was frozen. They weren't even sure if you were still alive. It's only been a few years, and you haven't aged a day, but what if there was an accident or misunderstanding? What if you didn't want to be found? You were a Supe after all. Even if they found you, they couldn't corral you with the promise of your brother. You were probably just as unstable as him. If they seemed at all threatening, you'd kill them. Hughie tried to look on the bright side, keep an open mind. There was only so much they could do, sure. They were a scrappy bunch on their own, but they'd made it work up until this point. Why couldn't they find you and bring you to your brother? Why couldn't they save the day so that Soldier Boy could take down Homelander?

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine turning to Butcher when you're trying to leave Homelander:

Without the stars and stripes blowing behind you, he didn't recognize you. In civilian clothes, you were almost human. For the first time ever he gets a good look at you. Without the lighting and cameras and makeup, without Homelander attached to your side, you seem so much smaller in person. There are dark circles around your eyes and, what little can see hidden under your hood, fresh bruises dotting your skin, your cheek and around your neck. If Homelander wanted to, he could kill you in less than a second. Hurting you like this was for fun, to pass the time. He truly believed he was untouchable. Unstoppable. He was, as far as you were concerned.

"Don't get too close, he'll-" but you can't finish. It sounds ridiculous. Silly. He'll smell Butcher on you. He'll know exactly where you were. He'll know what you were saying. Billy puts his hands up, taking a step back. The last thing he wanted to was scare you away, to cause you more harm. The Boys had been trying to get through to you for ages. It was incredibly dangerous at first, risking their cover, unsure of where you stood. For all they knew, it was too late. You'd been brainwashed. And you had protected him for some time, telling Butcher and the rest of the team that you couldn't say anything. But he was getting so much worse, so much more abusive, and you weren't sure how much longer you could take it. You weren't sure how much longer you'd survive. And then, a few days ago, you called Butcher sobbing, asking if he could meet with you.

"Why now?" It was out of the blue. Sure, he was getting violent, but he had always been violent. Stories ran for years about marks and bruises that didn't line up with your saves. People talked, but there was nothing they could do. The story you sold was that you were in love, that you were made for one another. He didn't know the truth, the full history, but he knew there was more going on behind the scenes than you let on. Between you and Homelander and Ryan, you were the perfect, most powerful, family. You were what everyone should want. You knew Butcher didn't have a lot of time left, that The Boys were doing everything they could to stop your husband. This could all be some elaborate set up. Get him caught red handed. Put an end to their desperate efforts to save everyone from dictatorship. Your voice came out quietly, your words hitting him hard, leaving his face stinging. You were desperate. You were scared.

"I don't want to die, Butcher."

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine being Ryan's twin sibling:

"Are you mad at us? Is that why you're going away?"

You sat on the other side of Butcher, watching him place the necklace around your brother's neck. He talked quietly, reminding you how much your mother loved you, how much she cared about you. You leaned against him, your stomach twisting. You missed her more than anything. You would have done anything to get her back. It wasn't Ryan's fault, what happened with her. You were both trying to adjust to your powers. And you were both so angry watching Storm front go after her. When your dad showed up, both of you stuck beside Butcher. You'd held his hand, squeezing it tight, petrified your father would punish you. Kill you. But Butcher stuck up for you, taking you and Ryan away from him. Now he was leaving, too. He promised he'd be back, that you'd be safe with your Aunt Grace. She's protect you from Homelander and everyone else at Vought.

"It's safer if you two aren't near me, that's all."

[hughiecampbelle]

Wraith (Will Graham Oneshot)

Character/s: Will, Hannibal mention

Word Count: 1,307

A/N: I'm so sorry this was a day late my loves!!! I'm trying my hardest to remain on schedule, but of course things come up and December is very busy. Not to make excuses, just a little clarification. I loooveeeee bringing religion and beliefs and prayer into the horror genre!! It's what I live for my loves!! Lol I am really excited for this fic :) I love yearning, I love religious issues, I love everything about this and I wanted to make it absolutely perfect before I posted it!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! ❤❤❤❤

WRITING EVENT ❤️🔪🩸

He loved you the way men love Gods. By kissing the ground, the gravel, the earth that you have gifted him. Perhaps not the soil itself, but the bannister in which your hand caressed as you climbed the stairs. The rugs you placed in the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom. To make it cozy, you beamed, and he could do nothing but melt. The blankets you placed across the bed when the weather grew cold and dreary. Not the ground, but the places you poured yourself into making the house – your house – a home. By creating a shrine, a sanctuary, an altar in your image. Pictures of you, of him, together and not, scattered across every surface. Stills, photographs, of the collective you at the lake, in the woods, shouldered together with the dogs, your family growing every few months. His favorites – the ones you never realize there was a camera at all. Nose in a book, hands wet and soapy, body over the dishes. Asleep, in bed, on the couch, ease etched into your features. Your back to him, in the snow, the grass, the sun kissing your face. Your silhouette stitched into his mind. He studies your scriptures. Pours over them when he cannot sleep, when he cannot eat or think of anything but you. Your file, your autopsy report, the notes in the margins of the books you love, following your swooping handwriting with his eyes. Read until his eyes sting, strain, until he has to take his glasses off and close them for a very long time. Even the death certificate sits on the dressed, unfolded, worn from his hands running over the edges to smooth it out. The last evidence of your existence. Your final testament. He loves you the way men love Gods – their Gods – because e=he believes you are still out there. Waitting. Watching over him. And if he prays, and if he observes, and if he believes hard, rough. You might show yourself to him again. 

It’s difficult to put into words, sentences, to utter to any other living being without being mistaken for a fool. He sees you. Not in the clothes you have left behind, Will unbothered to move, to clean out, desperate for your scent. Not in the soaps you used that sit in their dishes, untouched, afraid to move them, to get rid of you. Not in the pillows you slept on, the same ones he has not smoothed, your indentation sacred within them. No, not the usual places one might look for signs of you. There is nothing emotional about this. This is not dream-like or imaginary. There is nothing metaphorical about the way he has become your witness. You are real. You are in that house. And he holds his breath in anticipation for the next time you will visit. 

A shadow cast in the middle of the bathroom. He wipes the steam from the shower, but just as you have appeared, you are gone. Your face, your eye following him, between the semi-closed doors of your closet. In the dark of night he will see the white of your eye – moon-like – but when he tries to get closer, throwing the doors open, exposing you, there is nothing there. Footsteps in the snow leading from the house, not towards. He follows eagerly, desperately, forgetting the time constraint he under to appear at work on time. Through the woods, the fields, but when he feels in his heart he is getting close, you are nearby, they stop in the midst of the trail. He searches, but they never pick up again. Your voice, he hears, humming from the next room. He used to drop what he was doing – the dishes, a hobby, a meal – and interrupt your song with his presence. The music stops just before he enters the threshold. Now, instead, he listens carefully, unmoving, wondering how long you could go on. Hours, he hopes, though you’ve only ever reached a couple of minutes. Growing louder, closer, until you are right behind him. It takes everything in Will not to turn around, to reach out and expect you, your body, in his arms. In his ear, your voice. On his neck, your breath. But when he finally lets go, when he gives in, he is met with silence. Open air. The feeling that something crucial is missing in the middle of his chest. 

Are you having any suicidal thoughts? Hannibal is careful to ask. It isn’t like that, he clarifies, wondering what he means. He would never. He would. No. Stop it. He doesn’t have to, he reminds himself. You visit him now, you visit the living. Their death is recent, Will. . . But he stops listening. He is stating the obvious. Again. You are grieving, Will. You lost someone you loved, someone you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with. It was sudden and unexpected. A terrible accident. It had all been spelled out to him before. The reality of the situation, of this new version of his life, his future, settling across his skin where it bubbles and burns. Sessions Jack ordered, prescribed, since the funeral. He wants not to yell and scream. That would be childish. It would show them they are right, that he is unstable, but he is more aware than ever. He wishes to invite them over. To sit at the kitchen table and wait, wait as long as you need, to hear your song. To follow the steps in the snow. To smell your perfume, your cologne, as if it had just been sprayed. Walk through the phantom mist. Crawl on his hands and knees. Begging, crying out to the house where you might hear him. Please, he says, please just show yourself y/n. Please, I need you. Falling into a fitful sleep. Are you still imagining things? He asks delicately and Will wants to smash his porcelain words with a hammer, a bat, his fists. It’s real, he wants to plead, but knows better. He must hide the truth. He must pretend you are truly gone when you come back to him, visit him, protect you and him. Protecting what you have. Not anymore. 

He’s been cleared. Deemed stable enough for light duty. Minimal fieldwork. Lectures mostly, paperwork. If he cared more he would have fought tooth and nail for his regular workload. But he doesn’t. He thanks Hannibal for the work he’s done, the work he’s put into him. He stops for flowers, replacing the ones he left at your grave just days before. The snow had covered them, cradled them how he wished to be held by you. He locks himself in, shutting the door, welcomed by the dogs. He will make dinner, something quick with few dishes. He will go over the cases Jack had given him. Only a few, light reading, though the crimes themselves are as gory and bloody as ever. He pats his face dry and spits toothpaste from his mouth. He dresses with ease, throwing his clothes in the basket, opting for a t-shirt and boxers. He anticipates when you will show up, when you will make yourself known, doing everything in his power to invite you back. Hopeless, he pulls the covers over him, turned on his side. Did denouncing your existence, your presence, make you go away? Were you even real to begin with? And just as he begins to doubt, to panic, he hears a shuffling noise behind him. Something tugs as the blankets. A weight sits, then lays, the bed creaking on your side. He thanks a nameless being that you have come back. That you still love him, need him, exist. He falls asleep to your even breathing, grateful you have spent another night with him.

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine Homelander noticing you're burned out:

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." His tone was cold, angry, harsh. You broke eye contact first, hating that he was seeing you like this. You were powerful, and you were feared, and yet, that question alone brings tears to your eyes. No one noticed. No one cared. You've been feeling like a raw nerve for what feels like forever. Everything is difficult and hard, and it takes all of your energy. You dread the sun coming up, you dread facing another day. Ashley told you to get over it, so you tried. You ignored it, and smiled, and it just made it hurt even more. Homelander takes a step closer, his hands outward and raised, as if admitting defeat. Surrender.

"Tell me." His voice is softer now, quieter. Gentle. Of course he noticed. He noticed everything. You weren't lazy or stupid like the rest of them. You were as close to an equal as he could get. The last few weeks though, you've been acting different. Now not only are you crying, but you're doing it in front of him. For anyone else it would have been a death sentence. Whatever it was, it had to be bad. Childishly, you wipe your face, trying to keep your composure. This wasn't like you. Maybe The Deep or Noir cried like a baby, but not you. You tried to muster up the strength to keep yourself together, but you were exhausted. This life was killing you. Now you weren't so sure you wanted it anymore. The suit, the cape, the title. You were over it. You were close to the edge.

"I'm tired, John."

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine Billy breaking into your apartment when no one hears from you:

The Boys were worried. No one had heard from you in days, and it's been even longer since they saw you. You said you needed a break, some time. They got that. But something didn't sit right with Butcher. You would have checked in. You would have sent him a funny video. He would have gotten an update from you one way or another. He took off when no one was looking, going straight to your apartment. They would have stopped him, said he was being dramatic and worrying too much. But he learned a long time ago not to ignore the bad feeling in his gut. Despite locking the door, it was more than easy to break into. When he walked in, he knew he had been right and he hated that he hadn't acted sooner. Your furniture was overturned or broken. Papers and files thrown across the floor. Glass shattered. Windows broken. And blood. Just a little bit, thankfully. You'd put up a fight, that much was clear. He went through the place with his gun out just in case you or whoever attacked you was still there, checking the closets and rooms, but it was empty. You were gone. He cursed himself, taking out his phone and calling M.M. He should have know. He should have acted sooner. He had no idea how long ago the attack was, only that he was too late. He was always too late. . .