#hughie campbell oneshot

[hughiecampbelle]

Unornamented (Hughie Campbell Oneshot)

Character/s: Hughie

Word Count: 1,691

Requested: Not requested, but here are the prompts I used :) 13.) Hum, 36.) Scraped Knees 34.) “Still awake?”

Inspired By: Foxglove by Haley Heynderickx

A/N: I love him, I love him, I love him!!!! Anyways, just an appreciation fic for your patience!!! Thank you my loves!! I actually kinda love how this turned out. I think it's very soft and sweet, even a little sad. Heavily inspired by the song/album. Slowly working through my writers block so that once I start posting again, my work will be what you deserve!!! Feedback is always appreciated!! 💜💜💜

The cicada's sharp pitch moves with the wind, seeping through the open window screens. You never knew what that peculiar sound was, the screaming, bleating, wailing, only that it swept through you each night on your long, humid walks home. A kind of begging. A performance. A tongue you have not yet mastered. Shakespearean tragedies, you imagine, wars between families, between forbidden lovers and bitter marriages. Feuds. They step out into costumes covered in ruffles, pearls, thick collars and high stockings. The children dress as fauna and flora, roaring like cubs, nipping at one another playfully. On stage, they are someone else. Largely unseen as the sun sets, they intend to make their presence known. The rest of them, the crowds for miles and miles, sing their songs in appreciation. A hum that vibrates through the leaves, the open air, their roaring praise and applause settles goosebumps across your flesh. They’ve grown accustomed to sweet summer shows and they will be forever grateful. Harmless, they went about their time as you wished to do. No biting, nor stinging. Without violence. They draw out these shows, afraid they will be left alone to bear their lives, their thoughts, mundane and overpowering respectively. 

Beneath you, the springs of the mattress puncture the thin fabric, poking at the spokes of your spine the way a mother would her child. It tickles, her bony knuckles, the sharpness of the spring. Interchangeable. A comfort you have forgotten of, one that fills the cavity of your chest with dread. What else have you forgotten? What else have you given up for a life like this? The sheer curtains blow with the breeze. Thoughtlessly, they move and dance and grab at one another, like sisters. They must be laughing, you think, for they are warm underneath the butter yellow street lights and safe and together. They must be laughing, because they are together and that is who they’ll only ever need: their twin. Leaves rustle underneath the insect melodies. A bass, low and of the earth, the tone of an old man telling stories of his youth. You can hear him smiling. 

The sheets are soft, newly washed, and sticking to you. Wrapped around your torso, your legs free to breathe, kissed by the thick air. Lying like this, with your knees tented, you can see the scrapes across them. Earth scorched. What was once torn open, alive and mouthy, had healed only slightly. The skin is pale and thick and chewy. Shiny. They don’t hurt as much as they did. You’re not sure how it happened, only that it must’ve been recent. There are other aches and pains. Healed and unhealed, bruised and not. Old wounds stitched together. Deep purples, cobalt blues, sickly greens. They’ll yellow soon enough. You were always getting hurt. You were always in some sort of danger. Unwise, you knew, and yet there was something about the thrill. The taste of blood in your mouth. Last time – the last time – you’d almost been sliced in half. Not yet a scar, the settled skin inching its way across your belly remained snakelike. Sensitive, you were careful to wash and dry, to dress and dress again. Your fingertips brush where it rests beneath your shirt. You don’t like looking at it. It remains too much of a reminder. On that day. Of what you were attempting to leave behind. Too soon to joke, to laugh, the both of you still a little rattled. 

It’s how you ended up here. 

There is a body beside you. Not unfamiliar. His skin is warm, and though forgiveness was never one of summer's virtues, you find yourself curling into him, all his nooks and crannies, despite the humidity in the air. His chest rises and falls evenly. His lip is split and there is a scab at his temple. How many times have you kissed that very spot? How many times had you checked on it, to make sure it was healing properly. Free of infection. His shirt is worn and thin and it smells of him: soap and sky and the dinner he burned earlier. One arm rests beneath you, your head, the other thrown behind the pillow, perching it up further. His rest is not easy, not without effort, but there is a certain softness to his features. Maybe it’s the light, the setting sun, the deep, bright blue of the night sky. Maybe not. Either way your eyes follow the slope of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the furrow of his brow. His hair is wild, some of it slicked back. It is his best effort not to overheat. His dreams are still water, not yet broken by growing, gruesome waves. Not yet entering the heart of the storm. It will, of course. And when it does, he will startle awake. Panting. Gasping for air. Clinging to you. 

For now, though, he is quiet. 

The bedroom is cozy. Cozy, you think, is a nice way of saying it’s small. No matter. You had little with you anyways. A lamp. A mattress. You have yet to get a frame, a bedside table. Frivolities. A single dresser you split down the middle, neck to groin. Autopsy-esque. Photos of friends. Notes and doodles. Passports, fake IDs. Enough clothes to get you through the season. You know, when the snow threatens to fall and the cicadas are long gone, you will need more than what you’ve got. The drawers stick and, embarrassed, as quiet as he can, he’ll shake it open. He has done this since you got here. Untethered himself from you, from the bed, gentle enough not to startle you. He’ll dress, and kiss your head, and leave a note: Be back soon. XO Hughie. He’ll disappear in the early morning. Wandering, you suppose. It is the only way he can breathe easily, if he knows where you are. If he understands the layout of the land. You weren’t in the city anymore. The crowds you’d slipped into, becoming just another strange face, were no longer an option here. The hiding places were minimal. Open roads, nothing for miles. The underbelly you could run to for safety, the trains you could crouch into, your hoods up, your faces low, were unavailable. Nonexistent. You’d traded one anonymity for another. You’d pretend to be asleep, watching him, wide eyed, as the morning sun enveloped him. The rays are subtle, not yet full, and they stretch out towards him. Sometimes you’ll fall back to sleep. Sometimes you’ll lie there, soaking in every inch of the room, wondering what became of everyone you’d ever cared about. Wondering if you could make a life like this. When he comes back, he will make you coffee. The only two mugs you brought with you. Chipped and worn. He’ll place his on the dresser, careful with yours, as if it were something precious. He doesn’t voice what he’s seen, what he’s taken into account, but his features are quick to give him away. You will reassure him: he could never find you here. You are both safe. Everyone is safe. The words are hollow, You know this. As long as Homelander is alive, you are in danger. There is only so much of you you can give to him anymore. There is only so much of your mind, your body, your fears, that you can dole out to him. Hughie nods, the steam from his cup bringing color to his face. You will find something else to talk about. The strangers you met on your long walks. The pets you wave to through fences, through windows. The long summer you’ve been granted. How lucky you’ll be when the weather chills and the leaves begin to turn. Anything but Vought. Anything but him. 

That isn’t for many hours, of course.

Your thoughts spread like fog through the apartment. The kitchen (tiny) and the bathroom (even littler). Enough utensils for two. A spongy bath mat. Anything that would fit in the backseat, really. Silly things you grabbed without thinking. The kitschy salt and pepper shakers. A dozen mismatched socks. Only the case of Hughie’s mouth guard. Half a set of slippers. A handful of books. The rest? You would never be sure what happened to them, to anything. You had what the old tenants left behind. The dresser, the lamp, a table for four with three chairs, a shower curtain. There are other things here as well. Spiders in the corners, weaving their webs. Occasionally, you might find one on the bar of soap by the sink, crawling across the counter tops, making its way through the length of the apartment. A mouse or two. If you’re quiet enough, you might hear them scurrying in the walls. Worse, you suspect, though that’s as far as you can name definitively. The first thing he did was get you a mattress. Paid in cash under another name, beaming with pride, he pushed it up the stairs and through each doorway. It was perfect.  The cicadas sing their songs, harmonizing with one another. The sky has darkened. There are so many stars here. That was the first thing you noticed. Driving for days on end, you watched the inky black glitter, thousands and thousands of holes opening up, letting the twinkling light through. It wasn’t like this in the city. It had never been this clear. Perhaps it was the running, the escaping, the tiresome ways you’d been living since you left. Perhaps it was the first beautiful thing you’d been allowed to take in in a long time. There were wildflowers and small towns and houses built long before you, but the time to look in awe, to appreciate, had been so fleeting. Mere moments, that’s all you were allowed. This would go on forever. The scars embedded in your skin ache just a little. You readjust, placing your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Hughie, coming to, wraps his arm around you, pulling you even closer. “Still awake?” He asks in his sleepy voice, and you know he is smiling.

[multifandomfanficss]

A Classic Sick Fic

Hughie Campbell x sick!supe!reader

Prompt: You’re sick and Hughie forces you to let him take care of you.

Warnings: vomit, other general cold and flu symptoms, inability to breathe

A/N: I’m sick and I just want Hughie to hold me and for some reason I’m unable to figure out why there is a criminally low number of fics for Hughie. I think he’s really neat. He is so special to me. Being the change I want to see in the world or whatever. Please don’t judge any typos I’m so ill. I envisioned this sometime during season 2. Let’s pretend Annie isn’t there for a sec. (I love her tho she is my girlfriend and he is my boyfriend and we are all happy and in love in my silly little head.) Crossposted on my AO3 adriansglasses.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hughie asked again, while you coughed for probably the millionth time.

“Yeah I’m fine.” You weren’t fine. In truth your cough and endless runny nose were driving you insane. You hated being sick. You couldn’t stand your body not feeling the way it usually does.

“You look miserable- well not to say you look bad, well you do look bad, but not in the way that- I’m gonna just stop talking before I dig myself into a bigger whole.” He shifts awkwardly.

“It’s okay, Hughie. I feel like shit.” You sigh, well as much of as sigh as your body can let out while your nose is this stuffy.

“Can I do anything to help?” He asks.

A hug. You really wanted a hug, but you didn’t want to get him sick. You also didn’t know how to ask without making it awkward. You didn’t really know what you and Hughie were. You felt like more than just friends, but you’d never talked about it. It was hard when you were on the run from Vought. If you were being honest you couldn’t really even afford to be sick right now. If you were sick, you couldn’t use your powers and Butcher wouldn’t want to keep around a useless supe. It’s already pretty useless enough that you can even get sick. Other supes are bulletproof.

“No, I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.” You fake a smile, coughing again.

“No can do. I never stop worrying about you.” He smiles, but his tone is very serious. A blush creeps up on your face, but it’s easy to mistake your cheeks heating up for a fever.

You start to cough again, but this time it doesn’t stop. You have a coughing fit that leaves you gasping for air. You reflexively reach out for Hughie’s arm. He takes your hand in his, rubbing your back with his other hand.

“It’s okay. Just breathe. Let me help you for once.” He gives your hand a light squeeze. You nod, tears coming to your eyes.

“Trash can!” You yell between coughs. Hughie acts quickly, bringing the trash can to your lap.

“Woah, hey it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He holds your hair back, continuing to rub circles on your back. “Just breathe. Take your time.”

“I’m- so- sorry!” You struggle to get out the words while your hurl into the can.

“Don’t be sorry. You can’t control it. Just let it out. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying to help you through this. I lost count a long time ago of the amount of times you saved my ass. Let me help you. I promise you, I’ve had to deal with much grosser substances for this team than a little vomit.” His calming voice talks you through it, yapping along like this is a totally normal position to be in. Maybe it was. You didn’t know. You weren’t used to anyone caring this much.

“I’ll be right back.” He got up and quickly went to get you some water. You hated being alone, even for a minute, but you gladly took the water. It felt cool on your irritated throat.

“Drink it slowly.” He lets out a soft chuckle, seeing you start to gulp down the water. You slow down at his advice. You know if you drink it too fast you’ll get sick again.

“I’m so fucking tired.” Once you’ve recovered Hughie starts to pull you down into the bed.

“That’s okay. Just rest.” He attempts.

“I can’t. There’s too much going on.” You try to fight your fatigue. Hughie lays down pulling you into his arms. “I don’t wanna get you sick.”

“I’ve got a pretty good immune system. I’m not worried about getting sick. I know our entire world is like kinda imploding, but if you don’t rest you won’t be able to help anyone.” He tries to bargain. You also can’t deny how warm he is, or how your body just melts into his. He’s so comfortable. Laying with him is probably the calmest your brain has felt in weeks. “It’s okay to take a break, (Y/N). Even when the world is falling a part around you, if you don’t stop to take a break you’ll fall a part with it. Trust me. I learned that the hard way. Just relax. Close your eyes. I’m going to stay here and make sure things stay okay as long as we need them to for you to get better.”

You finally stop fighting it and close your eyes. You’re drifting in and out of sleep when you feel Hughie place a kiss on your forehead. Everything will be okay. It has to be.

[geminiwritten]

undercover ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

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

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

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

word count: 6496

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff, “Yeah? How?”

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

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

He scowls at you, “I can be subtle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MM takes two envelopes and passes one to Kimiko.

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

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

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

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

“Brooklyn Williams,” you read aloud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit, Y/N.”

You blush, “Thanks.”

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

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

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

“Nice suspenders.”

He chuckles, “Are we ready?”

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

“Ready,” MM says beside you.

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, “As I’ll ever be.”

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

‘I’m going to kill you.’

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

‘You’re welcome ;)’

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

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

“Yeah,” you mutter, “just nervous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m okay,” you reply, “thank you.”

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

The first spark of fear rattles up your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, “No.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle, “Maybe a little too convincing.”

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

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

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

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

You frown, “What is?”

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

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

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

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

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

He swallows thickly, “Is that so?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure.”

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

He smirks, “Good girl, so responsive.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Was that your mistress?” you tease.

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

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

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

His voice is almost a groan, “Never.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“This old thing? Nah.”

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

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

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

‘We’re here to WORK, not fornicate.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Frenchie?” MM asks.

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

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

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

“Not a word,” Butcher mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

END.

[iluvnewports]

Canary

An AU one-shot of Butcher from The Boys where years after Becca dies, he finds himself fighting his feelings for you and finally gives in. + fluff & angst

minors dni

—

“You were always like my canary, I suppose.” Butcher breathes out painfully as he looks over to you across the console. “I knew when I couldn’t hear you anymore I had gone too deep.”

You have half a mind to slap him upside his head, gripping his stupid beach shirt by its collar to hoist him up from leaning against the door. “Stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re fucking dying.” You place both your hands back on the wheel, making a sharp turn that makes Butcher groan. “You’re going to be fine.” You look over to his blood-soaked pants and his bloodied hands atop it.

“Keep your fucking hands on it, Butcher, Christ.” You look between his hands and the road. You knew it was only a matter of time until his luck ran out and something didn’t go his way. You’re the most wanted criminals in the country for fucks sake, it was only a matter of time. Everyone wants your head.

“Oi, stop fucking shouting, they didn’t shoot my ears out.” Butcher barks at you as you make another hasty turn which causes yet another groan. Serves him right, snapping at you like that, all when you only care about his well-being.

“Just shut up.” You slam on the brakes a little harsher than you should’ve so he lunges forward a little with a pained groan. Pulled up next to the curb, you hastily unbuckle your seatbelt, turning to look at Butcher who’s already staring daggers at you.

“Can’t even let a tender moment stop you from being a cunt, can ya?”

You smile, one corner tugging up further than the other. “There he is.”

You move around to the other side of the car and help the injured man out, escorting him down the steps as he wobbles on his hurt leg. You kick open the door swiftly, though it’s not anything impressive as it is more of a small nudge, heads turning as you two sleuth into the dingy basement.

“Jesus Christ, Butcher!” M.M jumps up from his seat as Hughie looks around panicked, unsure what to do he stands up and grabs the back of his head, mouth hanging open as he stutters.

Kimiko’s brows raise as Frenchie mutters a curse, everyone rushing to their feet to help guide Butcher to the table. He’s practically pulled from your arms and you feel a bit defensive at this, furrowing your brows as you almost pull him straight back into your grip. It’s as if he isn’t as safe unless he’s in your hands.

“What happened?”

“Vought happened.” You murmur, helping Butcher sit down in the chair, his pained groans not particularly worrisome to you until now. You grab his shoulder in comfort, watching as M.M assesses his leg.

“Butcher the bullet is still in there, there’s no exit wound.” He props his leg on another chair, cutting the fabric of his pants around the wound. Blood pools around the wound, his leg hair around it turning slick and red as flesh pokes out around the bullet wound, crimson red flesh peeling like a lotus flower around the gaping hole.

“So, what, you’re going to dig into his leg?” Hughie looks as if he’s breaking out in a cold sweat as he swallows dryly, his voice becoming high-pitched with worry.

“What the hell you want me to do, huh?” M.M raises his arms in question before pointing back to Butcher’s leg. “Just leave it in there?”

“I don’t know—! Shouldn’t we get him to a hospital?”

“No!” You, M.M, Frenchie, and Butcher all say in unison.

“Hughie, go find your nuts, they’re probably hidden beneath your twat, and fuck off,” Butcher says roughly, head thrown back as he winces. M.M is quick to sterilize a pair of forceps, pulling around his spinning chair. He pours alcohol on his leg without warning, causing Butcher to grit his teeth and wail out a “Fuck!”

You grab his hand, your palms clasping together with a squeeze as you cling to his arm as if you’re the one getting a bullet dug out of you. You rub his shoulder gently as your other hand clasps his, watching as M.M digs the forceps into his leg, causing Butcher to jerk and startle. Frenchie grabs his other side, trying to keep him still.

“Be still, Mon Ami.” Frenchie says as delicately as always.

“You wanna swap fucking seats then?” Butcher snaps. He’s always so curt, so rude, and you all just withstand it. Because, hey: that’s just Butcher.

You give his hand a squeeze, signaling him to ease up a little. He only grunts, shooting you a look. He doesn’t say anything, though. M.M continues digging around, tongs deep in his leg as the handle sits at an awkward angle.

“I found it.” He murmurs, squinting his eyes as he pushes the two handles together with a tugging motion.

“Fucking hell!” Butcher curses as his head falls backward, hair falling into his face as sweat beads his chest, which you can see since his top two buttons were popped off. Eyebrows pulled together and eyelids crinkled close, you allow your eyes to wander down his glimmering chest. His pecs are large, which you’ve always loved in a man, even the harsh lamp light making his skin look appealing. He’s just so… rough. In a good way. His body carries stories, tales of the past, tales of how hard his life has been and what he’s carried, what he’s endured.

M.M gives another harsh tug to no avail, causing Butcher to curse again. “Just fucking pull it out!” You yell, feeling nauseated. Not because of the scene, but because it’s him.

“I’m fucking trying, Jesus!” M.M snaps at you, whipping his head up to meet your eyes. “Do you want to try? Since you’re such an expert all of a sudden.”

“I’m just saying—!”

“For fucks sake don’t yell at her.” Butcher defends, which causes M.M to quiet down. Your eyes snap to him, unsure how you feel about it all. He’s always been a bit… defensive over you? It makes you feel almost embarrassed like you can’t handle yourself.

M.M is quiet for a moment as Butcher groans more, shrugging Frenchie off of him with a small “fuck off,” as he stares down the barrel of his leg as M.M grips the handles and slowly pulls out of the wound, presenting a bullet dripping in gore, clanging against the metallic dish he throws it into. The blood flows off the bullet, saline becoming pink as crimson floats upwards in a somewhat beautiful pattern.

M.M is quick to grab his needle and suture as he begins stitching the wound up, murmuring something under his breath as Butcher tilts his head back to look up into your eyes, hazel as beautiful as any moss-covered tree. You feel a chill at your side as your heart warms under his gaze. It’s not completely foreign to you but this time, it’s more intense.

You both pull your hands apart slowly, your touch lingering longer than necessary. You lift your head, noticing M.M looks at your hands and back up to you. He says nothing, shooting a look you can’t exactly decipher, shooting Butcher a look.

Butcher, never one to be the silent type, also says nothing.

“You’re gonna be sore, but you’ll live.” M.M breathes out a murmur, wrapping up his tools into a cloth before discarding the bloodied gauze.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

—

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” Butcher slices his hand through the air firmly, tilting his head and raising his brows as he nods in confirmation. “Right.”

“Butcher, Jesus, it’s just a few days, stop being such a baby.” You collapse onto the dirty couch and tuck your legs beneath you as you curl into the corner. You pat the cushion next to you. “C’mon. That old Translucent movie is up next…” You trail off with a smile. Butcher wobbles closer, groaning as he rolls his eyes.

“I’m glad the old cunt died before he could make a sequel.” Butcher stands nearby, watching the TV. “I feel fine, it don’t even hurt.”

“You’re wobbling, you can hardly walk.” You pat the cushion again, though harsher this time. “C’mon, sit. Even super badass wanted criminals need a day off.”

Butcher groans but eventually walks over and sits beside you, maybe just a few inches away, your legs almost touching. He puts his arm up to rest on the back of the couch almost wrapping around you. The silence is comfortable, endearing.

You turn your head to look at Butcher some minutes into the movie and you can tell he’s deep within his thoughts. A dark place, one you know too well. So you shift your whole body, turning to him as you rest your chin on your arms which rest on the tops of your legs. “Do you remember when we first met?” You ask with a smile.

Butcher leans his head back onto the couch, turning to you with a half-tilted grin. “Like it was yesterday, sweetheart.”

“I really didn’t like you, you know.” You smile softly, looking behind him as you think. “Which is so weird because you’re just so likable.”

Butcher chuckles. “Like you’re some dainty flower yourself?” He scoffs in humor. “Right bloody nerve you must’ve had, throwing a drink in my face. That’s how I knew you had balls.”

“A compliment? Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” You bring the back of your hand to his forehead as if feeling for a fever.

“Oh piss off.” He waves you away, humor laced in his tone even if he doesn’t smile. You laugh and your hand falls to his shoulder, remaining there as you look at one another.

In an instant, all in one fluid motion, grabs you by the back of your head, pulling you into him as he angrily devours you, kissing you harshly as he grips your hair, fingers tangling into your hair as he pushes them along your scalp. His other hand moves to the small of your back as he pulls you into him, still sitting side by side as you kiss.

He bites your lower lip harshly, almost harsh enough to make you bleed, soothing it with the lapping of his tongue before moving to your top lip, moving between the two repeatedly. He’s dominating you already, pulling at you as if he needs you. You couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to. You can feel your lower stomach aching, pulsating for more as warmth bubbles in your abdomen.

He pulls away, breathing heavily as his focus moves across your face. You are beautiful, beyond beautiful, in every state he’s ever seen you. Dirty and tired, bright and happy, pissed off. “I ever tell you how knock-dead you are?”

You get what he’s saying, blushing, but you shrug it off. “You know nobody ever understands what you’re saying.”

He pulls you in closer so you’re flush against his side, holding the back of your neck as he buries his face into the side of it, kissing and nipping at you until he licks up to your ear. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Your face burns as you chew on your inner cheek. You don’t know what to do with yourself, especially when someone compliments you. And Butcher of all people feels so unfamiliar. You let your head fall to the other side, eyes fluttering close as he licks up your neck and nibbles your ear.

Butcher pulls back and shifts himself so he’s between your legs though not putting his weight on you as he drags his hands from your neck all the way down to the waist of your pants, pausing as he looks up to you. “May I?”

You nod, though a bit hesitant. He immediately removes his hands, backing up a bit. “Are you uncomfortable?” His tone is gentle, something you don’t see often.

“No!” You’re quick to exclaim, shaking your head. “No, no. I want to.”

Butcher smiles cockily, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your jeans. “Say it.”

You look at him with furrowed brows in confusion, which he immediately picks up on as he pushes himself back between your legs and leans forward into your lips. “I want you to tell me what you want.” He whispers.

You hesitate, breathing out slowly in embarrassment. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Of course, I will, sweetheart.” He breathes against you as he’s quick to pop the button of your jeans and strip them down your legs so you’re left in your thin cotton underwear. He backs away, looking down at your slightly parted legs, and dives his large, warm hands down between your thighs to spread them wider, craning his neck to the side as he examines you. You sink in on yourself, blushing, the cushion beneath your bare ass is scratchy and you sort of feel bad knowing this is where your friends sit.

You’re wet, leaving a damp spot right center of your underwear. He runs a thumb down over it, making you jerk slightly as he chuckles to himself. “Don’t be shy.” He looks to you as he hooks a finger into your underwear from the side, pulling it away to reveal your glistening slit.

He looks in awe as he stares at you, his lips parting slightly as he absorbs such beauty. He feels hypnotized, wanting nothing more than to fall to his knees and please you for hours until you’re screaming and raw just so he can worship you and his tongue can memorize you, every crevice and curve.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip as he dips his head down and you can’t help it, “What’re you doing?”

“How do you mean?” He looks up at you confused.

“I thought we were just gonna…” You trail off.

Butcher shakes his head slowly, looking at you as if you were crazy. “I’ve been fantasizing this a long time, love.” Truth be told, it gets him off just thinking about making you cum with nothing in return. “And all I really want is your thighs wrapped around my head until you’re hoarse.”

You almost gasp at his forwardness, though you’re not sure what you expected; it’s Butcher, after all. Even his soft side isn’t very soft. You feel a pit in your stomach, you’re sort of scared. What if it’s bad? And then you’ll have to face him, forced to live with him in this shitty basement, knowing that he doesn't particularly know his way around a pussy, despite most of his vocabulary consisting of ‘cunt’ and ‘twat’.

His finger curiously runs up your slit and you shudder, tucking your lips together as you try and quiet yourself. Butcher yanks at your legs so you’re now flat on your back, head resting on the couch as he displays his wet finger with some sort of pride, glistening in the light before pushing them past your lips and pressing down on your tongue. You suck on his finger slowly, a groan falling from his parted lips as he watches you intently.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs, pulling the finger from your mouth and grabbing your chin so you’re forced to look up at him. He leans down to kiss you, grinding against you and you can feel the hardness of his bulge against your cotton underwear.

His finger slips down and rubs circles around your clit as he kisses your open, moaning mouth. Your eyes pinch close in agony at the slowness of it all, feeling the way he wants to draw out each and every second of pleasing you. “Look at me darling, come on.” You open your eyes to see him watching you intently. “That’s it, good girl.”

Butcher slips his fingers down your slit and teases your entrance, causing you to gasp slightly, which he reacts to by letting out a deep breath before kissing you deeply again. His touch leaves you needing more and every sense hones in on it as your back arches off of the couch as he slowly draws moans out of you.

As he pushes in and out slowly, he pushes down on your hips with his other hand, ensuring your stillness for him as he works you over and over. Your underwear begins to chafe slightly as you let out a light moan, looking down between the two of you. Lowering his head down between your propped legs, he kisses between your thighs, and his beard scratches against your skin lightly, almost drawing a small smile from you.

He hums into your thigh before dragging his other hand to scoop beneath your thigh, giving you a warm squeeze, fingers spread across your skin. As he kisses down, he begins leaving sloppy kisses that leave your skin wet, nipping you on the way, breathing heavily against you, ready to burst. His head dips down further, though slowly, teasing you as you buck your hips further.

Eventually making contact, his fingers stall as his tongue swipes up your cunt in a long stride before pulling away and savoring the way you taste on his tongue. He chuckles to himself as your hips jolt, going back down to lick up you again, his large, flat tongue trailing slowly as he runs circles on your clit. You gasp out, sitting up halfway and leaning back on your elbows as you look down at him working wonders on your pussy. His hand shoots up to rest on your stomach, pushing you back down onto your back.

His fingers pick back up again, curling up into you as he sucks on your clit, lapping circles against you as you breathe out a string of moans. Butcher grabs the bottoms of your thighs as he pushes your knee back into your face, exposing you further to him, digging nails into your flesh. As you moan again, he moans against you, causing your sensitive skin to vibrate as you dampen his beard. He devours you as you secrete onto his tongue and he finds you oh so sweet.

Your fingers push into his thick dark hair as you pull at him, wanting him closer and closer to you as he curls into your g-spot. Your back arches, one hand moving down to feel his jaw and the way it stretches to mold around you perfectly, moving up and down to lick you raw. Your moans turn into pants as your chest heaves up and down, every movement of his fingers and tongue pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

He notices this, keeping his fingerwork consistent as he pulls his mouth away, wanting nothing more than to watch you fall apart in front of him as he watches.

“That’s it,” he praises, leaning above you as your face contorts in delight, eyelids falling gently as you breathe deeply. “Just like that, gorgeous.”

His praise pushes you over the edge as the bubble in your lower stomach bursts and you’re riding the high of your orgasm, jerking your hips so you’re essentially riding out the high atop his fingers. It’s a good thing he’s as strong as he is, otherwise, you might feel self-conscious.

Butcher plants soft kisses along your collarbone as you heave out another string of moans, coming to the conclusion of your climax as your head spins in a blur. This doesn’t stop the pumping of his fingers, though, the overstimulation of it all causing you to jerk, your eyes flying open as you smack at his shoulder with a cry. “Billy!”

His fingers stall, not yet pulling out, and you almost gasp thinking you went too far, wanting to kick yourself for ruining the moment. You can’t read his face and you’re half-expecting him to curse you as he pulls out of you, leaving you alone and half-naked on the couch.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes forward as he kisses you deeply, passionately, hand cradling your face as he breathes against you, noses touching as he looks down into your eyes. He pulls his fingers between you too, your sweet slick coating his fingers thickly as he inserts them into his mouth to lick them clean.

You can smell yourself on his breath and you push him back, two hands on his chest as you sit up, pushing him down into the couch. You claw at his shirt, ripping it open with such ferocity and desperation that it rips completely, buttons flying off and clanging to the ground. His chest, god how you could stare at it all day, your hands coming up to scoop and grab at his pecs as you dive down to kiss his neck. You can’t get enough of him, quickly diving your head down to kiss his chest as you lick down his torso, leaving wet kisses behind, biting at him. You bring your head back up and kiss along his pecs, close to his nipple, before you’re stopped by a hand laced in your hair, pulling you backward.

Face to face with Butcher, his hand wraps around your cheeks as he squishes your face slightly, chuckling lowly with a head shake. “That’s not how things are gonna play out sweetheart.”

In one fluid movement, he throws you onto your back, towering over you menacingly as he grabs at your throat. “I ain’t half the bitch you must be used to.”

Your pussy clenches at his alpha-male-esque as he shrugs off his ripped button-down, diving down to kiss you as you hungrily kiss back. Attempting to pull your own shirt off your head, he settles to rip your shirt as well, ripping the collar apart as you gasp a startled laugh into his mouth. “This is my favorite shirt, you know.”

“Oh I know love, and you look lovely in it.” Rip. “But you look a lot better out of it.” Riiiiiip. He pulls the loose, torn fabric from beneath you, discarding it on the floor. You sigh slightly, though humorously.

“You rip mine I rip yours.” He shrugs, dipping back and kissing you as he claws at your back with dull nails, unhooking your bra and pulling it off your arms as he goes down to kiss your chest, all the while he unbuckles his belt to give himself a bit of relief from the hardness within his jeans.

Licking down between the valley of your breasts, Butcher pinches your nipple and rolls it between his rough fingers as he nips at you. You arch your back in delight, gasping at the sensation as he takes your other breast in his warm mouth, flicking his tongue over your nipple before sucking on your breast, now rubbing his hand up and down your bare torso.

Your fingers knit in his hair as you throw your head back in a moan. “Fuck, Butcher.” You’re sure not to push your luck by calling him Billy again, which he’s always hated from us for some reason.

Your body breaks out in chills as his fingers lightly graze your skin, clearly more focused on pleasing you than himself. After giving your nipple a nip, which causes you to jump, you push at him and he hovers over you, lips parted as he adjusts himself in his pants. “Tell me you want it.” He groans.

“I want it. You.” His head tilts to the side. Not good enough.

“I want you to fuck me.” You groan in need to which he nods, unbuttoning his pants as he dives his hand down into the front of his jeans.

Pulling himself out, fuck he’s huge, you feel intimidated as he aligns himself with your entrance, running his large tip along your slit which causes you to shiver. Fuck. Your legs are already shaking.

Butcher places a hand on your lower stomach, rubbing slowly. “Relax.” He purrs, tugging at his cock so precut beads over the top. “You’re okay.”

You nod as you take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he pushes his tip within your entrance, the sudden fullness causing you to gasp as he stretches you out to fit himself snuggly within you. You whine aloud at the sting, shaking your head. “I don’t think it’s gonna—“

“We’ll make it fit.” He whispers a coo, pushing himself in slowly with a slow sway of the hips, moving back and forth in rhythm with what length he’s already accomplished.

You nod, eyes crinkling shut as you push past the burning sensation. It’s odd—it hurts, yet feels so good. Your pussy throbs, a deep ache you never knew had become prevalent, a hunger deep within you igniting as you wish you could swallow him whole. He continues to thrust deeper, laying forward as his chest meets yours, kissing you passionately as he rocks into you, inch by inch stretching your cunt so you’re personally molded for him. He groans into your ear which breaks your skin out into chills, cursing under his breath as he buries his face into your neck, two hands gripping your ass to spread you apart for him and his liking.

His cock hits the sweet spot as he rocks fully into you in a primal need, picking up his pace as he pushes himself above and hikes up your leg against his side, arm scooping beneath to hold it there as he slows himself to a painful pace, cocking his head to look down at your glistening face, sweat beading down between the valley of your breasts as you moan out into the air.

“You were made for me.” He huffs out, throwing his head back with a groan as you tighten around him from his praise. You can feel yourself climbing that same high from earlier, chasing it more ferociously now, his cock ramming into you until the walls of your pussy are raw from the friction. Your other leg shoots up so they’re not hooked around his waist, pulling him into you so you can kiss him because god is he sweet.

You kiss into his open, moaning mouth as you slink your fingers up his rough backside and rip your nails into the flesh, ripping down his back as he slams into you harshly, cursing under his breath. You can feel yourself tightening around his cock, building more and more pressure for the two of you as his hand wands to press down on your lower stomach and the other grips beneath your head, fingers pushing through your hair before bunching it in his fist to tug at as some sort of anchor for himself.

“You’re a fucking succubus, you know that?” He whispers harshly, trying to contain himself as he presses down into your lower stomach, causing your pleasure to tenfold as you moan out, trying to ground yourself as you stab your nails into his back to try and not lose yourself completely.

“Cum for me sweetheart.” He urges, wanting nothing more than to serve you before himself. “I know you’re close.”

You nod, mouth falling slack as you moan out his name, tightening your grip within your legs around his side, feeling his motion and rhythm as if it was your own. You suck in a sharp breath, finally pushed over the edge as he fucks you through your high, filling you with a sort of comfort, playing a game of ping pong with your orgasm; you push onto him, and he only pushes you back. It’s wild and wide, your legs shaking around him as he holds you and fucks you into ecstasy. All you can do is gasp, unable to even speak, feeling as if you are within the heavens themselves. Who knew you could feel so good, especially at the hands of someone so bad?

You feel Butcher’s cock twitching within you as he breeds you, groaning loudly, louder than before, though you can hardly hear him over the ringing in your own ears. He curses a “fuck” and “shit” as he spills himself into you, heaving like a wild animal as he pushes into your with broken thrusts, his cum serving as some sort of slick cushioning from the burn of friction. You can feel his cum spill out of you slightly as he pulls all the way out and pushes back in, both of you breathing heavily as you orgasm together. An unstopping force meets an unmoving object as you two mold into one beautifully, always meant to pass but never meant to stick.

Butcher pulls completely out of you, collapsing onto you as you both breathe as if you had just run a marathon.

You might’ve well have.

“Fucking hell,” Butcher says between breaths to which you nod, heart pounding within your chest as you stare up towards the ceiling, sweat clinging to your naked body feeling tacky and cool as you two gather yourself. Once ready, Butcher lifts himself off of you and pulls his pants up, laying back onto his back as he pulls you into him, resting your cheek on his chest as he rubs your shoulder, body resting between his spread ones.

He kisses your temple, nuzzling his cheek into the top of your head as he runs his hand up and down your arm gently, comforting silence overtaking you two for a moment as you two reflect on what just happened. You crane your neck up so you can look at him.

“You really remember the first time you met me, all those years ago?”

Butcher nods, looking at you and then off into the distance. “Of course I do.”

You adjust your head back so your cheek is to his chest, nodding. “You’re not as heartless as I thought.”

Butcher is silent for a moment, reflecting on your statement. His instinct is to run away from the statement, to retreat and prove you wrong. But this one time, he allows himself to be vulnerable. And while he doesn’t know what to exactly say (he’s never been the best with words), the action of holding you tighter and leaving a long kiss on your temple tells you enough.

“Me neither.”

part two here

[previousloversandmuses]

FREQUENCY: Episode 5 - A Soldier Boy Story

FREQUENCY:  A Soldier Boy Story

EPISODE 5: “Tough Guy”

WORD COUNT: 4438

PAIRING: Soldier Boy X Reader 

WARNINGS: (NSFW) Foul language. Offensive slurs. Violence, depression, and mentions of suicide. ANGST...f-feelings!?

A/N: This story is dark, and covers mature themes. The main character, as well as other major characters, are offensive in nature, and may offend some people. Please peruse with caution, and remember that this is fiction. Reader discretion is advised. Please message me for any questions, comments, or concerns. 

Masterlist | Taglist 

Ben was significantly older than Countess when they first met. A fresh young vixen, she was a delicious new addition to Payback. With her cherry red hair and seductive looks, the ever impulsive Soldier Boy could not resist. She had always reminded him of Rita Hayworth, a fuck he would never get out of his mind for years to come. A fuck that was stuck with him until Russia, at least. 

It seems like a lot of things stuck with him until Russia, including his love for Countess. He did love her then, he really did, although he had difficult ways of showing it. He was never faithful, and she knew that, but accepted it due to the fame that came with her position on the team. She would never let anyone jeopardize that. See, in comparison to Ben, Countess never loved him. She hated him, to say the least. Thinking back on it, all the shit he put that woman through, he really couldn’t blame her. 

The best day of that woman's life was him being sent away. Her and the rest of the team celebrated for weeks. Although, that was obviously short lived. Payback was nothing without Soldier Boy, and Vought already had the second coming incubated in a lab somewhere on the East Coast. 

All this being said, his hatred for everyone in his pre-Russia life was elevated tenfold. He fantasized about the demise of these people for years. It's the only thing that had gotten him through the countless eternity of torture. By the time he was freed, and able to get back at everyone who did him wrong, their violent fates gave him an excruciating hard on. He hadn’t been happy since.

When the nut job freed him a second time, any hope he had for his future had been thrown out the window. With Vought, the CIA, Homelander, and the limey fuck to worry about, he was sure this would be another short lived emancipation. But she was thoughtful, and organized, and had made him a damn good deal. A family? For him? That’s all he’d ever wanted. Back in the day he had been blinded by sex, drugs, and rock and roll, but thirty years of enslavement gives you a lot of time to think. A good woman to settle down with, a few kids, a sprawling plot of land? Now that was a dream. But he knew it would only ever be a fantasy, and that the powers that be had it out for him. Maybe this was his punishment from God, or the Universe, or whoever the fuck. He deserved it for all the bad he's done. He just hopes he can make it up to whatever blood he has left in the world. 

He keeps her up all night for a week. He must have nightmares, because all he ever does is whimper, and moan, and toss and turn. She has ear plugs, but those are no use because she can’t fall asleep to the sound of her own heart beating, it freaks her out. 

The two of them had been working around the res the past week, and hadn’t seen much of each other. He told her not to worry about him giving away his identity. Said that he’d keep his mouth shut, and he didn’t have much to talk about these days anyway. He was too exhausted to begin to try and make friends. He was getting a few winks between nightmares, then having to go work out in the hot sun all day. This was the first time in his life he was ever expected to do manual labor. His body could handle it, sure. But his mind was fleeting, and he could barely recall what day it was. 

She’d run errands with the ladies as he worked out in the yards. One day they took the kids to a Best Buy an hour away in the closest city. She spent some money on herself and splurged on a pair of headphones. All the stress of him made her forget her immense love for music. She also wouldn't mind being able to drown him out as she tried to sleep. 

She loves music, probably more than anything else. Yes, it was better hearing it live, especially a classical orchestra or opera. With the way her ears worked, she was able to hear every strand of string on a violin as it vibrated into the floor, only then to feel the sensation wrap around her nerve endings like a warm hug.

John used to fly her on top of Lincoln Center and sit with her as she laid on the roof and listened to the symphony below. She would have a soft smile on her face, putting her hands up in the air, and moving them around to the music. She's sad she’ll never get to experience that again. She wouldn’t be surprised if the whole building got burnt to the ground after he realizes she's gone.  

Before she leaves the store, she makes sure to grab a speaker as well. Thinking of Ben, she's sure he’d find comfort in the songs he used to listen to back in his prime. 

After this week, their schedules would be less compact. With all their training complete, they’d begin to see more of each other again. They hadn’t had a normal conversation in days until she finally wakes up after sleeping in. Her first day off in a while. Her headphones worked their magic. Not a peep out of him all night. 

He stands in the kitchen, fiddling with the burners. He has a carton of eggs out on the counter with some butter and an old skillet. He turns to her as she emerges from her room. 

“You slept late.” He states.

She smiles at him, walking right next to him and fixing the dial on the stove. The gas ignites and a little flame appears. He watches her as she reaches behind him and grabs the pan, placing it over the heat. 

“And you’re up early for your first day off.” 

He steps back, resting himself against the counter in the kitchen. He lets her take control of the cooking. She steps in and begins to make him breakfast. 

“How do you like your eggs?” She asks. 

He chuckles, “fertilized.”

She rolls her eyes at that, disregarding the statement. She cracks a few into the pan, pulling out a spatula, and mixes them up. 

“You’ve been having nightmares.” She states, testing the waters with him. 

He stiffens at that, scoffing. 

“I don’t have nightmares.” He counters. 

“I hear you at night.”

He falls silent at that. Fuck. He thinks. He forgot about that. 

“Well, you’re probably hearing things.”

“Oh I’m hearing things alright. Whimpers and screams and moans and groans-“

“Enough.” He says. “I don’t have shell shock, fuck you.”

She reaches into the cupboard pulling out a plate, and scraping the now cooked eggs onto it. She hands it to him, as well as a fork. He looks down at them. Perfectly made. 

“Nice to see you can do something right.”

“I can cheat,” she smiles. “I always know the internal temperature.”

“Whatever the fuck that means.” He sits down on the couch and begins to chow down on his breakfast. 

She moves near him, going to turn on the TV. An old rerun of “Solid Gold” begins to air on screen. Funnily enough, this was the episode with him in it. 

“…and very special guest, Soldier Boy!” Exclaims the announcer. 

Then comes a monotone, unenthusiastic rendition of the already awful rap from Blondie's “Rapture.” Freak begins to laugh. All the while, he looks at it with pride, continuing to enjoy his breakfast. 

“Out of every song you could’ve picked, you chose this one?” She giggles, moving to sit opposite him on the couch. 

He scoffs at her, gesturing his hand up to the TV in frustration. 

“People told me I did that song some justice. Obviously something good came out of it, otherwise why the hell would they be airing it thirty years later?” He argues. “And what do you know? All the music I’ve heard from this day in age is all horse shit.”

“Yikes, someones angry. That bruise your ego tough guy?”

The music video changes, now showing Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance”. 

“Look at this shit,” He says. “Morals just flew out the window the moment I got sent away, huh?”

“What do you know about morals?” She jokes. “Plus, this is one of the greatest songs ever made. You just missed out on the progression of music that got us to this point.” 

“She looks like a fucked out mental case. Wearing strings to cover her jugs and pretending to rub her pussy.”

She grimaces at him. 

“God, do you ever hear yourself talk? You’re repulsive.”

He nods to the screen. “Yeah, well, so is that get up.”

She looks over to him now, narrowing her eyes. 

“And you know what?”

“What, nut job?”

“I actually have incredible taste in music, thank you very much. And speaking of, I went out of my way to buy you a gift. Make your time here a little easier on yourself.”

She runs over to her room, grabbing the Best Buy bag and bestowing it to him. 

“What the hell is this?” He asks. 

“Open it, idiot.”

He digs in the bag and pulls out the speaker, or what he thinks is the speaker? He can hardly tell. 

“Blueteeth wireless speaker?” He reads slowly, like he’s mentally challenged or something, she thinks. 

“Bluetooth, you big idiot.”

He nods his head at her with recognition. Smiling. 

“Ah I remember the scrawny one talking about this. I thought he was pulling my leg!”

She grabs it from him, pulling out her phone from her pocket, and pairing it. She places the speaker onto the coffee table in front of them and pulls up a music app. 

“Any decade in particular tickle your fancy?” She asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“What are my options?”

“Everything.” She states. 

“What does that mean?”

“It means everything. I have access to all the music ever on here.”

“What, on that thing?” He reaches his hand out to inspect her phone. 

She hands it to him reluctantly. 

“Technology has come a long way since walkmans.”

He looks it over, flipping it around in his hands. He presses the side button which turns on the screen. 

“How do I use it?” He asks, furrowing his brows. 

She smiles softly, moving to sit closer to him. Unlike his old self, he stiffens up in her presence. Her cold arm rubbing gently against his. 

“I don’t bite,” She says. “Here, let me see it.”

He hands her the phone and she leans in further as she shows him how to unlock it with a passcode of numbers. 6969. 

“Real mature.” He says, holding back a laugh.

She opens the phone up and pulls up Spotify. 

“Any requests?” She asks. 

“How about… Neil Young.” He decides. 

She sighs. 

“Okay, so it has everything but Neil young.”

“What the fuck!” He yells. “Why?”

“An issue with Joe Rogan. You wouldn’t know him. He does a podcast.”

“A who cast?”

“Ugh, nothing. Story for another day.”

“Alright in that case… what about Sinatra?”

“Nice choice.” she smiles, typing his name in. 

“You like him?” He asks innocently. 

“Very much so. His voice is the best on the ears.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Any song you like?”

“You pick,” he says. “Been too long.”

She thinks for a minute, then selects “The Way You Look Tonight.”

She stands up as it begins to play, setting her phone down on the coffee table, and going into her room. He watches her from the couch, a gleam of recognition in his eyes as he recalls the song lyrics. She leaves the door cracked. He can see her bare back as she changes shirts. He looks away quickly, not wanting to pry. Strange for him again. It’s like he’s become a different person. He’s acting like a boy, yet to be deflowered. He's angsty, and moody. Worst of all, he thinks he may have missed her company while he was working. All that crazy can leave an empty hole if gone for too long. 

She struts out of her room, slipping on a pair of turquoise earrings. He looks up at her. Her jeans are loose, and worn. Her belly peeks at him through her cut off tube top. She didn’t do herself up too much, maybe swiping on a coat of mascara and spraying on some perfume. 

“​​Some day, when I'm awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you

And the way you look tonight”

“Where are you goin’?” His mouth is dry. 

Why does he hope she invites him?

“We’re going,” She corrects. Thank God, he thinks. “Go fix yourself up.”

And so that afternoon, the two of them venture off with the rest of the res’ young couples. There had been a big farmers market in the nearest town full of cute stands, and things to waste money on. Of course, the moment they get there, she leaves him in the dust, running off with the rest of the girls. 

He and the guys, completely uninterested in whatever the fuck any of the stands had to offer, walk over to a craft beer food truck, and sit outside of it at the picnic tables. He wants to kill himself now, he thinks. Another eon of listening to what these guys had to offer. Good thing they never had anything to ask him.

“Hey Ben,” Fuck him gently with a god damn nuclear warhead. “Where’d you say you were from again?”

He shifts uncomfortably at the table, pulling his beer up to his lips.

“Philly.” He says, reaching into his pocket to grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

Thirty years ago he would have been entertaining this whole group. If Compound V helped him do one thing, it was being able to schmooze like nothing else. But he has to stay cautious. He doesn’t know what the fuck there even is to talk about, so he usually doesn’t talk at all. And even if he did know what to talk about, apparently everything he says is offensive. Including the name of the group of people he was hanging out with, the Indians. Thank Christ Asher was there, at least he didn't have to stick out like a sore thumb.

“And how old are you again?” 

One-hundred-and-three.

“Forty.”

“How’d you meet Freak? You a supe?”

He looks around for her, beginning to sweat. His chest is hot. This is bad. This is really bad. She’s halfway across the market, not paying attention obviously, or else she would already be booking it over here playing damage control. 

“We, uh, have some mutual friends,” Not really a lie. “And no, I’m not. What about you guys?”

Please God, anything to get this conversation off of him. 

They all start laughing. SB pulls a cigarette out of the pack with his teeth, grabbing his lighter, and inhaling. 

“No, none of us, we fuckin’ hate Vought. We hate all supes. Worst thing to ever happen to America.”

“You think so?” He exhales, not bearing to look any of them in the eyes.

“We know so, see the Elders may like them, cause they were brought up worshiping American heroes like that cock-sucker Soldier Boy--”

Ben chokes on the smoke, gasping for air, spiraling into an impressive coughing fit. Really? He could breathe in mustard gas like fresh air, but not this? Plus, major bruise to his ego. Thank God he wasn’t in the mood to put anyone in their place or else he’s sure he would've broken someone's neck by now. One of their hands comes up behind him and starts patting him in the back, anything to get him to stop coughing. Kill me now, he thinks. He can get through this on his own, he's no pansy. He doesn’t need help, especially at the hands of a man wearing black nail polish. 

“Freak is an exception, she hates Vought more than we do.”

The group nods to that, one of them adds; “They fucked us over a long time ago. A whole tribe got killed because of their carelessness. Those cowards had to send Soldier Boy to do their dirty work…”

His ears begin to ring. Fuck, he thinks. I did do that. He hardly remembers. Unfortunately, that period of time in his life was a giant blur-- a giant fuck up. He had thirty years to marinate on all of his awful mistakes, terrible choices…He thinks, if he could take it all back, he would. But he can’t-- He is the monster under the bed-- or was. Although at this point he's more like a ticking time bomb. Instead of a thought out attack, or a planned assassination, all someone has to do is play the wrong radio station, and he could blow the whole city to the ground. 

In contrast, Freak and the other res ladies look mindlessly around all the stalls, gossiping, chatting, being girls. She has already gathered a hefty bag of things she doesn’t need, but wants desperately. Goat milk soap, opal rings, Turkish towels, fresh strawberries, (free of pesticides, which she can always taste.) The rest of the ladies begin to walk over to a lemonade stand, leaving herself and Ama to admire the gorgeous tribal prints made by a local native. 

“Maybe I should get one for the trailer, it’ll give it some life.”

Ama hums, looking down at the print.

“I didn’t know Ben liked tribal art.” She states.

Freak begins to feel uneasy, looking over her shoulder to Ama with squinted eyes. Didn’t know Ben liked tribal art? Why wouldn't he?

“Who doesn’t?” She counters, putting the print back down on the table and beginning to walk away from the stall. Ama trails behind, looking around mindlessly. Like she's trying to hide something. In fact, she knows she is, her blood pressure is 130 over 80. 

“Well, last time I checked, Soldier Boy wasn’t the biggest fan of indigenous people.”

Freak whips her head around, grasping onto Ama’s arm, and pulling her into a corner.

“Will you keep your voice down?”

“Why?” She asks, getting louder. “Don’t want people noticing you’re housing a fucking murderer on the reservation?”

She holds a finger up to her lips, trying to clamp her hand over her mouth. The both of them disappear behind the nearest building. 

“How did you know about this?”

Ama shakes her head, scoffing. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t? It’s not like the two of them look exactly alike!”

Freak looks down, taking her hands and rubbing them on her face.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Freak?” She grills. “I mean, he's fucking evil for Christs sake! He’s everything we all hate about Vought! He killed our people. He's a monster.”

Ama searches for her eyes, but Freak can’t bare to look at her.

“Are you two even together? Is he here to kill us? Were you both sent by Vought because of Wahkan?”

“No, no, and no!” She argues, raising her voice. “I would never do that to you.”

Freak looks around again, checking to see if anyone followed them into the alley.

“Look, you have to promise me you aren’t going to say anything.”

Ama laughs at her, beginning to storm off.

“You have a lot of nerve saying that to me after you brought him here. You’re all the same. Like a disease. You all only care about yourselves.”

Freak rushes behind her, grabbing onto her wrist, yanking her back over and pushing her up against the wall, pinning her there. 

“Ouch, you’re hurting me!” Ama whines.

Freak rolls her eyes, “You’re fine, stop being dramatic.”

She checks over her shoulder one more time.

“I need you to listen to me, and you cannot be blinded by bias, okay?”

Ama tries to pry herself from her grip, but Freak tightens up.

“Promise me! It’ll just be a minute, then you can take what I said and do whatever the fuck you want with it.”

Ama stops resisting, and stares at her, waiting for her to start. Freak sighs.

“This summer there is going to be this huge celebration for a new chemical that Vought created. Everyone will be there. All the top executives, all the investors, all the scientists, politicians, supes, you name it. They are all gonna be there, in the middle of nowhere, at this giant mansion that used to belong to Vogelbaum. Look, I tried everyone. I asked John to help, I asked Butcher, and Starlight-- they all said no. And trust me, I was persistent. The only thing I had left to try was Ben, and I didn't even know if that was going to work. But, his past aside, he is eager, and willing to end this once and for all. To get back at all these monsters that fucked us over. I mean, they ruined him more than anyone else. He was the first supe! They sent him off to the Russians, who literally tortured him for thirty years! If there is one person ready and itching to get these assholes off of his back, it's him. He is the only way. I can’t do it alone. I’d never be able to get a bomb in there without anyone noticing. It's him, it’s always been him. Please, trust me. I would never put any of you in danger.”

“You put us in danger the moment you brought him here!”

“I have everything under control. I can hear John fly around New York from here for Christ's sake!” 

Freak lets her go. Ama begins to pace around, holding her hand up to her mouth, she starts talking to herself. Working out the whole situation in her head.

“He's an a-hundred-year-old ticking time bomb, for starters…Although, it is safer with them here for the time being, if someone were to come attack…Ugh but he's also probably ridiculously closed minded…but we could work on that…we could work on a lot…He hasn’t done anything yet…he’s helping…and being respectful…”

Freak nibbles on her nails as she watches her think. Suddenly, Ama stops, turning to her.

“Okay, first things first; if you ever pull some shit like this again you have to tell me beforehand.”

Freak nods, “noted.”

“Secondly, me and the rest of the res are ready to help you end these mother fuckers once and for all.”

She shakes her head, “No, Ama, I appreciate the offer but I can’t let you do that.”

“You can and you will, that is my only exception. You let us help you do this, so there are absolutely no mistakes, and so I’ll never have to worry about this kind of shit ever again.”

Freak sighs, “Deal.”

The two of them walk back into the market with eased tension.

“So you aren’t dating him?”

She scoffs, “No, Ama. You said it yourself. He’s not the greatest person in the world.”

Ama smiles, “I’m sure you’d argue he’s no worse than you are.”

She shrugs, taking that into consideration. Despite the constant lack of regard for modern social norms, he really isn’t that hard to be around, or that hard to look at. Plus, he understood her suffering like John did, and even that was a quasi-relationship at some point. And he did agree to help her, but that was after she lied to him about the reward involved. She wonders if he’d ever do something like that to her. Lie to get what he wanted, that is. 

May she never know. 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t be too happy knowing I was screwing an enemy, don’t you think?”

“Well, it seems like we’re all on the same side here. Plus, he is stronger than us. If he wanted to fuck everyone over he would’ve already. He must have some sense of remorse.”

As she finishes her sentence they both walk up to see a huge crowd had formed around the craft beer truck since they’d been gone. Fuck, she thinks, this cant be good. She begins to listen in, not able to get a good focus on him. There are a bunch of guys shouting, or rooting for each other? Placing bets maybe? She doesn’t know. Her and Ama squeeze themselves through the crowd to get a better look.

Ben and Tough Guy, the resident giant bodybuilding himbo, grasp hands in what seems to be a very intense arm wrestling match.

“Cmon, Tough Guy!” Someone shouts, then: “Ben, there is no way your arm isn’t going to snap in two!”

Freak watches in horror as she runs up behind SB, putting her hands on the sides of her head.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” She screams.

He doesn’t stop though, just continues to pretend to strain his muscles. Tough Guys arm should've been ripped clean off already. She feels like she's going to be sick. She can’t bear to look.

Suddenly an arm hits the table, and the crowd begins to cheer. Peeling her hand from over her eyes, she sees Tough Guy being paraded around as champion. SB smiles at him, sitting down at the table in fabricated defeat. Surely any guy that strong, with that big of an ego, willing to let someone else win, had to have some morals, right? Well, she sure hopes so as she gazes down at him with a smile soft as silk. She feels warm, content, like waking from a nap in the sun. Looking over his shoulder with heavy, fluttering eyelashes, he has a boyish gleam in his eye, and a smile bright enough to land a plane.Yup, she thinks, I’m in trouble. 

"Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm

And your cheeks so soft

There is nothing for me but to love you

And the way you look tonight"

Masterlist | Taglist | Episode 6

Taglist: @Sl33pylilbunny @Lanassmarty @Sydneyyyya @1-800shootmeplease @muhahaha303 @nancymcl @speedyrebelfan @ghh05ttt @agentorange9595 @let-me-luve-you @peachytits @darkdahl @deans-spinster-witch @soggybasementfries @ladysparkles78 @madamthemoo @lyarr24 @sadlittlecountess @mickaelly007 @mrscountryclub @vtheoneandonly @decadentanchorwerewolf @wonderland2022 @buckybarnes-1917 @rebeccathefangirl @daisy-the-quake @tiredbibi @greyish-wallpaper @previousloversandmuses

[v1nsmoke]

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐌 // 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

oneshot - frenchie (the boys) x gn!reader

tw: mentions of drugs

summary: the hideout is boring, and the only person making your stay worth it agrees

fandom: the boys

a/n: yall just need to hear me out on this one

tags: -

wc: 1.7k

Day two of doing nothing. Apparently we aren’t, but I get the feeling we are.

It was the second day since Butcher left the rest of the group in the underground hideout, declaring that he had a plan. Nobody knew where he went, and he didn’t answer the calls. He left you very few instructions: Don’t let anybody in, and don’t let anybody out. Afraid of what might happen if any of you broke this one rule, you didn’t even order food. That’s how you happened to eat a shit ton of instant ramen in two days. There was plenty of that.

Frenchie walks into the main room, sitting down beside you.

“Bonjour,” breathes out as he leans back on the couch.

“Hey there, man. How you doin’?” You ask. 

“Same old, nothing new, maybe a little tired. What about your fine self?”

“Nothing new.”

“Well, aren’t we a fun pair,” he chuckles.

“Boredom is a fun thing, isn’t it?”

He just shook his head jokingly.

“Oh yeah, loads of fun. Totally my favorite pastime.”

“What’s our next move? Or more like Butcher’s next move…” you ask.

He just rolled his eyes in reply.

“Butcher’s out doing whatever he’s doing, we are supposed to wait. Fun.”

“As always. Where’s the treasured teamwork? I’ll rot here in this basement.”

“And he’ll be sitting pretty in a bar somewhere, sipping on some overpriced bourbon,” he says, shaking his head. 

“Classic Butcher. He’s sitting there, saying ‘Oi, a boa ov oota!’ Strong ass British accent…”

He busts out laughing at the imitation, deeming it way too accurate.

“Yeah, that’s him! Bloody prick, eh?” He says the second part in a deep tone and a more British accent.

“Oi prick, don't disrespect ya briish mate! I’ll rip that bloody face of yours off!”

“Oh my God! I heard that perfectly in his stupid voice! You’re good at impressions.”

“Should I try yours?” You suggest with a smile.

He paused for a second, his expression morphing into a cheeky grin.

“Yeah, go on and give it your best shot, love.”

You clear your throat, then begin.

“Hey, mon cher, look at my new, elite style!” You speak with a passionate, strong french accent. “And then you’d show the weirdest clothing combination in fashion history!”

Frenchie dramatically gasps, his hand on his chest.

“Mon cher, you’re speaking to the king of fashion!” He speaks as he gestures at his eccentric clothes.

“Oh c’mon, you really think black and red striped jeans, a torn black shirt and a military green jacket is ‘style’? No way”

“You’re forgetting my matching chain, love. That’s the most important part. And the eyeliner,” he proudly adds, smirking.

“And the five different earrings,” you continue.

“Exactly. Now you’re catching on, cher,” he nods in agreement.

“I like the guyliner, though.”

He seems taken aback at the sudden statement, but he didn’t mind it at all. Nobody ever compliments his style, and for a reason.

“Yeah? You think it fits me?” He asks with a cheeky grin, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s cool!”

He smirked lightly as he tilted his head.

“You think I’m cool, huh?”

“I said the guyliner is cool. Are you the guyliner?”

“No?”

“Then there, you have your answer.”

He pouted jokingly and dramatically sighed.

“You wound me, love.”

“Excuse me manners, cher,” you reply with a similar pout.

“Oh but of course, ma biche. How rude of me,” he chuckled as he reached forward to pat your head affectionately.

“You didn’t do no wrong, pookie,” you smile.

He just rolled his eyes playfully, ruffling your head with one hand before pulling back.

“You’re a troublemaker, sweetheart,” he sighs with a smile.

“And you’re a sweetheart, troublemaker,” you reply.

He laughed and gave you a lopsided grin.

“Damn, you’re good at this, cher.”

“Unlike you in fashion.”

He gasped audibly and dramatically, bringing a hand to his chest in mock-offense.

“How dare you insult my perfectly curated and stylish outfit! I am deeply wounded by your words!”

“You sound like a little British boy right now,” you chuckle at his words.

Frenchie scoffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, feigning irritation.

“I’ll have you know, darling, that I sound nothing like that bloody Brit!” He imitated Butcher’s voice.

“Oi, mate, you’re not bad at imitations yourself!” you exclaim.

A bright idea sparked in his head. He chuckled lightly, the mock-offense disappearing from his face.

“Yeah, I’ve had a lot of practice. You think that’s good, you should hear my impression of the others.”

You raise your brows, curiosity eating you up.

“I’m here, ears wide open,” you say.

“Oh? You want more impressions? You really think you can handle my incredible mimicry skills?”

“You handled mine, I’ll see if I can handle yours.”

He smirked, his eyes glinting with playful mischief.

“Alright cher. You asked for it. Who should I imitate first?”

The voice was up to you now.

“Well, I almost said Butcher, but we’ve already been through that. Kimiko doesn’t speak, so she’s out of the question… Wait, could you try Homelander?” you ask after thinking out loud.

Frenchie chuckled and nodded. He pushed himself out slightly, assuming a confident and somewhat cocky demeanor as he began mimicking the “hero”, perfectly capturing his mannerism and voice.

“Are you asking me if I can do a good Homelander impression?” He chimes with a wide smile, his tone sounding serious. Yes, definitely Homelander. “Of course I can. I’m the best at everything, including impressions.”

“You had me at the ‘I’m the best at everything’ part,” you smile. The similarity was undeniable.

“See? I told you I was good,” he chuckles and continues the impression, channeling Homelander’s arrogance and superiority complex.

“And I never doubted it, cher.”

He smirked proudly, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Oh, I know you never doubted me. I’m simply too charming and talented for you not to believe me.”

The moment is broken by the door to the basement opening. Butcher steps through it, marching down the steps towards the group. Frenchie paused, immediately snapping out of his playful mood and straightening up in his seat. He glanced over to Butcher as he strides down the stairs, a mix of annoyance and curiosity on his face.

“So… Do you have anything?” You ask Butcher, breaking the silence that engulfed the room until that point.

Butcher shook his head, frustration etched across his face. He leaned against some boxes, crossing his arms. 

“Nah, not a goddamn thing. It’s like the bloke’s dropped off the bloody face of the earth.”

“What’s next? Or are we just going to sit here and look nice?” Hughie asks. 

Butcher let out an irritated huff, but before he could respond, Frenchie chimed in with a sarcastic tone.

“Oh, how exciting. Another day of sitting around doing absolutely nothing, How lovely, innit?”

“As you say, mate,” you jokingly reply, evoking the memory of when not too long ago, you and the man sitting next to you were joking about Butcher’s accent.

Frenchie chuckled at your response, glad that somebody finally shared his annoyance.

“Yeah, that’s about how exciting it is around here. We’d be better off watching paint dry, honestly.”

“I could paint something, and you could watch it dry,” you say in a serious tone.

He just chuckled, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Oh what a stellar idea, cher. Spending countless hours staring at paint drying, sounds like the absolute best way to waste time.”

“Should I get to work right now? Or should we spend another day doing nothing, and only then watch paint dry?”

“How about we take a minute to savor the sweet thrill of doing absolutely nothing? Maybe play a little game of “stare at the ceiling,” he sighed.

“Oi, how magnificent of an idea! We must get to it this bloody instant, mate!”

He suppressed a laugh, shaking his head slightly at your persistence.

“Ah, yes, the most thrilling and invigorating activity: ceiling gazing! Let the game of boredom commence!”

You throw your head back, eyes now fixed on the white, almost moldy ceiling, the paint visibly peeling off. Frenchie joined in with you, mimicking your position by throwing his head back and staring up at the ceiling as well. He tried to fake intense concentration, but a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he spoke.

“Ah, this is the life. Staring at a crumbling ceiling, what a brilliant way to spend our time. Truly exhilarating, cher.”

“Couldn’t have said it better, cher.”

He chuckles and glances over to you, his smirk widening.

“Well, we’re the masters of the art of doing nothing, aren’t we? Who needs exciting adventures and fun missions when we have ceiling watching and paint drying?”

You sigh, straightening up in your seat.

“Don’t we have something down here? Board games, pencils, anything? Or did Butcher forget that he was working with kids in adult bodies and forgot to child-proof everything around here?”

Frenchie thought for a few moments, before a devious glint appeared in his eyes.

“You know, I think we might have some stuff lying around here somewhere. I recall MM bringing some board games last time we had a “team bonding night”, whatever that was supposed to be.”

You audibly laugh, despite meaning to hold it back.

“Team bonding night? The Boys? That’s ridiculous!”

Frenchie chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“Oh, yeah, it was hilariously absurd. MM thought it was a brilliant idea for us to all gather ‘round and play some games, claiming it was a great way to strengthen our team dynamics. As if we haven’t got enough things to worry about already.”

“The closest thing this group has to team-bonding is collective trauma and coke-snorting.”

He laughed heartily at your remark, finding it absolutely accurate.

“You’re not wrong there. We’ve got more trauma and substance abuse issues among us than a damn rehab center.”

“We should change the group name from “The Boys” to “Mentally Ill Individuals and Addicts Who Belong to a Rehab Center or Mental Hospital.”

He chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“That’s a much more fitting name for us, ain’t it? We’d be a hell of a lot more productive in a rehab center or mental hospital, that’s for damn sure.”

“They would let us do something there at least.”

He tilted his head, pretending to be deep in thought.

“True, true. In a rehab center or mental hospital, we could actually be doing something productive, like group therapy sessions or arts and crafts. Hell, maybe they’d even let us watch paint dry and stare at the damn ceiling while they’re at it. Sounds like a goddamn vacation compared to this life.”

© v1nsmokes 2024. Do not modify, translate or rewrite.

[corrodedseraphine]

stray heart | hughie campbell x fem!reader | one shot

Pairing: hughie campbell x fem!reader

Summary: After the mission is accomplished, the whole group allows themselves an evening of relaxation and celebration. In the course of it, you find out that too long-hidden feelings and wine are not a good combination.

The one shot is also avaliable on Ao3

5 226 words

Songs which I used here: Green Day - Stray Heart and Ed Sheeran - Tenerife Sea

hughie campbell masterlist | general masterlist

"I can't believe we managed to kill that asshole!" you shouted as you entered the house. For weeks the whole team had been hunting one of the supes, and today you finally managed to get rid of him.

"Let's not forget that he almost killed you too." Hughie sighed, extinguishing your enthusiasm.

"If it weren't for Kimiko you would have been lying dead a long time ago!"

"If it hadn't been for her distracting that cunt, we never would have caught him." interjected Butcher.

"You acted like a real badass!" Kimiko added, handing you the phone on which she had written the message.

"We... deserved a reward!" exclaimed Frenchie. "I will prepare the most wonderful supper, feel invited!"

"And I have to risk being poisoned?" M.M. laughed.

"That was a blow straight to my poor heart, bastard!" shouted Frenchie putting his hands to his chest. "Still, in two hours I invite you, dress up as if you were going on a date with the president or receiving an Oscar. This evening belongs to us!" After these words, you all dispersed to separate rooms to freshen up a bit and change clothes. From the moment you discovered that Neuman also had superpowers you knew that you had to be more careful, so a change of residence seemed to make sense. Together with Kimiko and Frenchie, you moved into a small house on the outskirts of New York City that you had inherited from your grandmother. Hughie, Butcher and Marvin had their own apartments, but you still spent most of your time at your place. It was a base of sorts, since no one knew of its existence. At least that's what you hoped.

After taking a shower, you started looking through your clothes. You didn't have a lot of them with you, but there were a few summer dresses. You liked the idea of Frenchie. After days of hunting supes, running and playing with death, you really deserved one evening of pleasure. You looked at the mirror standing against the wall. The reflection in the mirror showed you a person you couldn't recognize. Scuffed up eyes, bruises and cuts almost all over your body, scars that will probably never disappear again. A wreck of a person stood before you. You never thought of yourself as someone who could be called beautiful. Now you knew that you were far from beautiful. Especially when Annie appeared nearby. She was your friend, no doubt, but no matter how hard you tried you couldn't stop the feeling of jealousy. She had everything, a beautiful face, hair and a perfect figure. Something that, in your mind, you would never be able to match. When you were alone it didn't bother you so much, you had long accepted the fact that you wouldn't be like her. However, the green monster in you was awakened every time you saw how Hughie could not take his eyes off her. Every time you looked in his direction, his eyes were on her. For months you defended yourself against the thought that you felt something more for him. However, it was all stronger. Every night you lay staring at the ceiling wondering what to do so that he would finally give you the attention you so desperately craved. You prayed that for once he would look at you the way you looked at him. Every night before you went to sleep, you made up fake scenarios in which he would finally see something more in you. For a long time now, you no longer had the strength to hold back the storm of emotions that was inside you when he stayed intimately close to you. The warmth that filled you from the inside whenever you saw his smile, or heard his laugh. The chills that ran through your body every time you accidentally touched each other. Even a gentle flick of his hand was enough, nothing more. The way you are always there for each other and no matter how messed up the situation becomes you never leave each other. Every time one of you nearly died in the middle of the action, afterwards you threw yourselves into each other's arms feeling grateful that you made it. When you were still living in the basement under the pawn shop, every time you were haunted by nightmares and couldn't manage to sleep he always let you sleep with him. He told you silly stories just to occupy your thoughts with something and let you fall asleep peacefully. Even if at first you fell asleep with your backs to each other, in the morning you woke up in his embrace every time. You missed it so damn much. Along with the nostalgia, you also felt pain each time you were reminded that he would always see you as a friend. You sent your reflection a sad smile and began to change into a dress, and later decided to put on some makeup, hoping that maybe without the visible bruises and the cut wound on your forehead, Hughie would see at least some beauty in you. In the meantime, you heard a quiet knock on the door.

"Come in!" you shouted and saw Kimiko enter the room uncertainly. You grinned at the sight of her. The two of you had grown very close over the past few weeks.

"I need help." she signed. When you moved in together you began to teach her how to write and use the phone, and in return she taught you and Frenchie her language. So far you only knew basic phrases, so she communicated with you over the phone most of the time.

"Is something wrong?" you asked worriedly, and she shook her head negatively.

"Frenchie told us to look nice, and I don't know how to do it." she handed you a device.

"Let me just finish my makeup quickly and take care of you, 'kay?" you grinned. She answered you with the same. "In the meantime you can look through my clothes, maybe you'll find something you like."

Excitedly, she ran over to the clothes and started browsing. Every now and then she changed the idea by showing you more and more strange combinations, and when it was time for makeup she couldn't sit still as the brushes tickled her skin. When you were finished, you both stood in front of the mirror.

"You look beautiful." you said. She was wearing a slightly oversized red dress with open shoulders. It perfectly matched the red lips. At first she didn't want to agree, but you persisted and after a moment, she agreed. You could see little happy sparks in her eyes. She momentarily infected you with all the positive emotions that were from her.

"You too." she replied. You were dressed in a cream-colored floral dress with a large neckline, and a silver necklace sparkled around your neck. Kimiko insisted that since she had painted her lips such a conspicuous color you must too so you decided on a strong, bright pink. For the first time in a long time you looked at yourself in the mirror and saw someone you didn't want to look away from right away. Satisfied, you left the room. It turned out that everyone was just waiting for you.

"Ah! belles femmes!" shouted Frenchie. He was dressed in black pants and a shirt over which he wore a gold jacket. "Do you see, you yahoos? The girls understood the assignment! They look like a million dollars!" he excitedly grabbed both of you by the hands and pulled you towards the table. "y/n" he kissed your hand and pushed back the chair. When you sat down he squatted you back down. "mon cœur" He did the same with Kimiko. "I knew I could count on you. As punishment, the rest of you should only get a piece of dry bread and a glass of water, the feast should be for those who can appreciate the situation." He rolled his eyes. You were amused by this. In fact, Hughie, M.M and Butcher were sitting at the table in jeans and T-shirts.

"I think this one time we can forgive them," you laughed looking ahead.

"Frenchie is right, you do look beautiful." Hughie commented looking straight into your eyes. You felt a strange nervousness. You can't remember the last time you received eye contact.

"Ha, a homeless person would dress better than you!" Frenchie continued his dramatic performance pretending to be offended. However, at some point you zooned out completely focusing on the person sitting in front of you. Even in a simple T-shirt, he looked good. He didn't need a suit to impress you. He might as well have been sitting there now in a stretched out tracksuit, and you could still admire him for hours.

"Do I have something on my face?" his voice snapped you out of your reverie.

"Oh! N-no..." you choked out. You felt your cheeks burning from the embarrassment of being caught staring at him. You quickly got up from the table and went to the kitchen with the intention of helping to bring down the food. Once everything was set up on the table you turned on the music in the background and got busy eating. You were so hungry that no one even tried to talk. Only when your stomachs were finally full did Frenchie get up from his seat.

"I propose a toast, to a successful mission!" he grabbed a bottle of red wine and poured for everyone. After the first few sips, you felt your muscles gently relax. You sat like this recalling the course of the last mission. The wine was pouring at an amazingly fast tempo, thanks to which even Butcher seemed to be relaxed and joked with you like never before. The mask of the tough guy was put away for a while, you could even tell that he was enjoying sitting with you at that moment. At one point, a familiar tune reached your ears.

I lost my way, oh baby, this stray heart

Went to another

Can you recover, baby?

Oh, you're the only one that I'm dreamin' of

Your precious heart

Was torn apart by me

"I love this song!" Kimiko signed.

"Then let's dance," Frenchie pulled her by the hand to the middle of the living room where they began to move and jump to the rhythm of the music. "Petit Hughie! Invite y/n to dance!" he shouted. "Be a gentleman!"

And you, you're not alone, oh-oh

And now I'm where I belong

We're not alone, oh-oh

I'll hold your heart and never let go

The boy looked at you with uncertain eyes, and you responded with a slight smile. He drunk up the rest of his wine and extended his hand toward you sending you the most charming smile you had ever seen. It's a good thing you were still sitting at the time because you were sure your knees would have bent momentarily. Joining "the dance floor," you got close enough to smell his cologne. You had a feeling that your head was spinning, you didn't know if it was because of his presence and that smell or because of the wine. At that moment it was all the same to you, all that mattered was Hughie all the time smiling broadly at you as you moved to the rhythm of the music.

Everything that I want, I want from you

But I just can't have you

Everything that I need, I need from you

But I just can't have you

"I never thought I would dance to Green Day songs." he laughed, moving closer to you.

"I didn't either. But tonight we can do whatever we like!" you laughed feeling happy. He grabbed your hand and turned you around a few times.

"Everything?" he asked having his lips right next to your ear.

"No limits," you answered on the inhale. 

I said a thousand times, and now a thousand one

We'll never part

I'll never stray again from you

This dog is destined for a home to your heart

We'll never part

I'll never stray again from you

Not wanting to interrupt the touch, you placed your other hand on his shoulder and he placed his own on your waist. A familiar shiver ran through your body, but you hoped he didn't notice.

You're not alone, oh-oh

And now I'm where I belong

We're not alone, oh-oh

I'll hold your heart and never let go

It's been a long time since you were as close to each other as you are now. Again you could feel the warmth that you so badly missed. The closer you got to the source, the more all the rest seemed distant to you. Suddenly everyone who was with you in the living room dissolved into nothingness leaving you alone.

Everything that I want, I want from you

But I just can't have you

Everything that I need, I need from you

But I just can't have you

"Everything that I want, I want from you..." you sang softly. You lifted your gaze meeting his bright eyes. Soft wrinkles appeared at their corners when he once again smiled. Then it occurred to you that despite the countless times you had cuddled and slept in the same bed, your faces had never been as close together as they were now. With your gaze you wandered over his face until you finally stopped at his lips. 

Everything that I want, I want from you

But I just can't have you

The words of the song rumbled in your head as you decided to close the minimal gap that was between you. His lips were exactly as you had imagined. Warm and soft. The kind you might never have pulled away from again. However, a shocked Hughie violently drew in air and put his hands on your shoulders gently moving away. The confusion on his face terrified you and before he could say anything you panickedly ran out of the house.

"What the hell just happened?" he asked looking around the room.

"I'll ask it another way, what the hell are you still doing here?" asked M.M. Kimiko aggressively signed to him, telling him he was an idiot and ran off after you. "You've been playing cat and mouse for months. You stare at each other as if you were the eighth wonder of the world, but only when the other one isn't looking, like in some damn kindergarten, Hughie."

"We can feel your hearts getting off the hook, Petit Hughie." interjected Frenchie.

"After all, we're just friends!" he said sitting down on the couch wiping his sweaty palms in his pants.

"And you want to be just friends?"

"No...but that would ruin the whole relationship between us. W-what if it doesn't work out between us?" he combed his hand through his hair.

"I've never seen anyone look at someone with so much love in their eyes as she does at you! With that kiss she gives you her heart on a tray, and you threw it on the floor and trampled it!" At the sound of these words, he felt a strange pain in his chest. And the thought you feeling rejected only intensified it. He remembered the moment when he first felt that you meant much more to him than he would have expected.

A quiet knock on the door rang through the room. Puzzled, he looked at his watch, which showed three o'clock in the morning.

"Yeah?" he asked loudly and turned on the lamp. The door opened and there stood you with a far too large t-shirt and fabric shorts that revealed your bruised legs. When he shifted his gaze to your face he noticed swollen and glazed eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked worriedly, sitting up straight.

"I can't sleep... I don't even know why I came here... These nightmares don't let me rest, I can't handle them alone." The sound of your breaking voice awakened in him the desire to protect you from all the evil of the world. He never wanted to hear it again. Without thinking, he quickly jumped out of bed and took you in his arms. You stood like that for a long moment, until he felt you shivering.

"Shit, are you cold? Come on, cover yourself." He pulled you to the bed, where you sat with your legs crossed, which he immediately covered with a quilt, then he went to close the door and when he returned, he sat down opposite you. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know... every time I close my eyes I see blood. Blood everywhere. Blood, guts and limbs scattered all over the room. And then I'm in a completely different place, tied to a chair when Homelander makes me choose who to kill first. There you all are M.M, Kimiko, Frenchie, and Butcher. He makes me watch as he slowly kills each of you. Every night I'm afraid to go to sleep because I know I'll have to relive it all over again like I'm in some kind of cursed hell loop!" tears began to run down your cheeks. The sight of you at that moment was breaking his heart, he couldn't explain why, but he couldn't stand it and felt an incredibly great need to hug you and take from you all the pain you were feeling.

"Y/n, listen to me please." he began, grabbing your hands. "I'm here, okay?" he started moving closer. "We're all okay, I think even Butcher, who is rambling God knows where, is okay. After all, a bad things never dies." A quiet giggle came out of your mouth hearing the last sentence. However, his touch also made the fear slowly begin to retreat. "Everything will be fine, I promise. You're not alone in all this, you know. You're always welcome here, even in the middle of the night." he assured. Unexpectedly, you took your hands from his and shifted so that you could hug him. A pleasant warmth spread over his body, and a smile crept onto his lips.

"Thank you." you whispered.

"You're welcome, that's what ... friends are for." the last words didn't want to pass his lips. Until now he had no problem calling you his friend, but now he wasn't quite sure if what he felt for you at that moment could be described as a purely friendly reaction. He wanted to kiss every tear from your face ending with your lips. He quickly shook his head to rid himself of these thoughts. Unfortunately, feeling his sudden movement, you moved away, and the warmth in which he could have drowned just a moment ago was replaced by a cold longing.

"I should go back, I'm sorry I woke you up." You said getting out of bed.

"No!" his mouth was faster than his brain. "I mean..." he grunted. "You can stay here if you want, I haven't been sleeping very well lately either." He scratched his neck nervously while watching your reaction. He was relieved to see the corners of your mouth lift up and you were next to him again. "Maybe in company we can get over it." Without a word you both lay down with your backs touching.

"I can't stop thinking about it, Hughie..." you whispered.

"Maybe you want to listen to music?" he suggested, remembering how he always played his favorite playlist during sleepless nights and focused only on it.

"Will you pick something for me?" you asked uncertainly. You had several songs in your head that you could listen to, but you felt that you wanted him to choose one. Something special, something just for you. After a while, a quiet melody reached your ears.

"Just don't make fun of me!" he laughed. He didn't care if you laughed at him. At that moment, all he cared about was driving all the bad thoughts away from you and putting you to sleep. "And um- try not to think too much, okay? Just focus on the song." he instructed.

You closed your eyes focusing on the pleasant sounds of the guitar and Sheeran's soothing voice. You smiled to yourself, wondering if the choice of singer was intentional. You had mentioned several times in the past how much you liked him. There was a veritable storm going on in Campbell's head. He wondered if he had not exaggerated, if the choice of just this song was too obvious and if it would scare you off. What he didn't know was that you would never in your life be able to believe that he could dedicate any love song to you under any circumstances. Focusing only and only on the song, just as he told you to, you fell asleep with the conviction that he had chosen it only because it was peaceful and soothing. One that allowed you to feel safe enough to fall asleep. Nothing more.

Should this be the last thing I see

I want you to know it's enough for me

'Cause all that you are is all that I'll ever need

I'm so in love

So in love...

Listening to the words of the song himself, he wondered if what he was feeling now could be called falling in love? Tonight he felt as if these feelings fell on him suddenly and powerfully. But he didn't want to defend himself against them. There was something about you that made him want to go further. Unfortunately, he didn't know how. Nor did he know how to find out if you would feel the same. So he decided that for the foreseeable future he would act as if nothing had ever changed. Good old friend Hughie. Except for tonight. Making sure you were definitely asleep he gently put his arm around you pulling you closer. "Fuck it." he thought and dipped his nose into your hair sniffing it. Intoxicated by the fruity scent, he couldn't stop the thought that he wanted to be like this forever. Cursing himself in his soul for his selfish attitude, he prayed that the nightmares would haunt you more often, if that was the only way to spend the night with you by his side. 

"Jesus Hughie, quit being a pussy and run for her you moron! I'm not going to buy you chocolate ice cream for a broken heart later!" Said Butcher while topping up his wine. "Go before it's too late."

"But what should I tell her?" he asked panicked.

"The truth!" the loud voice of M.M brought him down to earth a bit. Without waiting any longer he went out in front of the house to look for you.

You were sitting on a bench looking up at the sky. Kimiko silently sat next to you holding your hand. The makeup you had put so much effort into was already smudged by tears. You felt ugly again. In the simplest sense of the word. Simply ugly. You knew that when you got home and looked in the mirror you would feel bad.

"He's a douche." Kimiko signed.

"Nice, you say, but it's not true." you said sending her a sad smile. "We can't blame him for not feeling the same way I do."

"But..." sadness and sympathy were painted on her face.

"It's okay." interrupted her by grabbing both her hands. "I've made peace with it, you know? I'll never be beautiful enough or my character equal to Annie's." She sent you a questioning look.

"Every time I look at him, his gaze is on her. I am not surprised at all, probably for him she is a walking ideal. You don't even know how much I would give to have him look at me like that even once..." You sighed, returning your gaze to the stars.

"You don't even know how many times I looked at you with such admiration that it hurt." you heard a voice say. Kimiko immediately stood up and walked towards it. "Kimiko, please let me talk to her." he said. Under the influence of his voice, you became still. You didn't dare turn around. After a moment, however, out of the corner of your eye you saw him sit down next to you.

"You don't have to be here Hughie, I can handle it." you said quietly.

"But I want to. I want to be by your side." he grabbed your hand. Feeling his touch, you felt another wave of tears come to your eyes. "Do you know why you keep catching me staring at Annie?" He continued. "Because you are always next to her. And when I see that your sight wanders in my direction I panic and stare at her. It's not that I don't like your eyes! No, I love your eyes and could stare into them for hours! Sometimes I feel like you hide all the stars in the sky in them, especially when you talk about something you like, they get so glassy and shiny then." he laughed nervously.

"Hughie, you don't have to lie, you know that?" the words struggled to pass through your throat.

"What are you talking about? I'm just trying to tell you that I love you, and you think I'm lying?" you could sense the irritation in his voice, but that's not what you focused on. His confession completely caught you off guard.

"Y-you love me?" you howled.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "From the moment you first came to my bed in the middle of the night in that damn basement! Wasn't it obvious? The song I played?"

"I... I thought you only played it because it was peaceful and was able to put me to sleep," you said.

"From that night I started to create a special playlist that I could play to you every time you came to see me again." he confessed.

"Why didn't you ever play it?" you asked disappointedly.

"I was panicking. Every time I wanted to do it I thought that if you guessed that I felt something more you would run away from me and never come back. That's why I preferred to tell you silly stories not at all related to my feelings." you answered nothing. You still couldn't believe that everything he said was true, and then, as if reading your mind, he went on. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I can love you y/n? I know I didn't show it. I was a coward. I always waited for the right moment to tell you, but it never came. But I'm here now and I have to finally get it off my chest because I can't take it anymore! You did something today that I should have done months ago. Something I've dreamed of every time I've seen you!" He squated in front of you forcing you to look at him. "Now I know what a big mistake I made keeping it a secret all this time. You deserve the truth, y/n. You deserve to know that you are the most beautiful in the world and about how I feel about you."

"But... I'm not like Annie. I will never be. I don't have a perfect figure, most of my body is bruises and scars that I won't get rid of too soon because I'm not one of the supes and I don't have the ability to heal myself." you let out a torrent of words. " For the rest of your life looking at my face you will see this nasty scar." you said pointing with your hand to your forehead.

"They make you even more beautiful." he commented without thinking.

"What are you talking about?"

"Every scar makes you more beautiful. And this one here?" he said putting your hair behind your ear. "It will always remind me how without hesitation you threw yourself at one psycho with superpowers just to save me and M.M from being sawed through by a laser in that asshole's eyes. If you hadn't distracted him then we would have been long gone. This is a reminder that in addition to your beautiful appearance, you also have a beautiful inside. And about not messing with you, because if you weren't scared at that time, that means you could easily kick my ass."

"I was terrified Hughie..." you said.

"I am so sorry for my reaction. I shouldn't have pulled away from you, but I was in complete shock."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

"No, I'm glad you did. Now I have confidence that you feel the same." A familiar charming smile appeared on his face. The one that always made your heart melt irrevocably. The one that always infected you and made you smile too. "I love this view."

"What?" you asked.

"Your smile. I sometimes feel that it's your superpower. All you have to do is smile and everything bad disappears."

"Stop it, I probably look awful," you jokingly regarded him in the shoulder. "With that smeared makeup? As if some psycho clown escaped from the circus."

"As for me, even with smeared makeup you look awfully beautiful." Feeling the atmosphere between the two of you improving, he stood up and pulled you behind him. You were now standing facing each other. With a gentle flick of his hand, he rubbed your cheeks wanting to get rid of the mascara marks. "Damn. I think I smeared it even more." he laughed. He heard your giggle in response. You stood there with your head facing up and watched him. In the moonlight, he looked as if he wasn't real. He looked fairy-tale, almost mystical. As if it was just another dream starring him. "Still beautiful." he whispered while hugging you close. Both of you wanted to stop time in that moment. Your hearts, after a moment, synced up beating just as hard as if they wanted to tear your ribs apart and merge into one.

"If this is a dream, I never want to wake up again." you muttered into his chest.

"Y/n." he said quietly. "This is not a dream, please believe me that everything I said is true. If you don't believe me I will never forgive myself for how I lost the greatest person in the world through my own cowardice."

"I believe you, Hughie." you replied touched. Was that really it? Was this really the evening in which your dreams came true? You thought back to all the fake scenarios you created in your head with him in the lead role. None of them could match the beauty of that moment. Nothing could.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked even more quietly. You nodded, and as he slowly began to lean toward you, unable to wait you stood on tiptoe connecting your lips. This time no one pushed anyone away. On the contrary, you desperately tried to be as close to each other as possible.

"Everything that I want, I want from you," you sang softly pulling away from his lips.

"And you can have me. You have all of me." He assured again finding your lips with a smile.

[make-me-imagine]

Make the Most of It

12 Days of Christmas - Day Four: Snow Angel

Pairing: Hughie Campbell x GN!Reader

Plot: Y/n and Hughie return to childish fun during a snowy day in the park. Hughie realizes just how much time he has wasted in just being friends. And decides he wants that to change.

Warnings: Spoilers for the show, but that's it.

Word Count: 1.8k

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @caswinchester2000, @imaginesfire

*This is my first time writing for Hughie and for The Boys in general, so I hope it goes over well! It's a classic Friends to Lovers trope, so enjoy~

-

You breathed in the cold, crisp air as you shoved your hands in your jacket pockets, hoping to warm them a bit. Your breath was visible as you spoke to Hughie as you wandered through the snow covered park. Light snowflakes slowly drifted from the sky, the air was still, and only a few cars could be seen plowing through the snowy streets.

The park fences were decorated with red and green bows and garland, while some trees in the park were wrapped in twinkling Christmas lights. You could hear soft Christmas music coming from nearby shops, as people walked swiftly down the snowy sidewalks.

“It feels weird being able to walk around freely without fear of being arrested or killed.” You jokingly said, though the comment in itself was very serious.

After spending so long in hiding with Hughie and the others as you tried to expose Vought for what they really were, you were relieved to now be pardoned, and no longer wanted. Though, there was still an uneasiness hanging over you, an unspoken fear that things might go down hill again.

Hughie agreed with your comment as he looked around the snowy city. “It feels nice though.”

You nodded your head, before finally vocalizing your worries. “I hope it stays this way. With Vought and the Seven still being around, I’m afraid it might get bad again.”

He sighed a bit and nodded, having been thinking the same thing. “Then I guess we should make the most of it now, right?” He asked as he smiled at you encouragingly.

You smiled in return, and as you passed by a slowly fading silhouette of a child sized snow angel by the sidewalk, you felt the childhood nostalgia come over you.

“You’re right, we should.” Quickly cutting off from the path, you ran over to a deeper snowy area, before turning to Hughie with a smile and falling back into the snow, arms extended out.

Hughie let out an amused laugh as he watched you begin to flail your arms up and down in the snow. He remembered the two of you often making snow angels together when you were both younger.

You looked over at him, a grin still present on your face. “Come on Hughie, let’s make the most of it!”

He chuckled at your behavior, smiling fondly at you before shrugging his shoulders. “Alright, if you insist.”

Jogging over to you, he threw himself down in the snow beside you with a grunt, before he began to flap his arms up and down, embedding them in the snow. The two of you giggled like children as you did so.

After you both completed your snow angels, you continued to lie in the snow. Hughie, upon looking over at you, and meeting your shining and happy eyes, felt his chest clench. It was an odd sensation, the way his mind and heart reacted to looking at you. This was not the first time it happened over the last month. He would be lying if he didn’t know what it was. It happened to him twice before, once with Robin, and then with Annie.

He knew what it was, but he hadn’t been expecting it, though, in a way, it made so much sense. You two had been together since you were children. You had been there before Robin, and after. Always there to be a shoulder to cry on, to listen to him, to help him try and fight Vought after Robins death. Then you were there when Butcher recruited him, you were an added bonus to the deal, Butcher didn’t want you at first, but now he even admitted he was glad you had been there to help.

You were also there during Annie, even though the two of you never grew close, he even feared you never even liked her at all. But you were always there, always right beside him, always when he needed you to be. Now the more he thought about his feelings for you, he wasn’t as surprised by them forming now, than he was at them not having formed earlier.

How had he not seen you the way he does now? Maybe it was an unconscious fear that you would never feel the same. No. He knew that was bullshit. It wasn’t just friendship that kept you so loyal around him, Butcher pointed out as much, and after looking at your behavior a bit differently, he began to understand. And in a way, him finally seeing your feelings for what they were, opened up his own.

But he wasn’t sure what to do. Was it too soon? He hadn’t been single for that long, having recently ended his relationship with Annie. Should he wait a bit longer?

Looking back over at you, he stared at your profile for a moment, before you looked over at him. You could see the contemplation of something going on inside his head, and smiled softly at him. “What is it Hughie?”

His heart seemed to stammer at the gentleness of your voice, the care behind the question. He smiled at you, it was small, not happy, but not sad. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You furrowed your brow a bit in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“There were a lot of times when you almost got hurt, or killed. Mostly because of me.”

You shook your head a bit. “I never blamed you. After what happened to Robin, and then finding out what Vought was up too, and the Supes, I was just as determined as you. I put myself in danger and was willing to face it just as much as you were.”

“Yeah but you did it a lot braver than me.” Hughie said with a soft chuckle. “I don’t think I ever thanked you. For helping us, for helping me. You’ve always been there, whenever I needed you the most.”

You smiled at him. “Always will be.”

This was true. You would never leave his side, unless he told you too, unless he wanted you too. But you were aware that in many ways, it would hurt you more in the end. You opened yourself up to heartbreak being close to him, you had feelings for him for so long, but you watched him with Robin, and then with Annie. You wanted him to be happy, even if it was never with you.

“I’ll always be here too, you know. You’ll always have me.”

You smiled at him, but he could see a doubt behind it. Sitting up, you brushed the snow off your jacket and let out a shiver. “I can’t stand lying here anymore.” You chuckled as you stood.

Hughie got up as well, watching you closely. “You don’t believe me do you?” He asked, his voice suddenly filled with surprise and sadness.

You looked at him with slight alarm. “What? Of course I do, I just…” You trailed off and you could see he wanted you to continue. "Hughie, I know you’ve always been there for me, but...you’ll move on, we both will I mean...probably, one day. You have Annie, and I...well, I have me, I guess.” You chuckled, trying to play it off.

Hughie frowned at this, and shook his head a bit, only now realizing that he had forgotten to tell you that he and Annie never got back together. “I don’t have Annie.”

“Well, you will, I mean. There’s no way you two won't get back together.”

“But I don’t want to.” He replied quickly.

“You don’t?” You asked surprised. Your heart began to beat a bit faster.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to be with Annie, I want to be with you.”

‘Don’t say it like that.’ Your gut clenched at his words. “You shouldn’t give up a relationship with someone for a friendship, Hughie.” You said with a frustrated tone. “I’ll always be your friend.”

“No you don’t understand, that’s not what I meant.” He said as he took a step closer, knowing you misunderstood what he meant. You’ve seen him fall for two other people, and never you, of course you thought he meant something else.

“What?” You asked with baited breath.

He smiled softly at you. “I don’t know why it didn’t happen before, it should have been so -so...natural. Us, I mean. But I see it now, and it’s all I can think about. I don’t have feelings for Annie anymore Y/n, everything I feel is for you. And what I feel is more than just friendship, and if I’m not a complete idiot...you feel the same, and you have for a long time.” He paused, and though you were speechless, you nodded, just enough to confirm it. He continued, taking another small step closer. “You watched me be with two others, feeling how you did, but you still stayed with me. And I hate that you had to suffer through that, and I am so sorry. But I hope I can make it up to you now. If you will let me.”

You hesitated for a moment as you stared at him. ‘“I- You- Are you sure? That this isn’t….just some...mistake? Because you’re right, I have had feelings for you for so long, and I don’t want to risk it just because you think you might feel something for me.”

Hughie shook his head rapidly, grabbing you gently by each arm. “I promise, Y/n, I would never risk hurting you like that. I’ve been feeling like this for the last month, maybe even longer without realizing it. And I promise, what I feel is real.”

You stared at him for a moment longer, before a smile forced itself onto your face. Hughie smiled at you in return, and felt a strong urge to kiss you. He would be lying if he hadn’t thought about what it would be like.

As Hughie leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, he stared into you eyes, and glanced at your lips. Slowly, he began to lean closer, and feeling the same urge, slowly moved to meet him. The kiss was slow, gentle, and quick. A test of sorts. Once pulling away, you locked eyes for a short moment, before kissing again, a longer kiss, that made both of you feel as though time stopped.

Pulling away, to catch your breath you smiled at each other, a mixture of bashfulness, excitement and anxiety pulsated through both of you. Hughie looked down at the snow angles you had made, and you followed his gaze.

“Make the most of it huh?” He asked softly before turning to you with a bright smile.

You nodded your head, smiling before you looped your arms through his, as you continued down the snowy park path. You noted the area in the park where the snow angels had been made. And knew that it would now hold a special place in your heart.

xx End xx

Again, this is my first time writing for Hughie and the show in general, so I hope you like it!

[inactiveuser374]

Cold (Hugh Campbell x Male Reader)

contains: reader has a dog allergy and Hughie keeps forgetting, fluff

You had been bedridden the past few days with a pretty bad cold. Of course that didn’t stop Hughie from letting himself into your apartment whenever he could. The rain trickled outside calming you into a half asleep state. 

As of now you had kicked the covers off, letting the semi-open window blow a cool breeze onto your bare chest. Upon hearing the keys jingle in the lock, you turned over, pulling the blanket back onto your body.

“Hey,” Hughie entered the room with a white plastic bag that he sat on the counter before coming up to you. 

“How are you?” he asked, pushing the hair back from the front of your forehead. You realized your shoulder was still exposed as Hughie began complaining about how you need to sweat out the cold and wear warm clothes while sitting for hours under a weighted blanket. 

“You’re too much sometimes,” you groaned, pulling his hand up to your face. 

“I just want you to get back with everyone else as soon as you can.” He whispered, rubbing circles on your cheek. His jacket cuff was right up against your nose and almost immediately you felt a familiar tingling sensation between your eyes.

“We need you.” 

“Shit”- you began before sneezing, causing him to pull back his hand.

“Did you pet a dog?” Your eyes were watering now and you sat up to grab a tissue.

“Oh my god,” Hughie exclaimed, squeezing his eyes shut as he grimaced a bit.

“I forgot- I went over to Butcher’s and he’s got this weird dog named Terror and I totally forgot and pet him for a little bit!” Hughie tripped over his words as you looked up at him with sympathy before he stopped talking.

“You’re lucky we didn’t meet when I was in highschool,” you shook your head.

“Why?” Hughie tilted his own with a smile.

“Cause my allergies were hell back then, and with you forgetting all the time I probably wouldn’t have made it to graduation.” You chuckled.

“Okay, just let me change real quick,” Hughie kicked off his shoes and jacket before noticing the window was open.

“And keep this shut,” he leaned over you shutting the window before putting on a new tee shirt that wasn’t covered in dog dander.

As he covered himself with the blanket his hand brushed over your chest, feeling the coolness the window had brought to your skin.

“Jesus, you’re cold.” He admitted before letting you lay on his much warmer chest and play with your hair as you fell asleep under the gray cloudy light of the sky outside, the raindrops now silent as they delicately touched the window.

[hughiecampbelle]

Press Pass (Hughie Campbell/Homelander Oneshot)

Character/s: Hughie, Homelander, Annie, Butcher

Word Count: 1,761

Warning/s: gore, sort of all the basic warnings The Boys typically has

Requested: ive reading some of your works and im in the love! the way you write for characters each distinctly is amazing. i would like to request a fic with the following prompts for hughie: 55) opaque, 17) crime scene & 11) “you say that like it’s a bad thing” :) - anon

Requested: Hii again!! I’m the anon who requested the Homelander fic with prompts Fury, Shooting Stars and “Get away from me” and lemme just say I loveee loveee it!!! The shooting stars part, I did not see that coming and you got Homelander to a tee. Could clearly imagine him looking hurt when reader said get away from me, the desperation in his voice to gain reader’s approval, and then his relief that reader liked what he did. Ugh. I really love it!!! Thank you!!! If it’s not a bother, may I request another? Still platonic Homelander x reader but this time with prompts: Desperate, Wildflowers, “Say something” Again, thank youuu!!! - anon

A/N: I hope you don't mind my loves, I combined your requests! I just got this one idea and it fits so well as one consecutive story. I'm really happy with the way it turned out :D My loves, it makes me so happy that you like my writing! Thank you for the lovely feedback, it means the world! I go back and read it so often it's pathetic lol. I really hope you like it!!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Requests are open! 🔮

Hughie. . . His name falls from your mouth, dripping down your chin like vomit. Your hands are shaking by your side. You ball them up, nails digging into palms, attempting to steady them. Bile rises in your throat. It takes everything in you to breathe through it, swallow it. Hughie, you say again, louder, before you lose your courage, he knows. They heard you this time, all of them on their feet, collectively staring at what stood before them. The closer they get, the worse it looks. His hands find their way to your skin, turning over your palms and wrists, counting every finger, up you arms. The blood, it’s all yours. Dirt, too. You resembled a crime scene, covered head to toe in red. It was matted in your hair, stuck between your teeth, sticky across your body. As if you had bathed in it. There is no scar tissue, no stitches. That’s the thing about being a Supe: you could be tortured and still, there would be no evidence. Your body had it’s way of pulling itself together seamlessly. Effortlessly. It was dying that was the challenge. Your clothes, what was left of them, were full of holes, burned at the edges. Singed. Scorched. The air felt cold around you, nipping and biting at your skin. He follows the excess of blood from your neck, your head, his lips moving, but the ringing in your ears prevents you from hearing. When he finds no open wounds, no active bleeds, he stops, looking you in the face, speaking slowly. Who, y/n? Who knows? You can’t say his name. You shake your head. It all comes up. I don’t know how he figured it out, I, I was so careful. He was so angry. You were, weren’t you? He holds your shoulders, steadying you, asking you to calm down. Take a deep breath. You do as instructed, gasping for air. They’re all watching you, waiting. He asks again. This time, your voice comes out small, beaten and defeated. Homelander. Homelander knows. 

He made you dig your own grave. The soil was rich and muddy. He’d taken you somewhere secluded, outside of the city. Wildflowers sat at the edges of the woods. In another life, another situation, they would have been pretty. Beautiful, even. So would the trees. Fresh, rainy, it had the potential to be nice. But it wasn’t. He hands you a shovel and tells you to start digging. Your shoulder had been broken. Your jaw dislocated. One of your eyes had been swollen shut, bruised and sore. Your lip busted. Your tongue poked at all the empty sockets, instinctively, childishly. Somewhere in Vought Tower your teeth sat scattered across the floor. Would he keep them? You’re not sure how long it took, only that he was growing impatient, bored, sour. The sun was setting. He’d go back and forth, yelling and screaming and berating to complete silence. You’re not sure which unsettled you more. You did the best you could given the circumstances, using your non-dominant hand. The other had been crushed, placed protectively at your side. This would only end one way, you both knew this. You betrayed him. He trusted you and you decimated that relationship. Now you would pay for it. Broken bones, broken blood vessels, that was nothing. He wanted your life. He wanted to rid the world of someone who didn’t deserve to take another breath. You wondered if he knew what would happen next. You wondered if he’d known all along or if it would be another sick, twisted surprise. What would he do then? 

You’d used your press pass all those years ago. You were fresh out of school and just starting out. You were excited, elated, a rookie. It had been Starlight you’d intended to interview, one of a million reporters at the time of her debut. She picked you, and a few others, out of the crowd. Annie admitted later she liked you instantly. You were nervous and young, and it made her feel better about also being nervous and young. You weren’t arrogant or jaded, you were genuinely interested in her story, her upbringing, in her. You asked questions the others never would have thought of. They were so used to writing the same stories, the same angles. You had a new perspective. You’d laughed, called it inexperience, but she disagreed. You were good at your job from the start. Homelander took notice of you instantly. He’d grown tiresome of his team of yes men. They were old, and boring, and lost their flare. You made Starlight look good: cute, innocent, hopeful, yet powerful. Everything anyone could have wanted from a new member of The Seven. He requested your presence not long after at a meeting. Truth be told, he liked you for more than just your writing. You were attractive, intelligent, had working. All American. Working your way up the ladder, the ranks. There was something enticing about that. You were ecstatic. Homelander asking for you, requesting you personally? Annie had been wary, wanting to warn you, unsure of how to say it without giving away too much. In the end she said nothing and regretted it instantly. 

Say something. There was something desperate in his voice, a kind of begging. Look at me, he spat. You had to turn your head to look at him, your bad eye completely shut. Say. Something. He says again through grit teeth. I’m sorry, John. You hadn’t expected it, an apology, and neither had he. He takes a step back, reacting as if you’d slapped him. Struck him. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, you follow up, and you meant every word. You joined his team not long after. You were writing most of the pieces about him. He liked the pictures you painted, made him heroic, self-sacrificing, patriotic. You were insightful, smart but not arrogant, driven. You wouldn’t publish anything until it was perfect, until you were satisfied. You and him, you’d become friends. Or, at least, as close to friends as he could get. He made sure never to show you the other sides of him, instead he played a particular role quite well. He’d fooled you. He’d fool everyone. His intentions opaque, impenetrable. You never could have known, could you? And then Starlight left. That was the beginning of the end. She asked you to meet with her one night, sent you coordinates. You’d grown close to her, too. But she’d never let you in on what was really happening. If she did, she'd have been putting you in danger. Too late, you think to yourself now, half-laughing, half-mocking. That’s when you met them, The Boys. that’s when they told you everything. You were horrified, sick to your stomach, angry. Annie was so sorry, so incredibly sorry, but it was better that you didn’t know. Why would you tell me now? What, what am I supposed to do with all this? Your tone was accusing, hysterical. Butcher was straightforward, calm, collected. You’re going to help us take him down. 

You wanted to do your job and be good at it. That was all. You think back. Anything could have prevented this moment. Annie could have chosen someone else. You could have declined Homelander's offer. Perhaps it was earlier than that. You could have never been given Compound V in the first place. You’d never disclosed that you were a Super. Your abilities weren’t flashy, they were self-serving. One dimensional. You could come back from the dead. Sometimes it was instant. Other times, it took a little longer. All depended on the damage. Your injuries were extensive, bringing tears to your eyes with every breath, every move. You could still get hurt. You could still die. You just came back as if nothing had happened. No one at Vought, or work, or school had ever known. You’d only told The Boys out of necessity: you couldn’t let them think you were one and done. You’d come back eventually. It would save you, yes, but it would make things so much worse. If Homelander ever found out, if he didn’t know already, he’d make sure you suffered far worse than you already were. You’d have to go into hiding. Play dead. At least, for a little while. He had you stop, standing before him. He looked you up and down, his features contorting. You disgust me. And with that, the final bow, his eyes lit up red. Severed you in half, hip to hip. Then again, through your neck, decapitating you instantly.  You’re okay, Hughie says again. The first time you must not have heard him. You say that like it’s a bad thing. You’re only slightly amused. Mostly though, you were tired. There are no marks, no sign of a fight. It’s as if the night never even happened. And yet, you couldn’t get the feeling out of your head: the blinding sensation, it severed through your skin, your muscles and bones. Coming apart like that so easily, like you meant nothing, like your body was putty, malleable. His play thing. You’re not sure how you could shake it. He’d kicked your severed body into the hole, piling dirt on top. Hours passed. It was getting dark, and then, suddenly, it was morning. As if you’d gone to sleep. You clawed your way out, choking up dirt and blood. Your teeth had grown back. You were in one piece. Hughie brought you home, ran a bath. He helped you undress. You explained the best you could, but your words fell fragmented, in half-sentences. He didn’t push the subject. You faced Homelander and you lived to tell the tale. That was enough. You were sure the others were coming up with a plan, some sort of act of protection, but you didn’t really care. It was too much to think about, too much to care. Coming back was always a big feat. You’d sleep for days if you could. The water was losing its warmth. It was pink, gory and humane and smelling like metal. It mixed with your coconut soap. Homelander knew who you were involved with. He knew you had enough dirt and secrets on him to ruin him. He’d find you again. He’d torture you again, and kill, and kill, and kill again. You wanted to talk to him, even now. He hated you, but he was also your friend. Instead you let yourself sink deeper, listening to Hughie's promises, trying not to flinch.

[roguelov]

With a thinning moon high in the velvet dark night sky, you cautiously peered out from behind a parked car. Yards away stood – if you could still call it standing – a crumbling abandon building. Although not entirely abandon. Yes time has worn down the building from its missing windows, to falling bricks in its structure, to the doors nearly rusted shut. But, activity flourished. People trickled in and out. People dawning masks and guns.

You’ve been tracking this group down for weeks. Their specialty was creating weapons then supply them throughout the city. Chaos has spread. Murder has risen. Families were torn. And the supes hardly did anything. They were always too late. People, innocent lives, died before they arrived. The supes failed to do their most basic job. Now, these families employed you. Putting their faith in you to stop this secret weapons dealing in their city. Officially, you were a private investigator. You were to collect information on this group and gather enough evidence to send them to jail, to give these families peace. However, unofficially – with little who knew the truth – you were a supe. A supe for hire. A person given extraordinary abilities who turned towards the people instead of the limelight. You’ve dealt with mercenaries – like the group you’re tracking – to lowly criminals and to even superheroes who abuse their position and power.

Luckily, one family knew of this. They wanted you to make these people pay. And you were happy to oblige.

Inhaling deeply, you pressed your back against the car. From all the information you gathered, this place was the head of operation. If you destroy it then you have successfully cut the head off the snake. Potentially saving more lives. Opening your palms, ice swirled in the center. Two long icicles sharper than any sword gripped tightly in your hands. Taking one more deep breath, you pushed yourself off the car and snuck in.

Screams. Blood. Gunfire. 

You stumbled out of the building. Faint gurgling echoed in the now lifeless building. You leaned on the propped open exit. You glanced once more of your shoulder seeing the bodies, seeing the destruction. You did it. Smiling a bit, you stepped down the stairs only to trip. You rolled across the asphalt with a loud groan. Fuck that hurt. Carefully, you picked yourself up. Pain erupted from your stomach. Your hands instantly clutched it to subdue the pain. A warm slickness coating your palms.

Oh no.

Shakily, you raised your hands confirming your suspicions. Red. Red painted all over your hands. Fuck! You took deep even breaths as ice formed in your hand. You bit back a cry as you pressed your hand to your abdomen. Freezing your wounds and hopefully speed up the healing process. You could heal faster than most. But, not as fast as the amount of blood pouring out of you.

You dragged your body to your car. Your movements sluggish. You fumbled to open the car door. Blood coated everything you touched. But, you weren’t going to pass out here. No. Driving away, your vision started waning. Your tolerance of pain faded. Every movement sent your world spinning. You needed help. Terribly. However, you also needed to keep your powers a secret. If you walked into any hospital, or contact any doctor, you would be screwed. You were technically an unregistered weapon. Who knows what would happen to you. 

You did have one name in mind.

You pulled up to your apartment complex parking in the garage. At least at this hour, no one was around to see your bloody car. Digging into your glove compartment, you pulled out a simple flip phone. One of many. You scrolled through the few contacts programmed in then hit call on the one person who could help you. Hopefully, he’ll pick up.

Butcher grunted in boredom as he stared at the TV. It was his only entertainment in this dingy hideout. Well, this or MM, Frenchie, and Hughie. He could fuck with the three of them. And he has. Given how the room was filled with silence. A strangled silence directed towards him. He couldn’t help but smirk a bit.

A phone cut through the TV’s mumbling.

All four men glanced towards the table. Butcher huffed and picked up his cell. “Yeah?” he asked pressing the phone to his ear.

“Butcher? Oh, thank whoever above you answered,” you sighed in relief.

Butcher perked up. Your voice was quiet. Strained. Your own breathing louder than your own voice. “(Y/N)?”

MM and Frenchie turned their head at the mentioning of your name. You were a good friend. You helped them quite often. From difficult situations to simple favors.

You huffed through your nose. “Were you expecting someone else? Sorry to disappoint.” You began coughing. Blood flecked onto your lips.

“No,” Butcher rolled his eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“Always straight to the point.” You paused trying to keep yourself awake. “I seem to recall you were good with your hands.”

“(Y/N).” Butcher gritted his teeth. You were always like this. Teasing and joking despite the underlying problem.

“I need your help, Butcher. I … I fucked up big time.”

He sprung to his feet grabbing his coat. “Where are you?”

“Parking garage of my apartment.” You whispered next in a shaking voice. “There’s … there’s a lot of blood.”

His movements froze.

You continued, “I … I don’t know if … if –“

“Shut the fuck up, I’m on my way.” Butcher hanged up the phone shoving it into his coat pocket. MM and Frenchie inched towards Butcher. Worry filled their eyes.

“Butcher, what’s the problem?” MM asked.

Butcher looked at all of them. Two of them concerned while the third, poor Hughie, looked utterly confused. “Nothing major. (Y/N) just got into a sticky situation. I’ll be back soon.”

You tossed the phone to the empty passenger seat and leaned back in your seat. Help was on its way. Water trickled down. The ice slowly melted as blood and water created an odd puddle. Butcher is on his way. I’m fine … I hope. Your consciousness wavered. Pain consumed your mind. You tried to stay awake. Tried to wait for Butcher. But, the immense pain was all you could focus on. You wanted more than for it to cease. Your eyes blinked slower and slower before finally staying shut. Your breathing ragged. Each inhale and exhale far and few in between. Inhaling once more, the darkness finally took you.

Car tires screeched. A van pulled up behind your car. Butcher jumped out and rushed over to your driver side door. Peering in, his heart dropped. Your hand laid loosely over your stomach. Diluted blood stained your entire lower half. Your breathing low, barely there. He ripped the door open. He examined you. A couple of bullet wounds dotted your stomach. Thankfully, they all had an exit wound. They were smaller than your initial examination. Your body slowly healing itself. However, blood still dripped out of them. Far too much.

He swiftly picked you up and marched towards your apartment. Cradling you protectively to his chest. He kicked in your door – knowing fully well when you woke up you will be pissed at him. He hastily walked into your bathroom and gently placed you into the tub. He removed your torn shirt. He ran hot water over your stomach to melt the rest of the ice.

Three. Three bullet holes. If you weren’t a supe, you would have been dead hours ago. Shaking his head of those dark thoughts, he went to work. He needed to dress and clean the wounds. He had hope that our body could heal on its own. He could see the process has already started. Yet, it will still be a while before you would be considered fully healed. Hours, at least. With quick hands, he cleaned the wounds and expertly bandaged them. He shucked off his coat and placed it over you. He stepped back staring at your weakened state. Your head sagged to the side as your chest rose and fell slowly.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

A phone buzzed. His phone. Which was still in his coat pocket. Grumbling, he carefully removed his phone and stepped out of the bathroom. The caller ID said MM. Butcher huffed before answering, “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to check to see if everything is okay,” MM stated bitterly. Clearly not happy with Butcher’s attitude.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Really?”

Butcher glanced over his shoulder seeing you in the tub teetering on the edge of life and death. “(Y/N) just had a little scuffle. That’s all.”

“Is she okay?”

“Will be. She’s resting now.”

MM wanted to call bullshit on Butcher. To yell at him and ask for details, but knew Butcher would most likely hang up the phone before saying any more. MM sighed, “Alright, well, call us when she wakes.”

“Will do,” Butcher hung up.

The worst part now was waiting. And Butcher hated waiting. Hated that he had nothing to do, or distract his mind long enough. He fixed your door within the first couple of minutes then cleaned up the blood in your apartment. He paced a bit, watched TV or tried to, looked through your movies and books, he drank, and he constantly checked up on you. On the hundredth check-up, he pulled back his coat and lifted up the bandaging to only reveal discoloring marks on your skin. Thin scars. Another hour and you’ll be fully healed, back to your old self.

“Coping a feel, Butcher?”

Butcher’s eyes snapped to your face. A weak smile spread over your lips. He sighed in relief and smiled back, “Only in your dreams, sweetheart.”

You chuckled. “Isn’t though? I’m dead, right?”

“No, you’re still part of the living.”

“Damn.” You lifted yourself up and out of the tub while groaning throughout the whole process.

“Hey, hey, slow down there Ice Queen. You’re still healing.” Butcher tried to force you back down. You grabbed his wrist. He shivered at the icy sensation prickling over his skin. “Hell no. I’m not sitting back down in that awful tub. My body is stiff as shit right now. What I need is my couch and a drink.”

He shook his head smiling. “Alright, but fair warning I may or may not have already gotten into your liquor.”

You huffed, “And why am I not surprised?”

You shuffled out of the bathroom to your bedroom. Throwing on clean clothes, you headed for the kitchen with Butcher trailing behind you. Watching you. Making sure you weren’t about to faint. You poured two drinks and passed one to Butcher. He happily accepted it.

He looked at down at the amber colored liquid. The same liquid he has been pouring into his system to ease his worries. But, you were awake now. Awake and moving. He smirked up at you, “What? No ice?”

Rolling your eyes, you waved your hand and the entire drink froze. Butcher hissed at the sudden drop of temperature dropping the drink onto the counter. It clanked. His smirk fell, “Oh, come on.”

You snorted into your drink, your perfectly cold drink. You smacked your lips sighing loudly. Butcher glared. Half-heartedly. You were alive. Alive and joking with him. Like the last couple of hours were not hell for either of you.

“You’re a real cunt you know that, right?” Butcher joked.

“And you’re a real bastard.” You winked.

You waved your hand again. The frozen liquor cracked before melting away. Butcher smiled picking up the drink and took a sip. While, you on the other hand, downed the rest of your drink. You shivered at the burning sensation. It definitely perked you up more. Butcher cleared his throat grabbing your attention, “Just … just don’t do that kind of shit again.”

“What? Get shot?” You leaned on the counter staring at him.

“Yeah, but more importantly don’t go dying on me.”

You smirked, “Is the Billy Butcher caring about a supe?”

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it.” He paused mumbling into his glass, “Besides you’re not like those cunts.”

“Aw, thanks. You’re such a softie.”

Butcher chuckled. “Just don’t tell anyone about it.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m going to buy a billboard saying ‘Billy Butcher is the biggest softie to walk this Earth. Call this number to hear from the man himself’.”

“You put my number up on a billboard then I’ll kill you.”

“Sweetheart, you wouldn’t even stand a chance against me.”

“Yeah? Well, tell that to Translucent.”

Your eyes go wide. “No way,” you mumbled in shock. It was all over the news. Translucent has been avoiding multiple public appearance. Everyone can recall the horrible video of A-Train visiting a kid in the hospital on behalf of Translucent. Vought said he was taking a well-deserved break, but you knew something was amiss. “You killed Translucent?”

“Yup,” he sipped his drink. “And maybe when you’re all healed you can help us out.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, me, Mother’s Milk, and Frenchie along with a kid named Hughie.”

“Damn, the gang is back together and you didn’t invite me?”

He chuckled. “Well, I did call but you were busy doing your PI stuff.” He sighed remembering something, “Oh, and can you call MM back before I kick his ass. He’s been calling non-stop worrying about you. Well, him and Frenchie.”

“How about I do one better and tell them in person?” You already headed for the door not caring to hear Butcher’s answer. You were healed enough in your opinion. “And you’re driving.”

Butcher rolled his eyes. But, could he say no to you? Of course not. You were his only weakness these days. “Fine,” he grumbled, “but I’m not saving your ass a second time.”

“Yes, you will,” you shouted back as you walked out of your apartment with Butcher in tow.

“… yeah I will.” He muttered to himself closing your door.

[geminiwritten]

hot dream ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you fall asleep in butcher’s sweater and have a rather steamy dream, not realising that everyone heard you moaning butcher’s name in your sleep

notes: this is so bad, and it makes me so sad because i was so excited to write it, but work has been so blegh that i just feel like i failed??? i don’t know, it’s definitely not my best writing, but it’s something! hope y’all can still enjoy!

warnings: swearing, google-translated french, some very incorrect chemistry, and a tiny bit of smut (i’m working myself up to actually writing it, i promise!)

^ the sweater

word count: 4691

“It’s fucking cold in here,” you say, rubbing your arms as you step into the living room.

Frenchie and Kimiko are curled up under a blanket on the couch, and Butcher is lounging on the single seat sofa with his feet propped on top of the coffee table. You know MM is on his way back from Monique’s house with spare clothes and comforters, but you also know how caught up he can get when he spends time with Janine.

“You do not have a jumper?” Frenchie asks.

You shake your head, “The last sweatshirt I had was burnt to a crisp two weeks ago.”

New York City is quickly falling into winter, the air turning crisp and heavy clouds rolling overhead as news channels warn about impending snow within the week.

Kimiko looks up at you and wriggles her arms out of the blanket to sign an apology, gesturing to the jumper she wears as the only one she has.

Butcher sighs and pushes himself off the sofa, “I’ve got somethin’.”

The tiny butterflies in your stomach flitter to life, bouncing around excitedly at the thought of wearing Butcher’s clothing. You move a hand from your arm to your stomach and curse the stupid giddiness that this man aroused within you. It’s ridiculous, really, and just a stupid crush, but he never fails to elicit some sort of irritating physical reaction within your body every time he speaks.

He disappears into the main bedroom for a moment before remerging with a black garment in hand. “Here,” he says, handing it to you, “don’t get it burnt though, it’s my favourite.”

You give him a cheeky smile, “I make no promises.”

Your fingers brush his as you take the sweater from his hand, and his eyes capture yours in a stare you cannot break. His lip quirks into that gorgeous smirk you’ve come to enjoy so much, sending those stupid butterflies into a frenzy before he turns back toward the sofa.

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding and with numb fingers, find the bottom of the sweatshirt before pulling it over your head. His scent hits you like a truck, rushing through your nose and burning all the way to your lungs. Your chest squeezes around your erratic heart, your ribs aching as they struggle to contain the throbbing muscle. It feels like you’ve been punched in the sternum, and your limbs feel like jelly wrapped in the soft material saturated by his scent.

You know this sweater almost too well, having admired him in it countless times. It’s a little too big on you, but on him, it’s perfect. The thick material hugs his shoulders and fits his torso in the most delicious way. It’s ridiculous that he can make something as plain as this sweater look downright sinful.

“Better?” Butcher asks, his eyes sparkling with a mischief that makes you wonder what he knows.

You nod, “Much.”

Kimiko shuffles over on the couch so that you can squeeze between her and the arm, the side closest to Butcher. You try to focus on the lame action film playing on the television, but the smell of the jumper clouds your mind, and you can feel Butcher’s gaze wandering over to you every few seconds. You want to say something, but every string of words that come to mind are laced with innuendo and teasing, and although you’re very fond of flirting with this man, you’re not sure you can handle it in your current state.

The sun is well below the horizon by the time MM arrives back, his arms full of blankets and second-hand clothing. Kimiko takes two jumpers and a blanket before seeing herself off to bed, and MM does the same shortly after. Frenchie throws another blanket over himself and invites you to share his warmth while Butcher remains on the single sofa with nothing but his trench coat. After almost three movies, your eyelids begin to droop, and you let your head fall onto Frenchie’s shoulder as sleep slowly consumes you.

You startle awake, your mind swirling with images of Butcher. You can still see him hovering over you, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, and his wicked grin as he settles between your thighs. Heat pulses between your legs at the fading memory, and your skin feels like it’s on fire, phantom touches lingering in the shape of Butcher’s hands on your hips, your breasts, your throat.

You have to blink a few times before the living room comes into focus, bright light flooding the space through the drawn curtains as dust mites float through the air. The blankets covering you suddenly feel like they weigh a tonne, and you have to throw them off your sweaty body before you pass out.

“Good morning, mon petit rayon de soleil,” Frenchie greets you, sitting in the sofa where you last consciously saw Butcher.

“Hey,” you mumble as you sit up.

His grin is wide and cheeky, “Did you have a good sleep?”

“It was okay,” you reply, rubbing your neck, “as good as it gets on this old couch.”

“I did not have the heart to wake you,” he says, “you looked so peaceful and were… humming so contently.”

You frown sceptically, “Okay…”

MM is in the kitchen, standing at the stove with a goofy smile as he watches the eggs in the pan cook.

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” Frenchie responds.

“What?” you demand, “You let me sleep for that long? Don’t we have things to do today?”

MM chuckles, “We didn’t want to wake you, as Frenchie said, you were so content.”

Spikes of panic begin prickling your skin and your eyes dart from Frenchie to MM, searching their impish faces for any sign of what could be making them so smug.

“Where’s Butcher?”

“Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself,” Frenchie says, “but he is awake.”

MM serves the eggs onto two plates and carries them over to the table where Kimiko is sat. She grins at him before digging in to her breakfast, and your own stomach begins to rumble.

“I suppose I will get my own,” Frenchie sighs, pushing himself off the sofa and walking toward the kitchen.

“I’ll have some too,” you call after him, “thanks, Frenchie.”

He smirks at you with the carton of eggs in hand, “Anything for you, mon amour. How do you like your eggs?”

“Hard boiled,” MM replies before you can, snickering as he takes a bite of toast.

Frenchie giggles too, and he quickly turns toward the stove to avoid your dubious stare.

“What the fuck are you two on this morning?”

They don’t respond as their laughter continues to bubble. Frenchie waves a hand dismissively, still refusing to look at you, before placing a pot and a pan on top of the stove.

“I prefer fried,” you mutter, still frowning.

He nods and moves the pot back into the cupboard just as the doors to the main bedroom creak open. Butcher steps out in faded jeans and yet another hideous Hawaiian shirt with only three of the lower buttons fastened. His hair is a complete mess and his cheeks flushed red; he looks as if he’d just sprinted several blocks.

“You’re awake,” he states.

You nod, “So are you.”

He chuckles, “Been awake for a couple’a hours, love.”

MM is struggling with his breakfast, his laughter refusing to subside though he does his best to quell it, his whole face turning red. Frenchie has turned his back to you completely now, but you can still see his shoulders shaking as he giggles into his hand.

“Did I miss something?” you ask Butcher as he falls into the single sofa.

His smirk just as devilish as Frenchie’s, “Nothin’ at all, in fact, I think it’s me who missed somethin’.”

“Okay,” you sigh, “you’re all being weird, and I’m incredibly sweaty, so I’m going to shower.”

“Breakfast will be ready for you when you return, mon amour,” Frenchie says, “take your time cleaning your- uh, humidité.”

Butcher chuckles as another wave of mirth hits MM, and he begins to choke on his mouthful of food. You roll your eyes before turning on your heel and stomping toward the bathroom, leaving them to their stupidity.

The cold air nips at your bare skin as you strip in the bathroom, carefully laying Butcher’s sweater on the vanity before stepping under the warm shower spray. You take your time washing your hair and scrubbing your body, hazy flashes of hot touches and wet kisses invading your mind as you close your eyes and let the water soak your skin. By the time you shut the shower off, you’re thoroughly clean and a little dizzy with desire. You dry off before wrapping the towel around your body and gathering your clothes to dash across the hall toward your bedroom.

You can’t help glancing in the direction of the living room when you step out, your eyes locking with Butcher’s dark gaze for the split second it takes you to reach your room. Your pulse is thrumming at a ridiculous pace as you unwrap the towel and turn toward your dresser. You slip on a fresh pair of panties and jeans, and turn to the sweater you’d tossed on your bed. Your stomach grumbles impatiently while you procrastinate, and you curse quietly to yourself before slipping the sweater over your head without anything underneath.

The living room wreaks of burnt toast when you remerge from your bedroom, and Frenchie is swearing at the toaster in such fast French, you can’t possibly try to understand it.

“Did you ruin my breakfast?” you ask, walking past Butcher and leaning your hip on the kitchen bench.

“I did not ruin anything,” Frenchie says with a frown, “this good for nothing piece of shit machine did.”

You can feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of your head and you know it’s Butcher, but you refuse to turn around, instead joining Frenchie in the kitchen to take over the toaster. After a few minutes of patience, the toast pops perfectly grilled and you place two pieces on each of your plates before Frenchie tops it with eggs.

“So,” MM says when you and Frenchie join him at the table, “what’s today’s plan?”

“We need to go back to the old safe house,” Frenchie replies.

“The basement,” you note between bites of toast.

He nods, “We need to gather anything we left behind that might be useful. I am running out of materials and I know we left a stash of ammunition there.”

“Who’s to say it isn’t already gone?” MM queries.

Frenchie shrugs, “We do not know, but it is worth a try.”

You want to point out that it isn’t really necessary for all of you to go, but you know that will only end in an argument, so you focus on finishing your breakfast. Once you’re all done, MM collects the empty plates and begins washing up while the rest of you go to gather your things.

You pack a small crossbody bag with your phone and keys before tucking a sheathed dagger into the back of your jeans, just in case. When you step back into the living room, Frenchie and MM are waiting by the door, whispering and giggling about something until they see you approach. You want to demand they let you in on whatever stupid joke you’d missed out on this morning, but Butcher’s heavy footsteps capture your attention before you can speak.

“Righ’ then, lads,” he says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat, “let’s get on with it.”

Your gaze lingers on his lips as he speaks before trailing down his neck and bare chest, finding a mere two more buttons fastened than before. Heat rises to your cheeks, creeping all the way up to the tips of your ears as your mouth begins to water and another blurry image of Butcher fills your mind. You see him on his knees before you, looking up with hungry eyes and parted lips, murmuring something filthy that doesn’t quite reach your ears.

You gasp, blinking rapidly to return to reality and finding three curious faces staring back at you.

“Are you okay?” Frenchie asks.

You nod, “I’m good, let’s go.”

You step between him and MM and walk out the door first, turning down the hall without bothering to wait. They’re giggling again by the time they catch up to you in the lobby, and even Butcher is wearing an amused smirk. He winks as he walks past you, pulling his car keys from his pocket before holding the front door open for the rest of you. Unlike every other time you’ve all been walking toward the car, no one calls shot gun. Frenchie simply opens the back door for Kimiko to slide in before he does, and MM follows without a single complaint.

You look at Butcher, “What the fuck?”

He shrugs, but his smirk is still saturated with amusement and the glint in his eyes tells you that this has something to do with whatever they were all being so smug about.

“You’re all pissing me off today,” you sigh, before walking around the car to the passenger’s side.

You’re not upset about getting the front seat, nor are you annoyed that you get to sit beside Butcher and practically drool over him while he has to pay attention to the road. You are, however, beginning to panic about what it is that they’re not telling you.

The drive isn’t long, and you spend most of it watching Butcher’s hands on the wheel, fantasising about how they would feel caressing every inch of your skin. It almost feels like a memory as you picture his fingers digging into your hips or wrapped gently around your throat, and you can feel your body growing hot within the thick material of his sweater. You practically fall out of the car when it finally stops, gasping for cool air and willing your mind to focus on the task at hand.

Frenchie leads the way down a narrow alley and pushes open the familiar metal door before the rest of you follow him into the dark, damp corridor of what used to be your hide out. You all stay silent for a few minutes, creeping around and checking for any unusual activity or signs that the place might be bugged or trapped. It’s definitely been ransacked, but there are thin films of dust blanketing almost every surface which indicates that whoever was looking in here had given up a long time ago.

“Okay,” Frenchie speaks up once deciding that you’re safe, “let’s see what we’ve got left.”

You split up and wander around the huge, open basement. There are two curtain dividers sectioning the space into what you used as ‘bedrooms’, and a single chipped, wooden door leading to the tiny bathroom at the very back. MM goes in there first, rummaging around for half a minute before declaring it empty.

“Is there anything in particular that we’re looking for?” you ask, turning to Frenchie, “Because there’s a lot of crap in here, and as much as I’d love for you all to rummage through my old underwear drawer, maybe we should-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Frenchie and Butcher take off, abandoning the shelves they were searching and knocking one of the curtain dividers over as they scramble toward the old dresser you used to use.

“Hey!” you shout, your eyes growing wide as you hurry after them.

They’re giggling like maniacs as they wrench the drawers open one by one, tossing out the few items of clothing that still remained in there before realising that there was, in fact, no underwear left behind.

“I was joking,” you say, “fucking pervs.”

Frenchie chuckles, “Can you blame us, mon amour?”

“Yes!”

MM is snickering in the small kitchenette as he picks through the lower cupboards one by one. As much as you want to enjoy the rare light-heartedness within the group right now, you can’t stop wondering why the hell they were all in such a giddy mood. Are they all high?

“Alrigh’ you lot,” Butcher says, running a hand through his dishevelled hair as his laughter subsides, “stop messin’ about, we’ve got a job to do.”

You roll your eyes and trudge toward where MM is, starting on the top cupboards of the small kitchen while they begin opening old crates and suitcases. Frenchie starts a pile by the stairs, stacking up anything he finds that might be useful or too valuable to abandon. There isn’t much, but there are still a couple of cases of ammunition and packets of powders that you know are combustible in some way.

“Wait!” Frenchie shouts suddenly, crouching beside an electrical socket. “Be careful. Somebody has shorted the wiring, intentionally or not, I do not know, but do not touch the outlets or anything still plugged in.”

You slowly retract your hand from beside the rusty old microwave. “What will happen?”

“You will probably be electrocuted.”

“Good to know,” Butcher sighs.

You all return to your ransacking with cautious hands and watchful eyes, skirting around anything electrical or made of metal. When you approach the refrigerator, you can hear a soft, crackling hum, and MM looks at you with wide eyes. It was never a reliable machine, but now it is most definitely a death trap.

You continue your search through the cupboards, knocking half-full packets of rice and flour off the shelves as you stretch up onto your toes to see inside. This job is probably better suited to someone with more of a height advantage, but you’ve always been stubborn, so you don’t bother asking for help.

The cupboard above the sink, adjacent to the stove – you always thought it was stupid to put the sink right beside the stove – reveals a cluster of cleaning products. You reach as far as you can, straining your arms to reach the bottles on the top shelf and groaning at the tension in your body.

Behind you, MM mimics the noise, only louder, “Ungh.”

You hear Frenchie snicker, “No, no, it was more like, mmmh.”

Your fingertips scrape the bottle closest to the front of the cupboard and you huff in frustration.

“Nngh,” MM groans again.

“Ahhh,” Frenchie moans loudly, before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

Determined to ignore them, you try to stretch up even further. Your back aches but your fingers find the bottle once again, scratching at it in an attempt to get it to move.

MM sighs seductively, “Ohh, yeah.”

“Mmm, Butcher,” Frenchie gasps.

Your stomach drops and you lose your balance, stumbling as you whirl around to face them. “What the fuck?”

Frenchie giggles as he meets your stare, “Oops.”

The bottle from the top shelf of the cupboard falls forward and knocks your shoulder, popping the cap off. The liquid inside spills all over your chest just as realisation hits you.

“That’s what all this has been about?!” you exclaim, “you heard me having a fucking sex dream and instead of waking me up, you listened?”

MM can’t stop laughing, with one hand holding his stomach while the other supports his body against the old dining room table. You’ve never seen this man so flustered, and if you weren’t so embarrassed, you might have enjoyed seeing him so overwhelmed with laughter.

Frenchie, however, has gone completely pale, stepping forward with a petrified expression. “Y/N, listen-”

“No,” you snap, “I won’t listen! You are such a-”

“Y/N!” he shouts, “do not move.”

The room falls silent and panic ripples through your body.

“Please, mon amour, stay still,” he pleads as he hurries toward you.

He steps carefully around the puddles on the floor before reaching down to pick up the now empty bottle. He studies the label for less than a second before looking back at you with panicked eyes.

“You need to take off your jumper, now.”

You frown, “What? Why?”

“This is isopropyl alcohol,” he says, “it is highly flammable. If anything in this place so much as sparks, it will catch fire and if the vapours ignite, this whole building could explode.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, looking down at the soaked front of Butcher’s sweater.

Frenchie turns to MM, “Get something, get a bag, and get ready to go.”

You remain still as your pulse quickens, “Frenchie.”

“Butcher,” he says, “you and Kimiko start taking things up the stairs, do not come over here.”

Butcher frowns, “Like hell I’m leavin’ her.”

“Frenchie,” you repeat.

“I will get her out, okay? Just take what we’ve got and let’s get out.”

“I don’t give a fuck about this crap,” Butcher argues, “I care about her, and I’m not leavin’ ‘til I know she’s safe.”

“Frenchie!” you exclaim, “I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

The room falls quiet once again, and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks as each of them turn to you with curious eyes.

“Nothin’?” Butcher asks, fighting the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Nothing,” you reply.

Despite the situation, Frenchie is the first to snicker.

“Come ‘ere,” Butcher says, “slowly.”

You step carefully out of the kitchen, avoiding every surface as your boots squelch against the wet floor. Once you’re in front of him, he shrugs off his coat and gestures for you to remove the sweater. Your heart pounds as you turn your back to him, and he holds his jacket up to shield you, though not quite high enough to block his own view. You hold your breath and pull the sweater up, squeezing your eyes shut as it slips over your head. You can feel his breath on your back as soon as it’s bare, and a whole different kind of heat rushes through you.

He drops his coat around your shoulders and you quickly hug it against your chest. His scent envelops you, even more so than it had with the sweater, and your nerves begin to ease almost immediately.

“Give it to me,” Frenchie says, holding a plastic bag open toward you.

You drop the sweater in and he ties it off.

“Let’s go.”

MM, Kimiko, and Butcher grab what they can before you all ascend the stairs. You hurry through the corridor and out into the alley, not stopping until you’re all safe inside the car.

“Did you get any on your pants, mon amour?” Frenchie asks.

You push the bottom of Butcher’s jacket off your legs to inspect. “Only a little.”

“It will not damage the clothing, but we should wash everything right away.”

You nod before glancing toward Butcher. His face is a mixture of concern and mischief, his eyes struggling to watch the road instead of you, sitting beside him and wrapped in his favourite coat.

“Should we tell someone about that situation back there?” MM pipes up.

“I will call somebody to clean it up,” Frenchie replies.

It isn’t long before you’re all quietly climbing out of the car and carrying your finds up to the apartment. Everyone kicks their shoes off at the door, per Frenchie’s instructions, and begins sorting through the bags and boxes of old materials and equipment.

Frenchie turns to you, “Give me your jeans.”

“Right now?”

He nods and you sigh, deciding not to argue. You turn away from them and open the coat, quickly unbuttoning your jeans and slipping them off before wrapping yourself back up. When you turn back around, he’s adorning that same silly grin that he’d been wearing all morning.

“Is this how it started in your dream?”

You roll your eyes and shove your jeans into his outstretched hand. “Just because you kind of saved my life, doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed at you.”

He giggles as he takes your clothes and walks down the hall to the laundry.

“In his defence,” Butcher smirks, “I told ‘em not to wake you.”

“You what?”

He steps toward you and shrugs, “I liked hearin’ those pretty little noises you were makin’.”

The butterflies in your stomach burst to life and your pulse begins to race.

He leans forward as he whispers, “Liked it a little too much.”

You suddenly remember what Frenchie had said this morning when you asked where Butcher was: ‘Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself’.

“Now,” Butcher clears his throat, “you gon’a give me my coat back before you spill somethin’ else on it?”

You raise your brows, “You want it back right now? Right here?”

He glances over his shoulder toward MM and Kimiko before turning back to you, “Maybe not righ’ here.”

You step around him and walk through the kitchen toward the main bedroom, avoiding MM’s eyes as you pass the dining room table. You don’t bother closing the doors behind you, because sure enough, a pair of heavy footsteps follow closely behind. The door clicks shut and you turn around to look at Butcher. You let your eyes wander over his body, your mouth watering as you follow the collar of his shirt down his bare chest where the top buttons lay open.

“I’m not gon’a lie,” he says, his hungry gaze pinning you to the floor, “as much as I fuckin’ loved hearin’ you whisper my name… I can’t wait to make you scream it.”

His words punch you in the chest, knocking all the air from your legs as heat pools between your legs.

“Now, love,” he steps forward, “can I ‘ave my coat back?”

Your fingers tremble as you grip the lapels of the jacket, moving your shoulders so the material falls off before you open it up and let it drop to the floor. He draws one sharp breath, his eyes growing wide as they move up and down your body, devouring every inch of it as if he’s never seen anything so perfect.

He closes the distance between you and wraps his hands around your waist, fingertips digging into the flesh of your back with bruising pressure.

“D’you know how hard I came to the thought of you this morning?” he murmurs.

You can’t do anything but stare back at him, your lips aching to taste him, all of him.

“So fuckin’ hard,” he whispers before capturing your mouth with his.

You moan as you melt against him, your arms wrapping around his neck and your fingers tangling through his hair as he claims your mouth. His hands squeeze your waist and pull you closer, pressing your naked body against him. The friction of his shirt against your nipples makes you gasp, and he takes advantage of your open mouth, sliding his tongue past your lips.

“Can’t fuckin’ imagine,” he mumbles against your mouth, “how hard I’m gon’a come with you on my cock.”

The ball of tension throbbing below your stomach explodes, and you use all of your strength to push him back toward the bed. He chuckles as he falls back, his hand catching your wrist to pull you down on top of him.

“Tell me ‘bout your dream, love,” he says as you hover over him, “where was I?”

You plant an open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone before biting down and making him groan.

“You were everywhere,” you whisper against his skin, “marking me, claiming me.”

He moans again as you grind your hips down, the friction of his jeans sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

“I don’t fuckin’ need to claim you,” he growls, his hands holding your hips as he thrusts up, “you’re already mine.”

He lifts you up enough to flip you onto your back, his body moving with yours and settling between your legs as he hovers over you. He dips down, his lips finding your neck and sucking on the sensitive skin before biting down hard. You moan loudly, and quickly smack a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

“I don’t think so, love,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pinning it to the bed, “I said, I wan’a hear you fuckin’ scream.”

END.

[iluvnewports]

Canary | Part II

part I here

Tumblr hates posting my foremats!

18+, minors dni

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You’ve been walking around with a head held high lately and it’s not hard to see why. 

It may or may not involve a certain driven English bastard turned wanted murderer. And the couch. And that one time in the car. Maybe also, possibly, a subway bathroom stall. 

You’ve both agreed to keep this whole situation to yourselves and while you think you’re acting completely nonchalant, you can’t deny there’s a certain pep in your step. Same for him. He’s been a little less brutish than normal. 

Things have been calm, as calm as things can be when you’re one of the most wanted criminals in the country, but you’re not sure what else you’d call it. Starlight—Annie—has been trying to get her hands on a sample of Compound V, per the plan that Butcher didn’t really care for. He doesn’t really like Annie on account of being a Supe, but you like her just fine. She’s funny and sweet, though she can act pretentious at times. But Butcher can’t see past the fact of what’s in her DNA.

Just another stark difference between the two of you, you suppose. 

Annie got a lead from Stormfront's laptop about the Sage Grove Center, explaining why you and the rest of the group are now standing about ninety yards away, half of you dressed in orderly scrubs. You, Butcher, Hughie, and Annie decide to hang back just in case while M.M, Frenchie, and Koniko go inside. 

You and Butcher sit atop the van’s roof, Butcher flat on his stomach looking down the scope of a rifle at the building as you sit criss-crossed beside him, eyes squinting as you look up to the sky, hair blowing back into your face. You two haven’t said much to each other but it’s okay. It’s a comfortable silence. 

You know he’s in a mood right now since Annie is here helping physically. He can do with her leads, sure, her undercover work, but he hates having to be around her. You’re hoping your presence can at least help some to put him at ease. You look over, watching Annie and Hughie awkwardly flirt. Their dynamic is so odd, but can you really say anything? Even if it’s odd, it’s sort of cute. 

“Are they in?” You ask, unable to see much because of the distance. 

“Yeah, looks like it.” He lowers the scope, poking up a bit. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You know what’s bothering him and you don’t expect him to talk about it or share it with you first. Sometimes you have to poke the bear. 

“What about?” He asks as he looks back through the scope, surveying the area. You smile to yourself; yup, just as you expected. 

“Maybe the fact that you’re not too happy with Annie being here.” You poke at him. 

“Oh for fucks sake, are you all on a first-name basis now? Braiding friendship bracelets while you all suck off the Supe?” Butcher scoffs as he looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Yeah, I made mine in green.” You flash your wrist sarcastically as you prop your knees up more comfortably. “You know we wouldn’t have this lead without her.” 

Butcher purses his lips, lowering his scope as he furrows his brows in thought. You’re right and he knows it. He opens his mouth to talk, but just as he does, a loud boom sounds throughout the sky. Flying. Butcher quickly picks up his scope, waving his hand at you to get low and you comply. 

It’s Stormfront, landing just close enough that she doesn’t see the giant hole in the fence that Annie had made. You watch in horror, grabbing the walkie from near Butcher. 

“M.M, Stormfront is here, be careful.” You warn them quietly, not expecting a reply as you scoot towards the edge of the roof, Annie offering a hand before you jump. You gladly accept her help with a smile and a small ‘thanks’.

Butcher lowers his scope as he mutters a curse under his breath, shaking his head as he notices you standing down with Starlight which he doesn’t like. “Looks like Stormcunt is here.” Butcher huffs. Always a wrench in the plan, some way or another. 

“Oh God, what do we do?” Hughie panics slightly. 

“Nothing, that’s what we fuckin’ do.” Butcher stands up, rifle in hand as he nears the edge. Annie offers her hand to him which he ignores, jumping down as he leans into the open van door to grab his handgun just in case, cocking it and placing it in his belt behind him. 

You hear Annie sigh and you shoot her an apologetic look as Hughie looks more pitiful than anything.

Your walkie crackles and you pull it from your waistband, holding it up between the four of you. Butcher’s ears perk up as he turns, all waiting and looking at one another as the radio static continues. 

“They’re experimenting on… on the patients. Compound V. Against their will,” crkkkkkk, “this is so fucked.” M.M whispers as you hear a commotion on the other end. “They’re just… killing them.” Another radio crackle. 

Your brows furrow as you raise your head to look at Butcher with an equally worried—or angry—face. He goes to snatch the walkie from you but you jerk your hand back, slapping his hand away with a head shake. Anger bubbles within his chest, scoffing at your hand slap, as if he were some sort of child. 

You say nothing as the walkie-crackles cease, placing it back onto your pant’s waistband. You all stand in tense silence, looking at one another as Butcher fumes silently, ready to pop a vein as he looks at Annie. 

Butcher suddenly points his loaded rifle straight at Annie’s face, Annie gasping as Hughie immediately starts panicking, shouting, “Woah!” Your jaw drops.

“Real fuckin’ convenient that as soon as we get here Stormcunt shows up. But it’s just a coincidence, right?” Butcher looks down the line of the barrel, steadying it so it’s pointed directly center of her forehead. “And now they’re sayin’ they’re experimenting on people, killin’ em. You Supes, all the fucken same.”

“Butcher, she’s on our side!” You try and reason with him, shouting at him in hopes he’ll listen.

Annie’s eyes glow brightly as you can feel the electricity crackle within the air, your body hair standing up on end. “Get that thing out of my face.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Butcher laughs coldly, shrugging. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Butcher—!” Hughie tries to interject.

“Oh shut the fuck up, Hughie.” Butcher spits venomously. “You’re just as bad seeing you’re banging the cunt. Sleeping with the enemy, eh?” 

“Billy!” You finally shout which causes him to lower his gun and look at you. You breathe in sharply, slicing your hand through the air firmly. “Put the goddamn gun down.” 

“Oh so you’ll only listen unless you’re fucking one of us, that’s great to know.” Hughie laughs bitterly.

“Hughie…” you trail off. 

“No.” He shrugs you off, shaking his head. “Just shut the fuck up.” Your heart aches in your chest at his sudden coldness, your brows furrowing as hurt morphs over your face. You’ve never had him snap on you like this, despite everything you two have been through. “You want to talk about sleeping with the enemy? How could you be with someone like him? He abandoned us!”

Butcher notices your silence, watching the way hurt paints across your features. He lowers his gun down by his side as he goes toe to toe with Hughie, towering over him. “Watch yourself Hughie.” He warns.

Hughie throws his hands in the air, laughing before stepping forward, seemingly not backing down. “Fuck you, Butcher.” 

It’s now you and Annie trying to talk both of them down, pull them apart, but they won’t budge. “Guys—!”

An alarm rings out loudly, causing everyone’s head to turn as you turn on your heels and grab the walkie. “M.M? Is everything okay?” 

No response, an explosion going off somewhere within the building. And that’s when Butcher clocks Hughie straight in the jaw who falls like a sack of potatoes, Annie diving down to comfort him as he holds his bleeding nose. Butcher points at him, his voice falling very low. “You don’t fuckin’ talk to her that way. Not around me.” 

You’re embarrassed by the encounter, watching the way your two friends look at you as they lay on the ground. Your face burns, too blindsided by rage and betrayal to fully comprehend what he had just said. You immediately snap your walkie off your hip and push it into his hands, tears welling in your eyes as you send a look of apology towards your hurt friends before climbing into the van without another word. All you want is to be alone right now. 

Butcher scowls at your action, calling back to M.M on your walkie, which you can’t really hear as it’s so muffled behind the closed door. You lean away from the door, looking in the other direction of the van so no one has to see the angry tears slipping down your face. God damn, he’s such a fucking brute. It’s a different conversation within the bedroom, but he should know better than anyone else that you don’t like to be submissive anywhere but. You’ve always hated the way he needs to assert himself, and now you’re directly involved.

The way Hughie looked at you… you can’t stop thinking about it. He looked so hurt, so betrayed. You two have always been like siblings, you always had each other’s backs. He took it so hard when Butcher seemingly disappeared off the face of the Earth. You were too, but you were strong, for him. If you’re Butcher’s canary, Hughie’s yours. 

The leather is sleek against your clothes and you can almost slip around in your seat as you try and pose yourself away from the door, knees dipping down towards the left. It’s silent outside the van and you can only assume that they’re all staring at each other intensely. It is Butcher’s specialty, after all. 

You’re brooding in silence, ready for it all to be over, hoping your friends are safe. 

Until it’s not. Until you hear shouting. And before you can look behind you, the van is suddenly flipping onto itself three times over, rolling about in the empty field. Your body thrashes around the metal van, throwing you into the back of the van as you’re thrown around, hitting all walls and corners as your body contorts and bends in ways you didn’t think were imaginable. It all happens so fast, it’s all such a blur, that you can’t comprehend it until you’re lying on your side as the van tilts and steadies right back up on its wheels. 

You slowly push yourself up, arms wobbling beneath your weight as you grunt out. Everything is so heavy, so blurred, so dizzy. You hear your name being called by three separate voices but the ringing in your ears is too loud to get past. You weakly push the doors open as they’re pulled, stumbling out onto the grass and almost falling to your knees as you look around. 

“Y/N…” Butcher looks as Annie gasps to herself, Hughie covering his mouth as you hold your hands out, trying your best to focus on what’s in front of you. Your torso is itchy, you feel itchy and you feel warm. 

You look down to your stomach, a large fragment sticking through the upper right of your stomach, your torn skin jagged and ripped apart as crimson clots around it slightly, thick crimson pouring down your frontside. You cough, your knees buckle. 

You collapse.

“Oh my god.” Annie gasps as Butcher jets down to scoop you up into your arms, carrying you bridal style as your head lulls back limply. All chaos and anger are put to the side, enemies become allies as they set aside their differences for the common goal of saving you.

Butcher looks down at your stomach, blood staining his clothes and palms as his worried eyes scan your colorless face. “Can you cauterize it?” He looks up to Starlight, who stutters over herself, gesturing to your wound. 

“Maybe—! I-It won’t last long!” 

“Do it, for god's sake, just do it.” He shakes his head, lifting you up at an angle so she can have access to your torso. She burns the wound with the fragment still inside, stopping the bleeding—for now.

“What about them?” Hughie asks, referring to M.M and them. Butcher shakes his head, immediately rushing forward towards the way of the road behind the thick woods. 

“Fuck them, they’re on their own.” He shakes his head as he looks down at you, the inner conflict of the situation settling across his features. You’re in between unconsciousness and reality at this point, slipping between the two gradually. Hughie and Annie follow closely behind Butcher, both unsure of his plan but following along anyway as they hold worry within their hearts. Hughie regrets snapping on you if only he could take it back. 

Then you wouldn’t have been in that fucking van. 

“We need a car,” Butcher says thickly, pulling you closer to him as fingers hook from beneath and wrap around your body. Your cheek rests against his inner forearm, groaning with furrowed brows. You’re so beyond frazzled that the pain is instead a dull, uncomfortable throbbing throughout your body. Tame, yet enough to drive you mad.

The three of them eventually flag down—or really, carjack—someone’s car on the road, leaving them behind with a card for Susan Raynor with him as Annie speeds down the road, Butcher holding you close in the backseat.

“Please let me do this. You gotta’ let me do this one fucking thing for ya’.” Butcher whispers to you, rubbing at your cheek as he holds your face. Your legs lay across his lap as you lean against the car door, Butcher leaning forward just enough so he wasn’t putting any weight on you. “You’re going to be okay.” It’s more of a plea to God himself than reassurance. 

He tucks a stray hair behind your ear, somehow bloodied deep red. Your face is so pale, so drained of life and color as he holds your face, wiping his thumb over your cheek again just to feel you. He repeats his soothing mantra to not go insane. 

“You’re going to be okay.”

—

You’re somewhere calm, in a serene field that stretches for miles, perfectly cut grass with small flowers. You look down; you’re barefoot, wearing a flowing dress that cuts off just above your knees, loose sleeves comfortably falling down your arm until it elopes around your wrist. You’re clean, comfortable, calm. 

You place two hands on your stomach, smoothing down your dress as you lift your head. There he is, in all his glory. Butcher, standing about six feet away from you, same beach shirt with the two buttons popped open, glistening chest expose with chest hair poking through. 

“‘Ello gorgeous.” He walks towards you, grabbing your two hands as he gives you a once-over. Everything is perfect; you don’t feel nervous, embarrassed. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 

You smile, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. You don’t need to question why you’re here or where you are. Everything is perfect.

The scene changes and suddenly you’re laying on your back, plush grass pillowing your back as the collar of your dress is pulled down beneath your chest, wetness coating your nipple as Butcher’s tongue swirls around your left breast, sucking slightly as you sweetly moan into the air around you, fingers tangling within his thick black hair. Your leg is exposed as he pulls your leg up against his side, fingers gripping and digging into the flesh of your thigh as he grinds against your cotton underwear. 

He kisses your neck, lapping his tongue upwards and suckling on your ear. His heavy breath sends chills down your spine and your skin ignites in chills when he whispers in your ear in response to your moans, “I know sweetheart, I know.” 

Everything changes again and you’re now on top of him, dress hiked up your legs as you grind on his cock. His hands grip your hips, pulling you back and forth, cock wedged up your cunt as you bounce slightly, head lolled backward as your pants are met with the breeze of the open sky above you. Butcher sits upright, pulling you into his chest as you gyrate back and forth, cock plunging deep within you and causing that amazing friction you know all too well. His tongue finds its way back to your breast, suckling on it as you moan out. 

You’ll never get used to how big he is, it’s as if he breaks you in every time, stretching you out for his liking. He bites down on your breast, causing you to wince as you grab both sides of his face, forcing him to look at you. 

“Sorry love,” he smiles, lips parting as he watches you ride him with such intensity, such need. Your back arches against him, his arms wrapped around you as he pushes into the arch of your back further against him. The light-headed feeling is slowly making its appearance, the burning between your legs becoming more intense as your lower stomach bubbles, your panting picking up and you moan out into the air. Your ears ring as you’re pushed over the edge, straight into the arms of your climax, Butcher gripping a fist full of hair as your eyes fall shut. He nips at your throat, giving you the perfect balance of pleasure and pain as you cry out, cock rubbing into you and hitting the spot as you feel his cock twitch inside of you, spilling his seed as you clench around him, tip repeatedly hitting your cervix with a dull pain that can only be described as feeling right. 

Eyes shoot open and you’re faced with a white ceiling, the feeling of IVs stuck in your arms making you cringe as you lay up in a hospital bed fit with a gown. You’re disoriented, bright light blinding you as you sit up with a wince, your hand flying to your stomach as you collapse back down. You can feel the rough stitches beneath your gown’s thin fabric. 

Looking around, you notice Butcher facing the window, his back to you as he stares silently, lost deep in thought. The sun is setting. It’s nice to see it from this height instead of being stuck in some dark, wet basement. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him, knowing what sort of things he can get into when he’s left in that mind of his. As soon as he hears your voice he immediately turns, his features relaxing as he gives you a once-over. 

“You get impaled and almost die and ask if I’m okay?” Butcher chuckles as he walks over to your bed, placing two hands on either side of your cheeks and planting a lasting kiss on your lips. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asks in a whisper as if you’ll break apart into his hands if he’s too loud, allowing your face to relax as he sits down across from you. 

You shrug nonchalantly with a hum. “Little sore.” 

His hands still haven’t let go of your face, eyes flickering between both of your own. “Yeah?” He humors as if to say no shit. 

“Kind of stupid to bring me to a hospital.” You wrap your hand around Butcher’s forearm as you rub against the rough skin, his arm hair soft against the pads of your fingers. “It’s a miracle I didn’t wake up handcuffed to the bed.” 

You watch Butcher’s face contort into a smirk, just watching the dirty thoughts run across his mind. You tsk, and when he opens his mouth, you put your finger up and press it down to the pad of your thumb, signing “no,” as you hum with a brow raised. He releases a breath in humor, smiling as he tilts his head. Hands slide down your face, one resting on your shoulder as the other rests within the crane of your neck. His face suddenly falls, now looking at you solemnly. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He shakes his head, brows furrowing and he can’t even look into your eyes, instead looking down between you. “This should’ve never happened. None of this was supposed to happen.” 

“Butcher…” You trail off with a small sigh, shaking your head as you place your hands atop his in comfort. “It isn’t your fault. Shit like this is just inevitable, in our position, our line of work. The way we live. It’s our hand dealt.” 

“I know that.” Butcher turns stern. “Jesus fucking Christ, you don’t think I know that?”

“Then—?”

“It’s too dangerous.” He shakes his head. “I don’t—I can’t—“

He can’t even speak. He almost lost you today and he honestly can’t handle it. You shake your head again, placing your hands on his face as you force him to look at you. “Billy,” you say gently. His empty eyes look at yours. He’s already lost so much, you know that. “I know. But we’re in this together, yeah?” You shake your head to encourage him.

“We’ve been through a lot these past couple years, and even before we…” He swallows. Hearing him speak so gently isn’t something you’re used to. “I’ve always cared for you, you know that. With everything we’ve been through the past year, these past couple years, this is the first time I’ve ever considered quitting.” Butcher’s eyes switch between yours as your thumb strokes his beard, your eyes heavy with sadness as your heart aches. 

His hands fall from you as he recoils, regressing away so he can collapse in on himself. He looks away again. “I don’t want to lose you.” 

“Hey, hey,” you whisper, grabbing his rough hands and pulling him closer. “You won’t lose me. I’m here, I’m still here.”

He nods, though you’re not really convinced. You decide to take a different approach.

You lay back into your bed, patting beside you. Your bed is just big enough to allow it and all you want to do is use this moment to reassure him. Fuck Homelander, fuck Vought, fuck everything right now. All you have right now is each other. Butcher complies, crawling up and collapsing next to you. You both face forward, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as you take his hand in yours. It’s silent, but that’s okay. 

Everything is falling apart, but amid the chaos, you want to ground yourself in a moment to appreciate what you have. You don’t have a lot, but you do have people who care for you. And honestly, for the moment, that’s okay. It’s worth it to have moments like these. 

“I had a dream, just before I woke up.” Everything’s so heavy, so you decide to turn to something else. 

“Oh yeah?” He leans his head down onto yours. 

“It was you and me in a field. It was beautiful. I was wearing a dress and you were in your stupid beach shirt.” You giggle to yourself as he scoffs. 

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” He’s offended. You snort. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard beach shirts are all the rave in England.” Butcher rolls his eyes. 

“We were in the field, it was nice. Calm.” You smile with a shrug, remembering how it made you feel. “Then we were fucking.” 

Butcher’s eyebrows lift as he turns his head so you can see him, pleasantly surprised. “We were banging? In a field?”

You nod with a smile. “Better than a car, hm?” 

“I’ll say. Maybe after all of this is over we can go there, yeah?” 

You turn back to face the door as you lean back into him, eyes closing gently as you daydream of it all. “As long as it’s far away.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You smile with a hum, stroking against the back of his hand, catching some hair beneath your thumb. You don’t want to bring up what he said earlier in fear of him shutting down; you know how he is. You hope you can talk about it later, if later ever comes. 

Despite his need to constantly be strong for others, you want to be strong for him. And that’s why you can’t admit, you won’t admit, that you’re scared too. The two of you constantly tiptoe around death every day. But today was too close of a call. You’re scared, even more than you were before. You’ve always known you could die; That’s not the issue. The issue is that if you do, you’re finally realizing what you’d be leaving behind. 

And upon that realization, you’re scared. Butcher has already lost so much that maybe you take into consideration that your loss may be too much. And you don’t know what to do with that fact. 

You pack it away for later. Because for right now, all you want to do is absorb what is now. Who knows how much of it you even have left? You take a deep breath as you memorize the way his hand feels beneath yours right now or the way his soft breaths feel against your temple. The way his beard scratches your skin slightly. 

“Me neither.”

[stranger-nightmare]

All Other Characters ~ Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Angst = ❤︎

Fluff = ✿︎

Smut = ⚠︎︎ (minors DNI please)

Dark themes = ☾

Personal fave = ☆

Oneshots

Drabbles

I’m No Kid ❤︎⚠︎ (Dean Winchester x F!Reader)

Quickie with James Keene ⚠︎ (Kinktober 2022)

Blood Kink with Roman Godfrey ⚠︎ (Kinktober 2022)

Praise Kink with Sam Winchester ⚠︎ (Kinktober 2022)

Pegging with Hughie Campbell ⚠︎ (Kinktober 2022)

Choking with Dean Winchester ⚠︎ (Kinktober 2022)

Headcanons

dividers by @firefly-graphics | consent / feedback banners by me

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

♫ ― 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒!

⋆ a few things to note before requesting!

before i start, i just want to emphasize the fact that this is strictly a plus size reader account, so i will not write for thin/skinny coded reader.

unless it's stated otherwise, the reader will be female.

my life is busy and more often than not, i am ridiculously exhausted, so it may take me longer to get to your request. I am not ignoring them!

this also goes hand in hand with the rule above, and though it hasn't happened before and i would prefer to keep it that way, please don't rush me to write your request!

please specify what kind of plotline that you would like, and also where it takes place/what season it's in the series/movie that you're requesting for!

i would really appreciate it if you would not send me a request anywhere else that is not in my inbox; like my comments on certain posts or in the comments on my ao3.

if i do not feel comfortable writing your request or if you have asked for something i do not write for, i have the right to delete them!

please also specify what trope you'd like! (i.e. enemies-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, etc.)

the female characters that i write for will be paired up with female reader on default, so if you wish for the reader to be gender neutral, please state it if so!

i always try to keep my writing as race neutral as possible, but if you'd like a certain gender, religion, sexuality, skin color, etc. to be emphasized, please let me know! i'm always trying to make my account more inclusive for others!

if you want either a blurb, headcanon, or a oneshot, please tell me!

what i write: fluff, smut, angst, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, sick fics, urequited love, bad endings, platonic relationships (i.e family relationships, friendships, etc.), threesomes, polyamorous relationships.

what i do not write: self-harm, sexual offenses of any sort, non-con, dub-con, age-play, dd/lg, md/lb, any kind of sexual play, little space, scat, water sports, throw up, illegal or immoral age gaps, or just any kinks that do not include clearly stated consent, incest, cheating (on the reader), feederism, fat fetishizing, requested series/mini series, songfics, singing.

♫ ― 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

women: rowena macleod, meg masters, michonne hawthorne, maggie greene, rosita espinosa, penelope garcia, emily prentiss, jennifer jareau, tara lewis, elle greenaway, natasha romanov, wanda maximoff, tess servopoulos, ss harley quinn, annie 'starlight' january, rosalie hale, alice cullen, usagi yuzuha, kuina hikari, ann rizuna, kate sharma.

men: dean winchester, sam winchester, castiel, rick grimes, daryl dixon, glenn rhee, aaron hotchner, spencer reid, derek morgan, luke alvez, matt simmons, steve rogers, bucky barnes, tony stark, thor odinson, loki laufeyson, matthew murdock, peter parker (smut for college!peter only), james "logan" howlett, murphy macmanus, joel miller, boaz priestly, jim hopper, jonathan byers (smut for only s4), hughie campbell, billy butcher, mike schmidt, edward cullen, jasper hale, emmett cullen, carlisle cullen, charlie swan, jacob black (smut only for eclipse ➝ breaking dawn part 1-2!), chishiya shuntaro, arisu rhyohei.

[hunterscoffee]

The Boys - Tall s/o

Oneshot Masterlist Warnings: None

Billy Butcher

Butcher is 6'1" or 1.85m.

He. Does. Not. Care. About. Height. If you’re hot, you’re hot.

He wouldn’t care if you wore heels, 

He’d think you’d look amazing in everything.

Rough exterior, but is a total sweetheart inside.

Frenchie

This is like the least insecure man on the planet. 

He’s 5'9" or 1.75m.

He would think it’s hot to have an s/o that’s taller than him.

You’d be his ‘Amazon Warrior’.

This man is as cheesy as they come by,

He would 100% care more about who you are.

As cheesy as it is, he would care more about who you are then how tall you are. 

Hughie Campbell

Hughie Campbell is a Grade A sweetheart.

He’s 6'1" or 1.85m.

This man is all about what’s in your heart.

He’s a little insecure about himself,

So he prefers women that are shorter than him,

But when he’s in love with you, he couldn’t care less.