#frenchie drabble

[hughiecampbelle]

Little Death (Frenchie Oneshot)

Character/s: Frenchie, Butcher, Hughie, M.M.

Word Count: 1,396

Requested: hello!! I love your work!! I would love to request frenchie and the following prompts! “Gauze” “caution” “I don’t owe you anything” - anon

A/N: I hope you like it my love!!! I'm not the happiest with it. I've rewritten it three times, but I think it's just one of those fics where I'll never truly be satisfied unfortunately. Regardless, I love the idea! Thank you for requesting!!! Feedback is always appreciated! 💜💜💜

I don’t owe you anything, you spat, blood dribbling down your chin. Timidly, he slides a pad of gauze across the sink, leaving it between you. The first aid kit sat open on his lap, exposed. You reach out only when he’s let go, unwrapping it. Your head pounds. The wound on your forehead wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. For that, you were grateful. It pulsed, wet and red and throbbing. You pulled your sleeve over your hand, pressing into it. He reaches out to help, but you flinch. He forgets. That’s dangerous. I don’t owe any of you anything, you clarify a little louder. You’re sure they’re all listening. The walls are thin and that group, who hadn’t stopped arguing since they showed up, were all too quiet. The angry one with bloodshot eyes rammed the butt of his gun into your head. If only it’d been his bare fist. Not after, with a gloved hand, had he punched you upwards, your jaw bruising as you spoke. You grabbed the wrist of his coat. This one, meek and empathetic, ordered him to stop. The both of you to stop. They were guests in your home, they were supposed to act like it. He wasn’t going to force you to do anything you didn’t want to. You’d had enough of that for one lifetime. I know you don’t. His tone is gentle. Understanding. You stood, careful, cautious in the tiny bathroom, taping the bandages over the opening. What did they see when they looked at you?

You rinsed your mouth, watching the water circle the drain, pink and gooey. His knee touches you, the fabric worn thin, and you can’t help but turn rigid, still, until you can back away into the corner. Until you can make sure he is nowhere near you. He raises his hands, surrendering. I did not mean- he stops, unable to finish the sentence. I know, you say too quickly. You knew his type, his kind. Always testing the limits. Pushing the boundaries. Believing themselves different from the rest. They could try all they wanted, they could think all they wanted, they all ended up in the same shallow graves.

You were famous in all the wrong places. Death for hire. There were no signs or symptoms. There was no real reason for their sudden deaths. It was instant. It was painless. It was effective. No marks or bruises, no bullet holes or brains bashed in. No weapons necessary. It's been a long time since you took a job. There were plenty of opportunities, plenty of people looking, you just didn't want to be found. Fell off the grid. No family, no friends. It was easier than you'd like to admit. It was effortless. One day you were there, the next no one had heard from you. You didn't take calls or emails. You didn't have a phone. Customers would drop off letters, notes, envelopes of cash with names and descriptions. You'd do what you needed to. They always paid well. There was a sick sort of satisfaction. Your part was easy. Sometimes you put on a show. Got dressed up. Slid beside them at the bar. Took them to bed. They adored you. Other times, it was on the subway, the bus, in the middle of the crosswalk. Your job was done. The world went on spinning. That's just how it goes.

Little Death. La Petite Mort. That’s what everyone called you. I assume you know what I can do. He nods. They all did. It was Frenchie who'd seen you first. You weren't angry or fighting, you weren't cagey. You were very still, sitting in the middle of your cell, knees to chest. There was something underneath that. Perhaps it was defeat or shame. In the moment, it caught him off guard. Now he understands it's just who you are. Who you've become. Who were you before? Cindy opened the doors and everyone fled. You were cautious though, pulling your sleeves over your hands, your arms, keeping yourself small enough to slip by without getting caught, without hurting anyone. He wanted to follow, but it was too late. He never forgot about you. Afterwards, he asked M.M. and Hughie to dig up every file from the Sage Grove Center. You'd be useful, he just wasn't sure how important you'd turn out to be.

So why aren't you afraid? You sat at the edge of the tub, him on the toilet, the two of you staring at one another. He smiles and the act strikes you across the face. You are not so scary. He shrugs. Nine years ago, almost ten, they injected you with Compound V. You were a teenager, placed in their care by people who loved you. There were no physical changes. No outward deformities or abilities. They assumed it was mental, but you couldn't read thoughts or move things with your mind. Called you a dud. A failure. If that was true, wouldn't that mean you could leave? You begged one of the nurses, please. The words scratched your throat, tore their way from your mouth like barbed wire. Please, I won't say anything. I won't tell anyone. And then you grabbed them by the wrist, making them drop your dinner tray. They dropped, too. A pile of lead wrapped in skin. You'd never forget that sound. Someone heard and they followed. They went to pull you, drag you from the cell, punish you, but they found the same fate. There was a pile of bodies before anyone realized it wasn't on purpose. Lamplighter watched the security cameras. You never fought any of them. They found no weapons on your person after a strip search. All they did was touch you.

Ten years. Ten years of bodies. Ten years of testing. They'd learn. You'd learned too. It only worked skin to skin. Clothing, fabric, gloves, all of it could be a lifesaver. Any part of you. All parts of you. They still found ways to hurt you. Some favored cattle prods. Others went the old fashioned way, pointing a gun between your eyes until you took down an entire room of other patients. You chose to live and for that you would always be considered selfish. Who do you want me to kill? You ask, your eyes cast down at the blood drying on your shirt. No one ever wanted your company. No one ever wanted to get to know you. It was what you could do that was of interest. It is not that simple, Petite Mort. You roll your eyes. It is that simple. You move abruptly. Sitting to standing, learning into him, your faces inches from one another. His eyes widened despite himself. He is scared.

They all are.

You can say no, he says again. You're overcome by nausea, dizziness. Maybe you had a concussion. Maybe it was what he'd said, the name he whispered. Get out. You look him in the eyes and repeat yourself, but he doesn't move. Get out! You pull at his jacket, pushing him through the doorway. His friends all freeze. Get out! Leave now! You know your neighbors will complain about the screaming, but you don't care. You're furious. Frenchie tries to calm you down, but you're hysterical. This is what they wanted. This is why Vought let you live so long. Because they wanted you to be their weapon. You could kill anyone. Everyone. You were collateral. An emergency fund. An option when they were all out of options. You weren't going to be used anymore. You weren't going to be a pawn in Voughts game. Not anymore. You got out. You were free. You couldn't go back there, you couldn't put yourself in danger like that again. They would recognize you. You would never see the light of day again. They'd let you rot in a cell like all those years. Before you slam the door in their faces, Frenchie tries one last time. S'il te plaît. We would never let anything happen to you. You've become cold, stone-like, the same shell of a human being he recognized from that first day, that first moment. There is not getting through to you. Not now, at least. The conversation was over. He must let it die.

You were not going to kill Homelander.

[cryptfile]

hi there! i'm mila (she/her) i’m from south america (from this laaarge country called Chile) so english is not my first language. I've been on the internet for a while and i'm in my 20's trying to figure out life while writing silly little stuff and finishing my degree in Digital Animation at the same time, be kind to me or else i'll cry.

Currently my request are open! so feel free to send promps or whatever! i'm pretty social too, so if you'd like to talk or just ask about anything, just go ahead and hit that button! you can check who i write for here. At the moment i'm writing both +18 content as well as your regular nice fluff, angst, etc.

Please interact accordingly. More fandoms to come soon. Have a good time bby! x

ps: Credits to chimiyaa resources on deviantart for the nice thunder and the pink thingy you see in the first image.

SOLDIER BOY

ᓭི༏ᓯྀ nuclear seasons, [+18 mdni ] — he was friend’s with your mom. friend is a understatement cause when he appears in the middle of the night looking for revenge in your little apartment in the suburbs, you know he’s far from being nice.

HOMELANDER

ᓭི༏ᓯྀ holy terrain!!!!!! [ +18 mdni ] — when you arrive to vought’s tower covered in blood, you certainly don't expect to enjoy john’s comfort after feeling so numb.

FRENCHIE // [ RECASTED TO DEV PATEL ]

ᓭི༏ᓯྀ mountains at midnight — after a failed relationship, serge knocks on your door half baked / half bleeding-to-fucking-death.

QIMIR // THE STRANGER

꩜ drabble — qimir taking you as his acolyte.

꩜ dreamseeker — it all started when you find out he’s alive.

CARMY BERZATTO

☆ loveseat [ +18 mdni ] — after being in a relationship with carmen, you cannot help but being extra judgemental when it comes to food.

☆ drabble [ +18 mdni ] — it's just the best pie he ever tasted.

BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

⋆౨ৎ˚ ࣪ over the moon — when your husband starts to stay up painting till late you start plotting a good plan to make him go to bed with you and actually rest instead.

[morelikeravenbore]

🦋 AU WIP in which Aurélie was the New Fifth Year (and hated every minute of it lol) [250 words]

Aurélie was absolutely positive that if the Sorting Hat had tried sticking her in Slytherin house, she would have packed up her things and left Hogwarts the very same night she'd arrived. Having just transferred from Beauxbatons, the ordeal of wearing a manky old hat while a thousand-odd British children gawked at her had been bad enough, but if that Hat had declared her a snake and condemned her to living in the dungeons —

Thankfully, she'd been spared the trouble of arguing her way back to France when she was proclaimed a Ravenclaw, and it was with much relief (and a perfectly executed side-eye to the Slytherin table as she passed) that she'd joined the Eagles with their flattering blue-and-bronze uniform and their bright, airy common room in a tower.

Unsurprisingly, she'd discovered fairly quickly that members of Slytherin house weren't exactly the most well-adjusted among the student body: Ominis Gaunt, Heir of Slytherin, aristocratic to the bone and about as welcoming as a viper in a chicken coop, took every chance he could to openly and vocally criticise her; Imelda Reyes, Quidditch captain, competitive to a toxic degree and unapologetically distrustful of the French, took Aurélie's inexperience (and, quite frankly, disinterest) in Quidditch as a personal insult, and Sebastian Sallow —

Well, Sebastian Sallow was the type to drag you down to a secret room in the deepest, darkest recesses of the school and wasn't particularly sympathetic if you happened to have a deep-seated fear of the dark.

Sebastian Sallow was unforgivable.

[breanime]

Hey! How are you lovely ? I wanted to submit this one for the drabble gif thing if you're still taking it (With Frenchie obviously,I miss this sexy madman 🥹) Best wishes and thank you very very much (either you do it or don't ☺️)

Frenchie was watching you when you woke up. You blinked, eyes squinting against the imposing sun...

...and the pain.

"Hey," you greeted him, voice soft.

"Mon couer," he sighed out, "You should be resting."

You reached out and put a hand on his face, his dark eyes were haunted, and you knew he hadn't slept at all. "So should you."

He gave you a weak smile, "I don't deserve rest. I don't deserve you."

You sighed, letting your hand fall from his face. You'd been attacked last night while Frenchie and the boys were out hunting down supes. It was, as far as any of you could tell, unrelated to their mission. "You couldn't have known this would happen," you say gently.

"I should have," he said, he hugged his pillow as he laid on his chest, staring at you, "I know better than most what this city is," he continued, "what people do," his eyes were hollow, and you watched a tear trickle from the corner of his eye, "I should have protected you."

"It was a random mugging, baby, it happens every day, it was just my turn this time."

"I should have had something in place," he swallowed, "Mon couer, I am a fool. I have plan after plan after plan for my work with Butcher, but when it comes to my personal life, I am careless," he reached out and gently brushed two fingers over your bruised eye, "MM has told me time and time again how important it is to keep my loved ones safe, and what did I do? Nothing," his eyes glazed over, "I am nothing."

You couldn't stand to see him like this anymore, you sat up and pulled Frenchie to you, holding him against your chest. You were wearing one of his T-shirts--he had wrapped you in it when he saw you, bloodied and scared, last night. He took care of you--and now it was your turn to take care of him.

"You have never been nothing, Serge," you said, one hand rubbing his back and the other on the back of his head, fingers thrumming his soft hair gently, "You are everything. And not just to me. Where would we be without you, hm? Think of Kimiko and Hughie, all you've done for them. Even MM, he gives you shit, but he adores you, we all do. Hell, Butcher's mean ass depends on you, like I do, and do you know why?" You asked, moving to cradle his chin, forcing him to look at you. "Because you are a rarity. You're a ray of light in the darkness, you're smart, you're funny, you're sexy," you smiled at the small upwards twitch of his lips at that last comment, "And you're kind. What happened last night was not your fault."

He swallowed again, nodding.

"I love you, Serge," you kissed him gently, and he sagged against you, wanting to be closer, "Now I need to hear you say it."

He looked at you with wet eyes, "I love you, mon couer."

You smiled, "I know. But that isn't what I meant. I want you to say that what happened to me wasn't your fault."

Frenchie paused, and you gave him a moment, just rubbing his back as he stared at you. Finally, he spoke, and you saw that spark come back to his eyes, that gleam that betrayed his dark genius, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He gave you a small nod, then he spoke, "It wasn't my fault...

...and it will never happen again."

************************************************************************

Thank you for reading! Lemme know what you think! Frenchie is gonna commit some murrrrrrrders! And honestly, good for him!

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Christmas Drabble Advent Day 6 - Pretty Present

This is Day 6 of my Christmas Drabble Advent. The full masterlist can be found here > Advent Masterlist

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader (Frenchie from (Un)bearable)

Summary: Soap wanted to tie up his pretty fellow Sergeant and unfortunatley for you, he swayed you. Now you're completely at his mercy.

Warnings: Smut, shibari.

“Fuck…!”

You took a harsh breath and opened your eyes to the smuggest sight you’d ever seen. Soap grinned widely as he kissed and bit at your thighs, hands keeping busy as they finished experly tying you with the red and green rope he’d insisted on using. 

The vibrator he’d strapped to you was really taking it’s toll. 

“How’s that then, puppy?” Soap said lowly. “Good aye?”

“It’s…I-“

You were cut off, too caught up in a moan to answer. 

“Dick!” You grunted. “Too much.”

“You can take it,” he cooed. “So pretty for me all wrapped up like that.”

[fortheizzyhandsenjoyers]

Ouizzy Drabble Hours

Izzy craves this. Needs it, even.

Edward has been off lately, more so than usual. He's left Izzy shouldering more and more responsibility. Instead of leading his men, Edward has taken to shutting himself up in his quarters where opium now hangs thick in the air. Edward burns the candles low, so they flicker dim, cast shadows on the walls. The orange glow makes Edward's eyes look sunken, the black irises glint and glimmer but stay empty somehow. It's eerie.

Izzy deflects every question, crushes any worry before it can fester, redirects the crew's attention away from the Captain however he can. Even if that includes making port. The men are all excited to return to the Republic of Pirates. Except Ivan and Fang who Izzy has assigned the duty of restocking. They're a reliable sort, as best as Izzy can hope for, anyway. And Izzy is not doing it this time. Instead, Izzy has plans.

Because Izzy has gone far, far too long without this, allowing a tension to build, to coil tight in his chest. He needs release.

Izzy steps into the brothel with intent, on a mission to find exactly what he's looking for.

The Madame approaches him, grinning, "Well, you look a man who knows what he wants. Tell me, which of my lovely ladies has caught your eye?"

Izzy's gaze stops on a man. He's tall, dark-skinned, playing an instrument at the end of the bar.

"Him," Izzy tells her.

The Madame glances back at the man and her face twists up in a frown.

"I'll pay double," Izzy tells her, "Triple, even, if you keep it quiet."

She blinks at him in surprise, then smiles. And Izzy knows he's won.

"Aye, that can be arranged," she gestures to the stairs, "Let me show you to a room and your…suitor will be in to join you shortly."

Izzy simply nods before following the woman deeper into the brothel.

Frenchie doesn't do this. Right, okay, he works at a brothel. But not at the brothel. He just plays music, to set the mood, and sometimes serves drinks. He's not, you know, a brothel employee. So when the Madame approaches him, Frenchie is shocked by what she says.

"Got you a client, lad," she tells him.

"What?" Frenchie blinks at her, "Like a private show or something?"

She sighs, "Not quite."

See, Frenchie needs money. Told her that, too, when she hired him. He needs to get out of the Republic of Pirates. Only thing stopping him is the fare.

"Man said he'd pay triple," she tells Frenchie, "Half is yours if you do as you're told and stay discreet." 

Frenchie's not naive, knows exactly what she's offering. His stomach flips. 

It's not that he has anything against that kind of thing. All his friends are whores! Just. You know. It's different, innit? Working alongside whores does not a whore make. Doesn't make much money, either.

"He's upstairs waiting," the Madame pats Frenchie's arm, "The room at the end of the hall, love."

She doesn't wait to hear Frenchie's answer. They both know what it's going to be. Frenchie used to think that freedom would come with choice, opportunity, the whole world at his fingertips. Such a stupid little thing he was, back then.

Frenchie tucks his lute behind the bar, sneaks a shot of rum, and heads upstairs.

[teastainedprose]

No Bad Dogs

Scenes brewing in my head. Kimiko finds a curious stray dog. (It's Homelander, lel)

He snarls and bares his teeth, foam flecking away as the dog barks. He's rage and bristling fur, a full on warning to not approach. Don't come near. I bite.

Kimiko can see this, but she doesn't shy away. She knows exactly how he feels. She's been in the exact same place as him. A beaten thing, kept half-wild and on a chain now free. She'd raged and rampaged, then hidden away until Frenchie found her and coaxed her out. 

Slowly. Softly. Kimiko wants to do the same with this frightened dog.

He's not a bad dog, just a scared one. Kimiko knows this too well.

She's quiet, dropping down into a crouch before the golden dog, slow and patient.

There's nother warning growl from the dog with ears pinned back, but he doesn't lunge. He doesn't dare step closer because Homelander knows who she is in a vague way, even if she might not know him in this form. One of The Boys, the female. A supe like him but she works under William of all people, despite his endless loathing of supes.

He doesn't know if his durability persists as a canine and isn't willing to risk it. Kimiko could twist his neck and crack his spine in two if he's only a normal dog now. Homelander knows that much.

"He is a good dog?" Frenchie asks, head cocked to the side. "A good dog for you." He clarifies, expression brightening as Kimiko's eyes light up in response.

She nods, fingers quick to agree as she signs. Not bad dog. Only needs kindness.

Frenchie nods back, gaze moving from Kimiko's hands back up to her face. "You'll take care of him then. We will get some food. Leash and collar. Maybe some toys, no?"

[aurorawritestoescape]

HOT FOR YOU || Joel Miller x f!reader || 530 words

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, face fucking, f!masturbation

A/n: this drabble, inspired by the pic above, is written for @toxicanonymity ‘s Manspreading Olympics. Love you, friend💖 hugs to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

same couple - HEATWAVE collection || MASTERLIST

Joel and you are enjoying a light breeze in the backyard, trying to seek relief from a heatwave, and avoiding being inside your house that turned into an oven thanks to a broken AC.

“Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you doing it on purpose?”

“What?”

“Showing off your cock?”

“No. What?” He’s blinking at you, brows furrowed with confusion.

“Then close your legs,” you nod at his shorts, not covering much because of his wide manspreading. “I can see your cock peeking out. It’s staring right at me.”

Joel looks down, shifting his thighs a little, but not closing them.

“Ain’t a big deal, baby," he scoffs. “It’s just a dick.”

“Yeah but I can’t just look at it and… not feel… you know… stuff.”

“Ohh,” a smirk is tugging at his lips, “is my naughty girl getting all hot and bothered?”

“Unfortunately, yes. As if it’s not hot enough,” you complain, trying not to look at his dusty pink head.

Joel narrows his eyes, getting quiet, and you know it’s a bad sign. He’s scheming.

“Ya ain’t innocent yourself, missy. This tank top of yours? I can perfectly see your pretty tits and perky nipples. Ya understand how hot it is to watch your boobs jiggle when you move? and what about these shorts, huh? Fuckin’ tiny. I can easily imagine you not wearin’ them at all. Actually I’m imaginin’ it right now.”

His lustful gaze makes you sweat even more. Your chest starts heaving and you gush, squirming in your seat, listening to him talk about your body like that. Your wet pussy already aches.

“Yeah? and I can see your cock twitch.”

“Oh, really?” Joel’s brows shoot up as he adds, “Can you see it get hard, baby?”

You tilt your head, noticing the motion.

“Yeah, I can.”

You cross your legs, chasing any pressure on your needy cunt, and dart your tongue out to wet your lower lip.

Joel’s eyes turn a shade darker and he palms himself.

“You’ve made me hard, dirty girl. Wanna help me out and suck my cock?”

You swallow loudly as his sexy low voice and the filthy words send a new wave of arousal through your body.

“It’s too hot, Joel,” you whine, hating how horny he’s made you in this goddamn heat.

“Right… Then let me fuck your face, baby. Just sit on your knees for me and I’ll do all the work.”

Joel’s puppy eyes make you pliant and even more needy. He rubs his cock over the shorts and a low groan escapes his lips. Now you’re overflowing with desire.

Not saying anything you get up, peeling your sweaty thighs off the chair, and kneel between his legs. His bulge is huge and you place your hand on it and stoke the warm lump gently over the fabric. Joel growls and soon impatience takes over him. He gets up, tugs the waistband of his shorts down and his hard cock springs free in all its glory.

Joel cups your cheek, holding you in place, and slowly inserts his hot tip into your open mouth.

A minute later you’re nothing but a moaning, drooling mess. Keeping you steady with his big hands on your temples, Joel’s plunging his length into the heat of your throat, sliding in and out easily, while your quick fingers are working your puffy clit and you get off, sucking Joel’s juicy cock.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!❤️

same couple - HEATWAVE collection || Masterlist

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @fruityreads

[ham1lton]

THE PRINCESS DIARIES!

pairings: charles leclerc x reader.

faceclaim: jennie kim.

summary: it’s one thing finding out you’re the crown princess of a small country. it’s another thing to figure it all out while ignoring the totally hot monegasque ambassador.

author’s note: if you liked this let me know via ask or leave me a tip! <3

— loosely based off of this drabble.

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liked by bestie1, bestie2 and 73 others.

yourusername: au revoir paris <3 thank u to my university for sponsoring the trip. i definitely do feel a lot more cultured.

view all 20 comments

bestie1: where are all the clubbing pics? the hot guys?

-> yourusername: my MOTHER is on here.

-> theeartist: honey you know i support your coming of age endeavours. it’s natural for a girl your age!

bestie2: u look so cute babe!!

-> yourusername: thank u 😋 feel like a real frenchie in my beret 🥖

otherfriend: smart girl!! so proud!! 💗

-> yourusername: i love u 😻

classmate: yn miss u!! are u coming back after this?

-> yourusername: no :( i’m visiting my nan in genovia!

-> classmate: so jealous omg. bring me back a souvenir.

-> yourusername: ofc !!! 💕

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by vogue, newyorkermag and 3,737,893 others.

royalwatch: the genovian royals surprised us at their annual ball as they unveiled the crown prince’s daughter. arriving in a custom vera wang gown, she immediately found a kinship in the thai princess and introduced herself to all of the guests.

view all 1,727,838 comments

user1: where tf has she been?

-> user2: she’s apparently the prince’s daughter with a commoner but as he has been diagnosed with infertility they are scrambling to introduce her to the public to secure their lineage.

-> user1: even royal families can be messy omg.

user3: she’s so pretty!

-> user4: like oh my god! serving the public and serving face.

-> user5: genovians are just super pretty in general.

user6: she is so elegant. MY princess!!!

-> user7: tf u mean YOUR princess 😭 bro ur canadian.

user8: the dress is gorgeous omg.

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the ball is very boring, even with your new found friend.

she chatters on and fills the emptiness with noise but you can’t help but think about how this is your life now. you’re a royal. you’re a princess. no more meeting up with your friends, no more trips where you’re a nobody and definitely no more boyfriends. your grandmother had grilled you on your life when you first arrived, asking you about your grades, your love life and your aspirations.

“princess yn?” you hear someone ask in an unfamiliar accent. you look up to see an attractive man, slightly older than you, with wavy brown hair and a smile. “i’m glad i managed to meet you. it seemed like you were the talk of the evening.”

“did it?” you smile. that was a first. “i’m very sorry, i didn’t catch your name?”

“charles leclerc, i’m the monégasque ambassador to genovia.” he nods. “it’s a gorgeous ball. i never get old of them.”

“you’ve been here a lot?”

“i practically grew up here. my father was the previous ambassador, my grandfather before him and my great-grandfather before that. genovia is practically in my blood.”

“you know genovia more than i do.” you bite your lip as you look away. you’ll be ruling a kingdom you know nothing about. charles would probably do a better job than you would. “funny huh?”

“it’s a lovely country. i would like to show you around if your schedule permits.” charles smiles again. “if that isn’t too forward, your highness.”

“not at all.” you smile. “i’d love that.”

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by messyass1, messyass2 and 2,837,938 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: newest addition to the genovian royal family, princess yn, 23, was seen canoodling with the monaco ambassador to her country. charles leclerc, 26, spent half his time between his home country of monaco and the other half in genovia. apparently witnesses of the couple say they were ‘laughing like an old married couple’ and it seemed like they’d ‘been together for years’. they dined at a local restaurant before leaving in the royal motorcade. however, apparently it goes against the rules for an ambassador to date a princess.

what do you think about the newest royal scandal, ham1ltons?

view all 1,027,838 comments

user1: girl omg. you’ve been in that family for what??? a MONTH?? and ur already getting in scandals 😭

-> user2: it’s the commoner in her, disgusting 🤮

-> user3: bitch u a commoner too? tf?

user4: IDC!!!! she can date whoever she wants!

-> user5: rules are meant to be broken 😻

user6: making this some sort of forbidden love thing is really selling this for me. also i just googled charles and he is HOT!!!

-> user7: i can be his ambassador 🤤

user8: she’s acting like a whore. ew? this isn’t princess behavior.

-> user9: stfu mwah 💕

user10: it’ll be fine. genovia and monaco can work it out on the remix 💗

user11: has this ever happened before?

-> user12: i researched it but it doesn’t say. i think this seems to be the first of its kind.

user13: i love them together sorry.

user14: so will and harry can go clubbing and no one gaf but charlesyn go on a DATE and that is grounds for concern?

-> user15: like harry wore a nazi suit go focus on THAT instead of two people walking around the country they LIVE in.

-> user16: they could never make me hate u charlesyn 🫶🏼

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by ham1ltonshaderoom, messy1 and 1,837,939 others.

royalwatch: it’s been six months since the leak of the relationship between genovian princess yn yln and monaco-genovian ambassador charles leclerc. this is his first public engagement since the photos surfaced.

showing up at the le mans race for the award ceremony, he wore a dark suit and was accompanied by his team. onlookers said he was very sweet and gracious but didn’t comment on the incident.

view all 892,882 comments

user1: not him getting off scot free? where is yn?

user2: he looks soo good omg???

user3: have y’all heard the rumours he’s a social climber?

-> user4: okay and?? i’d do it for the cheque too!

-> user5: like if i got a chance to marry a hot sexy princess i’d do it too tf 😭

user6: why is everyone making this a big deal! like literally who gives a fuck.

user7: GOD TAKE ALL OF CHARLESYN’S SCRUTINY AND PUT IT ON THE BRITISH ROYAL FAMILY PLEASE 🙏🏻

user8: why would he make a comment on it? they did nothing wrong? can two young people not date?

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

SIX MONTHS AFTERWARDS.

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by vogue, genoviaroyals and 4,072,321 others.

royalwatch: a new royal wedding for ambassador charles leclerc and princess yn yln? the genovian royal family’s representatives have released a statement confirming both the couple’s romance and their engagement. the royal couple are reportedly very excited for their future and hope you all support their relationship!

view all 1,883,939 comments

user1: charles never beating the social climber allegations 😭

-> user2: and he’ll be KING and u will all be losers 😹

-> user3: he actually won’t be king! when yn becomes queen, he will be given the title of prince consort. mostly because a king outranks a queen.

-> user2: user1 and he’ll be PRINCE CONSORT and u will all be losers 😹

user4: she’s sooo gorgeous my god!!!

user5: sexiest royal couple ever. they brought sexy back not that justin timberflop.

-> user6: this will ruin the tour.

-> user7: what tour?

-> user8: THE WORLD TOUR 😒😰

user9: AHHHHHHHHHH when they get married pinterest will be BOOMING.

-> user10: i can see the edits already.

-> user11: this is OUR princess diana and prince charles wedding.

user12: FUTURE QUEEN YN YLN and some guy.

user13: so obsessed with them actually.

user14: who cares about these boring losers. willkate gagged these flops.

-> user15: not u going on like this is some sort of kpop stan war??

-> user15: but ur WRONG. charlesyn outsold those fugly brits 😹 STAY MAD!!!!

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @aliciaablueprint @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @theblueblub @marshmummy @23victoria @ourlifeforchaos @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @tsireyasgf @landososcar @yongi-lee @maxlarens @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo (charles specific tags will be added to a reblog!)

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

[magicalqueennightmare]

It's the Heat

Billy Butcher x Reader

It's the hottest summer in years and the safe house Frenchie's contact handed over to the boys has no air

It's just a smut(ish) drabble

You turned over for what felt like the millionth time. You appreciated having a safe place to crash until Grace could help all of you out of this tight spot but for the love of christ they couldn't have thrown in a singular working air conditioner?

The one fan that had been alloted per bedroom was the only thing keeping what little sanity you had. MM had his own room, Kimiko was in with Frenchie, Hughie was with Annie and that meant you were stuck with Butcher.

"For fuck's sake,if you flip over one more time I'm kicking you out of the bed" you groaned hearing his voice behind you. "It's feels like the seventh circle of hell in here" you turned to face him and the bastard was laying back across the bed with his eyes closed. He'd shed everything down to his boxers,no wonder he wasn't complaining.

You were wearing a tank top and thin cotton pants but they felt like they might as well have been made of wool. He opened one eye and smirked "Strip down. Fan feels pretty decent when nothings stopping it" you knew he was purposely fucking with you but the idea did sound promising.

You shrugged and lifted your bottom off the bed to wiggle the pants off your hips, you cut your eyes at Butcher to see he now had his head propped up on one arm watching you. The look in his eyes told you he didn't mind the view and honestly the fan did feel better already. Butcher was a lot of things but you knew you could trust him to the extent of not touching without consent and well you'd gotten dressed in front of the entire crew before so you figured why not and pulled the tank over your head and tossed it to the floor along with your pants.

"Fuckin hell" he muttered and you cut your eyes at him "Something wrong Butch?" He rolled his eyes "The heat is diabolical" you nodded, closing your eyes as the fan rotated in a pitiful attempt to cool your bodies "I'm tempted to go sleep in the tub but either I'd wake up pruney or Frenchie would toss ice cubes in for shits and giggles"

"That's an idea" Butcher mumbled so you cut one eye at him "What?" He just smirked and got out of bed. He glanced back over his shoulder before stepping into the hall.

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

A few minutes later Butcher walked back into the room carrying a plastic bowl and sat it down on the nightstand "How bad do you want to cool down?" Ok that made you curious "Pretty bad but not sell my soul bad" he smirked but this one was one of those that made your stomach flip. "Cmere luv, let me help ya out"

He sat down on the bed and leaned back against the wall before patting between his legs. You worried your bottom lip with your teeth for a second before moving over and getting comfortable with your back against his chest "How's this supposed to help" "Trust me" "Said the devil to Cain"

"Funny" he leaned up to grab something out of the bowl then told you to close your eyes. "I will stab you if you fuck with me Billy" you warned and he chuckled "Love a woman that doesn't mind a little maiming"

----------

You closed your eyes and after a moment felt something cold hit your neck. A light gasp escaped you but as it moved further down your neck with Billy's fingers working to ease the muscles trying to tense from the cold a moan slipped from your lips from the pure relief the cold brought to your heated skin.

"Sounds like you're enjoying yourself so far" he teased and you wiggled closer into his chest "I didn't exactly say stop" "You're fucking bossy" he scoffed before grabbing another ice cube out of the bowl and continuing down your chest. When his large hand cupped your breast, teasing the sensitive mound with the ice, your breathing quickened just a bit.

His mouth was close enough to your ear you could feel his lips brush your skin when he whispered "Want to keep going?" You turned to look at him, your lips brushing lightly against his as you spoke "Please"

He moved the ice to his left hand to free up the right one to grip your chin "I got ya" he spoke right before the ice teased across your other breast, making you arch into his touch "Fuck Butcher" the relief from the heat was beginning to mix with the pleasure from him teasing your now hardened nipple with his fingertips.

He leaned closer and you met his lips halfway. The kiss was tentative, teasing but made you moan lightly when he rolled his tongue against yours. You felt his fingers dip under your panties, the cold sting of the ice prickling goosebumps up onto your skin.

He broke the kiss and you knew from the look he gave you that he was asking for the go ahead so you let your legs fall apart further "Glad this place didn't have air conditioning" he chuckled as his fingers slipped down further.

You walked out of the bathroom the next morning, dressed in a pair of shorts and a tshirt. You were looking for your sneakers and Frenchie because he could do pretty decent dutch braids.

You walked into the kitchen and Hughie cut his eyes up at you over his cup of orange juice as Annie said "How'd you sleep?" You felt like you were missing the joke but you shrugged "As well as I could with the heat" Frenchie laughed from his place at the stove "I'm sure it was hotter with Butcher on top of you"

You felt your cheeks warm as they all started laughing even Kimiko and MM. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse Butcher walked in behind you "Who said I was the one on top?"

[toxicanonymity]

raider masterlist

dark!Joel x f!reader | updated: August 29, 2024: calling him daddy

moodboard by @milla-frenchy 🖤 a rb will not stay up-to-date.

SUMMARY: He's a bad guy, and you're his good girl. Joel saves you from bad men, but claims you for himself. His persona starts to crack, but he gets even more possessive. You're his world, and he'll do anything to keep you. Emotional slow burn but smut the whole time. WARNINGS: 18+ canon-typical violence, noncon via implicit threat, evolving to enthusiastic dubious consent (stockholm syndrome), depraved use of praise and pet names (sweet pea, baby), unsafe P in V, exhibitionism, extreme possessiveness, dark fluff (🖤), angst, and more. NO USE of Y/N, No physical description of reader.

Spotify: raider, sweet pea (smut) Optional reference: trailer floor plan

Carter masterlist

main story

Note, non-bold links in this section were written out of order and may contain spoilers or references to future events. their placement in this list is based on timeline.

Raider: (Mar 24, 2023) - He "saves" you, then has his way with you but is kinda sweet about it. Joel POV (Oct 3, 1k)

Failed Rescue (Apr 8 - 1.9k) Your bf tries to save you. Joel makes him watch then keeps you.

Stash House (Apr 11 - 850)- Joel takes you to the stash house and shows everyone you're his. Wash Bin 🖤 (Aug 27, 1k) Shooting Practice Drabble(Jul 28, 1.6k)

Failed Escape (Apr 23, 4k)- Joel saves you from FEDRA, bathes you, amd edges you.

J. Miller (May 19, 2k) - Joel labels you with his switchblade and claims all your holes. dark. Can be skipped.

Home (May 29, 1.3k) - Joel makes dinner at home, cleans your chest, and tucks you in. 🖤

Company (Jun 9, 2.2k) - Joel brings home a girl to distract his men. dark. Extra Scene - angst.

Close (Jul 3, 2.7k) - close call with other raiders. You-almost-died sex, and later, tender sex 🖤

Gun Hug (Jul 31, 3.7k) - Joel traps 2 bad guys with some help and kills them while you. . .🖤 If you want him (1.5k) - he holds out to see🖤

Night Air (Aug 30, 3.5k) - Joel is brutal with a bad guy and his POV reveals some feelings. 🖤 Bonus blurb, wakeup pwp drabble

Hunger (Sep 29, 7k) - Joel takes you on a trek, comforts you, kills a guy, and gives you head. 🖤 He's only human (1.1k) - 👱‍♂️Carter POV, overlaps w/ hunger.

Bodies (Dec 3, 7.8k) - Strangers show up and cause a shitstorm, but Joel takes a big step. 🖤 Raider POV

No cliffhangers. Bulletin from Tox

more (drabbles, etc)

🔥 smut

Trying to use him (800) (riding) 🔥

House meeting drabble 🖤

You get sick at night drabble 🖤

He goes down on you (oral f) 🔥

If you touched his scar

if men had hurt you in the past

if you got your period 🖤

magazine and makeup 🖤

yoga pwp drabble piv 1k 🔥

boots drabble (oral f receiving) 🔥

graveyard blurb (spice)

if you bit his arm drabble (p in v) 🔥

If you snapped (emotional spice) 🖤

face sitting on sofa 🔥

being bad, looking good (2.8k, smut) 🔥

Van ride drabble (800) 🖤

sleeping beast (<1k), PWP 🔥

If Joel was sick 🖤

If you were annoying

cutting his hair 🖤

waking up on top 🔥

tired 🖤

waking up on top again 🔥

Sweet pea overhears Joel 🔥

Choking on his dick (600) 🔥

his birthday 🥺

if she called him daddy 🔥

Note: not all content is linked. Asks can lead to lore, snippets, and previews or hints of future plot points, etc. which are not added here.

Headcanons (not written like fic)

If another man has his way (Q&A)

dacryphilia - evolved update (Q&A)

if you had scars or tattoos (Q&A)

👱‍♂️raider carter Qs, face claim (Q&A)

sweet pea by herself

If you sketched Joel and Jack

Apple picking 🖤

Responding to a Nightmare

accidentally hurting her

Analysis (#raider!analysis)

why does he keep her

why did he snap (in Company extra scene)

his eye contact

his affection / feelings, trajectory 🖤

falling for sweet pea

his self hate and her feelings

the dog and joel's concern for you

awareness of growth / why keep her

Raider Tommy

Birds of prey (2.6k)

Art, etc.

Mattress by esquire magazine

Stitches by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

collage by @milla-frenchy

lose control edit by @survivingandenduring

🌸 sweet pea mood boards by various

6 month collage by milla-frenchy

6 month cake by not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

🌸 sweet pea cosplay from night air

👱‍♂️carter mood board by @romana-after-dark

pts. 1-3 rb mood boards by @iamasaddie

night air gif by not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

raider/sweet pea collage by milla

sweet pea's pup by @dark-scape

want it that bad gif by @dark-scape

Bodies gif by not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

👱‍♂️carter mood board by milla-frenchy

Then and now drawing by @romana-after-dark

Raider/sweet pea drawings by @lumoverheaven

our stars moodboard by milla

raiding edits by gasolinerainbowpuddles

under the anger by iamasaddie

🎥 Trailer (video) by @carminepoison

birthday sketch by @lumoverheaven

In love w raider by @milla-frenchy

✨ checks that you're ok 🐺 by milla

If I've left yours off please lmk I prob tagged improperly

Back to Joel Masterlist

Fic recs: other raiders

🖤 If mine or another writer's work has inspired yours, it's always better late than never to share / shout-out 🖤

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Little Kreature (The Boys Drabble)

Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader (only indicator for gender is the phrase 'atta girl') / requests are open

Summary: The mission goes well and Butcher's found a surprise for you.

Fic type: fluff (gore mentions).

The Boys: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Oi, love," you hear Butcher call from the other end of the hall. "Come take a look at this, eh?"

You roll your eyes but do as you're told, wandering down the hallway, streaking your fingers along the walls and trailing them through the blood that was splattered up and down and all the way across the eggshell-white walls. Well, they were eggshell. Hmm. You think you like red better.

You reach Butcher, giving him the side-eye when he gives your ass a slap and an accompanying "atta girl."

"What, Butcher?"

He nods his head towards the opened door, and what you see when you look inside has your jaw dropping open in shock.

"Don't you say I do 'nuffin for y'ah," he groused, checking down the hallway to make sure no more guards were coming up the stairs.

It's almost startling, seeing the spotless room when you've just waded through the guts of about twelve people splattered across every surface you could lay your eyes on. Yeah, you were the one who gutted them all, but still. What could you say? It was a gift.

But right there, sitting on the edge of the bed, was a puppy. A little speck of a thing, all soft-eared and floppy-skinned. He was precious, and the way Butcher was looking at you- you knew he'd already decided you could keep the thing.

"Oh, aren't you a precious little baby," you cooed, wiping the blood off your hands and onto your jeans before you reached out for the puppy to sniff your hand. His little head flopped to the side and you just about melted right then and there.

"Oh, Billy, look at him," you pouted, turning around and showing your boyfriend-cross-boss-cross-situationship the baby in your arms.

"Yeah, yeah, cute little cunt, ain't 'e?"

When you stood there content to coo at the thing for another however long, Butcher grunted, fingers shifting around the trigger on his handgun. He wanted to leave now that you'd taken out the Vought exec and her guards. Clearly, she was a fan of dogs. It almost made you feel a little guilty. Almost.

"Right love," Butcher said, deciding you'd both dicked around long enough. "Let's get this show on the road, eh? We don't want to be here when they send more supes to figure out what's happened. Grab y'er pup and let's boogie."

"Sir yes, sir," you replied with a flirtatious wink before making your way back through the blood-soaked home and out the door where MM and the others were waiting for you, guards and mission all but forgotten.

Now you only needed to pick a name for your little friend.

"How about Kreature?" You asked the pup as Frenchie opened the van door and ushered you inside, Butcher hot on your heels.

"Whatever you want, love," came Butcher's voice, assuming you'd been speaking to him.

Kreature it was, then.

[cryptfile]

Hii!! Can I request frenchie from the boys x f! reader, maybe she's patching him up after a long day? <33

yes,,, thank you for this from the bottom of my heart, might went above with what you actually asked, but whatever, i’m living my best and just rolling with it.

⟢ mountains at midnight, [ frenchie x f!reader ]

summary — After a failed relationship, Serge knocks on your door half baked / half bleeding-to-fucking-death.

warnings — angst, some smooches, it's implied that reader is in her twenty-somethings, filthy mouth, frenchie is in loOOoOve here, some fighting, fluff in the end, usual the boys content aka violence, blood, drugs, mentions of murder, infinite sadness, if you’re a medic you might hate me, little nina is a warning herself.

side notes — hi lovely people on the internet! first things first: i've recasted frenchie to dev patel cause fuck zionists, also loved writing for frenchie, been writing about gen v on wattpad but this? a whole different level. word's on the street my ass latin, so you know now english is not my first language and if there's any mistakes is my own fault being just a girlie out here,, comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated and very much loved! thank you guys so much for the support.

It’s way too late when you hear the knocks on your door.

You’re not used to receive visitors in the middle of the night. Your friends know you hate people to show up uninvited so it’s almost a non-spoken arrangement: You sell the weed to afford med school and they keep you out of trouble.

So you can’t stop yourself from thinking the absolute worst when you hear the noise in your front door, already cursing cause you don't have these expensive cameras that allows you to watch who's outside: What if the police knows you’re selling weed? Worse. What if Vought discovered all about your nice ability of astral projection? Just the thought of it makes you grab the bat, trying to find something to defend yourself with as if it’s going to work against someone as powerful as Homelander.

When you open the door, it’s something similar to seeing a ghost.

Cause that's what Frenchie is to you. A fever dream you must experience after being so tired, after exhausting yourself with the damn residency. You've been doing turns lately in the hospital and you are drained all the fucking time, too many hours standing and trying not to fuck it up it’s now passing you the check.

But when he talks. Jesus fucking Christ, when he talks, you just know it's him in the flesh, stopping the world for a minute — "Bonne nuit," he says all normal like you understand more than just the basics of French. "Long time no see, mon ami."

How does he still remembers your address? How did he managed to get to your apartment when you explicitly said you don't want him anywhere near you? Your heart skips a beat when you're realizing the blood covering his shirt, the dirt on his skin, the bruise forming in his eye: he's injured.

It makes sense soon after, why he's there outside your place, surpassing the locks that protected the building and are supposed to keep people like him out yet, failed miserably. You let out a scoff, taking mental notes of talking about security to the building manager tomorrow.

"You need to go to a hospital, there's also a vet clinic a couple’ blocks away, both do the work" It's tempting. The thought of closing the door in his face after he was a complete asshole with you last time you saw him, but you cannot bring yourself to be cruel, to leave him standing while he seeks for somebody to stitch him up. — "Told you not to come here, Frenchie."

He's different now. He has now cut his hair in a different way, split lip while he pouts like he has loose a huge fight. He looks better, more composed even, but you don't let it slip while you look at him, debating if he won the fight he was involved in or if he just managed to escape, as usual, always in danger.

"Please," he says placing his hand in the door frame like he just read your mind, preventing you from closing the door. "Need your help, mon docteur."

When he looses balance you know shit's for real, quickly grabbing him by the waist as you take one of his hands to place it in your shoulder. He smells like blood, sweat, and weed, and it takes a minute for you to get used to it, being so intense at first when you hold him close to you that it stays with you even when you help him lay in the couch, already knowing it's going to be stained forever.

Fuck's sake. It's not physically possible to say no to him.

You hate him from the moment he's inside. Hate how he has you now all stressed looking for everything you need to prevent him from bleeding out on your couch, still trying to understand if you're worried about his well being or if it's actually about the fact that he could die in your apartment with good grams of weed well hidden, leading you to arrest under micro-trafficking and possible murder charges.

And when you see the large cut on his stomach, you know exactly why you guys didn't work out in the first place, why his way of living was so different than yours trying to keep a low profile, not used to get in trouble with superheroes, usually surviving. You hold your breath in as you notice the situation, his body bruised, blood spread all over like it was a medal.

“The person who did this didn’t do any harm to your organs” you say inspecting, lucky bastard. “But you're gonna’ need stitches.”

"See? I’m gonna' be fine, docteur" he says almost trying to keep you steady while you took the new-moon-shaped needle, that damn nickname you hate with all your guts. You know he would not come if it wasn't absolutely necessary, his gaze following you like he cannot possibly believe he's talking to you again after all that time promising not to. "Not planning to die on your settee."

"You're high" it's not a question but more of a statement. "So please, shut up if you are really not planning to die tonight."

You’re struck by his accent, the way he combined the words so easily while you worked on stitching his skin, finally stopping the bleeding as you can breathe in peace. Med school has been awful, but at least you can do decent stitches even under the dim lights of the lamps, looking at your work almost proud moments after.

Handled him like a fucking pro.

You seem to forget about the contact, being trained to be a doctor has hit deep down now that you can keep professional at all times, but for Frenchie, even after being pretty much stabbed, he managed to fill his mind with memories of you while your cold fingertips close the cut, to think, once again, that he does not deserve you at all, your meeting being a mistake he wouldn't do all over again.

He stills hallucinates about when he met you in your second year of university, selling weed in your campus parties making a pretty good list of clients for yourself. He remembers being so mad at you for stealing possible clientèle at the time, he was planning on beating your ass and scare you out until you didn't dare to sell at all. At least, that was the idea until he notices his potential nemesis. You.

He talked about the situation with Little Nina convincing her he could take care of the problem, but in reality, he chooses to make you his problem instead. You were just a twenty-something med student that stayed up late at night and sell plain weed in order to afford some stuff he knew you needed: How could he be aggressive with you?

He's almost whipped before even talking to you, after following you for a while without you even noticing, he's studying you like you're, indeed, the enemy. And when he finally talks to you in that stupid party, you finally seem to notice he's not there for a nice business, not when he's pulling you aside from all the noise.

You both are so different it's annoying, however, fits so good must be a curse.

You managed to work out the next couple of months, split the clients, the money, and there were no suspects until Nina found out and killed one of your classmates in response, leaving you surrounded by cops and detectives and a profuse sadness that never seemed to go away.

Frenchie is pretty sure you're one of the best thing he used to have in his life, utterly convinced that he must remain far from you after years of not talking to you, yet, he's unable to do it much longer. Maybe it's the weed, the fever and the pain all combined together, but when he noticed he was close to your place, he choose to seek for your help instead of turning to his teammates.

He's no good for you. Even after not being around Nina and changing completely. He's simply no good for you.

You work in silence, unsure of what to say at first. Your breathing is steady as you cover the wound with bandages, neck sore already after keeping the same position over the minutes without sleeping much all that week. Frenchie doesn't whine even when it hurts, making it easier to work with as you check other injuries.

When it comes to the split lip, you know it's going to be a thing.

"Thanks for patching me up," he says while you press the alcohol revealing a much smaller wound that you'd actually imagined, mouth's always bleed tons. "I'm just sorry for showing up so late, mon ami."

Inconsiderate. Your eyes dart the movements of his upper lip while he speaks, trying to clean the blood while it moves with no victory.

"Please talk to me princesse" he says soon after, crazy by your silence — “Please.”

Your eyes narrow in response, looking at him while inspecting his lip. “How did you manage to get so damn fucked up?” You wished you didn't ask, because you already know how he got it, how he was working now for a whole different group doing suicidal missions all the time, heard it from a close friend.

He stays silent for a while, and you cannot help but roll your eyes in response. You’re used to it, to the lack of information and the blatant lie he always used to tell just to reassure you, so instead, you continue cleaning his wounds with alcohol, pressing the gauze with less patience now that he regained the color of his skin. You’re simply not doing it anymore.

“Just stay still so we can do this fast enough” you say tired already, having to deal with him even just ten miserable minutes results in a classic headache.

Silence. You are dragged by the current into an awkward silence, inspecting the stitches and the bruises that now appeared in his skin. He’s warm to the touch in spite of the blood loss, and you cannot help but worry about his well-being deep in your mind, hating him for it: The guy disappears however he wants to, and now has the fucking nerve to show up like nothing ever happened? God.

It’s impossible to keep quiet for the next two minutes, specially when you notice he’s biting the inside of his cheek like he’s stopping himself from saying something stupid — “What?”

“Nothing,” he responds, avoiding your gaze. "I know you're mad at me, docteur."

"I'm pretty mad at you, you're right" you admit in a low voice, finally taking your utensils to the kitchen sink when you finish, cursing when you notice you got blood on your shirt. "That's why you're waiting an hour before leaving. Not involving in whatever is going on in your life right now.”

His pained expression makes you almost regret everything you say. He knew he deserved it, but it didn't stop him from being miserable when he hears you, the cold words lingering in the air as they repeated in his mind over and over again.

"Sober up. Leave after."

It's almost a command, and he hates the sound of it, far from the way he wanted you to command him in reality, the sound of your voice making him shiver. He hates every second of it, remembering why he kept far, giving you space to continue your life without him in the picture.

It stings on Frenchie’s chest, and you try to keep your pride high enough to not think about how much you actually missed him, how you're done with him after moving on at least twice since the last time you saw him, staring at the blood circling in the drain.

"I'm sorry, mon ami" he says when you pass close to him, grabbing the dirty towels as you search, in your mind, for ways to make miracles in that sofa, and you believe him for a second when he grabs you by the wrist, cause deep down you just want him to be sorry for all the shit he did, the lies, the danger.

You just started to sell weed again recently, and his sudden visit makes you so damn uncomfortable: You don't want to take anyone's clients, you learned that the hard way. "I'll never be able to make it up to you docteur, not even in a million years. Je ne voulais pas te faire de mal."

You don't fully get what he says, and you blame it on that fucking app that's been teaching you french all along, you don't even dare to look at him until you think you can handle his intense gaze, now burning in your cheek — "Created this huge mess just to leave me alone to the fucking wolves."

“And there will not be a day I won’t regret it.”

“You’re not going to be able to make it up to me even in a century, Serge.”

It happens all so sudden after, when he pulls you down slightly, enough to press the palm of your hand flat against his chest, the feeling of his heartbeat giving you straight up chills. It’s beating so fast you’re sure it’s abnormal, the expression of his face almost begging you to have patience with him, that he just needs you beyond explanation.

“Don’t call me like that,” he asks, and you’re just standing there, so fucking close, looking at him slightly blushed.

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t mean anything to you, coeur. Like we’re strangers.”

“I don’t know you, at all” you admit in a low voice, and it saddens you to say it out loud — “I don’t think I ever did.”

God. You don’t expect it, you don’t expect the visit, the way he enters to your life again through the main door, dissolving you completely. You don’t expect any of it, it catches you by surprise without giving you any time to even prepare yourself.

He somehow manages to make sit down close to him, composed now that the he’s not bleeding-to-death. And fuck, it takes a minute for you to adjust, to notice what you’re actually doing, the feeling of his hand holding your wrist making it impossible for you to leave, to even put some necessary distance, his breathing changing as you got closer.

“We’re not strangers, mon docteur, never would when my heart beat that fast for you. To me, you’re the most real thing in my life” he’s smiling, and you can’t help but look at him amazed of his way of always change everything around. “It’s visible you don’t want me here, but I cannot stop myself from coming every single time, tu me manques, coeur.”

“You miss me, huh?” you ask almost in disbelief.

“You are missing from me,” Frenchie corrects. He knows the world is a pretty fucked up place to be, but he just wants you to be okay, to avoid trouble and just live a regular happy life.

You are willing to reply, to say something about it, about the time you spend hating his ass and missing him at the same time, but you stay silent when you can feel his gaze following your every movement, when he’s the one that puts his free hand on your cheek, his touch being enough to warm up your face, staining your cheeks red.

It’s so intense. The lack of air, the way his eyes find yours in demand of something you already know.

“Please forgive me” Frenchie says, blatant sincerity. “I’m deeply sorry, mon docteur. I’m the worst thing you’ll ever met, and I cannot help but come back to you.”

His words echo in your brain, and you don’t know exactly when, but you lean into his touch, the palm of his hand warm against your cheek.

“Fuckin’ hate you.”

You don’t. You know you don’t hate him at all. It’s quite the opposite, and it weights on your chest as he smiles like he just got his life back in track again, like it’s everything it takes to make him really happy after all that shit he’s enduring day after day.

And you try put some distance between both of you seconds after, but your heart betrays you sooner than you expect and it’s all it takes for him to finally kiss you, a tender kiss at first that freezes you for an instant, his touch transforming in something else — Something your skin has already experienced before, a taste you’ve savoured long time ago. Makes you shiver when you realize how it feels not foreign at all but just natural, like something you already learnt but it’s kept in the depths of your mind.

He’s damanding when pressing his lips against you, and it clouds your mind for a second, a thick gaze that just makes you dumb at his touch. His hands on your hips are pulling you closer without even caring for his damn stitches, and it becomes intoxicating, the need to keep on kissing him, to have him close, you forget about Little Nina, the weed, and almost everything that surrounds you.

Heavy breathing you seemed to understand it all. Nose touching his as you get it. Maybe you do need to talk. Maybe it’s important to keep your guard down one last time. You cannot avoid him much longer, not when your own heart aches in need.

Serge’s like climbing a mountain at midnight: Just impossible.

[pedge-page]

Joel and Preggo Wife drabble after Sarah is born --

- - - -

Shes almost 2 now. Walking and fussy as ever, screaming and crying and refusing everything.

Youre trying to get ready for work but Joels really struggling to get her to settle down for a day with Dad.

"Just put on those sensory videos. There's like fruit dancing and stuff," you suggest while slinging your work bag over your shoulder.

"Oh please. There's no way that stuff works."

You turn on a looped video of smiling fruit and vegetables hopping across the screen, and Joel and Sarah stop screaming and tugging each other's hair for a moment to watch the screen with curious eyes.

She's gone quiet, finally, so a win is a win for now.

"I'll be back during lunch, so hold the fort, ok?"

Joel, with a deadpan face still watching the Banana on TV wiggle side to side, just nods. Sarah sits in pretzel in his lap on the floor, also watching with a blank expression.

You shrug and leave.

After a few hours, you manage to get back home for lunch. Joel hadn't texted you the entire time, so either Sarah somehow miraculously behaved herself, or they're both dead.

Instead, you walk in to find Joel still sitting pretzel on the floor, hypnotized by the TV.

There is no 2 year old present in the room.

"Joel!"

"Huh."

"Where's Sarah??"

"Shes right here," he says calmly, eyes are fixed ahead at the blueberries as he pats the curly teddy bear sitting in his lap.

You put your hands on your hips and walk in front of the TV.

"Hey we're watching that!"

You tap your foot and look down to his lap.

Joel follows your gaze down to the plush and absent child, and immediately shouts "WHERES SARAH??" turning around frantically.

You walk behind the couch and to your relief, find Sarah curled up and sleeping softly. She had made a whole nest of blankets and pillows and put herself down for a nap. She clearly also swiped herself for her teddy bear in Joel's lap while he was entranced by the fruit so he wouldn't notice her absence.

"How long did you leave her like this??"

"Um, I dont know-- I swear she didn't make a sound the entire time. I didn't even notice... You only left like 20 mins ago so it couldn't--"

"Joel I left 4 hours ago. You've been watching the damn sensory video the entire time!"

Joel's face expands into shock. "Wow. That shit works."

-

You drop Sarah off at Tommy's place and Joel warns him about watching the videos.

"What? It's supposed to make her brain go blank. Not us, dude are you serious?" He scoffs.

The next morning Tommy is glued to the dancing fruit video and Sarah slept in his lap the entire night.

He has serious bags under his reddened eyes " You guys are early? Im supoosed to have her the whole night?"

"Its MORNING."

Tommy looks back at the TV incredulously. " How long is this loop????"

- - - -

Taglist:

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[breanime]

For the gif drabbles

"It's fucking distracting, that," Butcher grumbled, flipping through files.

"I dunno, man," MM chuckled, glancing up from the small mountain of papers in front of him, "I think it's kind of cute."

"As a unicorn's arsehole," Butcher drawled, earning him twin looks of disgust from MM and Hughie.

Kimiko took a file out of Butcher's hand and hit him in the back of the head, glaring down at him as she walked passed. The boys watched her plop down on the couch between you and Frenchie as you talked. Wordlessly, she leaned her head on your shoulder, a small smile on her face as she tucked her feet in underneath her small body.

"You see?" Frenchie grinned, gesturing towards the two of you, "How can you be evil, eh? Even Kimiko can tell that you are good, you are one of us!"

You felt yourself smile, despite your misgivings about your morality. But then you remembered all of the things you had done for The Seven, the cover-ups, the bribes, the bodies you made sure stayed buried, and your smile slipped off of your face. "I'm not good, Frenchie," you sighed out, "Helping you guys take down The Seven is just... trying to buy back my soul," you looked into his eyes, the same eyes you'd been gazing into for the last four hours as he tried to convince you that you weren't a lost cause, that you belonged there.

But you didn't belong anywhere.

You couldn't cut it with The Seven anymore, couldn't handle their depravity. But you couldn't just go back to being a civilian either. You were stuck, you were alone, but as far as Frenchie was concerned--

--you were an angel.

"The things I did," you sighed again, looking down at your lap, "just for a check..." You shook your head. "There's no coming back from that. I'm... I'm fucked, Frenchie."

"And what do you think we all are, hm?" Frenchie gestured around the warehouse. "We are fucked, mon coeur. Even the wee Hughie has committed crimes, atrocious crimes, and he is a cupcake!"

"Hey," Hughie whined, "I can hear you, you know."

"Look at him," Frenchie gestured towards Hughie for emphasis, "he looks like a drawing a child would make of a the tooth fairy's cuck lover."

"He looks like wet clay on a stick," MM added, not looking up from his papers.

"He looks like a right fucking cunt," was Butcher's succinct addition.

You couldn't help but laugh, even as Hughie whined at the (affectionate?) insults. You smiled at Frenchie, and you could see how pleased he was with your smile. The way he looked at you... it made you feel... seen.

Adored.

"You belong here," Frenchie said, leaning close, "with us. You are one of the boys now, and we look after our own. You were forced to do things for those fucks in order to survive. We did our homework, mon coeur, we know all about you. Your sick mother, your little brothers and sisters, how you send money home every week--this is not the doings of an evil person, but a compassionate one."

You took in a shaky breath, trying to keep your eyes from filling with tears at his kind words, at the soft look in his eyes, at him so close to you. You blinked, surprised, when you felt a small, cold hand wrap around yours. Kimiko was holding your hand, smiling at you with a look that could be nothing less than affection.

"Join us. Help us, mon coeur. This is where you belong," he reached out and took your other hand, "with us."

Kimiko nodded, silently showing her agreement with that statement. You sat in-between them, all holding hands, and you had never felt more secure or sure that this was where you were supposed to be, who you were supposed to be with.

"Will you protect me?" You asked softly.

He nodded, "With my life."

Kimiko nodded as well, and you smiled.

The decision was made. "I'll stay."

Frenchie nodded, a wide smile on his face, and you felt your chest constrict. You felt the weight of his hand and Kimiko's in yours, and suddenly you felt a completeness within you that you never felt before. And you knew...

...this was where you belonged.

************************************************************************

Not me lowkey shipping Frenchie, reader, and Kimiko...we love a good throuple!

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[gallavichsreddie1128]

Beard (Billy Butcher)

Drabble about Billy’s Beard and Y/N wanting to see him without it.

Word Count: 661

“When’s the last time you shaved your beard?” Y/N asked him. He looked over at her and set down his drink. “Why? Am I not pretty enough for ya anymore?” He jokingly asked. Y/N let out a laugh. “You aren’t what I would call pretty.” She said. He scooted closer to her on the couch. “Then what would you call me?” She set down her drink and shrugged. She leaned back on the couch. “Hot, Sexy, Mysterious.” She listed and he chuckled. He leaned back too and pulled her into his lap.

“No but seriously, when's the last time?” She asked, looking up at him. He was playing with her hair. “I stopped shaving after I thought Becca died.” He told her. Her eyes softened and she felt bad for even asking. Becca was a hard topic to talk about. She was there for him when he found out that Becky was alive and had a child. They weren’t dating yet but she still was there for him. Even when they were dating and Becca was killed she still never made him feel like shit for being upset or crying.

Becca was his wife and probably still would be if it wasn’t for Homelander. She never liked to think of the what ifs and even Billy told her that he loved her now and that he always will. “You okay?” He asked her, pulling her out of her thoughts. She nodded and snuggled into his tummy. “Just curious as to what you look like without a beard.” She mumbled into his stomach. He chuckled and stopped playing with her hair. “Maybe someday, Love.” He told her.

That conversation had been long forgotten about. It had been a month since it happened and frankly she didn’t think about it anymore. Billy was nervous. He had bought a razor and stared at it for some time before he made his decision. He hadn’t done this in years, and had no reason to. But now he did and though his nerves were through the roof about it, he wanted to see Y/N’s reaction. So he turned it on and brought the razor to his face and started shaving. There was no going back now as he watched the hair fall from his face. 

Y/N was in the kitchen making The Boys and herself dinner. The others weren’t back yet from whatever they were doing but should be soon. She hadn’t seen Billy in about an hour. He was probably catching up on some sleep or research, she thought. The door opened and she didn’t bother looking up from the stove as she greeted him. “Hey babe.” She said. He was so nervous to see her reaction, he was hoping that if she was disgusted or didn’t like it she could hide it well. “Hey.” He said. The tone of his voice sounded like he was nervous so she looked over at him in concern. She gasped and dropped the spatula in her hand.

There he, Billy Butcher, stood in the kitchen without a beard. Her jaw dropped as she just stared at him. Shook being the only evident thing on her face. He just looked back at her, waiting for words. “Well, What do ya think?” He asked her, nervous about the silence. She turned off the stove and walked over to him. Her hands cupped his face and felt the smooth skin that she hadn’t touched before. She looked at him in awe. “Oh my gosh.” She whispered. “Do you like it?” He asked her. She nodded. “Yeah.” She said before kissing him. He kissed her back, happy that she liked it. While they were kissing, The Boys happened to walk through the door. “Would you two get a room?” MM asked. They pulled away from the kiss. “Fuck off ya Cunt.” Billy said and the others gasped. “You shaved your beard!” Frenchie exclaimed. Y/N nodded. “And he looks pretty damn good too.”