#frenchie drabble

[hughiecampbelle]

Little Death (Frenchie Oneshot)

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

Word Count: 1,396

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They all are.

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

You were not going to kill Homelander.

[deskgirl]

I wonder whose idea it was to hide Izzy—Frenchie’s or Jim’s. Which of them knew about the kitchen’s hidden room, Jim who was trained to be an assassin or Frenchie who’s clever and sees and hears things? Who grabbed whom by the shoulder and murmured in low tones before they both got Archie to help them drag Izzy down below? Or perhaps they said nothing at all, instead gesturing with a head nod and a raised eyebrow and the other responding in kind.

It wouldn’t have been Archie who has no reason to risk her own life or Fang was too distraught. So it has to be between Jim who said “but he’s our dick” and cut a man’s leg off and Frenchie who said he shoves all his emotions in a box but then helped hide the man he was expected to kill.

Maybe it wasn’t necessarily either of them who told the other to do it. Maybe they just looked at each other across the deck and knew they were thinking the same thing.

[cryptfile]

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

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

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

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

SOLDIER BOY

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

HOMELANDER

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

FRENCHIE // [ RECASTED TO DEV PATEL ]

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

QIMIR // THE STRANGER

꩜ drabble — qimir taking you as his acolyte.

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

LOGAN HOWLETT // WOLVERINE

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches [ +18 mdni, vampire!reader] — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper).

CARMY BERZATTO

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

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

BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

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

[morelikeravenbore]

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian Sallow was unforgivable.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Christmas Drabble Advent Day 6 - Pretty Present

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

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

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

Warnings: Smut, shibari.

“Fuck…!”

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

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

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

“It’s…I-“

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

“Dick!” You grunted. “Too much.”

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

[fortheizzyhandsenjoyers]

Ouizzy Drabble Hours

Izzy craves this. Needs it, even.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Him," Izzy tells her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She sighs, "Not quite."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

last week (??) i asked if y'alls would be interested in me curating a playlist that makes you feel like the protagonist in a coming of age indie film. i'm giving headcanons and the playlist under the cut.

stumbling home from a house party with bruised knees and a stolen lighter, pockets full of someone else’s poetry and your own regret

spontaneous night drives with your feet on the dash, cigarette ash trailing out the window and someone you almost loved in the driver’s seat

inner monologue voiceovers under grainy sunset lighting, narrated like a journal you’d never let anyone read

crying in a diner bathroom stall then dancing in the rain five minutes later, mascara bleeding into your smile

stealing a jacket from someone who swore they didn’t care, then sleeping in it for weeks like a secret rebellion

painting over old heartbreaks on your bedroom wall, layers of color hiding the names you never say out loud anymore

passing notes in a thrift store aisle: “this shirt looks like you” / “so what if it does?”

making friendship bracelets in the middle of the night, even though none of you believe in forever

losing your voice at a basement show, singing along to lyrics that sound like your insides

finding a mixtape in your coat pocket months later, unlabeled, warbled—like a ghost from someone who once knew you

hitchhiking to a beach you’ve never seen before just to scream into the wind and feel something ancient in your chest crack open

listening to voicemail drafts you never sent, your voice trembling with things you never learned how to say

kissing someone you’re not supposed to at 2am in a stranger’s kitchen, laughter stuck in your teeth

cutting your own bangs at 3:37am while talking to your cat about the inevitability of change

staring out the window of a moving car like the world is ending and you’re the only one who knows it

1. "harness your hopes" – pavement opening credits energy; you're a little lost but pretending not to be

2. "superboy & supergirl" – tullycraft quirky montage of your weird little world—bike rides, thrift stores, mismatched socks

3. "dad rock" – TRSH group hang in someone’s garage; it smells like old beer and teenage delusion

4. "longshot" – catfish and the bottlemen you fall a little in love with someone’s smirk across the room

5. "crybaby" – destroy boys angsty, defiant—someone tells you to calm down so you scream louder

6. "wet" – dazey and the scouts grungy self-discovery moment in a bathroom mirror; smeared eyeliner, cracked lip balm

7. "diet coke" – leanna firestone soft spiral begins—rambling voice notes, your journal is now your therapist

8. "sycamore leaves" – moselle slow motion shots of nothing in particular but it means something to you

9. "tears over beers x scott pilgrim vs. my gpa" mashup the breakdown. the breakthrough. you're sobbing on the floor but also dancing??

10. "freequent letdown" – illuminati hotties you texted them. they left you on read. you throw your phone into your laundry pile.

11. "no talk" – lowell you ghost people for a week and pretend it's self-care

12. "two beers in" – free throw you run into them again at a party. your heart does that thing. it sucks.

13. "cave song" – pretty vicious things are chaotic but alive—your world is on fire and you’re smiling in the smoke

14. "rose in hand" – jetais everything slows down; you feel grown in a way that hurts but heals

15. "be safe" – the cribs the emotional climax; someone says something that changes you

16. "the end" – games we play credits roll. it’s not a perfect ending, but it’s yours. fade to black.

[aurorawritestoescape]

MOVIE NIGHT

Stepdad Joel Miller x f!reader || 650 words

Summary: a movie night ends with a bang.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, step-cest, big legal age gap, perv!Joel and his usual antics, depravity so be warned, light drugging, public but you’re not caught, infidelity, fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie, degradation, daddy kink, swearing

A/n: this moodboard and the drabble are made for @evolnoomym ‘s First Birthday Party. My prompt was Movie Night. Happy blog anniversary, baby! Ily!❤️ Big thank you to 🎯 anon for the mom thot😵‍💫 Kisses to my love @milla-frenchy for looking this over😘 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Series masterlist || MASTERLIST

“Joel, are you crazy?” you whisper in panic as your stepdad manhandles you on his lap and throws your legs apart with his strong hands, making you straddle him on the couch.

“Crazy about these girls,” Joel gruffs, pulling your top up and exposing your naked breasts. He hungrily starts kneading your soft flesh, grunting and growling like a wild animal finally sinking its teeth into a prey. His pupils are two lustful black holes, his plush lips are wet, his forehead glistening with sweat in the blueish light of the tv. He’s probably been hiding his boner under a blanket all night and now his musky scent hits your nose and makes you gush into your shorts.

“Fuckin finally,” Joel mumbles and pushes his face against your tits. You clap your hand to your mouth when a mewl threatens to escape your lips, your eyes darting between your mom, sleeping on the other side of the couch and your stepdad’s face between your breasts. Your heart is beating so loudly you’re afraid the booming is going to wake your mother up. That or the smacking sounds of Joel sucking on your pebbled nipples.

You grab him by the hair and tug lightly, trying not to hurt him.

“Joel, stop. Let’s go up to my room. She’ll wake up..,” you beg quietly, your voice strained with fear.

“She won’t.” You barely understand his muffled grumbling, his mouth full of your tit .

“What do you mean she— ahhh..”

You struggle to finish your question when Joel shoves his paw into your shorts, nearly ripping them in half, and pushes two thick fingers into your wet hole. Now it’s impossible to deny that you’ve been hardly watching the movie tonight and instead have been dreaming of riding your stepdad on that very couch. Dreams do come true!

“Dropped a couple of her candies in the tea. She’s gonna be out till the morning.”

“Ohhh,” you moan, keeping your voice down, yet failing to hide the bliss, coursing through your body, when Joel begins fingering you. His giant hand is gripping your hip, setting the rhythm of your movements, when you start meeting his fingers half-way.

As always when you’re with Joel, soon lust engulfs you like a wave, and a few minutes later you’re happily bouncing on your stepdad’s cock without a care in the world, your naked tits jiggling in front of his flushed face. The couch is squeaking like crazy but you two are going at it harder, faster, hotter with every thrust and every moan.

“Nasty slut. Jumpin on my schlong when mommy’s right here. Daddy’s cock too addictive, huh?”

A hazy smile blooms on your face, and when Joel latches onto your neck and half kisses - half bites your delicate skin, your pussy squeezes around his throbbing cock and then chokes it again and again, massaging his shaft, creaming around his stiffness and his sweatpants.

The next moment the pillow of Joel’s balls under your ass starts emptying, and you feel his cum being pumped into your core with mighty squirts, as he’s growling against your neck,

“Hnggggughhhh.”

“Daddy-daddy-daddy-,” you chant, begging him not to stop, to continue fucking up into your needy pussy, to give you more pleasure, more cum, more love.

You’re still trembling with aftershocks when Joel’s nose slides up from your neck to your cheek and he pecks the corner of your lips. You sit up swaying and look into his hazy bloodshot eyes.

“You’re disgusting,” you pant and he smirks before pulling you roughly into a passionate kiss, licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue.

Joel softens inside you while you’re making out next to your snoozing mother, and when your eyes get droopy, he takes you in his arms and carries you to your bedroom.

“Did you enjoy the movie night, little slut?” he coos mockingly while tucking you in. You give him a tired but satisfied smile and purr,

“Yes, daddy.”

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

Series masterlist || MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

[zepskies]

A SIMPLE TOUCH

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader

Summary: Annie still has reservations about Ben, and you dating him for that matter…until she sees it.

AN: Surprise drabble! Dipping back into the BMD-verse for a sec. Chronologically, it's set sometime after In the Dark.

Prompt from @lifeonawhim: The reader is physically affectionate. (BMD) Ben sees this, tries to give her that comfort, and it just surprises everyone—how Ben is a source of comfort for her, even though he’s quite literally the strongest man.

Originally posted on Patreon: 1/01/25

Word Count: 600

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Break Me Down Masterlist

Annie was loyal to a fault. For that reason, she was still skeptical about Soldier Boy—about Ben, even after Vought Tower collapsed.

You might’ve been living with him now, but that didn’t mean he was safe, or even a good enough man for you.

She watched you closely in concern while the team filed onto the small private plane. It was set to take you all from northern Pennsylvania back down to New York. You weren’t injured, but in a way, you were still walking wounded.

The rogue supe that the Supe Affairs team was called in to catch had destroyed an office building. You, M.M., and Frenchie had saved a handful of people while Ben and the rest of the team handled the supe. But a young woman slipped right through your fingers off a balcony, falling to the pavement from three stories high.

You still remembered the look of shock cross her face. It was frozen there, even after her body lay prone on the cement. Her blue eyes, perfect mirrors of didn’t see that coming.

That was the picture you couldn’t get out of your head.

Now, you were moving slow, your face tired and drawn. Annie was about to ask if you were okay, even though she knew the answer full well.

Ben reached out his hand to you first. He was ahead of you in the aisle, having put his carry-on bag and yours in the overhead bin. You looked at his hand, and then up at him.

“Come ‘ere,” he said, his voice deep and steady. It steadied you, along with his hand around yours. He guided you not into the seat next to him, but onto his lap. By now he’d changed out of his suit, leaving him in jeans and a dark gray sweater you picked out for him, rolled up to his elbows.

Annie sat with Hughie across the aisle, but she had you and Ben in the corner of her eye. She marveled at the way he was holding you, seeming to know you needed the contact. With a sigh, you allowed yourself to lay against his chest while his warm hand ran up and down your back. A simple touch was all you needed to relax in his arms.

“Don’t mind me. Just gonna sleep for about ten years,” you murmured against his chest. You laid a hand over his heart, silently thanking him as your fingers drifted back and forth.

Ben’s lips quirked upwards. “Just try not to drool on me. New shirt, you know.”

Despite yourself, that managed to make you smile, huffing a laugh. You shoved his shoulder in retaliation. “I don’t drool.”

He knew for a fact that you did, but he just smirked. He sunk his fingers into your hair and inhaled the familiar floral scent of your shampoo.

“Get some shut-eye,” he rumbled. “We’ll be home soon.”

His thumb brushed your cheek, encouraging you to rest. So you did. Your eyes closed on you after you let go of a deep, even breath.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a nothing moment. This was a man who had crumbled two skyscrapers and scarred Hughie for life. (He’d never be able to listen to Air Supply again, pretty much for as long as he lived.)

And yet, maybe it meant Annie could stop worrying so much about your judgment where Ben was concerned.

Only much later, she would realize that this was the moment she actually started to trust him.

AN: I want to get back into BMD world for a longer visit, hopefully soon. ����💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Next in line, we have a fun, fluffy, angsty, smutty, 3-part Christmas special, Love Actually:

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system. At least, you hope you can, before he meets the rest of your dysfunctional family on Christmas Day.

▶️ Next Story: Love Actually

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@rizlowwritessortof @chevroletdean @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303

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@sarahgracej @foxyjwls007 @just-levyy @roseblue373

[cryptfile]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Handled him like a fucking pro.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sober up. Leave after."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ hate you.”

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

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

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

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

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

[pomegranatesarchive]

after that shit race, some cute drabble of giving franco some well deserved comfort? i need to give him a big hug, I felt so bad after his crash, and him at that interview. poor thing <3

franco deserved so much better!! I hope you don't mind I made this driver!reader

.

The race was very… interesting. To say the least. The entire weekend had been tough, but the race had taken the cake. Getting out of the car, you felt exhaustion catching up to you, and the last thing you wanted to do was be interviewed. 

You took your time walking over to the weigh-in, congratulating Max and the Frenchies on their wins. After the interviews, you were even more exhausted, although you knew you had something to do. 

Franco had been disqualified during the race. He was okay physically, but mentally? You had your doubts. Walking into the Williams garage, you smiled at the hardworking mechanics and engineers, before quickly making your way over to the corner, where Franco sat, his headphones covering his ears. 

You two made eye contact as you got closer, Franco hurriedly taking off his headphones as you sat down by his side. “Hi.” you sighed, tilting your head over to him. 

“Hello.” Franco tried to smile at you, but it didnt fully reach his eyes, a complete turnaround from, his attitude just a couple of hours ago. 

“You feeling okay?” You questioned. 

Franco shook his head, “Not really.”

You sighed, “People make mistakes you know? It’s your first race in the rain. Nobody expected you to be perfect.” 

Franco could only look at you with a crooked smile, “You didnt make a mistake.”

You laughed, “First off, I’ve been racing a whole year longer than you. And second of, I went off the track like five times.” You pursed your lips, “I’m pretty sure I racked up like thirty seconds in penalties.” 

Franco laughed, “Longer than Max? I’m impressed.” 

You nodded, content with taking Franco out of his slump, even if it was just for a second, “I’m glad you are because my team is not.” 

You two sat in silence for a moment, you took note of the multiple cameras pointing your way, “Look at us, bonding over our horrible races.” Franco broke the silence, a real smile pointed your way. 

“Just like old times.” You nudged him with your elbow, Franco giggled, “At least this weekend wasn’t a total waste.” 

“What do you mean?” Franco rose a brow. 

“Dude!” You whisper shouted, “You talked to Lewis like five times yesterday!”

Franco comically perked up, nodding erratically, “I forgot about that!” 

“We’ll are you going to tell me about it or what?” 

.

[almostfoxglove]

it's been SO LONG since I did one of these, and in the spirit of @the-blind-assassin-12's march madness challenge I thought it was time to change that! go give these authors some love!!

💖 - fluff | 🔥 - smut | 😭 - angst | ⭐ - one shot | ✨ - series

just a quickie (1k words or less)

baby, where's your underwear? by @iknowisoundcrazy - javier x f!reader ⭐💖🔥

supernova by @sp00kymulderr - dieter x various ocs ✨💖😭

unmuzzled by @missredherring - joel x fat f!reader ⭐🔥

acacias drabble by @gothcsz - acacius x f!reader ⭐💖😭

finite eternity by @sizzlingcloudmentality - reed x f!reader ✨🔥

marrying javi by @milla-frenchy - javier x f!reader ⭐🔥💖

free this evening? (one shots)

B.F.D. by @oliveksmoked - joel x f!reader ⭐🔥💖

wash & fold by @ak-vintage - ezra x f!reader ⭐🔥💖

the genuine article by @secretelephanttattoo - marcus p x f!reader ⭐😭🔥💖

love is heartbreak by @myownwholewildworld - acacius x f!reader ⭐😭🔥

spend the weekend (series)

cherry by @mirrormauve - joel x f!reader ✨😭🔥

coupons by @jolapeno - javier x f!reader ✨😭🔥

busy, dying by @netherfeildren - joel x f!reader ✨😭🔥

the roommate agreement by @auteurdelabre - max p x f!reader ✨😭🔥💖

the sweepstakes series by @katareyoudrilling - various x f!reader ✨🔥💖

tonight you belong to me by @intheorangebedroom - frankie x f!reader ✨😭🔥

the boyfriend act by @capuccinodoll - frankie x f!reader ✨😭💖

I wanna do bad things with you by @chronically-ghosted - max p x f!reader ✨😭🔥💖

my paramour series by @schnarfer - joel x f!reader ✨😭

feeling ravenous? (bonus masterlists)

bipoc authors & fic recs shared by @javierpena-inatacvest

bat & al's hidden treaures by @schnarfer & @magpiepills

my angst challenge masterlist 😭

[pamwritessometimes]

Loving Soldier Boy…

Soldier Boy x reader (drabble)

Summary: Just a short n’ (bitter)sweet drabble about what it’s like to love Ben.

Warnings: language, innuendos (c’mon, it’s Ben), mention of violence

Song inspo: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) by Taylor Swift.

Loving Soldier Boy isn’t easy.

You knew Soldier Boy was a handful. Hell, he knows he’s a handful. And you know Ben has never been handled before. Not properly. Not by someone who knows when to push and when to pull, when to hold steady and when to let go.

But you?

You thought you had him figured out.

He’s bad news — at least that’s what everyone keeps telling you.

“That man is not safe” MM says, arms crossed.

“He’s straightdown psychotic” Annie agrees, looking at you like she’s waiting for the spell Ben must have put on you to break.

Hughie just grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”

Frenchie sighs. “I have seen many dangerous men, mon coeur, but that one?” He shakes his head. “That one is the iceberg that sinks the ship.”

Even Kimiko seems to eye you with pity.

And Butcher — he just tsked.

“That’s a bloody dangerous game you’re about to play, luv.”

But all that didn’t matter.

Not when Ben flashes you that cocky, wolfish grin. Not when he pulls you in with that fiery gaze that makes your pulse stutter. Not when he touches you like you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

He’s a walking contradiction.

He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together.

And you love it.

You love that you make him hesitate.

That you make him stay.

"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”

Loving Soldier Boy is mastering the skill of interpreting nonverbal communication.

You see, Ben isn’t good with words. Not the important ones, anyway.

But he’s fluent in actions.

Like how he always, always keeps a hand on you — your waist, your back, the nape of your neck — like he needs the physical contact to remind himself you’re real and still with him.

Or how, when you’re pissed at him, he won’t apologize outright, but he will fix your coffee just the way you like it, set it down in front of you with a grunt and a pointed look, like There. Happy now?

Or the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you because no matter how much of a dick he is sometimes, the thought of him possibly outliving you haunts him.

He’s an asshole. A menace. A walking disaster.

And yet, when he pulls you into his lap, his fingers threading through your hair, his lips ghosting over yours—

You think maybe he’s worth the trouble.

Loving Soldier Boy is a delicate art.

It’s catching the flicker of rage in his eyes before he explodes, steering him away from the fire instead of into it.

It’s letting him run his mouth, knowing that half the shit he says is just to get a rise out of people, and the other half—

Well.

“Because it was fucking beeping” he answers when you find bullet holes in your microwave.

Ben’s not stupid.

But when he came back from the dead, or, you know, from 40 years of being locked up, you’re starting to realize… he might not be as up to date as he thinks.

You blink. “Because it was beeping?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, leaning back against the counter like he didn’t just pull some absolute batshit nonsense. “Wouldn’t shut the hell up.”

“That’s… literally its job, Ben.”

“Well, now it’s unemployed.” He smirks. “Like half the people I’ve worked with.

Loving Soldier Boy is like wrestling with a live grenade.

Violence isn’t just second nature to Ben — it’s first.

He doesn’t do restraint.

Like the time some guy got a little too close to you at a club and ended up with a broken jaw — because Ben doesn’t do warnings either.

Or the time he punched a cop without even thinking about the consequences.

“To be fair, he was being a dick.”

“He was giving you a parking ticket.”

Ben scoffs. “Exactly.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?” He throws his hands up, all mock innocence. “I told him not to touch my car.”

Loving Soldier Boy is fighting for feminism while actively losing the war.

There’s something infuriating about Ben’s shameless, unapologetic brand of horniness.

His jokes are always just a little too loud, just a little too offensive, making you cringe even as he smirks, because he knows damn well what he’s doing.

And yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

And he knows it.

No matter how many times you glare at him, no matter how often you mutter “Ben, we are in public”, he sees the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together when he leans in too close, and he can practically smell the forming pool in your panties.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice is low, dripping with amusement. “Don’t act like you don’t love it when I talk dirty to you.”

You glare at him. “You literally just told the bartender that I needed something ‘to keep my mouth occupied.’”

Ben grins. “And I stand by that.”

You fight the urge to groan. “You are insufferable.”

He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “But you like me insufferable.”

And fuck.

Maybe you do.

Loving Soldier Boy is realizing you’re the one really losing the fight.

When the team calls you out on his bullshit, you just sit there and listen.

You have no defense.

Because what are you even supposed to say?

He’s trying? (He’s not.)

He didn’t mean to? (He absolutely did.)

He’s a work in progress? (Is he?)

And despite what everyone says — despite the fact that he probably won’t ever change — you can’t seem to stop yourself from diving headfirst into the madness.

Maybe you can’t fix him.

But damn if he doesn’t make it worth trying.

The chokehold this man has on me is insane — help

Also… This sat in my drafts for months, but I gave it a reread and didn’t completely hate it — so here you go. Hope you enjoyed!🤍

xx Pam

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

March Fic Recs

Hey there!

This is all I’ve read this month, listed in chronological order, I’ve done my best but damn, I’m so far behind in my tbr, as usual.

Read warnings and tags and if something is not for you just skip it, it’s simple and it can be done just by scrolling.

I reblog a lot of kinky +18 stuff because I like it, there’s Dead dove as well as Dub-con/Non-con here. Something might be triggering for you. I’m not responsible for what you choose to read, only you are. If you’re a minor, just stay away.

If you engage with any of these fic, please make sure to give authors love and appreciation by reblog and comments, it will take you probably two minutes but it means a lot to them. And always be kind, thoughtful and respectful while doing it, thanks.

❋ Make them kiss - @aurorawritestoescape / Drabble Javier Peña x f!reader

❋ Movie Nights - @aurorawritestoescape Joel Miller x f!reader

a movie night ends with a bang.

❋ Tied - @guiltyasdave Dave York x Marcus Pike

❋ Marrying Javi - @milla-frenchy / Drabble

❋ Keep on loving you - @baronessvonglitter Frankie Morales x f!reader

Hooking up with Frankie at a house party.

❋ The best part of waking up - @baronessvonglitter Any Pedro character X f!reader

sleepy morning sex with your favorite Pedro character (literally, imagine any character you want to, he's a blank slate!)

❋ I can’t hear it now - @joelmillerisapunk Marcus Acacius x f!reader

A love that was never meant to be. A choice that was never truly yours to make. Acacius was never yours to keep, yet in the dark of night, beneath the weight of duty and desire, he was yours still. For stolen moments, for whispered names, for aching hands tracing the lines of something fleeting, something doomed.

❋ Good kitty - @sizzlingcloudmentality Dave York x f!reader

Dave wants a cat but ends up with you. his favorite thing to do? letting the kitty drink fresh cream.

❋ Keep Driving - @thundermartini Dave York x f!reader

An unexpected stop in the middle of nowhere for an investigation on a Halloween Festival leads to the scariest encounter of your life.

❋ Perfect - @aurorawritestoescape Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel comforts you and helps you to overcome your insecurities, pampering you with praise and love.

❋ The wolf you feed (chapter 6) - Masterlist - @arcanefox207 Joel Miller x f!reader

Set in a fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

❋ Paper rings - @guiltyasdave Modern Oberyn Martell X f!reader

after two months with oberyn, you're not sure if his feelings are as strong as yours.

❋ One of the girls - @gothcsz Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x 3 F!Nameless OCs

General Acacius has three women that he keeps solely for his indulgent pleasure and control, you want to become the fourth.

❋ First sight - @gothcsz Frankie Morales x f!reader

Two strangers discover they’ve been swapping movies through a communal space, each leaving a note in return until curiosity forces a meeting.

❋ Dirty thoughts - @greenwitchfromthewoods Clint (freaky tales) x f!reader

you watched a guy in a bar and your imagination went crazy

❋ The Prophecy - A Joel Miller Story - Mini series Masterlist - @schnarfer Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel Miller is the loss of your life

❋ Run - @almostempty Marcus Acacius x f!reader

general acacius hunts you in the woods for ‘training’ then fucks you, duh

❋ Strawberry Swirl - @baronessvonglitter Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel fucks you on a Ferris wheel. That is the fic.

❋ Out of control - @strang3lov3 Joel Miller x f!reader

making that old man swallow his own load

❋ Due - @cas-readsandwrites Unnamed Pedro character x f!reader

You're dancing with a handsome young man - and you shouldn't be. But is it really what it looks like?

❋ Clint eats it from the back - @almostempty Clint (Freaky Tales) x f!reader

clint comes home to find you half-naked and half-asleep and eats it from the back and then gives you that dick (as he should)

❋ Feasting - @sizzlingcloudmentality / Drabble Dave York x f!reader

❋ Sweet Surrender - @joelmillerisapunk Clint (Freaky Tales) x f!reader

your sleazy boss convinces you to fuck in the break room to a shitty porn tape he rented

❋ Dirty work - @mssalo Joel Miller x f!reader

You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.

❋ Playgirl - @milla-frenchy Javier Peña x f!reader

Attracted to your father's best friend since his return from Colombia, you finally get what you want

❋ Repenting - @sizzlingcloudmentality Dave York x f!reader

Dave and you, two utterly scarred people, meet for stress relieving sex only. But damn, it’s hard. 

❋ Over the moon - @clubsoft Reed Richards X f!reader

reed richards has caught feelings for his student , making their casual , sexual relationship all the more difficult for himself .

❋ 2D - @clubsoft Joel Miller x POC! F! OC

joel miller , hearthrob turned silver fox , is ready to take a break from his life of fame && decides a penthouse in new york is the place to go , all to find himself bored until he stumbles into the building's charming bar ... && the cute performer is surely a plus .

❋ Let me show you - @pedroscurls Joel Miller x f!reader

joel comes home and shows you (and mainly himself) that age is nothing but a number.

❋ Knuckles deep in the backseat - @cxrsed-angel Joel Miller x fem!reader

Joel convinced you to learn how to drive and offers to teach you, but ends up in the back seat with you.

❋ Flex - @gothcsz Your favorite Pedro boy x f!reader

Hooking up with the guy you picked up at a party.

❋ Hands to myself - @gothcsz Javier Peña x f!reader

You get to know the handsome stranger sitting next to you on your overnight flight to Mexico.

❋ The interruption - @toxicanonymity Javi x Steve x you drabble.

❋ First fruit since winter - @cuppajoel Modern!Acacius x reader

You come out of the shower and apply lotion. Marcus wants to help.

❋ Got your money - @magpiepills Clint x f!reader

you’re a hooker who owes her pimp money and his right hand man, Clint comes to collect.

❋ Stolen Lunch - @aurorawritestoescape Dave York x f!reader

Dave steals your lunch

❋ See the road you’re on - Elks series chapter 1 - @whocaresstillthelouvre Joel Miller x f!reader

The man you've had a crush on since he showed up to Jackson just so happens to be your favorite student's caretaker... and he just saw you do a brutal face plant in front of his home.

❋ Blush / entry n.1 - @clubsoft Javier Peña x f!oc

Javi entangles a ribbon

❋ Just a ride -@baronessvonglitter DBF!Dave York x f!reader

When a date goes bad you call your dad's best friend Dave to come to the rescue.

❋ Don’t make me ask again - @arcanefox207

DBF!Joel Miller x female reader

Teasing your dad’s friend has its consequences.

❋ Yellow - @probablyreadinsmut

Joel Miller x NeurodivergentF!Reader

Joel taking care of you after a hard day.

❋ Hungry Man Chapter 1 - @slimybeth69 / Masterlist

dark&sneaky!Joel, unhinged&crazy!reader

❋ Rotten Luck - @milla-frenchy

Javier Peña x fem!reader

forced to work for Escobar's men as a driver until the day you escape, a DEA agent finds you in the countryside, at the home of friends you've been hiding. You yearn to start over and get a visa, but things aren't so easy, especially when feelings complicate the situation

[magicalqueennightmare]

It's the Heat

Billy Butcher x Reader

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

It's just a smut(ish) drabble

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Little Kreature (The Boys Drabble)

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

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

Fic type: fluff (gore mentions).

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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

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

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

"What, Butcher?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kreature it was, then.