could you write breeding hcs for the boys? pretty pleaseee
A/N: breeding is slowing becoming a fave fanfic trope idc idc (also warning of pregnancy mention in these HCs)
Butcher:
Billy is a feral son of a bitch, he’s obsessed with filling you up with his cum and is even more so obsessed with the thought of getting you pregnant.
Does he want kids? Not really, no.
Does he want to have the thrill of potentially impregnating you? Absolutely he does.
“Fuckin hell you’re gonna get pregnant if ya don’t stop squeezin’ around me like that… but I suppose you’d like that wouldn’t ya?”
Hughie:
Hughie has a softer approach to it, my man wants to be a dad so fucking bad and the thought of you being a mum just has him absolutely light headed with love and affection.
He also just loves the idea of you swollen with his child, doting on you every second of the day just so you’re comfortable and safe in his care.
“God baby - I wanna make you a mum so badly, getting you pregnant and full of me- fuck…”
MM:
MM is a delicious mixture of feral and sweet about breeding you. I just have this vision of him plowing into you from behind, hands kneading at your ass as he watches his cock slip in and out of your sopping pussy.
And when he fills you to the brim with his cum he stays inside of you, making sure you take every single drop of him.
“Yeah sweetheart, gonna make me a daddy again? Im gonna take care of you so fucking good baby…”
Frenchie:
Frenchie is definitely a mixed bag - it fully depends on how he feels in the moment. But one thing is for certain is he will not stop talking you through it all, mutting and whining about how pretty you look dripping with his cum.
“Oh my pretty girl look at you… gonna be such a pretty momma, mon couer…”
ᯓ★ reader has serious anger issues, lots of cursing, drinking irresponsibly, violence (not too graphic), reader goes by they/them (gender: New York), I love crashing out
When I say you're a crashout, you are.
How you even got to be apart of the boys in the first place was all because of Mallory.
She knew one way or another that Butcher's pride and ego would cause the team to die, and that nobody would be able to reach his level in order to stop him.
So that's where you come in.
Your mouth dirtier than the sewers of New York and your eyes sharper than any blade to ever be made.
You're literally a ticking bomb.
"You're not doing it right" Hughie said, sitting at the back seat of the van as you try to hot wire it.
It was one of those plans where things had gone completely sideways.
It ALSO happens to be the days where you're most over the edge.
"I don't know man..." You uttered.
"Maybe... maybe SOME BITCHASS M0THERFUCKER WOULD SHUT THE FUCK UP AND STOP WHINING LIKE A 2 YEAD OLD, WE'D BE OUT OF HERE BY NOW!! WOULDN'T THAT BE WONDERFUL??!?!" You shouted at him and you can see him sinking into his seat each time a word comes out of your mouth.
"R-Right..." He gulps.
Cue another hour of you trying to hot wire the thing.
..
You guys ended up calling an uber.
Anything triggers you, the way someone's breathing, smacking their lips, even the way their eyeballs move. It makes you wanna destroy anything you set your eyes on.
Everytime you're at the office, you're either complaining, shouting, kicking things over or all of the above.
It happens so frequently that the others started to bet what you'd do first and see who wins the cash.
"Oh shit, they're here...!" Frenchie pats Kimiko on the shoulder and they quickly went back to their places, acting as though they have been working the entire time.
Even though you were still walking up the stairs, your loud voice talking over the phone could be heard. The thing is you're not even shouting, that's just the volume and you just can't tone it down.
"Fuck you mean you can't go through with my order!" You raised your voice and the two that were secretly eavesdropping made eye contact with each other.
Clearly anticipating what you'll do next.
You stood by the open window and after a while of whatever it was the person was telling you over the phone. You took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose.
The two shared a knowing look.
Oh boy here it comes...
"Okay fine, you can cancel the order. I don't really care" You sighed, almost too calmly and the two were confused, communicating with each other using facial expressions.
"But you know what I care about? WhoeVER THE FUCK APPROVED YOUR SHIT ASS BAKERY!! YOU CANT EVEN MAKE A CAKE ON TIME!! HA AH I MEAN YOU GOT A HIDDEN TALENT OR SOMETHING??!! NO NO, YOU DON'T TELL ME TO SHUT UP!! HOW ARE YOU, A SAD EXCUSE OF A HUMAN BEING WAS ABLE TO RUIN A CAKE?? EVEN THE KIDS ON THAT FUCK ASS TV SHOW COULD DO BETTER THAN YOU!! I—" You were gonna throw more insults until you stopped at the sound of them hanging up on you.
You stare at your phone for a moment before shouting words like 'fuck' and 'bitch' while at the same time grabbing the nearest vase of flowers and throwing it to the wall.
But that wasn't all, you then proceeded to grab a wooden chair and started smashing it on the flower until it's all completely ruined.
At the same the chair was broken, if the legs didn't break you would have went on.
You were busy catching your breath, the legs of the chair still in your hand and once you look up to see if anyone was watching.
Frenchie and Kimiko were quick to look away, pretending to be busy with the tasks given them.
"Fuck this, I'm getting drunk" You threw what's left of the chair and began walking away.
Once you were gone, Kimiko looked at Frenchie with a smirk, her hand signalling him to give over her bet money.
Here comes the good stuff.
Butcher hates you very dearly.
His accent just magically becomes thicker whenever he's angry.
His british versus your nyc is literally the fight of the century.
"We’re goin’ after that prick tomorrow as told. So if you lot wanna debate like a bunch of schoolgirls at a tea party, I’ll be at the armory loadin" He said, clearly sensing the doubt on everyone's face.
"Let me just be honest. Your plan sucks ass, and it's not the smooth firm ones but the hairy unshaved, shit stained cracks" You said and he looks at you, doing his typical head tilt.
"O yeah? Ya head full of piss couldn’t even plan a fookin’ picnic if a map was stuck to yur face. Now piss of' before I re'rrange ya fookin’ teeth"
"ENGLISH MOTHERFUCKER!! REMEMBER YOUR FUCKING VOWELS!"
You both will never get along. That's why in every mission you're paired with not him.
Neither does MM but he has no say in it 🤷♂️
He's tried giving you therapy but you just end up getting mad and start hitting things.
"I don't know I'm just born this way" You said, back leaned against the chair. He nods.
"Well have you ever considered taking medication?" He suggested and it ticked you off.
"Medication?? You think I got some fucking mental illness??" He tenses up, realising he has said the wrong thing after making sure he was being careful with his words for the past few minutes.
He lifts both his hands up, as if trying to calm you down as he soothes you by saying
"Alright, that's on me, I was just—"
"NONONO YOU DON'T TALK TO ME IN THAT CALM VOICE. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK ARE?? CHRIS PRATT FROM JURASSIC WORLD?!?!" Without even realising, you were already reaching for his desk lamp and throwing it at him, which he manages to dodge in time.
If you happen to be a supe, this would be your superpower.
Bhad Bhabie got nothing on you.
Homelander's first impression of you was literally you insulting him while you were pinned down by him in a fight.
He still remembers it word for word.
Your insults so wild he forgot what he was even doing anymore.
He prays to never see you again because he does not want to hear more from you. Like how you called him a Facebook's dad wet dream and his suit a rejected Magic Mike costume.
Congratulations, you just gave him another insecurity to think about 😭😭
Regardless of whatever people think of you, you've proven to the team how you're a valuable asset by pretty much being the reason why 50% of the missions were executed well.
Turns out your dirty mouth came with a clean set of skills.
However you also happen to like to get your hands dirty.
"What the fuck happened to you?" Butcher asked as you regroup with everyone else.
Some fabric of your clothes torn and you're completely soaked in blood, but it's not yours so you just grunted at him.
"Doing your fucking job while you were busy getting a blow job by your boss"
Yes, you do have several stress toys which Kimiko got for you but you happen to have this ability to destroy all of them.
So what helps you? Music obviously. If its not that then it's one of your hobbies that feels therapeutic to you.
Obviously it'd be no surprise that a rage room would be one of them.
Except every room is a rage room for you 😞
Even though the boys are scared of you, they still let you stick around because to be fair, everyone's fcked up in the group.
⋆ compound v latches onto your capricorn stellium first—sun, mercury, venus, and mars all sitting there like mission control during a disaster. there is a huge amount of discipline in your chart, but not in a boring “i love spreadsheets” way. it’s more existential than that. you detach under pressure because some part of you knows panic wastes time, and feelings can be processed later when no one is bleeding, falling, or watching you make the wrong call. then your gemini moon keeps the mind moving fast, collecting information, switching angles, asking questions, while libra rising gives the outside this calm, composed, almost polished surface. compound v finds the part of you that stares at the stars because earth feels too small sometimes, then turns that distance into an actual field around you.
⋆ your manifested ability would be orbital suspension. you can create gravity pockets around objects, people, or yourself, holding them in controlled motion like tiny moons caught in orbit. when active, debris lifts around you in slow circles, lights bend at the edges, and the air gets quiet in this eerie, planetarium-dark way. you can stop bullets midair, suspend an enemy above the floor, redirect a falling body, or trap someone in a looping path where every attempt to move brings them right back to where you placed them. it’s celestial without being soft—less “sparkly star girl”, more “cold little god of controlled motion”. elegant. terrifying. extremely inconvenient for anyone trying to rush you.
⋆ your power intensifies when you feel cornered, rushed, emotionally overwhelmed, or forced to react before you have processed what is happening. capricorn mars wants control and precision, not chaos for chaos’ sake. gemini moon can split attention beautifully, but too much noise makes the field unstable, like too many satellites crowding the same orbit. saturn in aquarius adds a trigger around systems failing, rules being unfair, or people acting like consequences do not apply to them. and lilith in aries gives a sharp little anger response when someone tries to dominate you or make decisions for you. you may look detached in the moment, but the room will literally start floating before you admit you are upset. subtle? no. iconic? yes.
⋆ the drawback is emotional delay. your power works best when you compartmentalize, which means it rewards the coping mechanism where you go calm during the crisis and collapse later when nobody is looking. physically, overuse causes vertigo, pressure headaches, nosebleeds, muscle weakness, and a strange floating sensation that can last for hours after the field drops. emotionally, the cost is isolation. the more you can hold everything at a distance—danger, people, feelings, consequences—the harder it becomes to let anything actually reach you. venus in capricorn wants loyalty, steadiness, and proof over pretty words, but if you keep everything orbiting safely outside your chest, even love starts feeling like another object to manage.
⋆ vought would name you starhold. it’s clean, celestial, heroic, and just corporate enough to sound like they tested it on six focus groups and a traumatised intern. “star” sells the wonder, the cosmic imagery, the awe of looking upward. “hold” sells protection, control, safety, the ability to stop disaster mid-fall. vought would pitch you as “the supe who keeps the world from falling apart”, which is gorgeous branding and also a deeply rude thing to put on someone who already processes feelings after the emergency is over.
⋆ publicly, vought would brand you as the elegant cosmic protector. dark glossy campaigns, constellation visuals, slow-motion rescue footage, maybe a fake partnership with some space education charity because they cannot help themselves. the public would see you as calm, intelligent, beautiful in a distant way, the supe who seems untouchable because nothing is allowed to crash when you enter the room. behind the scenes, though, vought would worry about how hard you are to emotionally steer. capricorn placements do not respond well to empty flattery, libra rising can smile through negotiations, and scorpio pluto/jupiter can smell when power is hiding something ugly. they would want you serene. you would be taking notes.
.𖥔˚ 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭,
⋆ your closest friend would be mm. he would respect your discipline, your control, and the fact that you do not need a dramatic speech to do the right thing. your capricorn stellium would mesh with his need for structure and accountability, while your gemini moon would keep the strategy sharp and flexible when plans inevitably go sideways because butcher exists. he would also be one of the few people who notices when your calm has gone from useful to unhealthy. you would irritate each other with stubbornness, absolutely, but the trust would be solid.
⋆ romantically and sexually, you would feel pulled toward a-train. your capricorn venus/mars would be drawn to ambition, drive, competence, and someone who knows what it means to build an identity around control of the body. your gemini moon would like his speed, quick wit, restlessness, and the fact that being around him would never feel mentally still. but this would be messy because you would also see every avoidance pattern in him. he runs before he feels. you detach before you feel. cute couple activity: emotionally postponing the issue until it becomes everyone’s problem. the attraction would be charged, frustrating, and weirdly tender if he actually lets himself slow down. healthy? possible only with accountability. toxic if he keeps lying. sexy? sadly, yes. annoying man has velocity.
⋆ you would clash badly with homelander. your chart does not like unstable authority, and homelander is basically a tantrum with national security clearance. capricorn placements respect earned power, not entitlement. libra rising can play polite, but lilith in aries hates being dominated, and saturn in aquarius hates systems built around one unaccountable person. he would hate your power too because you could stop movement, suspend impact, and make him feel momentarily contained. homelander does not like being reminded that even gods can be held in place. you wouldn’t need to insult him. the silence would do it.
⋆ the boys would recruit you for containment, extraction, and disaster control. you could stop bullets, hold collapsing structures, suspend enemies without killing them, and buy precious seconds when everything goes wrong. mm would trust your restraint. hughie would be quietly awed and probably ask too many questions about whether floating feels weird. frenchie would call your power “a little universe in the palm”. butcher would like the tactical usefulness but get annoyed when you refuse sloppy collateral damage. they would not try to kill you unless you started using containment as control rather than protection. mostly, they would worry vought would turn you into a cosmic-looking prison system with good lighting.
⋆ you could almost make it into the seven, but vought would hesitate because your image is almost too controlled. you are marketable, elegant, cosmic, powerful, and visually stunning on camera, but you don’t have the easy emotional accessibility they like in public assets. plus, your power is excellent at stopping other supes, and that makes people nervous at the top. homelander would not want someone around who can make him feel held in place, even briefly. vought would likely keep you as a high-value specialist asset: too impressive to hide, too useful to discard, too dangerous to place fully inside the seven without making everyone in the boardroom sweat.
.𖥔˚ 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬,
compound v did not give you the stars. it gave your distance gravity and made the whole room orbit what you refused to feel—⌞ 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 ⌝
want to know what compound v would do to you? file access is open through my ko-fi. ⌞ breached ⌝
i love your writing and mood boards !! they r so cute, can i give a tmnt mutant mayhem request?
i would love to see how you think the turtles and April would react to a reader who is super insecure about their looks. i don’t mind if you write it in a platonic or romantic sense. thank you !!!!
Hello!! I'm so happy you enjoy my moodboards! I was planning on making more heh
a/n- not my best work at all, I tried to keep it body neutral and its kinda the same thing proced into a different character
mm turtles + April x reader who's isn't confadent in their looks. platonic but could be seen as romantic (?)
✮ Concerned for you, he's overheard you say bad (and frankly untrue things in his option) about yourself and image, comparing yourself under your breath to models you see in tv commercials
✮ your like he's best friend, but he hates that he doesn't know what to do, especially since he's the leader of his brothers, he feals helpless that he cant make you see how flawless you are
✮ he does take you shopping not, for clothes but for things that make you happy, letting you what eat what ever you want on the way, seeing you smile compared to the regular emotionless stare he's used to
✮ Leo's aswell of the kind of guy to get you flowers, hell study up on flower language, and instantly getting g you a new bougte one the flowers start to wither the week after
✮ he also enjoys playing with you getnly muttering praise, letting you sleep in his arms
❀ when ever you two are watching one piece together and he hears you comare yourself to the characters like zoro or nami like its second mature, prepare for holes to be burned into your skulls cuz what did you just say????
❀ you are immaculate!! so don't compare yourself to a man who benches 10,00s of pounds a day or a woman's who's waist is smalled then her head
❀ on the outside he's stearn with furrowed brows, but on the inside his stomach lurches and queases, he feels so guilty that he doesnt know anything else to do
❀ after to long of thinking he does convise you to sleep over, you two watching your comfort anime, laying next to each other with popcorn in his lap
✘ fuck you say??
✘ you look bad? face isn't clear? well you ain't glass so why even compare yourself? body doesn't look how'd you'd like? to bad, he loves you just like that.
✘ jk jk he loves you at any stage, not just when you are feeling 100% but he does care about you, I can atleast tell you that.
✘ though he doesn't apreshiate how casually you use self deprecating words, i mean anyoned hurnt inside if their best friend talked about how their body could be better
✘ like donnie he hates how his stomach hurts like hell, he feels so so so guilty that he doesn't know what to do, he's the muscil not the brain of the leader, and he's not funny either
✘ but he tires his best, sitting next to you real close, mumbling compliments under his breath, on the verge of passing out from embarresment
꩜ truthfully doesn't understand how you don't see all the good qualites you have! I mean he gets what its like to sometimes hate what he looks like but that doesn't mean you cant appreciate how you looked, and what you do have, and not to mention what you can do
꩜ but anywho he's the most outward with compliments, sometimes them even creeping in his stand up and improves
꩜ would 100% shout from the rooftops about how perfect you are, but its sadly not that simple for you to love yourself, but that doesn't mean he cant try! right?
꩜but I can promise you that you are a blessing in his eyes and he'd give anything for you to be happy as much as possible, especially confident enough to see how pretty you are
⌲ honestly, she gets it, she deffently not a conventional Body type, and it took her a long time to get comfortable in he own skin.
⌲ but that doesn't mean she dismiss the backhanded comments that leave you moth like air. she a reporter, she likes the facts, not what gets clicks, and you being so dismiss of you own beauty makes her blood boil
⌲ some time the two of you will just sit in silence, enjoying each other's company, maybe talking, and every hour that passes with out a nasty comment or though you get a treat of your choice, and of course they stack!
a/n- again I'm sorry if this wasn't what you expected, I was kinda pulling this Outa my ass hoping for the best
google boarder made by @/honeyluvsw
chain divider made by @/cursed-carmine
thank you to the both of you for having your resources public!!!
warnings ‘,• censored profanity, mentions of weapons and violence, wounds, needles
Rain tapped a slow rhythm against the windowpane, a sound soft enough to almost lull the house to sleep. Morning came pale and unsure, light stretching through the thin curtains like it was afraid to wake anyone.
Jeriah sat by the cot in the corner, one hand steadying the IV line while the other adjusted the blanket around the boy. He was so small it hurt to look at him—bare wrists, ribs sharp under the fabric, eyes moving behind closed lids as though still running from something.
She didn't know if he dreamed of freedom or the lab he'd escaped from. Maybe both. Most of them never told her.
"Breathe through it," she whispered. "You're safe now."
He flinched, murmuring a string of half-words she couldn't make out. Sweat dampened his hairline. Jeriah reached for the damp cloth in the basin, wrung it out, and placed it across his forehead. Her movements were slow, practiced—muscle memory born from too many nights like this.
When the worst of it passed, she leaned back against the wall. The vanilla-scented candle on the table burned low, flickering shadows across her face.
Eli was the fourth she'd taken in this year. Thirteen. Withdrawals severe. Heart rate unstable. But there was fight in him—that quiet kind that clung to life when nothing else would.
Jeriah's eyes drifted toward the file resting beside the cot. Subject 8A. Former Vought Youth Program Participant.
She'd stopped reading after that line. The rest didn't matter.
Somewhere beyond the thin walls, a siren wailed faintly in the distance, its echo swallowed by rain.
She stood, joints stiff, and moved to the window. The world outside was gray and soaked—just how she liked it. Harder to be found that way.
Still, something felt off. A weight in the air. Like the silence between lightning and thunder.
Her gaze flicked back to Eli. He was sleeping again, chest rising in uneven rhythm. She forced herself to breathe with him, to match his pace.
"Almost there, kid," she murmured. "Almost safe."
The words barely left her mouth before a sound cracked through the stillness.
A heavy thud. Then another. Boots—measured, purposeful, drawing closer.
Jeriah froze. Years of military upbringing snapped into place behind her calm. She crossed the room in two silent steps, reached under the small table, and pulled out the pistol she never wanted to use.
Outside, voices. Muffled at first. Then a shout.
She turned back to Eli, heart hammering once, just once, before she pushed the feeling away. Fear didn't help anyone. Not him. Not her.
Then the door exploded inward.
The sudden rush of cold air swept the candlelight to the floor.
Jeriah spun, raising her hands before the weapon even finished falling from her grip.
"Don't move!" a man barked. His accent—French, sharp. Another shadow behind him moved fast, methodical.
Her voice stayed steady. "Please—he's not a threat."
"Hands up!"
She obeyed, slow, palms open. "He's just a kid. He needs medical—"
"Bollocks," came another voice, rougher, closer to a growl. "You've got five seconds to tell us who the bloody hell you are."
Jeriah's eyes found the man in the doorway. Broader. Quieter. His weapon never wavered, but there was something different in the way he held it—precise, not cruel.
Her pulse steadied as she looked straight at him. "I'm not your enemy."
He said nothing.
"That boy was eight when Vought started testing on him," she continued. "He doesn't even know his real name anymore. I've been getting kids like him out."
The man's jaw flexed. Still silent.
"Why in the f**k should I believe you?" he finally asked, voice low, worn.
"Because lying doesn't save anyone," she said simply. "And I stopped trying to survive that way a long time ago."
The air in the room shifted—quiet again, but not empty.
The Frenchman's weapon lowered first. "She's telling the truth, mon frère. Look at him."
The broad man—Marvin, she'd later learn—kept his eyes on her. She could feel the calculation behind his stare, the weight of a man used to being disappointed by people who claimed to be good.
Then, finally, his shoulders eased. Just a little.
He nodded once. "Let her work."
Jeriah exhaled slowly, barely a sound. She turned, kneeling beside Eli, her hands steady as she drew the stabilizer from her kit.
"This will sting," she whispered to the boy, though he couldn't hear.
Marvin watched from the corner of her vision as she injected the serum. The boy's breathing slowed, steadied. The tension in the room shifted with it.
When she looked up again, she caught his eyes for a heartbeat—something unspoken there.
Not trust. Not yet.
But the first quiet recognition of it.
—
The silence that followed was fragile—like glass cooling after the heat. The team moved with the practiced rhythm of people who'd seen too much, their voices low, clipped.
Jeriah kept her hands busy with Eli's pulse, counting beats beneath her fingers until her own steadied again. When she finally looked up, the strangers were still watching her.
The Frenchman was the first to speak. "You patch him up like you've done this before," he said, voice soft but pointed.
Jeriah met his gaze, then the larger man's. "I have."
"Who are you?" the quiet one asked—the same deep tone as before, measured but carrying weight.
She hesitated, then said simply, "Dr. Jeriah Louis. Trauma therapist."
The man's brow furrowed. "And what's a trauma therapist doing in a Vought-funded safehouse?"
"Cleaning up what they leave behind."
For a beat, no one moved. Then the lanky one near the door—Hughie—shifted, trying to ease the air. "So... you help kids like him?"
Her eyes flicked toward Eli. "The ones who make it out alive."
Butcher's voice broke through, rough and cutting. "Touching. But until we know you're not feedin' us a load of shite, you're comin' with us."
Jeriah straightened. "I'm not leaving him."
"You don't have a choice, love," Butcher said, stepping closer.
She didn't flinch, though her jaw tightened. "If I go, he goes. That's the only way you get my help."
The air thickened, tension stretching taut between them. It looked like Butcher might push it—might force her hand—but Marvin stepped forward, voice low.
"She's not lying."
Butcher turned to him. "And you can tell that how, exactly?"
Marvin's eyes stayed on Jeriah. "Because she didn't beg."
The quiet settled in again.
Jeriah finally exhaled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You can point as many guns as you want. I'm still getting this boy out alive."
Frenchie gave a small, approving nod. "I like her."
"Course you do," Butcher muttered. "Fine. Pack it up. We're movin' before Vought shows."
As they gathered their gear, the tension eased—not gone, but reshaped into something steadier. Frenchie offered his name first, then Kimiko's, then Hughie's. Butcher didn't bother.
When it came to the last man, the one who'd spoken up for her, he met her eyes and said simply, "Mother's Milk."
She blinked, unsure if he was serious.
He cracked the faintest smile. "But you can call me Marvin."
Jeriah nodded once, quiet but firm. "Jeriah, then."
Something almost like understanding passed between them. Nothing warm—just recognition.
She went back to packing her bag, pretending not to feel his gaze linger as she zipped it shut.
E // MDNI // WC: 1.5k // lowercase letters because I don’t believe I’m capable of getting too crazy, but I’ll let you be the judge of that. Consider this your warning // more M.M. here!! // masterlist //
AN:// Special treat for hiphop lovers. iykyk
shoutout to @blackburnbook and @slutsareteacherstoo for playing a little game with me and making my day. This fic is their prize, so everybody say thank you!!
"Hey baby." You greeted Marvin in a low soft voice as he made it to your shared bedroom. "You tired?" With one sweep of your eyes up and down his body you could tell. It never failed to make his heart flutter.
"Not too tired." He groaned. "Just drained," he added, "emotionally more than anything."
You nodded. "Well you go take your shower. I'll be out here."
He hummed in response. He couldn't wait to get in his own fucking bed for once.
He took his time in the shower, washing off the horrendous time he had to spend away from everyone he loved. Hiding out because he couldn't fight against his better nature, because whenever he's given the chance, he just has to fight back against those god damn fucking Supes. Even if its the detriment to his family, his self. . . you. He won't stop. He probably can't
If not him, then. . . .who?
He tries to wash those thoughts off too, letting the hot water wash over his head.
He turns off the spraying water with a huff. Before he can make it out the bathroom good, you're already there.
"Can we do that thing we talked about?" You slide your palms up his bare chest. He didn't bother putting on much, standing only in his briefs because he had a feeling.
however much on the same page you were about that feeling, yours was halfway turned on something else.
Marvin sighed, looking up at the ceiling with a roll of his eyes like you asked him to wash the dishes or take out the trash when he didn't feel like it.
"Are you really asking me or are you trying to take advantage of my current emotional and physical state?" He huffed down at you with a hint of a smile in his lips.
"You need a release, and your tired."
He crossed his arms, and titled his head down at you. "As I've said, I'm not that tired."
"Well think of it as me taking care of you, because if your not tired and your fine, then the only thing we have to worry about is if you really want to do it?"
Fuck. . you were really asking.
"Okay." he sighed.
You squealed clapping your hands before putting them back on his chest, not at all bothered by his somewhat of an attitude.
"Safeword?"
He hummed before smacking his teeth in thought. "Juice." He decided with nod.
You scrunched your nose and smiled. "You. are. too. cute." You kissed him in between words.
"Yeah yeah." He moved his head away from you in protest of being called cute. He was a grown ass man. The only thing cute in his life was is daughter.
"Remember," you began to kiss down his neck. "its for anything your uncomfortable with. It can be words, actions, how your feeling, "You trailed off murmuring into his skin as you mouthed at his neck, ". . anything."
He swallowed, his chest starting to feel little tight as he took in what you were saying, starting to understand that this was really happening. He focused on what was familiar to him, what he liked, the feeling of your lisp on his skin.
It was nice, but he was usually fucking you by now, not that he couldn't provide a little foreplay.
This was just. . . different. It—
"Marvin," You half sung his name in a low sultry voice that snapped him from his thoughts.
"Huh?" he questioned with parted lips, his brows raised in trepidation.
"I need you to tell me you understand."
Your voice was so different than what he was used to. It was laced, thick with . . something he couldn't put a finger on, not in the moment.
He licked his lips. "yeah."
"Say the words." You tilted your head up for emphasis, holding his gaze with your own. Your face still sweet, but he was beginning to see the edges of a strained patience slip through. Your voice pulling taught with reprimand.
"I understand you baby. " He relented in a low voice, sounding gruff.
You sweetly beamed at him and warmth spread across his chest.
This was nice. He could do this maybe.
Slowly you wrapped your lips around his nipple. You sucked on it hard, making him grunt a short moan.
You slid your hand down his chest and cupped him over his briefs, fondling his dick until he got harder and harder.
He braced himself with putting an arm on the wall. You weren't letting him sit down or lay on the bed anytime soon.
You moved to his other nipple and he sucked in a breath.
What could you be getting out of this?
Your hand freed him from his boxers and you stopped for a moment, watching his dick bob against his stomach before you slide your hand back up his chest to tweak at his other nipple with your hand.
The way you twisted and pulled started to sting.
"Waitwaitwait w—," he sputtered a moan because you wouldn't stop, ignoring him as you lathed at his other wit your tongue, wrapping your mouth around the soft pillow of plush skin that sounded the opposite nipple, sucking on the breast of his chest in a way no one has ever done before. The entire sensation foreign.
He was aching, his dick was feeling heavy. He was hyper aware of every sensation. The distant warmth that signaled you were close, but you refused to touch him. The surrounding air was cool but suffocating. His balls we're straining. Every inch of him was desperate for something —anything.
An embarrassing amount of precum spilled down the length of his dick, with each bob against him, it smeared onto his skin, making a mess from his belly button and down, uncomfortably trickled down over his balls.
"Baby," it came out in a whine. Somewhere high in the back of his throat with parts of his vocal cords he didn't know was there.
"Oh, Marvin," you cooed and his dick jumped, "you're doing so good baby. Can you hold it for me? Just a little longer?"
"N-ngh," he tried to say no, "I-I can't." He tried to keep his voice even but his body wasn't listening to him. The keening whimper that kept spilling from his lips was not his voice.
You laid your hand over the head of his dick and squeezed, making him let out a long drawn out whimper.
"But your doing so good already baby." Your slid your hand down devastatingly slow, tracing each vein and curve of his dick before jerking it back up, repeating and repeating the action. Not even moving harshly, your hand was firm and gentle, but with how bad he was aching, it felt enthroned times worse.
He placed a hand on his chest, not even sure what to do with himself, not caring about the high pitched moans spilling out of his mouth, or keening whimpers bubbling up his throat, the tears running down his face.
You stopped jerking his dick and wrapped your hands around his balls and gently squeezed them, massaging your thumb across the tender skin.
A particular sputtering of precum shot out of him as you did, spilling over his chest.
Something inside him broke.
"Juice." He whined, squeezing his hand over his heart.
"Oh fuck," your entire body language changed as you jumped off him, "Are you okay? Did I take it too far? Do you need anything? Water? A towel?"
You reached toward him and he froze.
"Don't touch me!" He closed his eyes falling back in the wall. too overstimulated to care about sounding too harsh. He'll find it in him to apologize later.
"I'm good," he licked his lips. "Just. . . I just need some space for a second. Go sit on the bed or something."
He took in a few deep breaths until he felt. . . Normal.
Then he got to moving.
He got his own towel and cleaned himself off. Then he grabbed himself a glass of water one for him and one for you. Just because.
"Here." He handed you your glass and downed the last of his in one swig.
You only took a sip before placing yours on the nightstand.
"Are you—"
" 'Need you to turn around."
You huff, grabbing a pillow to lay on while he climbed on the bed over you.
You were laying flat on the bed, but he had other plans.
"Up." He chided in a low voice, grabbing your hips while you moved.
Without any other warning or prompt he sunk his dick into you in one smooth thrust, easier than ever. You were soaking wet. Your walls offering little to no resistance as he pounded into you.
You moaned into the sheets, fisting them tightly.
"To think you got this wet over sucking in a pair of titties." He huffed low in an unimpressed voice.
"Marvin." You moaned and he slapped your ass, making you tense around him.
"Fuck baby," he grunted, "you feel so good. . . Stay right there," he praised, "Just . . Like. . ."
He trailed off as he came inside you. Just how he liked. You let out a long moan, almost whining. The sound never failed to make his chest feel warm.
You didn't know it yet, but he was never doing that shit with you again.
maybe a frenchie x supe!reader? there’s not enough frenchie fics out there! like maybe they don’t get along but they’re forced to work together?
A Wild Fix: Part 1
Pairing: Frenchie x Reader
Summary: You, Wild Card, a 27 year old Supe newly signed by Vought, are recruited by Billy Butcher following an incident in Vought Tower. With the help of The Boys, you vow to destroy the corrupt system that wronged so many. But will your mission be tainted by your constant bickering with one of your new team members?
Word Count: 1.9k
Warnings: Violence, drug use, Homelander (Obviously), mentions of drug use, questionable French
Notes: I absolutely LOVED this request. I slept on it once I saw it because I had so many ideas and I didn't know where to start...but my goal is going to be a 3-5 part series! I'm going to try my best to keep each part under 2k, maybe 1.5k each? No gender was specified in the request so I'm gonna keep it as a GN reader!
From the outside...Vought as a whole seemed like the shiny pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that every Supe had striven for since the company's creation. But you? You knew the truth. Only 24 hours into your career as a member of The Seven, you had been subjected to more violence than you expected from a group that was supposedly supposed to save people. Your first meeting with the rest of the group had gone south quickly once you questioned one of Homelanders statements, and stood your ground when he told you to back down. Before you could even blink, you were pinned against the wall, with a firm hand pressed against your neck, constricting your breathing. In that moment, you understood that being compliant was the only thing that would secure your status as living. So that's what you did, you nodded your head and said “yes sir.” Needless to say, you left that room with the fear of god, no, the fear of The Homelander, choked into you…But you knew you couldn’t sleep here. So you booked a hotel room for the night, hoping maybe the receptionist wouldn't notice the bruises on your neck.But while you walked there, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hugged yourself to keep the cool night air out of your jacket, you were approached by a man named Billy Butcher. The two of you had a lengthy conversation outside of the hotel regarding the truth behind Homelander, The Seven, and Vought as a whole. Then he made you an offer you couldn’t refuse: a chance to get back at Homelander. A chance to bring yourself justice, as well as bring justice to the others he had hurt in his desperate pursuit of ultimate power. Of course…you agreed.
You had kept in touch with Butcher the following week on a burner phone he had given you, knowing that Vought had most likely bugged all of your personal technology…and on your next day off? You met him at a location that was unknown to you, one you would soon come to be familiar with. As he ushered you down the wooden stairs of the unknown building, you weren't met with the most reassuring of environments. Drug paraphernalia, along with various illegal weapons, and full ammo boxes littered the expanse of the rather unwelcoming looking hideout. You stopped at the bottom step and pointed to a literal stack of plastic bags containing what you could only assume was coke.
“That’s…” you swallowed, “That’s coke.” Butcher, who had been guiding you down the stairs with his hand on your lower back, laughed and shook his head.
“That’s right, love. Bags of coke.” Billy said with a small chuckle as he patted your back and stepped onto the broken concrete floor of the basement, greeting the others that inhabited the space. The first person you noticed was a rather lengthy looking young man who looked to be around the same age as you with slightly curly brown hair. Admittedly, you thought he dressed like a twelve year old. He was seated on a questionable looking couch, next to an older man with a bigger build and a darker complexion…who looked like he could snap you in half with little to no effort. Your gaze then flickered further into the room, and your gaze landed on a man who was around the same height as you. Not exactly tall…but not short either. The man in question had a buzz cut, a piercing on his left ear, and was wearing an orange and black tie-dyed shirt, along with cargo pants. He was seated on one of the tables that housed various pieces of drug paraphernalia, and was seemingly using a business card to arrange lines of coke on the back of an old phone book that sat on his lap.
“Well boys…here they are. This is Y/N L/N.” Butcher interrupted your silent evaluation as he addressed the room. He walked back to your side and put a hand on your shoulder, moving to point to the younger man on the couch. “That poor bastard there is Hughie,” he moved to the man next to him, “that's MM,” and finally…he pointed to the man sitting on the table. “That’s Frenchie.” Frenchie pulled his head away from the phonebook, white power dusted on his nose.
“Bonjour-” He said, cutting himself off with a sniffle as he wiped the coke from his nose. Oh, that's why they called him Frenchie. You narrowed your eyes, the greetings of the two other men falling on deaf ears as you looked Frenchie over. Clearly something important had been said during the duration of your staring, because you were knocked out of your thoughts by a firm nudge to the shoulder by Butcher.
“Oi, Hellen Keller! Are you up for it or not?” Butcher asked. He realized you hadn’t heard him and narrowed his eyes with a sigh. “We’re going to meet up with an info plug…You can either come or stay here with Frenchie.” You sort of just panicked and blurted out an answer, not wanting to ask any dumb questions about the info plug.
“I’ll stay…with uh, Frenchie.” You said. As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You weren’t an overly judgy person, you really weren't…but you couldn’t help but feel a bit of trepidation regarding staying alone with a man who had done coke off the back of a dirty phone book within the first minute of you meeting him. Butcher smirked when he saw the look of regret on your face.
“Right then. We’ll be back, love.” He said, gesturing for Hughie and MM to follow him out. “Make yourself at home.” With that, the three made their way up the stairs, leaving you alone with Frenchie. You took the moment of awkward silence that followed them leaving to look around the basement, your feet glued to the floor of course. The walls of the space were composed of a skeleton made of wooden posts, which were filled in with a mixture of red brick, and the same color of concrete that the floor was made of. The walls in question were littered with spray painted tags of many different colors, most of which you couldn’t read, due to the fact that they were in a different language, but they were oddly beautiful nonetheless. The lighting in the room, just a few hanging light bulbs, added to the strange ambiance of the room.
“You are Wild Card…Yes?” The silence was broken by Frenchie, who was still sitting on the table, but now facing your direction. You turned to him and nodded, albeit awkwardly.
“Yeah…Yeah. That's me. Just call me Y/N, though.” You said, trying your best to give a convincing smile.
“Y/N…” He nodded as he repeated your name, “Oui. A good name.” He looked at you for a moment, almost waiting for you to respond. When you didn't, he pursed his lips and blinked. “Remind me, Y/N…What are your powers exactly?” You sighed when he asked that. It was always strange explaining what exactly your powers were.
You were called Wild Card for a reason. While you were powerful…using your powers was sort of like playing a game of russian roulette, only with the gun pointed towards the other person. You could do a multitude of different things, along with the constant of your strength, speed, and agility. You could create different balls of explosive matter, you could manipulate and use the moisture present in the air for multiple different attacks, along with a few other niche things. The problem was…you never knew which would happen beforehand. All you could go off was the feeling you felt in your palms. You weren’t exactly the most reliable Supe abilities wise…but every one of your random attacks was extremely powerful, making you a good person to throw into the mix if things aren't going well for the rest of your team, which is why you were a valuable member to add to The Seven.
“Uhm…Have you ever played Uno before? Like the card game?” You asked. Frenchie nodded. “Well it’s kinda like when you put a wild card down in Uno, and you get to pick a color…Except you pick the color blindly.” Frenchie sort of stared at you for a moment, before he started laughing. You tensed up when you heard him laugh, but you tried to laugh along, due to the fact that you couldn’t tell if he was laughing with you or at you. “Forgive me, mon cher-” He stifled a laugh before continuing, “that is the silliest thing I've ever heard.” At that comment, you frowned, taking a step back even though you were across the room from each other.
“Silly? It’s not silly at all…I’m pretty powerful, all things considered-”
“But you just use it blindly?” He asked with a chuckle. “What happens when you want to shoot a fireball or something, but you summon a child’s teddy to your hand instead?” That ticked you off. Who the hell was he to insult your powers? He was a druggie, and didn't even have any.
“How can you sit there and insult me when you were doing lines off the back of a 30 year old phonebook when I walked in?” You asked, your words coming out a bit more spiteful than you had intended. Frenchie narrowed his eyes, but tried to shake off his anger. He wasn’t fond of fighting with people over small things, especially not when intoxicated.
“Ah…I see…” He said with a chuckle that you could only describe as pathetic, “All Supes really do have an ego, don't they?” He asked, hopping off the table he was sitting on.
“Hey! You've known me for five minutes and you're already making assumptions about me?” You balled your fists and took an accusatory step forward. Frenchie raised a brow.
“And I’m safe to assume that you’ve already painted this image of me in your head like some sort of druggie asshole?” Damn. He got you with that one. But alas…You were too prideful to let him have the last word. You scoffed.
“Maybe I’ll change my opinions when you’ve done something other than do drugs and laugh at me.” You said with a roll of your eyes. You weren't a conflictive person…But the last few days had been long and hard, so you couldn't exactly help it.
“Ditto, mon amour.” He said, his face painted with an absolutely infuriating smirk.
“Fuck you.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know nothing about me.”
“Eh bien, va te faire foutre toi aussi.” He said, almost matter-of-factly, mocking your current stance. You didn’t speak French, but you could only assume he had said something insulting back. Well, fuck you too. You were about to spit something back, but thankfully, Butcher came walking back down the wooden stairs, an eyebrow raised.
“Everything's alright down here, love?” He asks, the look on his face a mix between suspicion and curiosity.
“Yeah. Everything is fine.” You said, your tone strained. Butcher then looked over to Frenchie, who simply gave a thumbs up before leaning down to do another line off the phonebook. You huffed and rolled your eyes. You were too exhausted to say anything else.
I think it's safe to say this mini series is going to be lots of fun! I love Frenchie as a character, and it was really fun to come up with a fun Supe persona for the reader! I hope you enjoyed, and stay tuned for part 2! I'm also working on a taglist form so keep an eye out for that! Adieu!
note: i’m kinda sick rn so i thought i’d make sick hcs because why not, also the mutant mayhem x reader tag is so dry so i wanted to bring a little life to it 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻 Can be read in platonic or romantic!
cw: mentions of throwing up and casual sickness symptoms
words: 1483 words & 7909 characters
Leo:
Leo as the leader as his brothers has seen all sorts of sickness, the flu and stomach bug fever and pink eye, all of it. So he's already on it once you cough or sneeze once, he has everything you need. A whole drawer with medicine, throw up bags, thermometer to check your temperature and tissues.
He's prepare for allll of it, but he's very clumsy with it. He's pretty nervous and anxiety filled around anyone besides his own brother.. other than the time they pick on him. So he's not really doing well with the fact your wellness lies in his hands. So he might need to rest or take a break of his own if he worries.
Sometimes he gets so nervous to the point he has to use the throw up bags himself, he's just that worried about you (poor boy splinter knows he's trying to be a gentleman). But Leo does a great job at caring for you when you need constant attention if you're that sick.
He can't stand the sight of throw up though, so if you're throwing up please face the other direction and tighten the bag as tight as possible the smell hurts his own stomach. Leo for sure brings you breakfast in bed though, some of the food may be sloppy and rushed but it's only because he feels like you need to eat ASAP or you'd die.
Also he refuses to put any sort of entertainment in front of you, the most you can get is listening to him rant about his brothers or about how he wants to be a good leader. Leo believes that using a screen or something in front of you while sick just worsens your condition (he's done it multiple times before when sick so he's just a worrywart hypocrite).
Leo personally LOVES heated blankets for when he's sick, so he lets you borrow a million. Also he's obsessed with reading to you, he'll read you his little comics of himself and how he heroizes himself to make himself look cool. Although he does get embarrassed reading some lines in front of you because they sound cringe or weird to him, they sounded better in his head then they did out loud.
And if he catches whatever sickness you got, he's going to complain and insist he's not sick (it's wayyy worse than you when you caught it). He's the stubborn and workaholic type when it comes to being sick, if you pester him enough he'll admit he's feeling under the weather. But he continues to work anyways saying he's "almost done, one more then I'll rest" but really one more never stops. So you have to drag him to go rest, because he just wants to study for tests and train.
Raph:
Raph himself HATES getting sick, and he gets major mood swings from it. So he kinda expects you to be the same, but when you just show normal symptoms he doesn't know what to do. Like he just stands there holding a tissue box and offers you a singular cough drop.
He doesn't get sick often but the very few times he has gotten sick it was literal torture to him. He couldn't do any fighting or butt kicking within the days of him coughing and sneezing, and it KILLED him. So he can't imagine what kind of hell you're going through (you're not going through any hell besides a stuffy nose).
He does get the essentials to a sick persons guide to healthy and a ok-ness, but he does get the wrong medicine. He'll bring cough drops and warm towels, though he'll probably suggest ditching those methods to beat the virus out of you.
You being sick is the ONLY time you'll see Raph be more careful and thoughtful around you, especially since you're so used to seeing him so rough and rowdy. He's super sweet for once, and he knows it. Which is why he begs and pleads you to NOT SAY A WORD about him helping you.
Raph shoves the damn spoon of medicine in your mouth, literally no warning at all he takes the spoon shows it then moments later your downing it because he shoved it down your throat. Like doesn't even care, you're taking the medicine. Don't be stubborn or dumb, he's twice as amount of stubborn and dumb as you are.
Also since you're sick, you get to watch Raph try not to cringe or make a face when you throw up or cough. He's trying his best. He's used to seeing Leo throw up out of nerves but he's never seen chunks of food or anything show up. He's holding in his laughter when you cough a little to loud in silence or when your cough sounds like a horse.
Raph wants to train or practice with you once you're not sick anymore, which is why he's trying to speed up the healing process. For once he's like Leo and is try harding to do the best he can, he's pretty tough and rough with helping you get better but it's better than no help at all from him.
Donnie:
Donnie has a weak immune system, so he's also been sick a couple of times. Meaning he's an expert about dealing with stomach bugs and viruses and what not due to experience with getting sick from his brothers.
Donnie also is really studied up on human health despite not even being human himself, it was the closest thing he could find to normal turtle studies on sickness. All he found was salmonella on the turtle health Wikipedia and other sources.
He's really stern on having you deal with your sickness a very specific way, because he believes the way he dealt with being sick is THE best way to heal. Meaning staying in bed, having some sort of device playing in front of him while eating oatmeal (splinter made him).
Also Donnie isn't afraid to just shove the spoonful of medicine in your mouth, if you wanna play stubborn he can play too. Though he's not very good at fighting back when you start to get up and move from him.
He treats you like an iPad kid, and places his iPad in front of you playing one of those ADHD multiple videos. Those videos with the Minecraft parkour with "funny" tweets from x, and he's busy trying to feed you "healthy" food. It's literally just a bunch of crap he blended which he considered sickness repellent in a consumable form. It's worse than Mikey's pizza topping combos.
And because Donnie has a weak immune system, a couple of days in of helping you heal from your virus.. He catches it too. So now you two are both forced into bed rest. And while coughing he makes small sarcastic yet funny joking remarks about how you should've just done it his way.. being sick is better than eating his blended healthy shake.
But in his opinion being sick together just means you two can binge his favorite new anime. Although Donnie loves the fact he has an excuse to binge watch the anime with you, he HATES how he's missing his classes. While you're enjoying it, Donnie is both in heaven and hell. But at least he can be sick with you, better than being alone.
Mikey:
Your laughter is medicine. That’s what Mikey believes, so while he’s taking care of you while you’re sick he’s gonna make you laugh.
Though if you are stubborn and insist you’re not sick it genuinely annoys him, so you two have small mini arguments about your health.
They usually start with Mikey walking into the room with a tray of chicken soup and a side of cheetos (its a single cheeto mikey dropped on accident on the tray). He’s gotta make sure you’re fed well while sick.
Then you stubbornly reject his cooking, to which he mocks being offended then demands you have it because your body needs energy and strength. And lastly you argue back that you’re not that sick.
Mikey hates it when you fight back, especially when you’re coughing and struggling to get out of bed on your own. You’re obviously sick, so he has his stubbornness fight against your own.
Guess who wins, Mikey. He continues to push you back into bed while he does the basic stuff, getting you soup and grabbing medicine for your cold or cough. And he even shares his pizza with you, what a blessing (it’s literally topped with candy that’s enough to make you sick again).
Mikey’s the type of person to hang out with you when you’re sick, then get sick himself. So afterawhile of getting you tissues and making sure you’re resting up and asleep in bed, he catches the virus himself. Then it’s your turn to take care of him.
