#mothers milk imagine

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

Hi ! Can I request a The boys short of all of them playingMario kart with reader ? Thank you !

Hello! For sure! I'm gonna do these as headcanons cause I think that will work better!

MM:

He is an expert Mario Kart player, from constantly playing with his daughter

He knows all the secret paths, the best vehicles to pick, and he absolutely has a favorite

(It's Bowser)

He does not like to lose AT ALL

The only person he's ever lost to is his daughter, and that's only because he let her

He will stew and stew and stew when he loses. He will walk away, swear he's not playing again, and within minutes is back to reclaim his territory

When just the two of you play, he will sometimes reveal what he knows, but only if he has a big lead

Hughie:

Hughie has played Mario Kart pretty much his whole life

That being said, he's not the greatest. He wins every once in a while, but only when he gets lucky, or plays someone truly terrible

His favorite is Yoshi, and will always be Yoshi

When he loses, it's no sweat. Sometimes he singles out someone he wants to beat, but winning is not usually his end goal

He becomes the person who teaches the older Boys how to play, and they quickly all beat him

You tease him because for someone his age, he should be so much better than he actually is

Kimiko:

Kimiko had never played Mario Kart before joining the boys

But after Hughie taught her how to play, she is easily the best of all of them

(Much to the chagrin of many of the more experienced members)

Her favorite is any of the princesses, but she has a love for Daisy specifically

She is an aggressive player, and focuses most of her energy on taking down her other opponents

She is a MONSTER with green shells. Sometimes she'll fall behind just to get green shells and take down the other players

The others want to beat her, but are always a little bit terrified of what would happen to them if they ever did (It's a good thing they never get that close)

When you play against Kimiko, it's not even close, so you usually just assist her in taking the others down

Frenchie:

It's no shock that Frenchie's favorite power up is the bomb

In fact, when he *doesn't* get that one, he becomes extremely angry, and has been known to throw his controller

He isn't prone to picking the same exact character, but he often finds himself playing as Toad

He had not played before, but he is usually the one to suggest they start playing (Usually with controllers in hand and the game already up)

Frenchie does not like to lose, but typically he loses his temper before the game is even over, and the computer ends up finishing for him

You have had to talk him down more times than you can count, and he listens, because you're the one who wants to play with him the most

Billy:

Billy does not like Mario Kart and he does not understand it

Hughie has tried to show him multiple times, but each time he just becomes angry and ends up storming out

He thinks all of them are childish for enjoying the game so much, and thinks it is just a violent mess of color

The few times they get him to play, he always picks Mario, because "the name is Mario Kart, who the bloody hell else would I play as"

He is the second most offender for throwing the controller

He also threatens to destroy the game any time he is annoyed with them all, but he hasn't done so yet

He does not like when you tease him for being old for not liking the game

"MM and I are around the same age"

"Well one of you acts 80, the other doesn't"

[geminiwritten]

i’m yours ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you find out that butcher slept with maeve, and attempt to ignore your feelings by going m.i.a. and going home with a complete stranger, only to awake the green-eyed monster living inside of butcher

preface: this isn’t set in canon timeline, it’s basically just using the bit where butcher sleeps with maeve as a bit of a jealousy catalyst

notes: this man has a hold on me... and i feel like this got a little rushed at the end but i still kind of like it, please let me know what y’all think! (also, i’m sorry all my stuff has the same formula, i promise i’m trying to mix it up!)

warnings: a lot of swearing, the ‘sewer-slide’ word, google-translated french, sexual content, and some soft smut

word count: 5315

Things are good, too good, but you’re doing your best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hughie and Annie are happy, MM is content, and Frenchie is excitedly creating new methods of blowing up Supes almost daily. Butcher is… well, Butcher. He’s grumpy and brash, but seems to be feeling a little more positive lately, focusing more on recon and intel rather than running in with guns blazing.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you had managed to go grocery shopping without anyone stumbling home bloody and bruised. Frenchie is humming along to the song that had been playing on the radio, carrying most of the plastic bags while MM carries one with you on his back. You were all in such high spirits that he had let you jump on his back at the bottom of the apartment stairs, carrying you up four flights as if you weighed no more than a hiking backpack.

Frenchie chuckles at the two of you as he unlocks the apartment door, entering first and pushing it open all the way. You have to duck a little, giggling and holding on to MM for dear life as he starts jogging toward the couch. He drops the bag on the floor before falling into the sofa, and you squeal as he squashes you.

“Hey,” you exclaim, still laughing, “what the fuck? Steeds don’t sit on their riders!”

“You want to ride me next, petit ange?” Frenchie calls from the kitchen.

You writhe until MM moves, standing up with a satisfied grin across his lips. You flip him your middle finger as he turns away, ushering Frenchie out of the kitchen so he can put the groceries away. You find the TV remote buried in the couch cushions, and just as the old screen flickers to life, Kimiko emerges from the hallway. She looks at Frenchie with a small smile, signing hello before her nose crinkles, and she signs another sentence you struggle to catch as your attention is called toward the master bedroom doors.

Frenchie frowns curiously, “She says that it smells in here.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you lot are stinkin’ up my fuckin’ apartment,” Butcher says, running a hand through his hair.

He looks like shit. His shirt is wrinkled and the buttons are fastened crookedly, his hair is standing up in all directions, and the circles beneath his eyes are several shades darker than usual.

“It is our apartment, Butcher,” Frenchie states, “it is the least you can after making me blow up my last two places, eh?”

Butcher rolls his eyes before dropping into one of the dining room chairs, holding his face in his hands as he takes several deep breaths.

Frenchie looks to Kimiko again before translating, “She says it smells like alcohol and sweat, and a perfume that she has not smelt before.”

“I don’t wear perfume,” you note, “every time we have to haul ass and run, the bottles end up broken or missing, so I gave up.”

MM raises his hands in defence, “Don’t look at me, I haven’t seen anyone but you lot in the past twelve hours.”

“Perhaps it is something we picked up at the shops,” Frenchie shrugs.

Kimiko signs again, and you watch her to listen.

“You can smell a stranger?” you ask with a frown.

“To reiterate,” MM says, “I stayed at a motel alone last night, I was too tired to drive all the way here after visiting Janine.”

“I stayed with Annie,” you point out, “is that who you can smell?”

Kimiko shakes her head, and your heart begins to race anxiously. Neither she nor Frenchie stayed here last night either, opting for one of his old hideouts after scouring the city for any possible missed traces that Vought could use to find you all.

MM turns to Butcher, “Was there someone here last night?”

“Why would you not tell us that there was a break in?” Frenchie demands, his face a mixture of irritation and concern.

Butcher sighs, “There wasn’t a fuckin’ break in, calm down.”

Kimiko pads quietly around the room, subtly sniffing the air around MM and then Frenchie before moving toward you. She inhales above your head and grimaces, before moving to the side and taking a deep breath over the couch.

You shoot up from your seat and stumble toward the kitchen, “Me or the couch?”

She points at the sofa.

“Butcher,” MM says, his voice demanding, “explain before I slap your hungover ass.”

Its only then that you notice the two empty bottles of whiskey, one on the coffee table and one laying on the floor. You back up slowly toward the kitchen, a fresh wave of panic washing over you.

“Someone stopped by,” Butcher mutters into his hands, “that’s all.”

You reach the kitchen bench at the same time Kimiko does, still sniffing like a police dog, and her face twists into a disgusted frown. You startle again, jumping back from the bench as if it had burnt you.

“Care to elaborate?” MM presses.

Butcher sighs, and you can feel a lump growing in your throat.

“We all sleep here too, Butcher,” Frenchie states, “and we deserve to know if it is still safe to do so.”

“‘Course it’s fuckin’ safe,” Butcher says, finally turning his head to face the room. “Maeve came by, alrigh’? Just her, ‘n’ she had some information, so we had a chat and a drink. Is that alrigh’ with you nosey bastards?”

A weight drops in your stomach, anchoring you to the floor as moisture begins to blur your vision.

Kimiko stops sniffing when she reaches Butcher, cringing and stumbling several paces back until she is beside Frenchie.

“You slept with a Supe?” MM gasps.

Butcher huffs and pushes himself up from the chair, “No fuckin’ privacy with you lot, is there?”

MM raises his hands again, “Hey, I’m not judging, just shocked.”

Frenchie’s concern melts into taunting smirk, “No need to be defensive, Monsieur Charcutier, we all have our needs, and I am surprised that you managed to woo such a beautiful woman.”

“Fuck off, Frenchie,” Butcher sighs, dragging his feet toward the fridge.

Their voices blur into white noise as you focus on the slow inhale and exhale of your breath. You wriggle your toes in your boots, forcing yourself to feel your physical body instead of the whirlwind of emotions swirling through your head. It feels like your skull is fracturing with the effort that it takes to contain the storm, but you refuse to let your feelings win. You find a bottle and push them inside, jamming the cork in just as Frenchie snaps his fingers in front of your nose.

You blink, “What?”

“Are you okay?” he asks, a soft crease between his brows.

“Yeah, sorry,” you blink again to quell your watery eyes, “what’s up?”

“Are you hungry?”

You glance over his shoulder at Butcher, his head in the fridge as he ignores MM’s demands to get out of the way.

“Not really,” you reply, “I was actually thinking about going back over to Annie’s, I think I forgot my… my socks.”

The concern between Frenchie’s brows deepens, “You forgot your socks?”

You nod, “My favourite socks.”

“Didn’t know you had favourite socks,” Butcher mumbles as he steps out of the kitchen.

“You don’t know a lot of things,” you state, plastering on a smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes.

You can feel their curious gazes on you as you turn, retrieving your wallet and keys from the couch before striding out of the apartment door without a second glance. You pull your phone out of your pocket and text Annie to let her know that you’re on your way before switching it to ‘do not disturb’ and zipping it inside your jacket pocket, determined to forget about it until you’ve got a handle on your emotions.

The sun is setting by the time you reach the familiar street on which Hughie and Annie’s apartment is located, and you’re rather proud of the fact that you managed to focus on nothing but your steady steps the whole way here. You look up at the brick building on your left, but instead of turning toward the front steps, your feet carrying you across the street toward the park, not stopping until you’re standing in front of an empty bench.

“Something wrong with that one?” a voice asks, and you startle toward the source of it.

A young man is standing beside you, clad in running shorts and a tight exercise jacket. He doesn’t look menacing, but your whole body tenses as your fight or flight instincts battle for dominance.

“I’m sorry?”

He chuckles, “The bench, I mean. You’re frowning at it as if it’s diseased or something.”

“Oh,” you look back at the moss-ridden seat, “no, I just- I don’t know.”

“Are you alright?”

He buries his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and you let yourself relax, deciding that he isn’t a threat, just an overly friendly stranger.

“I’m fine, sorry,” you sigh, “just had a weird day.”

“That’s nothing to apologise for,” he says, sitting on the bench and looking up at you. “I know the feeling.”

You sit beside him, watching his side profile and slowly realising how attractive he is. His hair is cropped short, shorter than you usually liked, but his eyes are a stunning green and the faint shadow of stubble across his jaw is definitely something you can appreciate.

“Do you often approach strangers in the park?” you ask.

He laughs again, his eyes sparkling under the orange sky, “No, not really, especially not strangers as gorgeous as you.”

You blush at the ground, deciding to focus on your fraying shoelaces rather than the handsome stranger.

“But I figured,” he goes on, “that if I didn’t ask this pretty girl if she was okay, I might not be able to stop thinking about her for the rest of my life.”

You actually giggle, immediately cursing yourself for being so easy, “That’s a long time.”

“I know, right? I didn’t fancy the risk, and hey,” he smiles at you, “looks like it might have been worth it.”

“Maybe,” you smile back, “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Nate.”

You’re not sure if you’re an idiot or if you’ve just given up on your own personal safety, but you sit and talk to Nate until the sun is well below the horizon. You learn that he’s a journalist and a dog person, and lately he’s been more afraid of Supes than comforted by their presence. You tell him you’re a freelancer, because it isn’t technically a lie, and that you’re in between gigs at the moment but questioning whether you’re really doing what you want to be doing. Also, not a lie.

“I know that this is probably very forward,” he says, his knee bouncing nervously, “but did you want to come back to my place for a drink? I would suggest a bar, but I’m not really dressed for it, and I just get this feeling that as soon as we say goodbye, you’re going to disappear forever.”

You frown, “You’re a real long-term guy, aren’t you?”

His cheeks flush pink, “I don’t have to be.”

As you walk alongside the man you met mere hours ago, you come to the conclusion that you must be suicidal. In the current state that the world is in, who in their right mind goes home with a complete stranger? You, apparently.

His apartment isn’t far from the park, which is a little comforting, knowing that you will have a speedy escape to Annie’s place if this guy does end up being a psycho serial killer. The buildings all look the same as you approach a row of tall brick blocks, climbing the few concrete steps up to the lobby doors before scaling three flights to reach his apartment door.

It’s surprisingly well decorated inside, and you can eye a few expensive items that make you wonder if he really is a struggling journalist, or perhaps a shady underground arts dealer. You take a seat at the kitchen bench as he babbles about how crappy his landlord is and how much money he’s had to spend on the place to make it liveable. The glass of wine he places in front of you is gone within two gulps, and he happily pours you another.

“I feel like I probably should have asked this a few hours ago,” he says with a sheepish smile, “but you aren’t with anyone, are you? Engaged or married, or anything like that.”

You choke on your mouthful of cheap wine, coughing the burn away while he hurries to get you a glass of water.

“No,” you finally reply, “I’m not, at all.”

“Good,” he replies, his earnest grin returning, “I mean, it’s surprising because you’re incredible, but I’m glad.”

You offer him a smile that you hope appears coy and not at all forced before drinking down the rest of your second glass of wine. He moves into the lounge room, and you take the opportunity to pour yourself another generous glass, quickly swallowing the two mouthfuls left in the bottle while his back is still turned. You gingerly place the empty bottle in the sink before following him, dropping onto the soft leather couch as he turns on the television.

A news broadcast lights up the screen, and fiery images of a truck collision flash behind the breaking news banner that reads: ‘QUEEN MAEVE SAVES THE DAY’. Your stomach twists into a knot as the bottle of emotions you had managed to almost forget about begins to break, the glass fracturing and threatening to send you into a full-blown mental breakdown.

“Damn,” Nate sighs, “I know the Supes are pretty sketchy these days, but Queen Maeve is just gorgeous.”

With one last burning gulp of wine, you turn to the man beside you and take his head between your hands, crushing your lips against his. He gasps, but responds quickly, his hands finding your hips and guiding you onto his lap.

The rest of the night is a blur as you attempt to give all of your attention to this stranger that you barely know instead of confronting the green-eyed monster roaring in your belly. He finishes once on the couch, pretty quickly, but you’re not one to judge, before you drag him into the bedroom and away from the incessant news broadcasts of Queen Maeve’s heroic act.

It isn’t your alarm that wakes you, or the sound of Frenchie and MM arguing about how to cook eggs, but rather the unfamiliar scent that douses your breath. Your body trembles with anxiety and your eyes snap open, darting around the strange room as your thoughts scramble to remember how you got here.

“Fuck,” you sigh at the sound of someone snoring beside you.

You gently roll over and slip out of the sheets, cold air immediately nipping at your naked body. You find the nearest item of clothing and slip it over your head before tiptoeing out of the bedroom and into the lounge room. Nerves and hunger mingle inside of your stomach, making you overwhelmingly nauseous by the time you find your jacket thrown over the back of the couch.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter as you retrieve your phone from the pocket.

Dozens of missed calls and text messages fill your lock screen, several from Annie and Frenchie, a couple from Hughie and MM, but the majority of them listed under Butcher’s contact name, ‘Big Willy’. You thought it was funny a few days ago.

You quickly text Annie that you’re okay, you’re incredibly sorry, and that you’ll fill her in as soon as you see her. You find your jeans and wriggle into them before finding your panties and tucking them into your back pocket. You scoop your bra and your shirt off the floor on your way to the kitchen, and check your phone again for a reply from Annie. Nothing yet.

You drink the glass of untouched water from the kitchen bench before splashing your face and trying to calm the vibration of nerves coursing through your body.

“Hey.”

You startle at the sudden voice, turning to find Nate in nothing but sweatpants as he emerges from the bedroom.

“Hey,” you murmur.

He frowns, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-I’m fine, just- uh, my friends have been calling me,” you gesture to your phone, “and they’re pretty worried.”

“Oh,” he lets out a long breath, “I didn’t even hear it ringing last night.”

You smile weakly, not bothering to explain that you were intentionally avoiding your phone all afternoon.

He steps forward, “So, did you-”

The apartment door bursts open, splinters of wood scattering across the floor as you squeal and Nate jumps away from the blow. Your heart is racing, but your body reacts as it was trained to do, and you dive for a knife from the block beside the stove before freezing as you recognise the figure stalking through the broken door.

“Butcher,” you say, “what the fuck?”

His head snaps toward you, the crease between his brows softening and his eyes looking almost vulnerable as realises that it’s you.

“I’m sorry, but who the fuck are you and why did you just break my door?” Nate speaks up.

Your stomach sinks as Butcher’s attention is turned toward the shirtless man, murderous intent returning to his face.

“Who the fuck am I?” he spits, “Who the fuck are you?”

Nate looks tiny compared to Butcher, his narrow frame absolutely dwarfed by Butcher’s broad height and intimidating stance.

“I-I’m Nate,” the smaller man says, “and this is my apartment, that’s my door that you just destroyed.”

“Yeah?” Butcher taunts, stalking forward, “An’ what’re you gon’a do ‘bout it?”

Nate looks at you, his eyes frantic and begging for help.

“Butcher, calm down, he’s-”

“Calm down?” he whirls toward you, “You want me to fuckin’ calm down?!”

“Hey, man,” Nate says, “we can talk, you don’t have to-”

“Nate,” you put your hand up, “I’m sorry, but please shut up.”

“Nate,” Butcher repeats mockingly, “if you value your life, I’d listen to ‘er.”

You drop the knife on the bench, “Butcher, can we just leave, please?”

“You don’t get to make any requests right now, sweethear’,” he says, taking a heavy step toward you, “not after the shit you put me through for the past twelve fuckin’ hours.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls sarcastically, “maybe ‘bout the fact that you fuckin’ disappeared! You didn’t answer your damn phone, didn’t tell anyone where you fuckin’ were! I got a call from Hughie askin’ if you were back home, ‘cause you texted Annie ‘n’ told her you were comin’, but didn’t fuckin’ show up!”

A pebble of guilt drops into your stomach, but you ignore it, squaring up to him with a scowl.

“So?” you shrug, “I’m an adult, I can do as I fucking please.”

“Not without tellin’ me!” he exclaims, “Not if I don’t know where you fuckin’ are or if you’re even fuckin’ alive!”

“You’re not my fucking father, Butcher!” you shout back, feeling another fissure in the bottle of emotions. “I don’t belong to you, I don’t have to ask you for permission to live my own fucking life!”

His jaw twitches, a tidal wave of emotion crashing through his eyes all too quickly for you to try and discern any of them.

“A-Are you Y/N’s boyfriend?” Nate asks timidly.

You and Butcher turn to him in unison, exclaiming at the same time, “No!”

A beat of silence passes, and Butcher’s glare doesn’t falter. You take a deep breath to try and sooth the storm of frustration threatening to consume you.

“Butcher,” you say softly, “can we please leave?”

His head snaps back toward you, his eyes scanning your body as they fill with realisation.

“Did you fuck her?” he asks, turning back to Nate.

He doesn’t respond, his mouth hanging open as he takes several steps back.

“You gon’a answer me?”

“Butcher,” you say again, “cut it out.”

He takes another menacing step toward Nate, “I asked you a question.”

“W-We slept together, yes,” Nate stammers.

The laugh that leaves Butcher’s lips is chilling, sounding almost mad.

“Oh, pardon my French,” he says, “perhaps I should’a asked if you made sweet fuckin’ love to this gorgeous woman right ‘ere.”

“For fuck’s sake!” you shout, “Stop it, stop whatever the fuck this is, and let’s just fucking go!”

“You’re tellin’ me that you fuckin’ disappeared so you could hide out with this fuckin’ twat?” Butcher exclaims, “You let me worry myself fuckin’ sick so you could get a lousy fuck?”

The bottle explodes, shards of glass cutting you from the inside and sending white hot waves of frustration and anger, and despair rolling through your body.

“I can fuck whoever I want, Butcher!” you scream, startled by the volume of your own voice.

His eyes narrow, but his lips don’t move.

“And you can fuck whoever the fuck you want,” you spit, “obviously.”

You snatch your phone off the bench and stomp toward the door, turning to Nate with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, about… this.”

You continue down the hall and the three flights of stairs, not bothering to check if Butcher is following until you’re outside. The temperature is significantly lower than it was yesterday, but your stubbornness doesn’t let you show it as Butcher strides past you toward the car haphazardly parked at the curb.

You climb into the passenger’s seat, sitting as close as you can to the door and hugging your clothes against your chest as you stare out the window. Tears fill your eyes, your nose growing hot and your cheeks undoubtedly red as you use every ounce of self-control you still have to stave of the inevitable. All you need to do is make it home and make it to your bedroom, and then you can cry. You can curl up with your face in your pillow and sob, and admit that you’re jealous, that you’re hurt, and that you love a man who doesn’t even understand the meaning of that word anymore.

“You look like shit,” he grunts.

You sniffle, keeping your face turned away from him, “So do you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get much fuckin’ sleep,” he says as the car comes to a halt, “I was up all night worryin’ ‘bout whether or not you were fuckin’ alive.”

“Well, I didn’t get much sleep either,” you retort, before pushing the passenger door open and stumbling out.

You hear the car door slam as you hurry up the stairs and into the building, taking the steps two at a time until you reach the apartment door. To your great relief, it’s unlocked, and you let yourself in before Butcher has even made it into the hallway.

“Oh, my goodness, mon amour,” Frenchie gasps, “you’re alive! You’re okay… are you okay?”

You don’t realise your crying until you try to look at him, your vision blurred by heavy tears as they fall in fat droplets down your cheeks.

MM steps forward, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, “I’m fine, I was with a-a friend.”

“A friend?” Butcher echoes, the door slamming behind him.

Your blood sizzles in your veins, heated by the overwhelming frustration coiling in your chest.

“How the fuck did you know where I was?” you demand, spinning around to face him.

He doesn’t answer.

“Do you have my fucking phone bugged?”

Butcher blows a long breath out of his nose, the thick vein in his neck throbbing under his red skin. “Look,” he says, “I know that whatever the fuck just happened wasn’t ideal, but why can’t you fuckin’ see this from my point of view?”

“Our point of view,” MM corrects, “we were all worried.”

“I get that!” you exclaim, “I fucking understand that, but what I don’t understand is why Butcher is still acting like such a fucking cunt. You can see that I’m fine! I’m alive, so what’s your problem?”

“What’s your problem?” he snaps, “Why didn’t you answer your fuckin’ phone? Why didn’t you tell anyone where you fuckin’ were? And why the fuck did you go home with a complete fuckin’ stranger?”

“Oh, shit,” Frenchie murmurs.

“Maybe I just needed a fucking break.”

The room falls quiet, the only sound being Frenchie’s soft footsteps as he backs away. You use the clothes in your arms to wipe the fresh fall of tears from your cheeks and try to ease your shaky breaths as you wait for another onslaught of reprimands.

Butcher sighs, “Go shower.”

“What?”

“You need to shower,” he says, stepping forward.

You frown, “Why?”

“You look like shit, and you sm-” he stops himself, pausing when you take a small step back.

“I look like shit and I smell,” you finish for him, “thanks, Butcher.”

You drag your feet toward the bathroom, dropping your clothes on the floor and staring at your wrecked face in the mirror. Your hair is a mess and your face is blotchy and red, with streaks of black painting your cheeks. The shirt hanging loosely from your shoulders is unfamiliar, and something akin to disgust settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Give me your clothes,” Butcher says as he appears in the reflection behind you.

“Why can’t you just fucking leave me alone?”

He sighs, “I’m tryin’ to help.”

“I don’t want your fucking help,” you turn to him and lean against the vanity, “go offer it to someone else. I’m sure Maeve would love to see your fucking name pop up on her phone.”

His frown disappears, and you can feel the air shift. Fuck. Now you’ve done it. The shards of glass sticking you from the inside have cut right through your chest, slicing it open as your ribcage cracks and unfolds, presenting your pathetic heart to the man who already held it in his hands.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them back with determination.

“I-Is that what this is-” he struggles for words, running his hands through his hair, “for fuck’s sake, Y/N.”

Your breath comes and goes in short gasps, the lump in your throat crushing your windpipe as it demands to be felt.

“For fuck’s sake!” he exclaims, before taking one step forward and slamming the bathroom door shut.

Fear sparks through you, and you whimper, “Butcher, please don’t-”

Before you can finish, he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a vice hold as he rests his chin on the top of your head. You sob into his shirt, tremors wracking your exhausted body as every bit of fear and frustration tears you apart from the inside. You’re not sure how you let yourself get this emotional. Maybe it’s the fact that the world is falling apart, and you’re supposed to act like you’re ready to save it? Or maybe it’s because you’re fucking tired of having everything you love ripped away from you, every chance you think you might have at happiness taken from you by the cunts in the sky who call themselves ‘Superheroes’.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

The turbulence inside of you quells simply because you finally acknowledged it, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Butcher,” you croak, looking up at him through tear laced lashes, “kiss me?”

He hooks a finger beneath your chin and tilts it up, leaning in to meet you the rest of the way before his lips brush yours. It’s hesitant and soft, barely a touch, and he pulls away too soon.

“You need to shower.”

“Oh,” you try to wriggle out of his arms, but they’re too strong.

“I can smell that fuckin’ twat all over you,” he growls, “an’ it’s makin’ me fuckin’ sick.”

Realisation slaps you across the face, giving you the strength to remember how to hold yourself up as he pulls away. His fingers curl into the material at the neck of your shirt, ripping it apart right down the middle before pushing it off your shoulders and tossing it on the floor.

Another growl rumbles through his chest and the air in the room shifts again, now thick with a tension that has your heart throbbing in anticipation. Your mind races, your thoughts riding rollercoasters as you struggle to catch up with his fast hands. Your jeans are unbuttoned and pooled around your ankles in less than a second, and he takes another moment to devour your naked body before moving to turn on the shower.

You stumble out of your jeans as he quickly sheds his own clothes before wrapping an arm around your waist. He pulls you under the warm stream of water and holds your body against his, the feeling of his bare skin making your head spin. He takes the bottle of bodywash from the small shelf and pops the cap with one hand, turning it upside down and squirting a ridiculous amount all over your chest and his.

You giggle and he grins, returning the bottle to the shelf before crushing his lips against yours. The soap makes your skin slide against his in the most delicious way and you can feel your core clench, eliciting a wanton moan from your open mouth. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth and claiming you with hungry, sloppy kisses.

“Didn’t think you’d be jealous,” he murmurs against your mouth, “didn’t think you fuckin’ cared about me.”

You slide your hands across his bare shoulders and behind his neck, finding purchase in his wet hair and tugging gently as you kiss him with every ounce of passion that you have.

“I do care,” you sigh when his lips leave yours to lap at your neck, “I am fucking jealous.”

“Sweethear’,” he whispers, his hands moving to your breasts, “you’ve got nothin’ to be fuckin’ jealous ‘bout.”

His mouth leaves your skin as he turns you to face the wall, pressing his body against your back before pushing you into the tiled wall. You gasp first at the sudden cold, and then at the feeling of him grinding himself against your ass.

“I’m yours,” he growls, his lips against your shoulder, “always fuckin’ have been.”

You still manage to speak despite the pleasure of him threatening to overwhelm you. “Then why?”

One hand wraps gently around your throat while the other splays across your lower belly, teasing the place just below that aches for his touch.

“‘Cause I never fuckin’ dreamed that I’d have you,” he says, his lips at your ear now.

You reach back with one hand, holding the nape of his neck as you turn so that your mouth can meet his in a messy kiss.

“You’ve always had me,” you murmur, “I belonged to you the day I met you.”

His hips buck against your ass, pressing you against the wall and making you whimper.

“You’re mine,” he says, moving back just enough for you to turn around.

You nod as you lean down to kiss his neck. Your tongue laving at his wet skin before your teeth sink in and he hisses, one hand squeezing your hip as the other smacks against the tiled wall.

“All yours.”

You place your hands against his chest, pushing him back enough for you to drop to your knees, your hands trailing down his body until they reach his hips. You dig your fingers in and look up at him through your wet lashes.

“Show me who I belong to.”

END.

[kelin-is-writing]

imagine babysitting with boyfriend!dabi

you were supposed to spend the day together but shit got in the way and now you were stuck at your relatives’ place and had to look after their kids for the afternoon. dabi was ready to disappear the second you mentioned it but you practically dragged him there by his collar and now he’s sitting on the couch pouting.

he would never admit it but he was worried that the kids might get scared by his appearance. well turns out they absolutely adore him.

it’s definitely annoying him at first that they won’t leave him alone for even a second and keep demanding that he plays with them. you glare at him after a while and he reluctantly gives in.

it starts with them playing with little race car models and they soon switch to drawing messily in one of their coloring books. dabi turns out to be quite the talented artist which you haven’t known until then.

however he draws the line when the kids want to play dress up. he vehemently refuses… for five minutes at least. when you return from the kitchen with snacks for everyone you have to try your absolute hardest not to burst out laughing when you see the sparkly tiara on his head. (you manage to take a picture without him noticing)

he doesn’t admit it but he’s actually having fun and watching you interact with the kids is putting thoughts into his head that he’s never had before. maybe starting a family of your own isn’t as bad of an idea as he used to think.

now all he can think about for the rest of the day is you underneath him with your legs pressed to your chest and the sound of your heavenly moans when he draws orgasm after orgasm from you until he finally cums inside of you. he rly hopes you won’t mind not using a condom this time...

- 🥛

YOU DID NOT JUST DO THIS TO ME—

the way i actually can picture him letting the kids grab onto his arms and then lift them up to spin the two of them around, once he’s done dabi would be dizzy as hell but then there are the kids who starts screaming “again!” “again!” which has him huff tiredly but still comply to what they want because they were having fun and that surprisingly made our arsonist hold back a smile, all this under your amused but still tender grin.

i can also see dabi play with them the ‘see you, can’t see you’ game, after you teach him, and he adores the laughs and giggles those little dwarfs let out when he exclaims “ah! here you are!”, in the most (semi) monotone voice someone could’ve ever hear, but the kids still loved it so much and that just leave him with a tingling sensation inside his chest from how moved he was, but still managed to keep it low or you wouldn’t let him live it down just like with the tiara moment.

once the kids were gone, you two finally alone, dabi is sitting on the couch with dazed eyes looking in front of him and lips slightly parted; when you sit next to him you’re about to ask him what was that face for, after snorting amused, when in a millisecond the villain has you laying beneath him as he hovers over your figure. you look surprised at him, being meet by a stare of pure desire and love that made your heart skip a beat from the intensity “w-what?”, you blurt out confused while glancing back at your boyfriend unsure on what’s gotten into him, then your eyes fell down and widened at the sight of the bulge inside his pants that was now pressing against your lower abdomen “you–?! wha–?!”

“i...”, dabi interrupted you “want to have kids with you princess.”, he confessed in a low husky gentle tone looking away from you with the back of his hand raising in front of his face and you blinked fervently, no because... was this cruel villain blushing right now?!

god he is so damn gorgeous like that, you can’t wrap your head around the fact that you have the most precious boyfriend out there, he’s truly such a gem honestly.

smiling tenderly at his confession you cup his cheeks, making him flinch slightly because of the sudden move, and pull him towards you meeting him halfway to kiss the raven-haired boy on his lips deeply, with an astonishing amount of love that left dabi speechless but yearning for more which is why a second later he was already ravishing yours back with as much passion as you.

when the two of you parted, panting, your hazy eyes locked and you swallowed down before slowly sliding your legs up his sides then closing them around dabi’s waist in a tight grip that pressed his boner against your clothed heat, a groan and moan leaving both your mouths at the friction. licking your lips under his burning gaze you start talking “what are you waiting for then?”, dabi looks with eyes that you can see ask for permission and “fill me up dabi.”, with that accompanied by a roll of your hips against his, he completely lost it.

after this, skins slapping together, pants, groans and moans are the only things that can be heard inside your living room as your man is cumming for the sixth time inside of you, balls deep into your pussy with the tip of his dick pressing hard against the swollen entrance of your womb as he’s spilling his load in complete ecstacy once again while you squirt all over his shaft and onto his pelvis with a pitiful cry, too overstimulated to even form a single syllable.

dabi has his eyes still rolled back into his skill in pure bliss when he hear you slurr about how much seed there’s inside your cunt, his cerulean irises going back to their place immediately before he raises from his hovering position on you with flushed cheeks as he smirks, totally high on you “of course there’s lots...”, and grabbing onto your waist he starts to rut his hips slowly, fucking all his seed into you with eyes clouded by desire “i gotta make sure my princess is filled up to the brim with our babies, right?”, he ends his sentence with a sharp thrust that made you let out a sob while holding onto his forearms for dear life, moaning continuously as dabi kept pounding into you “you can take more of it, i know it baby, i believe in my pretty girl nhgh–”, dabi kept blurting while throwing his head back with a throaty dragged groan at feeling your walls clench around him, hips picking up pace in no time.

letting out a breathy moan he looks down at you with sweat rolling down his temples long his pretty panting face, then he grabs your forearm to rub kind circles on it “i’m gonna make sure it’ll stick this time, so– ugh— bear with me for a little more ‘kay baby?”, you nod absentmindedly, too fucked out to register well what he’s saying to you, making him let out an amused snort at seeing your expression completely melted from the continuous pleasure and overstimulation “good girl, lemme reward you thenhgh—”, and with that another load of his seed was flowing inside of you and deep into your womb.

the pure bliss dabi feels everytime he cums deep in you, the imagery of his white ropes sticking inside your uterus, makes him rock hard all over again. mind completely lost into the ferverish sensation he’s been feeling for hours now thanks to his precious girl.

[eclecticqueennerd]

Bad Idea Right?

*inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea Right?’ by Olivia Rodrigo.

*Language, smut, violence, breakup, alcohol consumption* Billy Butcher x reader

It’s been a few months since you left the boys. The direction Butcher was leading the group was a surefire plan to get you all killed and you wanted nothing to do with it. Convincing Butcher to take a moment to mull plans over instead of going in guns blazing was a tall order, one that ultimately made you decide that a relationship with him was not worth your life. You tried to convince the rest of the gang to leave but all that got you was a bunch of noes and a broken heart. Butcher, even with all his asshole ways, held your heart in his hand and it hurt to walk away from him. At least you have Annie keeping you company.

-Wyd 2nite?

Tearing your eyes away from the TV as you lounged on the dingy bed of your motel room Grace Mallory stashed you in, you typed out your response to Annie.

-nm, u?

-wanna meet up w Kimiko n go out?

-yass!

You and Annie meet up with Kimiko just outside of a nightclub. After you gather and exchange hugs, you go in and begin drinking and dancing to the heavy bass playing on the stereo. Multicolored lights flash all around you as you allow yourself to succumb to the party atmosphere. After the song ends, the three of you spot a booth off in the corner of the club and make your way there, stopping at the bar to refill your drinks. The three of you catch up. Annie was still in Vought Tower, Kimiko still working with Frenchie and The Boys. Kimiko gives a recount of how everyone else was doing in the group, including Butcher.

‘He really misses you.’ Kimiko signs. ‘We all really miss you. You should come back.’ You shake your head.

“No, I think it’s better for me to stay away. Butchers gonna get someone killed.” You could feel vibration coming from your phone in the pocket of your dress. Lifting it in front of your blurry eyes you blink a few times to clear them. You try to make out the name but it’s an unknown number, you declined the call.

“Besides, he probably hates me now.” Vibration came from your phone again. *Decline* Another call from the unknown number.

“He doesn’t hate you, y/n. I don’t think-” Annie begins to say but then you interject,

“I’m sorry, I gotta take this. This asshole keeps calling me.” Walking out of the club, you answer the call and before you can talk, you hear a gruff voice on the other line,

“Y/n?” You’d recognize that voice from anywhere. The last time you heard him speak was four months ago when you told him you were breaking up with him.

“Y/n, you there?”

“Butcher?”

“I need your help.”

“What happened?”

“I’m hurting real bad. I need you to come help me.”

“If you’re really that hurt-”

“Y/n, please.” You hear the desperation in his voice. He never begs for anything; he must be down bad. You let out an exasperated sigh and then *click*.

“Butcher? Billy?” You look at the phone screen and see that the call has ended. *ping* An address pops up on your phone. You sigh again. Tapping the edge of your phone on your forehead in frustration, you make your decision. You meet up with Annie and Kimiko and tell them that you’ll catch up with them later, you’ve got something you have to deal with. Rather, someone. But you didn’t dare tell them that.

Hailing a cab and telling the driver the address, you kept thinking this was not a good idea. From what you heard from the gang; Butcher did not take the breakup well. He broke things, drank more, and pushed everyone to their breaking point. MM had to leave the group to regain his sanity, only to return shortly after leaving. Kimiko recounted that Butcher was better when you were around. So why the hell was he calling you if you caused him so much pain? Watching the progression of your map marker reach its destination on Google Maps, your heart began to beat harder in your chest. The car stopped outside of a tall brick building. Tipping the cab driver you made your way in, texting Butcher and asking which level and unit he was in.

Trekking up the steps, heart pounding in your chest, the blurriness in your eyes from the booze now cleared, you made your way to his door. *knock, knock, knock* The door swung open, and across the threshold was Billy Butcher. Still the same handsome man you turned to putty for not too long ago. He stood before you shirtless, clad in green sweatpants. Your mouth went dry, and the screaming thoughts in your brain telling you to march right back down those steps ceased. The two of you just stood there, staring at each other.

“You uhh… gonna let me in or what?” Butcher blinks and then makes an opening for you to slip through. Hearing the soft click of the door shut behind you, you take in the emptiness of his studio apartment. The only furniture in the room was a pull-out bed with tangled sheets, coffee table covered in empty alcohol bottles and a box TV on a beat-up nightstand. You feel guilty for a moment as when the two of you were together, the apartment you lived in never got to this state.

“You said you were hurt?” You said as you turned around to face Butcher. He just stands there, holding a sweating beer bottle in his hand, eyes scanning you up and down. His eyes settle on your cleavage. You snap your fingers to get his attention. It works.

“What did you need help with?” Butcher explains that he needed to be patched up on his back. Turning him around you see that it’s scratches with some gravel lodged in the deeper lacerations. Most of the wounds were superficial, and none of them needed sutures.

“Jesus what did you do tonight, Butcher?”

“Got in a tussle. You gon help me or not?”

“Yeah, turn around.” As you begin cleaning the wounds on Butcher's back, your thoughts then return telling you that you should not be here and you should have gotten MM to clean his back up. After using a tweezer to pull out the small bits of gravel from his back, you grabbed a paper towel and doused it with hydrogen peroxide.

“This is gonna sting.” Before you got a reply out of him, Butcher hissed at the light dabbing you placed on his wounds with the paper towel. As he hissed, you saw the muscles in Butcher's back tense, reminding you of the times he had you on your back and was fucking up into you, head cradled in the crook of your neck, giving you a perfect view of his shoulders and back. You shake your head.

“Okay all done. Be more careful next time.” Throwing the used items in the trash bag and make your way to the bathroom to wash your hands in the bathroom sink. Splashing cold water on your face, makeup be damned, attempting to slow down the growing desire in your core. Walking out of the bathroom, you spot a Hawaiian shirt on the floor, torn and bloody. You look down to inspect it.

“Aw man, this was the shirt I gave you for your birthday. It’s fucked.” You see Butcher pouring two glasses of amber-colored liquor, and he offers you a glass.

“My favorite shirt.” He replies. You shake your head to decline the drink, but Butcher, being who he is, insists. Yanking the glass out of his hand and downing the amber liquid in one gulp, you set the glass down on the counter. You give him a brief goodbye and walk toward the door. Butcher grabs your wrist; you turn and see a silent plea in his eyes. Your brain screaming at you to fly down those steps and out of the building, your heart telling you to be in his arms again. He’s not good for you, he’ll get you killed.

Fuck it, it's fine. You pull Butcher down into a feverish kiss. His mouth met yours with as much passion. You both shuffle to the edge of the pull-out bed, and you push Butcher backward. He falls back easily, letting you take the lead. You go to remove your dress when Butcher places his hands on yours and assists you in pulling it over your head. Once the garment was removed, you straddle Butcher and continue kissing him with the same fiery passion as before, his hands roaming all over your exposed form. You sit up and rock your hips against his, generating some friction for your needy core. Locking eyes with him, you see that Butcher's hazel iris is now covered by his pupils, eyes entirely covered in black. After a few more hip gyrations, Butcher pulls you back down to kiss you. He poured everything into the kiss, tongues, and teeth clashing. You pull away from Butcher and help him lower his sweatpants. Once free, you grab ahold of his throbbing cock and pump it a few times then line it up to your core, rubbing the tip along your slit. Butcher moans. As you sank down on him, you feel your cunt stretch to take all of him in. Once at full hilt, you take a moment to pause to get used to feeling him inside you again. Butcher sat up and rubbed your cheek with his thumb, wiping a few tears you didn’t realize were falling.

“I’ve missed you luv.” Butcher said as he stared into your eyes. It was as if he was looking into your soul, searching for something. You leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss on his lips as you began moving yourself on his cock. Butcher groaned, wrapping one hand around the back of your head and wrapped the other around your waist. The two of you moved in sync, you grind your hips to meet his light thrusts, gasps and moans filling the apartment. You feel the coil in your belly begin to tighten, Butcher felt it too. He then flips the two of you over to where you’re lying on your back and he’s positioned above you, grabbing your legs to wrap around his waist. He buried his head in the crook of your neck as he began to quicken his pace.

“Billy, don’t’ stop… I’m close.” You pant. Butcher takes his right hand and begins to rub circles around your clit, which pushed you over the edge. Butcher follows shortly after, spilling his cum into you with a roar. The two of you lay on the bed, fighting to catch your breath. After a few moments, you get up from the bed to get dressed. Looking for your dress under the bed, Butcher reaches his hand out and gently places it on top of yours. You look up at him and he says,

“Stay with me.” The internal struggle was real at this moment. Your brain tells you to leave, that this man was no good, but you loved Butcher. In the end, your heart won the battle, and you climbed in next to Butcher, snuggling up next to his side. Butcher whispered sweet nothings into your ear, promising you all the things that he said he would do from now on, and that he loved you. Silence fell between you. Just before Butcher fell asleep, you said,

“You know, Annie was proud of me for getting out. She’s gonna be pissed to hear that we’re back together.” Butcher turns his head to look at you.

“What’re you gonna tell her?”

“Oh, I dunno… maybe that I tripped and fell into your bed.” the two of you chuckle before falling into a restful sleep.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hey Slay boy, it’s me again. There’s not a lot of content for literally any of them so can I get like A-Train, (not the deep), MM, Frenchie, and some of Hughie

A-Train, MM, Frenchie and Hughie, as boyfriends

Headcanons

couldnt find any good gif, so i just chose this one

Reginald “Reggie” Franklin, “A-train”

Dating Reggie means you most likely are also a supe, maybe even someone well known in the community, since he cares a lot about his image.

Though, I also can see him being super open about being in a relationship with a man, since that would greatly affect his image and how people see him. So expect to be on the downlow with A-train, he still loves you though.

Later on, after everything, Reggie might start thinking about being public with his relationship with you, since you mean so much to him and he wants to be able to stand side by side with you even in public.

He still cares a lot about his image, and wants to appear as the best version of himself, so he probably acts kinda fake in public, but is more emotional and available in private.

Is a secret cuddlebug in private, and craves your approval and attention the most. Is scared hes not good enough for you, so he needs the reassurance.

Marvin T. Milk, “Mothers Milk”

M.M is a more put together partner, and is probably the best out of all of these guys to talk about his feelings, as he seems the type to sit down and talk about it, if either of you have issues in your relationship.

He always keeps a slight eye on you at most times to keep you safe, no matter where you are, since he still suffers from the fear of losing parts of his family.

Needs a daily checkup on you if you guys are ever apart, or else he cant sleep at night because he has a deep instinctual fear that Soldier Boy has somehow killed you too, so do keep that in mind if you ever travel somewhere without him.

Outside of his hate for soldier boy and his want for revenge, I could see M.M as the most likely to be able to have a domestic healthy relationship with.

Serge, “Frenchie”

Cares very deeply for his partner, so much it can put him in danger at times. If you get hurt, he loses track of what he was doing which can be dangerous.

He doesn’t appear the type to others, but I can imagine Frenchie is quite the romantic when it comes down to it. He would bake you treats in his free time, take you on dates or just have dates at home if you guys cant go out, the likes.

The type to compliment you In another language, mainly to himself under his breath, but in the morning when you guys wake up he would mumble about how handsome you are and how much he loves you.

Teaches you how to use most weapons in case you need it, or how to recognize most drugs to make sure you don’t get drugged, or any chance you might need that knowledge.

Hughie Campbell

A softy and is probably the one who loves to cuddle the most, is also most likely the most open about his relationship status. Doesn’t feel any shame about his sexuality, because as long as it’s you, he doesn’t care what others thing.

Comes to you for comfort or to feel safe after everything happens, just needs to lay in your arms and shake and cry to himself, as being held by you is enough. It might take a bit for him to tell you what’s bothering him, as he doesn’t want you to get hurt because of him.

The one who likes to borrow your clothes and wear it, even if you are smaller than him. If you have any hoodie that might fit him, hes stolen it at least a few times. Likes to be surrounded by your scent.

It takes a little bit, but after he starts, he tells you he loves you any chance he gets. Both because hes scared of losing you or himself dying, but also just to make sure you know.

[syrma-sensei]

• Soldier Boy:

→ Different World, Different Words.

→ Rugrats, Pool, and Grilling Techniques.

→ Bad Mouth.

→ Home.

→ Hot Under The Helmet.

→ Hush Hush Behind The Shield.

[bowieandqueen11]

Looking After A Sick Billy Butcher Would Include...

Request: I love your Billy Butcher headcanons so much! 🥰 If you are looking for another Billy Butcher idea i think either 'Looking after a Sick Billy Butcher' or 'Billy Butcher with a Plus Size reader' would be adorable, as your Steven Grant ones are so beautifully written 💕 thank you for all your incredible writing, you are truly amazing 💐

Oh thank you so much @missscarlettangel!!! You’re always the loveliest and kindest

Warning: a little strong language and slight NSFW!

(I do not own The Boys or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @9thblogboyz.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Billy Butcher is such a dramatic ass hoe when’s sick dearie me. If you think he’s an annoying git before this, just wait until the sniffles start settling in, the man could annoy a saint to high heaven.

The man will not stay in bed. At all. You came into the home base to immediately be greeted with a near-crying Hughie and near-fuming Kimiko trying to wrestle the a**hole down onto his bed. Naturally, this ended with Hughie flying back and landing ass over tea cup through the bed side table and half off the wall, and Kimiko releasing her failing grip on his arm in shock. As soon as Billy spots you standing there, he comes swaggering out from the room, clad in his black jumper and jeans and pretending that he’s ‘alright, love. Me ‘ead is just a bit unda the weather today, that’s all.’ Even with his slick words, you can tell by how sweaty his forehead is that the man is about to keel over. He’s so damn stubborn - too prideful to admit that he could ever have a fault, but deep down, he’s also scared stricken to think he has an exploitable weakness when he’s supposed to be the big mad Charcuter. He’ll only let you touch him: and so you do, wrapping an arm past the buckles of his belt and holding onto the thick muscles around his hip. He jauntily wraps an arm around your shoulder, pretending to be as cocky as ever as you stroll him towards the living area.

‘Thanks darlin’, he whispers against the tip of your ear with a ragged breath. ‘I couldn’t take the yammering of them two cunts in my face any more. I’m glad you’re back now, we got a new job-’. He lets go of you, fisting his hand and hacking a cough against it until you push him down on the sofa to make him nap.

He’s literally that knackered that he passes out pretty much straight away. You sigh, squatting down near the window to pull off his boots and leave them resting under the perch. You wave at Hughie as he sneaks out on his tip toes like he’s in ‘Scooby Doo’ towards the door and mouths exaggeratedly at you that he’s ‘going to get some soup’. Once you’re done smiling him out, you lift Butcher’s head and wiggle onto the sofa underneath him, gently squishing his cheek back down onto your lap. For once you’re overjoyed that M.M. and Frenchie are busy arguing as they stand in front of a makeshift cork board in the safe, or Billy would never let you hear the end of it for making look like such a sap. You’re stuck there for a while: Billy whimpers in his sleep, his arms ending up at some point wrapping around your knees and sticking you in place under his thick biceps. 

The man is still clambering all over you as soon as he wakes up though. It could be the literal raining hell fire of the end of days washing down on the two of you and Billy Butcher would still be trying to climb over you like a tree. Not even in a fully sexual way - he adores you more than anything in this world, and needs some kind of constant touch when he’s feeling unsure as a reassurance that you’re still real. That you haven’t left him yet too. That he hasn’t destroyed you. You could be be sitting cross legged on the sofa next to him, huffing as you pull the blanket back up his shoulders every time Billy grumbles and pulls it off again. Dropping the cup of tea he was sipping, he uses his large fingers to quickly grab yours and pound them both down on the table. The desperation is evident in every sharp movement: the way he’s straight to grabbing your waist and pulling you onto his lap till you’re straddling his thick thighs, the pressure of his chin as his stubble scratches the curve of your neck, right under your earlobe. By the smirk you can feel, you know he’s doing it just to tease you, knowing it drives you wild. His arms wrap like an iron vice as he peppers languid, unrushed kisses up your pulse point. Like I’m sorry but can you imagine those coarse, rough, devoting hands running up your shoulders? Those harsh thumbs gripping the back of your head tightly and pulling you back until he’s angled you perfectly? You’re putty in his grasp, and as he grinds his midriff up against you and hears the pained whine fall from your lips, he knows it. He wets his lips, attacking your chin, and then the corner of your mouth - and then he ends up sneezing before his desperate mouth can rove any further.

The problem is, he sneezes exactly as M.M. is walking past; the poor man is just holding a cup of coffee, minding his own business as he goes to read his file in his desk chair. After a moment of standing there in confusion, he runs off to shower and makes Frenchie and Annie hose down his clothes outside for half an hour straight. He spends the rest of the day glaring at Butcher from his desk, taking out antiseptic wipes every ten minutes and spraying a can of air freshener out in his direction with a disgusted frown. 

You know better than to try and feed Billy. The man would literally snap your fingers off. Sadly, Frenchie was still under the illusion that he could just... skirt around this lesson, and came waddling happily towards Butcher with Hughie’s broth in one arm and a holding a spoon with the other. Once the airplane noises start, and the whooshing spoon through the air... well, let’s just say that it is a very lucky coincidence that there was so much traffic down fifth avenue today and the broth was tepid by the time Hughie got back. Two hours later, Frenchie is still running around with wet trousers, picking pieces of celery out of his pants and running after M.M. every time he calls him ‘pee pee boy’.

Billy always acts as if everyone’s annoying the heck out of him, but in reality, he just wants to be left alone with you for a while. By ten o’clock he’s so fed up of Hughie throwing him pity looks, and Frenchie pecking like a mother hen in his face, that he gets up and locks himself in the bathroom just to breathe for a damn minute. When you hesitantly knock twice on the door, and he unlocks it, on the floor is where you find him: curled up with his back to the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest, trying to drown out the memories of how similar the withdrawals from compound V felt as they pound through his brain. You’ll have to sit by his side, huddled up with your arm looped through his stiff one and spreading your fingers out over his kneecap, massaging it. Although he doesn’t like too much physical touch when he’s so withdrawn as he is, if your fingers leave his knee for one second he’ll start whining like a kicked puppy.

You do get to help him change out of his jumper at the end of the night though hm hm (even though he’s bloody perfectly well enough to do it himself and you both know it.) He has that shit eating smirk on his face when he sees you back in his doorway, and he holds his hands out to you, beckoning you towards him. He takes a few steps back once he feels your fingers latch onto the pads of his own, his face lighting into a smile as you draw them down to tug at the hem of the rugged material. Before you can lift it though, he brings his sock round to kick the back of your heel and has you tumbling over the edge of the bed to lie on top of his chest.

And then... *ahem*... well let’s just say that all the clothes came off pretty quickly shall we?

By the way Hughie is literally sinking his face into the cereal bowl the next morning: the way Frenchie is trying to hide his spurts of laughter from where he’s playing cards with Kimiko: how M.M. rolls his eyes and lifts his newspaper to cover his face when the two of you come dandering out of his room, you didn’t manage to be as discrete as a *sick* Billy Butcher believes himself to be. His pair of undies swinging from the ceiling fan all but confirms it.

[yourmomxx]

m.m.: please tell me you didn't drag hughie into this

butcher: i did not drag hughie into this

*banging on the door*

m.m., eyes wide: who's that?

butcher, trying to keep the door shut: i think you know

[a-nice-egg-offering]

Making myself emotional imagining the squad from the boys just having a wholesome game night like kimiko is asleep on frenchie’s shoulder and he’s smiling his cute kimiko smile with his hand on her thigh and making sure the blankets are wrapped tightly around her, MM and butcher are getting way too competitive playing mario kart and hughie and Annie are just sneaking kisses and occasionally laughing at how riled up the guys are over the game and ryan keeps asking if he can have a go and butcher is like yeah yeah in a minute but then just keeps demanding a rematch every time MM beats him

[fromforeigntofamiliarity]

The Boys Masterlist

Soldier Boy Supe-cest Healing[f]

Black Noir Into The Sunset[a][f] Traitor [a][f] Should Be Mine: One | Two

Why Would You Do That?[a][f]

Homelander Blurred Lines Should Be Mine: One | Two

Platonic or Non-Romantic Relationship Working Bitch

[mlmxreader]

Not A Monster | Marvin Milk x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Can I request mm (from the boys show) x male reader with ptsd? (reader was injected with V but not really a "superhero" by any means, maybe an international terror is more accurate)

With prompts “Yeah, be rational, sure. I'm a fucking werewolf!” and “I'm torn between feeling very sorry for you and finding you terribly attractive.” ❞

: ̗̀➛ M.M. could never see you as a monster, even if you might feel like one yourself.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, drugging, mentions of violence

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You sighed heavily as you sat down on the worn leather sofa, your eyes never once leaving Marvin for even a split second as your hands ran up and down your thighs, nervousness eating away at you harshly. Debating on how to properly tell him, and be honest about it at the same time.

Blood was beginning to drip down the back of your neck, leaving a warm sensation trailing down that left you cringing. Although it was not your own.

Even Marvin could easily all too easily, as you did not have a single mark on your body; but as you felt a shiver run down your spine, you became even more aware of the fact that you were utterly naked.

You weren’t usually so awkward about being naked in front of Marvin, it was nothing new and the two of you had seen each other in compromising positions more than you could even think of counting, but this time felt more different.

It was like your entire soul was bare and he could see every notch and knock upon it; for the first time ever, feeling vulnerable in front of Marvin felt genuinely wrong. Scary.

But when he tossed a pair of boxers at you, you quickly tugged them on and pulled on his brown leather jacket. His favourite. You felt less naked but still so exposed.

Marvin eyed you carefully and closely for a moment as he surveyed you and tried to figure out what you wanted to say; checking to see if you were about to go back and become the monster he had seen earlier.

You shivered under his gaze, but you weren’t scared - you could never be scared of Marvin even though now you were not the same as the man he had always known you to be. You were changed, and when he reached out to put his hand on your knee, you flinched.

You had never done that before, and the worry and concern was more than evident and clear in his big brown eyes as he frowned.

Slowly, Marvin retracted his hand and withdrew it as he cleared his throat. Thinking of the right thing to say to you.

“I don’t expect you to talk. But I get it. What they did to you - I get why you wanna strike a match and watch the world burn.”

You shook your head as you sighed. “I can still feel the needles. Smell the fucking hand sanitiser… and now they’re calling me a terrorist… I’m trying to protect people, Marv. Stop it from ever happening again… and they’re calling me a terrorist for it.”

“Tends to happen when you blow up labs and maul people,” he said as he nodded slowly. “But I get it. You’ll be safe here. Promise.”

You swallowed thickly as you furrowed your brows. “Thank you… but why? What did I do to deserve it?”

“You’re working towards the same goal as we are,” Marvin started, “plus, I’m torn between feeling very sorry for you and finding you incredibly attractive.”

You scoffed as you rolled your eyes at him; it wasn’t that you didn’t want to help Marvin with taking down Homelander and Soldier Boy - as both were responsible for what had happened to you - but rather that you could not believe he would find you attractive after what you had become.

He knew about you, he knew what you were, the terrible monster with gnashing jaws and snarling jowls; the monster that hunted people all along and up the moors. Yet he still managed to find you attractive - desirable. Worth his time and his effort. Worth his gaze. You could not fathom or believe it in the slightest, only able to laugh off how awkward you felt. 

“If you’re trying to flatter me into joining The Boys-”

Marvin shook his head. “I’m not. I want you to be rational, though.”

“Yeah, be rational, sure. I’m a fucking werewolf! They injected me with that V shit and turned me into a fucking monster! They killed all the good that was left in me when Homelander pinned me down and said I was chosen by him to become this! How the fuck can I be rational about this, Marv?”

The tears in your eyes, so visible and so glistening, made him shake his head slowly as he sniffled and swallowed thickly. “Then let me be the rational one, yeah? Call me a motherfucker with a heart, but you shouldn’t be alone on this, and I wanna be there for you like you were there for me.”

Slowly, you nodded as you sighed, wiping your eyes. “Alright, alright… I’ll join - one one condition.”

“What’s that?” He asked, moving to sit beside you. 

He didn’t make a move to touch you, though, as he knew that you would only flinch and become startled again; so he just leaned back into the sofa, and kept his gaze on you. You cleared your throat, shifting around to get comfortable as you thought of how best to phrase it.

“That you will never lie to me again - I know I’m a monster, alright? Undesirable, terrible. Evil,” your voice shook a little before fully breaking. “Please never make me even feel like it’s even a small possibility it might not be true.”

Marvin sighed heavily as he shook his head slowly, clearing his throat and fidgeting slightly. “That wasn’t a lie, and you know it.”

“Marvin-”

“You’re not a monster,” he insisted. “You never were, and you never will be. You are not a monster. You’re a man who I feel sorry for and who I also feel attracted to. It ain’t your fault that you got injected with that shit against your will. You’re not a fucking monster, and you can help us take down Homelander and Soldier Boy… you’re not a terrorist.”

“Marvin, I appreciate the pep talk,” you sighed, raking your hand down your face. “But I just… don’t worry.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Get some rest, we’ll get something to eat after and then we’ll… we’ll talk more about what I said.”

[pickledpascal]

Killer Queen

Chapter Four: Doin' Time

Warnings: Gore? blood bending is weird asf, non-descript body horror but its there if you squint, slur (from homelander this time oooh)

Word Count: 3.3k

Killer Queen Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

With Soldier Boy mostly under control, Amber decided it might be best to go over their plan. It was a shaky one at best but it was the only one they had. So Starlight, Butcher, and Hughie were called to the house. Eden made sure Ryan was busy playing a video game while they all gathered in the living room. 

A map of Vought Tower lay in the middle of the circle they made. Eden rubbed at her chin, trying to memorize every weak point and every room. She thought it was a little weird that Homelander had a special penthouse in Vought Tower but it was easier for them to get the jump on them that way. Steal their prized Supe and they might just crumble because of it.

“Is he seriously on board?” Butcher and Amber took a few steps away from everyone else. 

Amber glanced back at Soldier Boy who was strangely quiet considering the last few days. “Yeah. He is. And if he's not, well, I can change his mind.” She smirked. 

Butcher blinked, shock crossing his face before a grin replaced it. “Oh, love, you didn't.” 

Amber nudged Butcher’s elbow. “Makes him a little easier to work with.”

“I must say, I didn't think he'd go for someone quite like you, love,” Butcher admitted as his eyebrows furrowed. His eyes shifted up and down Amber's body. “Although, maybe he hadn't gotten properly dicked down before.” He teased. 

Amber laughed and shook her head. Soldier Boy was slowly growing on her. More so when he actually showed emotion—besides just anger. There was a softer side to him, one he didn't want others, or even himself, to know. For a while, he had convinced everyone that this “ideal” version of himself was real but Amber could see right through him. He was still that kid in the army who just wanted to prove himself to his father. 

“Oh! Amber should totally wear her super suit!” Eden cheered like a light bulb went off in her head. 

Annie looked at Eden strangely then glanced at Amber who sighed at the mention of it. “Amber has a suit? Was she a Supe?” She questioned.

“No, no, no.” Eden waved Annie off. “When I realized Amber was going to do a lot of the heavy lifting—metaphorically and realistically—I made her a suit that is able to withstand… Well, a lot. Considering Amber's powers, I made it heat and cold-resistant and unable to be cut by anything Vought could get their hands on.” She explained as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Nothing like what you guys have. Hers serves for practicality and for the aesthetic.”

Annie pursed her lips and shrugged. Eden was right. Depending on what kind of missions they were sent on, their super suits got destroyed all the time. In the end, they were always replaced but they didn't last long on high-risk missions. They were meant to look good, factor into their aesthetic—their image.

“Wow, love, you been holding out on us?” Butcher smirked at Amber. 

She rolled her eyes. “Haven't been on a job that calls for it yet. This might just be that.” Amber countered as she crossed her arms. 

Soldier Boy watched the interactions Butcher and Amber had. He wasn't too keen on how comfortable they were with each other. “Why's Amber need a suit anyway? She have any accidents or some shit?” He turned to Eden. 

Eden narrowed her eyes at Soldier Boy, amusement in them. She could tell someone was jealous. “Yeah. Once or twice. Had a flame-on moment and poof her clothes disintegrated and she was naked. Not fun.” She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Maybe for you.” 

Butcher, Annie, Soldier Boy, and Hughie all turned to stare at Amber. “If I tell you what happened, will y'all drop it?” 

“Depends on what it is, love.” Butcher commented, earning a look from Soldier Boy.

Amber sighed as she scratched the back of her head. “I did that when I was younger. Like twelve. I was in school,” Annie looked at her with a smile. She'd never thought about Amber before all this. Sure, Amber was born the chosen one but she had a childhood before the weight of the world was on her shoulders. “Another kid pissed me off. A little too much that I kinda… self-combusted. The kid wasn't hurt but my clothes were ash. Hasn't happened since. Eden was there, that's why she knows.” 

Soldier Boy cocked his head. He hadn't seen Amber use her powers before. At least, not in any way he could perceive besides her strength. Did she have some sort of fire ability? He hadn't encountered that before. Sure, there were the TNT Twins but that wasn't fire, that was explosives. 

It seemed Butcher recognized that look. “Have you not told him yet, love? I mean if I were you, I'd shout it from the rooftops but then that'd also make you a right cunt.” He looked at Amber. 

“I was busy,” Amber coughed, swallowing nervously. “With other stuff.”

“Other stuff.” Hughie repeated, unconvinced. 

Soldier Boy stared at Butcher, confused and weary. He didn't trust the Brit. Then again, he didn't trust a lot of people. 

Butcher waved to Amber and grinned. “Amber here is the Avatar,” Soldier Boy had no recollection of anything Avatar-related. “She can control earth, air, fire, water. Ring any bells?” His eyebrows furrowed. Butcher sighed. “Whatever, all that matters is Amber's on our side. She's bloody powerful. Literally.” He turned his head to look at Amber who shrugged. “You're a bit like Neuman in that way.” 

Amber shook her head and pursed her lips. As the Avatar, for some reason, she was also blessed with being able to use all the subgenres of bending. Well, most. She didn't have combustion bending or else there would be an indent in the middle of her forehead. 

Blood bending, metal bending, lava bending—only used that once—lightning redirection and levitation were subgenres Amber knew how to use. Blood bending was an innate ability, however she learned the others from her former lives. And from other souls in the spirit realm. 

“I remember…” Soldier Boy finally said. Although it was a little fuzzy, his early life, he could remember a time when the Avatar existed. “That… It was a girl. Before you. What happened? Aren't you supposed to reincarnate after the previous one dies? Why are you here now? And not right after the other one…”

Amber sighed. “I'm not sure and my past lives won't exactly tell me.” She looked up at the ceiling, irritation evident in her voice. “All I know is, when Korra died there hadn't been one until me. And there might not be one after me.” 

“I blame Compound V. That shit might have messed up the Avatar cycle somehow. Fucked with nature. I mean, there's no benders anymore either. There's either Supes or non-Supes.” Eden commented as she took a sip of tea. She brewed it a while ago but forgot about it until now. 

Butcher poured some for himself, taking a sip as he sat down at the table. Before meeting Amber, he hadn't thought much about the Avatar or benders at all. To him, they were just legends. Fictional. A bedtime story people told children about. But then he saw her in action. The glow of her tattoos when she meditated, the way fire erupted from her fists, or how she turned water to ice with a simple wave of her hand. It was all so very real. 

“So… Supersuit?” Eden asked once their meeting wrapped up. Homelander was going down. Tonight. 

Amber huffed. “Supersuit.”

Eden pumped her fist in the air. “Yes!” 

—---

Getting into Vought Tower was the easy part. Eden was an excellent hacker when push came to shove. Or if she was just bored. Every employee Amber passed by didn't spare her a second glance. At least the Supersuit came in handy for more than one thing. Practicality, aesthetic, and blending in. They all just thought she was some random Supe walking through the halls of Vought. 

Amber caught an elevator. With no one else in it. She looked up at the camera in the corner.

“Hello. I see you too, mother.” Eden teased through her earpiece. Then there was the light noise of clacking. Her keyboard. 

Soldier Boy's voice came through the earpiece as well. “Are we a hundred percent sure this is gonna work?” His voice was rough, if a little troubled. 

“Amber is fully capable, mate. Not to mention Homelander has a soft spot for girls. Somehow.” Butcher had his own comm. One that Amber could hear clearly. “She just has to turn up the charm, get that cunt off guard and do her… freaky blood thing.”

Amber could imagine Butcher's cadence as he said those words. He'd probably waved his hand with a grin on his face as he looked between Eden and Soldier Boy. She drummed her fingers against her thigh as the elevator stopped at a floor. She smiled at the new addition. Some intern, most likely, they looked like one. She wrinkled her nose a bit. Amber was nervous. She's been in combat situations before but nothing espionage-like. 

Not to mention the suit. Amber had only worn it once. For Eden to make sure it fit properly. And it did fit properly. She had expected it to be uncomfortable since it looked like it was made completely of leather but it wasn't. It was made up of some special textile or cloth Eden made herself—one of the reasons it was fire, ice, and pierce-resistant. 

The suit fit her nicely, showing off her curves even if it covered almost every inch of her body. There were shoulder pads built into the suit with indentations of the four elemental symbols on both, fingerless gloves, and gauntlets that went over her forearms. The zipper in the front started just above her chest but was half zipped to shield a bit of her throat. Most of her suit was indigo except for her gauntlets, a little bit of detailing, and knee-high boots—the gauntlets were silver as were a few loops on her belt while her boots were black with indigo trim and a matching heel.

The elevator stopped on the floor Amber was meant to get off on. She stepped out as Eden guided her to Homelander's penthouse from her earpiece. She stopped just outside the door, pursing her lips. She lowered her zipper a little to show off her cleavage a bit more. Amber knew Homelander had a bit of a… kink. Well, not a bit. And even if Amber couldn't particularly lactate for reasons, he wouldn't know that. 

“We won't be able to see but we'll be able to hear everything that goes on in that room.” Eden said softly. “Don't get into too much trouble.”

Amber chuckled dryly. “You know me. I hate trouble.”

“Exactly why you're perfect for the job.” Butcher commented. 

Compared to everyone else in The Boys, Amber was relatively unknown to Vought. Eden couldn't find a single file on her when she went through their databases. To them, she was just some random citizen. A zero or one in their books. To be fair, Amber wasn't one to show off her powers unless needed. And Eden wiped every single hard drive of every single camera she could find if Amber ever did use her powers in public. 

Amber knocked on the door for it to be opened by her target. Homelander. She could see the appeal. Actually, no. She couldn't. His roots were brown while the rest of his hair was dyed blonde and his face was always cleanly shaved—Amber always liked a beard on men. Perhaps that's part of the reason she found Soldier Boy attractive, despite his prickly personality. 

“And who are you?” Homelander’s eyes were on Amber's breasts for a few seconds before they met her eyes.  

Time to play ditsy, Amber. She faked a frown. “Sorry, I must've knocked on the wrong door. I was supposed to have a meeting with Mr. Edgar.” She rubbed one of her arms, trying her best to act nervous. 

Hook.

“Oh?” Homelander's eyes lit up with interest. “I'm sure he won't mind you being late. Come in. It'd be nice to get to know you. Especially if you're gonna be on the team.” He forced a smile. It made Amber's brain alert with disgust. 

At least it was working. 

Homelander widened the door, letting Amber inside before he closed it behind her. His little apartment looked like hell. Paintings upon paintings of US Presidents in ornate frames or war memorabilia hung up on walls. There was barely any furniture except for a desk and a few loveseats. 

Amber had to resist the urge to cry at how gaudy this all looked. 

Then she heard the lock of the door set in place. Amber was trapped. With Homelander. Except it was more that he was trapped with her. 

“What's your name?” Homelander stepped closer to Amber, an unsettling grin on his face.

“Which one?” She asked.

Line.

He tsked, the grin widening. “Supe one. Wanna know what to call you when I fuck your brains out.” 

Amber swallowed thickly. Which could've been mistaken for fear—another turn-on for Homelander—but it was out of disgust. 

“This cunt has what's getting to him.” Butcher commented under his breath.

“It's,” Amber had to think of something. Quick. “Isorropìa.” Her hand twitched as her eyes narrowed. This whole plan was uncomfortable but unfortunately necessary. 

Amber was the only one who could get Homelander and Soldier Boy was the only one who could kill him. Or unsupeify him. If that was their goal. Amber wasn't too sure. She was powerful enough to kill Homelander as well but Butcher and Eden had other plans, it seemed.

“Isorropìa,” Homelander repeated, feeling the word on his tongue. “Our art department could come up with something better.” He stepped closer into Amber's space, a few inches apart. 

Sinker.

Amber’s fingers twitched slightly as she felt for Homelander's blood. She smirked as she felt the beat of his heart. His pulse. She lifted her hand as if she was controlling a marionette on strings. She watched as his eyes widened with fear. 

He couldn't move. And he couldn't speak. Not of his own volition. Homelander had never felt such physical pain before. He was invisible. Nothing, nothing, could hurt him. At least, not so prolonged. His veins felt like they were on fire. A searing hot pain Homelander had never experienced. Never wanted to experience.

She forced him to turn around. With a twist of her other hand, the door was unlocked and opened. 

“Got him, heading down.” Amber said.

Eden cheered, “Let's go!” 

“Remember our deal, though?” Butcher reminded.

“I get to psychologically torture, you get to kill. Yeah, I know.” Eden sighed. 

Amber and Homelander simply walked outside together. By any bystanders' eyes, they looked normal. As normal as two Supes could be at Vought. 

When Amber found the van Annie, Hughie, and Marvin were stationed at, she had Homelander go in first. Hughie was rightfully scared. 

“Anyone else a bit freaked out by this?” He asked, glancing at Marvin.

Marvin observed Homelander. He looked as if he was a sim. Idle. Waiting for some sort of instruction. “Yeah, no, I get it.”

Amber rotated her hand slightly as Annie drove. She let Homelander speak. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Homelander spat. A juxtaposition from his stiff body. 

Amber smirked at him as she zipped up her suit again. “Your worst nightmare,” She stared at him. “I can take you apart if I really wanted,” She redirected Homelander's blood flow with a movement of her hand, causing him to yell out. “Make you nothing more than the miserable little boy you are.” Her hand formed a fist, completely stopping his blood for a moment.

Hughie and Marvin shared a look as Annie took a look in the rearview mirror, concerned by the screams coming from the back. They were likely deserved. 

“Love, don't kill him yet. Won't be as satisfying.” Butcher said softly. 

Amber huffed and let Homelander go. Not completely, just let his blood flow enough to keep him alive. 

“You bitch!” The blond ground out. 

Amber looked at him, unimpressed. “You can do better than that. I'll make it easy for you,” She leaned closer. “I’m transgender, I like girls, I still have a cock, and… did I mention I'm dating your dad?” Homelander's eyes widened. His dad? He didn't have a dad. He was an experiment. “Well, kinda. Haven't completely figured it out yet but he makes some amazing sounds.” 

Hughie and Marvin shared another look. They didn't know Amber was fucking Soldier Boy. Figuratively and physically. Even Marvin thought Soldier Boy was relatively tame from the last time he saw him. Which was saying something. And it all had to do with Amber. Of course it did. Everyone liked Amber.

“I don't have a dad, you fucking she-male!” Homelander snarled.

Well, almost everyone. 

Amber tilted her head. “She-male? Really?” She rolled her eyes as she sat between Marvin and Hughie. She was a bit disappointed. Homelander was supposed to be scary—she didn't doubt that he was to those powerless against him but she wasn't—he was just some idiot with being American as his main personality. “We're going to go see your dad, actually. See how fucked you are in comparison.”

Homelander swallowed thickly. He wanted to say something more but he wasn't sure what to say. He just stared darkly at Amber for the rest of the drive.

Amber smiled as Hughie opened the door to the van, forcing Homelander to walk outside. They followed him inside as Amber guided his body. 

Eden almost had a heart attack when Homelander was the first thing she saw enter the house. She quickly calmed down after seeing his not so comfortable state and that Amber was right behind him. He was safely locked in Eden’s bunker which was built to specifically be Homelander-proof. Amber wasn't sure how but it was. He could likely still hear through the walls but that power was mostly useless compared to his strength or laser eyes.

“I'm giving you a week,” Butcher told Eden, glancing at Amber. “Then it's my turn.”  

Marvin crossed his arms and stared at Amber. He had a load of questions for her but he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer. All of them were about Soldier Boy. Who was being strangely quiet in the corner of the room. But he didn’t like the way the Supe was staring at Amber in her suit.

Eden chuckled, “You make it sound like you’re gonna fuck.” 

Butcher shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh. “How in the bloody hell do you stand her, love?” He turned to look at Amber. 

“Been friends a while. Not much surprises me anymore.” Amber admitted as she undid the gaunlets on her arms.

Annie looked from Butcher to Eden, “What do you even want to do to him?” She and Eden were close but she had never said anything about the kinds of “torture” she wanted to inflict upon Homelander.

“That’s for me, Amber, and Soldier Boy to know about and for you to keep on speculating.” Eden pecked Annie’s cheek.

Hughie was taken aback. “Wait, why is Soldier Boy included but we’re not?”

“It’s cause you’re a fucking twink.” Soldier Boy commented. Hughie pursed his lips out of distaste.

Amber had to refrain from laughing. “Kind of. But I wouldn’t want to spoil the plan. Not appropriate in polite company.”

“Love, we’re the opposite of polite company.” Butcher grinned. “Your secret’s safe with us.”

-----

taglist: @aleemendoza2425-blog @yoyoanaria

taglist open here !!!

[geminiwritten]

hold on ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you’re the youngest member of the boys and you hate that butcher insists on calling you ‘kid’ so you show him in more ways than one that you are not a child

notes: this is very weak, but it was kind of good writing practice because i definitely don’t write a lot of action (i’m so sorry if it sucks)! as always, please let me know what you think!

warnings: a lot of swearing, google translated french, age gap (not specified, but inferred) guns, violence, a dagger, explosion, descriptions of wounding (please don’t read if any of this is triggering for you!)

word count: 4310

Butcher is an asshole. You knew that from the moment you met him. He is rude, and brash, and impulsive to the point that made you believe he didn’t have an angel on one of his shoulders, only two antagonistic little devils. You often found yourself itching to dig your fist into his face, especially when he called you by the stupid nickname he coined the moment he met you. Kid, or The Kid, if you weren’t in the room. It vexed you beyond belief, and you knew exactly why.

Butcher is an asshole, but he’s also fucking gorgeous. He’s tall and broad, and his voice is so delicious, it often finds its way into your filthiest dreams. To say you were obsessed with the man wouldn’t be an overstatement, and it was no secret, everyone but Butcher himself knows it. You’ve wanted him from the moment you met him, but then he went ahead and called you ‘kid’ and you quickly realised that he didn’t see you as anything more than one of the boys. The youngest one of the boys.

“Are you okay, mon amour?” Frenchie asks, nudging you with his shoulder.

You look at the man sitting beside you, dressed head to toe in black with a bandolier slung across his body. The van rattles as it hits a bump, and across from you, MM casts an angry glare toward the driver’s seat.

“I’m good,” you reply, flexing your fingers around the gun laying across your lap.

You were no stranger to the weapon, having spent years training in the special forces before flunking out the minute you found out about the movement for Supes to be contracted into the military. You were furious and scared, and then you ran into an old neighbour whose mother used to be book club buddies with yours – Hughie – and the rest is history.

“Butcher’s on location,” MM says, tucking his phone back into the pocket on his vest.

“Make sure he waits,” Hughie calls from the front of the van. “It’ll take me five minutes to get eyes on the whole building, but he can’t go in blind.”

MM looks at Frenchie, “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive,” Frenchie replies, “They will not be prepared for a raid, and they will have the information we need.”

“And how many are going to be willing to give it to us?” you ask.

He grimaces, “Not many, but I do not doubt your persuasion skills, mon cherie.”

“Persuasion,” you scoff, looking down at the weapon in your lap.

Don’t get it wrong, you weren’t some kind of super CIA motherfucker who should be feared by all, but you were pretty swift when you needed to be. You weren’t overly worried about the mission, not with Frenchie, MM, and Butcher at your back, but you hadn’t properly exercised your training in months. You know you’re going to be rusty, and you don’t exactly know what you’re walking into, but Frenchie does, and he’s confident in your ability.

The objective was simple. Frenchie had some old friends who were keeping tabs on his and Butcher’s movements and feeding them back to someone who was then getting them to Vought somehow. All you had to do was shut them down and find out who their contact was, and probably murder more than half of them in the process. Simple, right? Except for the fact that not even Frenchie knew exactly how many men you were running in on, or what kind of weapons they had.

“We’re here,” Hughie announces, just before the three of you in the back lurch forward with the sudden stop of the van.

You button up the fastenings on your fingerless gloves and check that your bandolier is packed with extra magazines before standing up. MM opens the doors for Hughie, and he jumps up into the back of the van with his laptop under his arm. Frenchie pulls a small stool from the storage cage and plants it in front of the flip down desk as Hughie begins unpacking his equipment. No more than five minutes pass before video images start popping up in black and white squares across the screens.

“Butcher,” Hughie says, tucking his earpiece in, “can you hear me?”

You fix your own piece into your ear before routinely checking the clips and fastenings across your tact suit.

“I can ‘ear you,” Butcher’s voice rumbles in your ear, and you can feel your cheeks flush pink.

“Alright,” Hughie scans the screens in front of him, “they’ve got pretty high tech surveillance, but their security isn’t great. I’m getting twenty-two heat signatures, most in the basement, a couple on the ground floor, and three on the fourth. According to Frenchie’s intel, there are other tenants in the building, so my guess is that three up top aren’t apart of this.”

“The two at ground level are most likely security,” Frenchie says. “There are always one or two of them watching the building’s main entrance.”

“But there’s another way in?” MM asks.

Hughie nods, “Looks like you can access the basement from the back, but that’s probably their main point of access, so you’ll want to find another way in.”

“You tellin’ me there’s one fuckin’ door to this place?” Butcher’s voice comes through the earpiece again, and you have to flex your fingers around your gun to remind yourself to focus.

“The backdoor and the building’s main stairwell,” Frenchie replies.

“Two fuckin’ doors?” Butcher says. “Fuckin’ hell, Frenchie, how the hell are we s’pposed to get out if things go wrong?”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Frenchie states, giving you an incredibly confident grin.

Your stomach twists nervously, but you don’t let it show, returning his grin with a nod and a small smile.

“There are windows,” Hughie says, “but only Y/N will fit, maybe Frenchie.”

“Then we go first,” you look at Frenchie, “through the windows and make sure Butcher and MM can get in the back.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Butcher snaps. “We don’t know what kind of weapons these cunts got, and if you two get overpowered, we won’t be able to get in ‘n’ help. We all go in the backdoor, force our way in.”

Frenchie chuckles, “You are a fan of forcing yourself into the backdoor, Monsieur Charcutier?”

MM snorts while you and Hughie snicker, but there isn’t a sound from Butcher.

“Look,” you say, “I appreciate your concern, Butcher, but we have the best chance of surprising them by slipping in where they won’t expect.”

Frenchie giggles again at your unintentional innuendo.

“Listen, Kid,” Butcher says, sending wave of irritation through your body, “I appreciate your concern, but I ain’t lettin’ you ‘n’ Frenchie get killed for somethin’ as trivial as a bit of intel.”

“I’m not a fucking kid, Butcher,” you bite back, at which everyone in the van startles. “Frenchie and I will meet you at the backdoor.”

You pull your black kerchief up over your nose and crack the van’s doors open, peaking out cautiously before stepping down and into the dark night. Frenchie and MM follow your silent footsteps toward the brick building, skirting around the side until you find the low and narrow basement windows. You point at MM and then toward the back of the building, and he nods before hurrying off.

“There’s a guard waiting outside the backdoor,” Hughie’s voice comes through your earpiece.

You hear a couple of grunts before MM says, “Not anymore.”

“Do you have Butcher?” Hughie asks.

“We’re in position,” MM affirms.

You nod at Frenchie and he gestures for you to go first, so you turn to the closest window. You take a deep breath before crouching beside the window and gripping a lip in the brickwork to help swing your body through. Using your chunky black boots, you kick the window in and follow the momentum with your feet first. You hit the concrete floor with a thud, quickly darting to the side before Frenchie drops down in the same fashion.

“What the fuck?!” one of the men shouts, scrambling to get up from the old and torn sofa on which he sat.

Your hands are on your gun before you can remember thinking about it, and a gunshot bursts in your left ear as a thug across the room fires at you, missing completely. You take aim and shoot his shoulder, making him drop his gun and crumple to the floor in pain. Two more bullets hit the brick wall behind you, and two more of the gangsters fall with wounds in their shoulders. Frenchie is already rushing to the backdoor, and you cover him easily by dropping three more men with pistols and hitting one in the leg who was scrambling toward the stairs. A cluster of lankier looking men cower in what looks like a makeshift drug lab, all wearing rubber aprons and protective goggles over their eyes. You turn away from them and take down another heading for the stairs, watching him fall on top of his comrade before whipping around and firing at a thug who was pointing his gun at Frenchie. The bullet cracks as it hits him in the side of the head, but you don’t have time to regret your aim before someone tackles you from behind. You duck forward, gripping his thick arms before he can strangle you, and use his momentum to throw him onto his back on the floor in front of you with a loud thump.

Your gun is back in your hands as you scan the room over its barrel, a familiar sense a satisfaction quelling your fight mode when you find every assailant either downed or cowering with their hands up. The backdoor creaks open, and MM and Butcher march in with guns up before stopping abruptly at the sight of the pacified room.

“What did I tell you, eh?” Frenchie says, and you hear it more in your earpiece than from across the room. “She is fucking incroyable.”

“Holy shit,” MM mutters, lowering his gun.

Butcher’s eyes are wild above his face covering, filled with an emotion you can’t discern as he stares at you across the dark room.

“Alright,” Frenchie shouts, pulling his kerchief down, “where the fuck is Lafeyette?”

The room stays quiet, but the four of you slowly cast heavy glares across the fallen thugs until one of the timid lab assistants points a shaking finger toward the two men collapsed by the stairs.

“Time to talk you filthy sac de merde,” Frenchie spits, as he and Butcher stalk toward the men.

MM nods at you as he readjusts his gun and widens his stance, guarding the door in case anyone thinks of trying to escape. Your fighter instincts settle at the slight sense of security, and you sling your gun over your shoulder as you approach the small drug lab.

“What are your names?” you ask the men.

Three of them glance at the shortest of the four, and with trembling hands he moves his goggles onto his head, revealing two clean circles of skin around his bright blue eyes.

“I am Gabriel,” he says, his accent thicker than Frenchie’s, “this is Théo, Lucas, and Éliott. They do not speak English.”

“Can they understand it?”

He nods, “Mostly.”

“Good,” you nod and hold your hands up, “I’m not going to hurt you, unless you give me a reason to.”

They all shake their heads vigorously.

“Are you here because you want to be?” you ask them.

“No,” Gabriel replies, and the other three shake their heads again.

“How did you get here?”

“Théo and I came together,” Gabriel says, “without papers, and Monsieur Toussaint said he would get us citizenship. Lucas and Éliott were here already, and they have kept us from leaving.”

You gesture to the bench full of laboratory equipment, “You make drugs for them?”

“Oui,” he nods, “Lucas is a- uh, how do you say un scientifique?”

“A scientist,” MM calls out from behind you.

“Oui,” Gabriel nods again, “he teaches us to cook.”

You frown, “Do you have any family here?”

“Théo has family in America,” he replies.

“Does he know where they are? Can you contact them if we help you leave?”

His bright blue eyes sparkle with hope, “Oui!”

You nod, “Good, we’re going to try and help you, okay?”

You barely finish your sentence before MM screams your name, and you feel the weight of a large hand on your left shoulder, dragging you back and blocking your ability to grab your gun. You crouch under the pressure and reach your thigh holster with your right hand, gripping the hilt of your dagger. You unsheathe it as you turn in a full one-eighty, escaping the assailant’s grasp and sweeping underneath his arm with your dagger outstretched. The blade slashes horizontally right beneath his kneecap, causing him to buckle as you rise to your full height and lacerate his throat. You leap back to avoid the spray of blood and falling body, watching the man slump face first into the concrete floor at your feet.

When you look up, you find every pair of – conscious – eyes on you, a mixture of terror and disbelief written across the room of faces.

“Are you okay?” Frenchie asks, though there is more pride than concern in his expression.

“I’m good,” you reply, crouching down to clean each side of your dagger on the dead man’s shirt before tucking it back into your holster.

Butcher drops the collar of who you assume is Lafayette, and you still can’t read his face behind his kerchief as he stares at you.

“Uh, guys,” Hughie’s voice speaks into your ear, “someone heard the gunshots, you’ve got emergency response on site in less than five minutes.”

Frenchie swings his foot into Lafayette’s stomach before nodding at MM, “Let’s go.”

You turn to the four lab assistants and gesture toward the backdoor. They scramble to remove their protective gear before hurrying toward MM who guides them out. Frenchie jogs past you, but Butcher stops and holds his hand out.

He pulls his kerchief down, “I’ll do it, you get out of ‘ere, Kid.”

“Fat chance,” you scoff, “now go.”

You’ve already got the gas canister in hand, and he knows you’ll pop it before he can argue, so he turns and mutters something inaudible as he stalks toward the door.

With your kerchief securely up over your nose, you release the pin and throw the gas into the room before turning to the lab table. You work quickly, pouring the two vials that Frenchie gave you into an empty beaker and setting it atop a lit burner. In five long leaps, you’re out the door and slamming it shut before sprinting away.

Butcher is waiting for you just around the side of the building, his hand outstretched. You barely have time to grab it before a huge explosion blows through the low basement windows and shakes the entire building. Butcher pulls your body against his, pivoting so that his back is to the blast as it knocks both of you off your feet. You hit the ground and your ears ring, but you don’t feel a single bit of debris hit you thanks to the body lying on top of yours.

“Fuck,” Butcher curses, though his voice sounds distant in your ringing ears.

You look up at him, his face inches from yours and smattered with dust and dirt. The adrenaline coursing through your veins has your whole body on high alert, overly aware of every part of him that is pressed against you.

He looks down at you, his pupils blown wide as his gaze darts to your lips. He licks his own, his chest heaving against yours and your head spins with a thousand filthy thoughts. For a split second, you think he might kiss you, and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation, but then he pushes himself up and offers his hand. You sigh and take it, letting him haul you off the ground.

“You alrigh’, Kid?” he asks.

“I’m not a fucking kid,” you spit, snatching your hand from his.

You run toward the van and leap into the open doors, Butcher at your heels. Hughie slams on the accelerator before Frenchie has even closed the doors, and you instinctually grab onto the nearest thing to steady yourself. It just so happens to be Butcher, and you know not from the scratch of his beard against your temple as you cling to him, but his scent. Warm and woody, with hint of apple-scented soap and whiskey.

You retract quickly and fall into the seat on the opposite side of the van, resting your head back against the blocked-out window.

“What the fuck, Frenchie?” MM exclaims. “You said that would be a small explosion, that it would look like an accident.”

Frenchie grimaces, “I did not account for the other reactants in the lab.”

Butcher sits quietly across from you, his eyes trained on you as you do everything you can to avoid looking in his direction. You focus on your gun, unlocking the empty clip and clicking the safety on. MM and Frenchie speak with the four timid men huddled at the back of the van, asking them a series of questions before deciding where would be best to take them.

After a painfully long drive, Hughie stops the van and Frenchie helps the four men out of the back doors. He tells you all to go back to the safe house and he will be there soon. The rest of the ride home is tense and silent, MM not daring to speak once he sees the irritated frown on your face as you fiddle with your equipment, packing it into cases and locking it in the van’s storage cage.

Once safe inside the decrepit apartment you currently call home, Hughie grins at you, “Holy shit, Y/N, you are fucking bad ass.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, starting on the clips of your tact suit.

“I wish I saw all of it,” MM says, “you’re deadly.”

A small smile quirks the corner of your lip, and you let out a small sigh as you release the last buckle on your Kevlar vest. You drop the heavy thing on the dining table along with your bandolier.

“I’m still pissed that you didn’t listen to me,” Butcher states, at which you roll your eyes, “but you did good, Kid.”

Your head snaps in his direction, your eyes narrowing at him. “Do I look like a fucking child, Butcher?”

Hughie’s grin vanishes and MM freezes on his way to the couch.

“Do I?” you press, holding your arms out as if to emphasise your attire. “Because a fucking kid couldn’t do what I just did, yet you insist on calling me by that fucking name!”

He doesn’t flinch the way Hughie does, nor are his eyes as wary as MM’s. He remains his usual cool self, though his frown is more curious than irate.

“Didn’t realise it bugged ya so much,” he says.

“You don’t fucking realise much, do you, Butcher?” you snap, before turning on your heel and marching toward the room that was designated yours.

You march inside and slam the door, but a pair of heavy boots are hot on your heels, and you curse the landlord for not installing any locks as the door swings open again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Butcher demands, slamming the door once again behind him.

You unzip your outer jacket and throw it on the bed, “Didn’t I make it clear?”

“Uh, no, actually,” he steps toward you, “I’m not fuckin’ pissed about the raid, I’m pretty fuckin’ impressed, but you’re still throwin’ a tantrum like a fuckin’-”

“Like a child?”

His eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms over his chest, “I was gon’a say kid.”

You clench your fists in an attempt to refocus your frustration, digging your fingernails into your palms until it stings.

“Look,” he says, “I know you’re capable, and fuckin’ talented with a gun, but I wasn’t tryin’ to be a dick, I was tryin’ to keep you safe.”

“Because I’m so young and stupid?” you ask, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because I can’t fucking handle myself even though I just prevented all of you from getting your fucking asses kicked?”

He sighs, “I never said you’re fuckin’ stupid.”

“But I am young,” you mutter, your voice revealing more emotion than you intended.

His brows shift into a dubious frown, “What’s this fuckin’ obsession with your age?”

“What’s your obsession with my age?” you snap, “Calling me ‘kid’ all the time and acting like you’re my fucking babysitter.”

“Oh, so fuck me for caring ‘bout your safety, is that it?”

“No, Billy, that’s not it,” you sigh, tearing your gaze from his to focus on unclipping your thigh holster.

“Then what is it? ‘Cause I don’t know what I’ve fuckin’ done!”

Your holster comes loose and you grip the hilt of the dagger with white knuckles, standing straight again.

“You haven’t done anything!”

“Then what haven’t I fucking done?!” he exclaims, unfolding his arms and throwing his hands up.

The little voice in your head splits into a thousand, screaming a thousand different commands at you. Cry, yell at him, throw something at him, scream, hit your head against the fucking wall, punch him in the throat… kiss him.

Your ears, still numb from the explosion, fill with the sound of your thumping heartbeat as you take three quick steps toward him. His height is intimidating, but you don’t have time to regret your decision as your fingers curl into the material of his shirt and pull him toward you. You have to stretch onto your toes, your other hand finding his chest for stability as you crush your lips against his.

For a second, you think you’ve seriously fucked up, but then his mouth begins to move against yours and your knees buckle. His arms catch you, wrapping around your waist and holding your body against his as his tongue slides across your bottom lip. You part your lips with a sigh, and he takes all control, claiming your mouth and wiping your mind of any thought that isn’t him.

In two easy steps, he backs you against the bed, sitting you down without his lips ever leaving yours. He crawls on top of you, straddling your thighs and catching your hands as they find the buckle on his belt.

“Love,” he sighs against your lips, “hold on.”

You blink up at him, slowly coming down from your high, “To what?”

He chuckles, “I meant slow down a sec.”

“Oh,” your cheeks burn, and you snatch your hands out of his grasp. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever fuckin’ apologise for that,” he says, a dopey smile on his lips, “but I don’t know-”

“I do,” you interrupt him, holding yourself up on your elbows.

He raises his brows, “What do you know?”

“I know that I want you,” you reply, “and I know that you want me. I don’t know if this is a good idea, but it fucking feels like it, so please, Butcher… please.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his eyes lingering on your lips before trailing down your body to where he sat. “I know I want you, but why the fuck do you want me?”

You snort, “You’re kidding, right?”

He only frowns.

“Butcher, I have wanted you from the moment I fucking met you,” you fall back against the bed with a sigh, “I don’t know how you haven’t fucking noticed.”

He leans over you, holding himself up with a hand either side of your head. “Why?”

His voice is so deep and his eyes so dark, you struggle to breathe as your clothes suddenly feel like they’re strangling you.

“Because you’re-”

“An asshole?”

You giggle, “Yes, and rude, and brash, but you’re also fucking beautiful.”

His heavy breathing suddenly stops and his eyes widen as they search yours, as if looking for some sense of deception or sarcasm. You open your mouth to reassure him but he swallows your words with a kiss, his lips crashing into yours with bruising force. His mouth moves across your jaw and down your neck, and you whine when pulls away before quickly realising that your high-neck undershirt is in the way. His fingers find the hem and yank it up over your breasts, not bothering to remove it completely before his lips assault your chest, biting and soothing your skin in five separate spots as you writhe beneath him.

He moves down, placing a kiss on your sternum and your stomach, before pausing at the waistband of your pants and looking up with hungry eyes. “You sure ‘bout this?”

His hot breath fans your skin and goosebumps rise in response.

You nod, “Yes, please, Butcher. Yes.”

The buckle and button are loosened in a second, and he groans at the sight of your lacy black panties. He places a hot, wet kiss just above the hem before sitting back and unbuttoning his own shirt. He doesn’t manage to shrug it off though, because you take the opportunity to grip either side of it and pull him back down on top of you. The feeling of his skin against yours makes your whole body clench, and you know you’re kissing him sloppily but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Your fingers find his belt again, struggling to remember how the damn thing works when he pulls away with a gasp, “Hold on.”

You frown, “What now?”

He chuckles, “No, sweethear’, not like that.”

His hands take yours guiding them up over your head until you feel the wood of the headboard at your fingertips.

“I said, hold on.”

END.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

MOTHER’S MILK | MARVIN•T (the boys)

────────────────────

────────────────────

“For Forgetting” (Mother’s Milk x Fem!Reader)

| You’ve been separated for months and yet he still comes back to you.

| SFW, getting back together, -stripper!reader

| 1k+ words

While walking to the pole after you’re introduced you let your eyes rome over the crowd. Thursday crowds were always a mixed bag, but tonight the turnout was scarce. Good news for the lazy and disgruntled part of you, but not amazing for your pocket. If this was your regular shift you’d be sucking your teeth right now, but as it was you were working over-time, and any cash you made today would be extra.

You reach the pole and swing around it simply. You said you were feeling lazy today, and you kind of meant it. You swing your body again and then jump up on the pole. The routine you pull out is simple enough that you can actively watch the crowd for most of it while still keeping their attention.

In spite of your reservations about today specifically, you really did enjoy being up on the stage and getting to show off your body to men with big mouths who let you know when you were pleasing them.

It was fun knowing they were breaking their necks for you without even getting to touch a single inch of your melanated skin.

- - -

It’s around your fourth set that things begin to switch up. A man in a hoodie walks in, easy gait, seems to have a simple enough interaction with the barkeep when he orders a drink, and flags down a floor manager right after taking a seat at the back corner.

He’s managed to catch your attention mostly because he’s a harsh shift from the shifty eyed white business men that are scared their wives will somehow pop out of the floorboards at any second. But how long he spent by the door was also a pretty good eye catcher, the man walked in and out of that shit three times before finally coming all the way in, though he was otherwise cool after that.

You do an upside down move on the pole, arms shaking with the exertion as your breath huffs past your lips, but delighting somewhat at the pinpricks of new dollars raining down on your skin as you go spreadeagle. He’s talking to the manager, Thomás, for a while before you see the man glance up at you. It’s not until the other follows Thomás’s gaze that you make out he’s black himself.

Hmm.

The back of your mind sizzles with the prospect of getting called in for a private session as Thomás inevitably starts pointing out the other free dancers but the man continues looking at you.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so slow after all.

You incrementally make your way down the pole, doing a Cupid and then bending yourself into a cross leg release until you can get your hands on the ground and slip yourself into the cool down part of your routine.

The floor routine you finish with is simple and met with even more pinpricks as you get more intimate with the customers. Regardless of how fleeting the intimacy.

There’s claps as the DJ announces your set is up and introduces the next dancer but you barely pay attention to any of it as you gather your gains and track Thomás as he follows you backstage.

Seems the odds of you being mystery guys’ pick were pretty high.

You were living it up as Thomás talked to you and as you were led to a private room up until you really weren’t.

Oh, absolutely not.

“Marvin?”

He takes his hood down and the look on his face is too reminiscent of a kicked puppy for the emotions clambering for attention to get any concrete hold of you.

“Yeah.” He waves. “Hey, Y/n.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me any more,” you raise your eyebrow at him as your lips purse.

“It’s healthy to switch things up.”

“Don’t patronize me, Marvin. Why’d you ask for me?”

He shrugs.

“Just to check in.”

You squint at him before scoffing.

“Last time you spoke to me you said we had to stop seeing each other. I’m pretty sure ‘check-ins' count as seeing each other.”

“You know it wasn’t safe.”

“Oh and it’s safe now?” You wave your hands around. “You not still running around on your Supe Scavenger Hunt?”

“Not no more. I’m tryna turn over a new leaf in my life. Supe free.”

You squint at him.

“And this has to do with me, how..?”

“I missed you.”

You stare at him. He missed you. A sigh leaves your mouth. Of course the motherfucker would break your heart and then pull this shit less than two months later.

Marvin drops his head into his hands and then peaks up at you from between his fingers.

“What’s that look for? What’s going on in your head right now?”

You shake your head, “A lot of shit, Marvin.”

The upturn of his lips is jagged. “Tell me something, then.”

“Why now,” a frown pulls at your face. “Why me? You got a perfectly good nuclear family waiting for you. If you’re fixing things, why not go back to them?”

“Why do you always have to be like this?”

You shrug before making a gesture for him to get on with it. He rises up and leans back into the seat to meet your eyes fully.

“I’m not going back because we’re done, Y/n. Monique ended things with me and after everything I’m lucky she even let me back into Janine’s life.”

His hands clasp together in a way that looks painful as his sigh shutters out of him.

“I’m not trying to get back with my ex wife. She’ll always take up a place in my heart but that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for you.”

As you’re looking at him there’s a part of you kicking and screaming to snatch up this chance that you’ve been entertaining for weeks, but actually having that chance go from fantasy to reality has you rethinking your eagerness.

“And I’m not trying to diminish that, but we just had some really good sex and that’s it-”

“You gon just down play us like that?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Exactly like that. We had a good run while it lasted and yeah okay maybe it wasn’t just great sex and being with you felt…amazing…”

You sigh, avoiding his eyes as you work through your reasoning.

You shrug weakly and force the rest of your words out, “But maybe let’s just stop while we’re ahead.”

“Y/n, baby, you make me happy! I don’t want to stop.” He watches the way you glance up at him, words lodged halfway up your throat, and reaches out to squeeze your knee. “Listen, you tell me to leave and I’m gone for good but don’t do this because of what you think I want when I’m telling you it’s you. And not just because of the sex.”

He gestures around the room at the sour look you give him.

“I might’ve bought this room but that don’t mean we have to have sex, I want our relationship to be more than that.”

Your teeth grind together. His eyes were so goddamn earnest.

“We don’t have to have sex-” you nod your head at the obvious bulge in his jeans. “-but you’re hard right now.”

Marvin shrugs, “You know how it is seeing you up there.”

The false levity and his tired smile makes crackles run through your soul. Something slow and coy pulls at your lips and your eyes go half lidded as you lean forward on the mini stage.

“No, I don’t know, maybe you could describe it to me.” You watch as those earnest eyes flicker up and down your form. “Though I imagine it has something to do with the fact that you came all the way down here instead of to my house to catch me.”

“You could call the cops on me at your house.”

“Mhm.” you point to the door. “And Raheem is outside right now, like he always is, and I think if you try something I don’t like he’d have a way faster response time than the police.”

“I’m not winning right now, am I?”

You shake your head as satisfaction shifts the upturn of your lips and your teeth flash at him before you chuckle.

“Oh yeah, I’m eating your ass up right now. Just be fucking honest.”

Marvin stops meeting your eyes as his gaze flutters around the private room and you watch him hard before sitting back. You wait him out as his eyes inevitably find something that worries him and he starts shuffling things around. Everything in ascending order by size, from wipes to massage oil.

“I’ll admit the line of thinking that brought me here wasn’t…the best.”

“You didn’t want me to tell you no.”

He shakes his head, “I didn’t want you to feel unsafe. And yeah -hell yeah- I didn’t want you to tell me no, but if I’d caught you off guard you’d have felt intruded upon-”

“And I wouldn’t have talked to you. Not this well anyway.”

You give him a small smile and he gives you a wider one back.

“See. I know you.”

The only thing you respond with is a bitten back laugh before nodding at his active hands.

“I know that when we broke it off you weren’t this bad.”

He nods at the soft note in your voice but still shrugs it off.

“It’s just hard doing all of this shit without structure.” He finds the cleansing caddy beside him to shuffle around to his satisfaction. You don’t stop him. “Last time I slowed down, before Butcher got back on his bullshit and carried me along for the ride, I had the girls. Then after everything I had you and then nothing because things got crazy again, and I don’t know what I’d do if any of you got hurt.”

You swallow hard, “Marvin-”

From where he’s stacking the wipe packets he shakes his head and intermittently meets your eyes through his movements.

“Let me finish, baby.” He waits for your nod to continue. “I want to get back with you. To make us work cause I know I didn’t hallucinate all the good times we had, and I didn’t memorize your smile from lack of practice. Please Y/n.”

He made a hard case to go against.

“Okay…one more go.”

“That’s all I need.”

The eager lines of his own smile break down the paper thin borders of your resolve even more. It takes a couple more minutes of you basking in one another’s presence in silence before Marvin’s satisfied enough to give you his full attention. Whatever crisis he feels is gonna happen temporarily averted.

When he gets closer you shiver at the feel of his arms finally back around you. You accept his kiss with a little noise he matches with his own and your hands come up to cradle his face. Yeah, you could make this work.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! I’ve been sitting in this one, so here y’all go. Mind any typos I’ll get to them eventually.

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Grimace Milkshake

The Boys Headcanons

(124 words)

Summary: The Boys get the Grimace Milkshake; hijinks ensue.

Warnings/Tags: The Grimace Milkshake, Toilet humor, Grimace’s wrath

Notes: I can’t escape the Grimace videos

Hughie Campbell

He really likes it :)

Dips his fries

Made his stomach hurt :(

Billy Butcher

Thinks it’s too sweet, doesn’t finish it

Eats the rest of his food tho

Starts coughing up purple within 4 hours of consumption

Mother’s Milk

“Hey, this ain’t half bad!”

Oh boy he REALLY does not feel good (diarrhea)

He thinks it was worth it tho

Frenchie

He’s fascinated

He does the before and after taste test with the fries to see if it tastes like berries

Bedridden for 48 hours

Kimiko Miyashiro

Only tries it because of Frenchie tbh

She doesn’t like it

She survived and is EASILY the lone survivor

[bajisjinx]

Does anyone know any good A-Train fics? There's almost nothing of him 😭