𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒, frenchie x reader one shots (the boys)

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

SUMMARY: You are a new addiction in 'The Boys' team, a Supe with telekinesis powers who has nothing left to lose. The evolution of your feelings over time for a certain French with a strong accent and a golden heart will make you know a new part of yourself or All the times you've felt for Frenchie and the one time it became real.
WARNINGS: slow burn, friends(?) to lovers trope, mutual pining, missing moments, mentions of anxiety and alcoholism. lot of pet names from Frenchie, reader is female. Butcher being out of character. if I missed anything let me know!
WORDCOUNT: 6,8k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: and so, the time has come apparently...some Frenchie love <3 I had this in mind for a long time, and since I was dying to read something about him on wattpad I just figured it would have been better to do something myself! writing in first person is a new new for me...also, english is not my first language so if anything's a little messy keep that in mind !
MUSIC I WORKED WITH: Into The Black by Chromatics

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

0.1: THE OUTSIDER

The cold, fluorescent lights of the abandoned warehouse flicker above you as you sit, arms crossed, staring down the group. You're still nursing a sore leg from the latest run-in with Vought's Supes, though it's healing faster than you expected—telekinesis can do that, apparently. You didn't ask for it. You didn't ask for any of this.

"Still thinkin' she's a bloody liability," Butcher says, his eyes narrowing at you with that familiar disdain. He's leaned back in his chair, arms resting behind his head, like he's ready to throw you out the second you make one wrong move.

"Maybe," M.M. mutters, casting a protective glance in your direction, his eyes softening just slightly. You know it's because of the bond you've managed to form with Annie, the only person who's been on your side from the start. But even that isn't enough to make him fully trust you. Not yet.

Annie's already left the room, no doubt to try and talk some sense into the rest of them, but she's not here to fight your battles right now. It's just you, a group of men with their own agendas, and... him.

Frenchie.

He's seated in his usual corner, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement as he watches the argument unfold. He's always watching you, always lingering just long enough to be noticed but never saying anything directly. At first, it was annoying. His endless attention, the way his gaze would follow you, like he was trying to figure you out. But over time, it became something else—something you couldn't quite define.

And maybe that's why it scared you.

"I told you, I'm here to help," you say, your voice sharp, slicing through the air like a blade. "If I wanted to turn on you, I would've done it already."

"Oh yeah? An' why's that, love?" Butcher asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What makes you so sure we won't end up with our heads blown off by one o' yer Supe friends?"

"I'm not one of them, you cunt!" The words leave your mouth before you can stop yourself, and you immediately regret the outburst. Butcher thrives on this—on picking at people's insecurities, and you just handed him yours on a silver platter.

But Frenchie is the one who stands up, his hands casually shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket as he moves towards you. His gaze is less playful now, more serious, and the shift in his demeanor makes your heart skip a beat.

"She is not lying, mon ami" Frenchie says softly, his accent curling around each word like a melody. He's standing closer to you now, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke that clings to him. "She's done more for us than most. Maybe give her a little credit, eh?"