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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Hello, lovely! I was grinning like a mad woman while reading your comments. So without further ado, let's get into it:

[Saul's death]: I know, it hurt me too. 😭 Him being the "wine aunt" of the group his hilarious and highly accurate. But it made for a dramatic opening, didn't it?

[Not you catching my typo on "cutting the head off the snake"]: Ben has his rare moments of poignance lol. He's been around long enough to pick up some shit.

[Her complicated feelings toward Ben and her captors]: It can't be understated that she's still technically a prisoner lol. Someone said in comments on the last chapter that they "didn't know who to root for," and that's pretty much where people should be right now lol.

[Ben's verbal lashing out at her]: 100% correct - he can't handle how she's hurt him, so he's dishing it right back.

[Enter stage left, Jon the Asshat]: oh, he'll get his. Don't worry. 😏

[When she calls SB a "simpleton" lmfao]: Ikr? Ben's all hot air at this point. Just STFU and take your teasing like a man. 🤣🤣

[We could have had it aaaaaaall]: Yup, he done fucked up that one, didn't he? lmfao

[Ben's POV moments]: I think it's really important to get his POV. With just her's you only have half the story here, plus the character growth, like you mentioned. I'm so glad you enjoy his moments of introspection!

[Ben craving an "equal"]: This is why I love you! ❤️ You always pick up on my cues lol. Yep, deep, deep down he's starting to compare her to what he might've had with Countess. And the things he wants now, and could have with someone who seems to actually care about him. And him being soft with her while she's having nightmares is just one more crack in the armor, so to speak.

["He wasn't about to show weakness..."]: I thought so too, so thank you for saying that! And we don't have a ton to go off of from season 3 as far as his characterization, but he definitely fills a certain male archetype that we've probably all seen before, which makes it easier to write him. So I'm happy to hear you say that I'm keeping him in character!

[SB's protective instincts towards her]: I think it's definitely part instinct at this point lolll.

[Butcher's entrance]: Butcher has a strong look going for him, that's for sure. 🤣🤣

[Frank Castle casting as Frank the Henchman]: Absolutely! Once I saw it, I couldn't unsee it either lolll.

[If SB regrets saving her.]: He won't admit it, but yeah, he's too invested in her to regret anything. And no spoilers, but him facing the idea of eventually outliving her will be a point we face later on in the story...

[On Ben "rubbing off" on her.]: lmfaooo most definitely. 😂😏😏

[Reader vs. her dad]: Yyyyeeeepppp...it's not gonna be pretty. But LOL they told you, did they? Well good, we can start sending out the wedding invitations. 😂😂 Trust me, it's still a ways to the finish line, but they'll get there.

But yeah, everyone hates me for the cliffhanger lmaoo. It will definitely get resolved in the next chapter. But I'm so glad you enjoyed this one, with or without smut! (LOL) 💞💞

Break Me Down - Part 10

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them… [18+ only! Rated M]

**Start from the beginning: Prologue

AN: Song inspo for this one is “Caught In the Balance” by Toto!

Word Count: 5,300 Tags/Warnings: Violence, hints of past trauma, hurt/comfort, angst, and a (mean) cliffhanger...

Part 10: Caught in the Balance

“Christ on a cross,” Ben muttered.

He was just trying to start his morning with some huevos rancheros.

He hid behind a mask of impassiveness, while his stomach turned at the sight of the open cooler Frank had been forced to show him.

Saul’s bloody severed head was stored inside. Ben had asked for a report on the man’s reconnaissance mission, but this was a bit thorough.

“Black Noir took out his entire unit,” Frank informed him. His tone was stoic, as usual, but his dark brown eyes betrayed his solemnity.

Ben shook his head and peered inside. “I fucking figured…yep, that’s Noir’s handiwork all right.”

The cut was clean at the neck—sliced by a blade.

Unfortunately, that was when you entered the kitchen in search of breakfast. Ben looked over at you, taking in your matching purple pajamas with a hint of a smile. Your hair was a bit messy, your face still tired with sleep.

But when Frank swiftly snapped up the cooler, you still raised a perceptive brow.

“What’s that?” you asked. Ben shared a brief glance with Frank.

“Just some steaks for later,” Ben replied. You didn’t look convinced, sniffing the air with a grimace.

“Is that why it smells like a meat locker in here?” you said.

After you grabbed a mug of coffee, you took a seat at the far end of the kitchen island. It left an open seat between you and Ben, and he noticed the distance.

“What’re Saul and Loco up to today? Think they’d be up for some Texas Hold’em?” you asked Frank.

He shook his head and tucked the cooler under his arm.

“They’re on a job,” he said.

You warmed your hands around your coffee mug and nodded. “Ah, yeah. Trying to figure out how Black Noir pulled a Lazarus?”

Both men stared back at you, confirming your assumptions.

“You do realize this begins and ends with your buddy, Stan Edgar,” you said, turning to Ben. “Vogelbaum was his chief geneticist, the Head of R&D during your time. But Stan was the Steve Jobs to his Wozniak. Together they created Homelander.”

Ben didn’t know who the fuck you were talking about there, but he got the gist of what you were saying.

Stan had played him from the beginning; he’d masterminded what went down Nicaragua, replacing Soldier Boy with Homelander, creating him in some petri dish with Ben’s DNA.

Now, it seemed Stan was partnering with the CIA to take him down. He’d even brought that cunt Noir back to life to do it. Also, likely, with the help of Ben’s DNA. (Well, probably Homelander’s, but that was still partly Ben’s.)

He couldn’t let that fucking stand, now could he?

His hand fisted on the counter, next to his forgotten plate. His brows fell over his eyes as he contemplated. He knew what he had to do next, just not exactly how he was going to do it.

“I’m gonna have to cut the head of the snake,” Ben mused out loud.

You watched him wearily, hiding a measure of concern at the darker shift in him.

Ben nodded at Frank and the cooler still under his arm, dismissing him. “We’ll talk later. Take care of that.”

Frank went with a nod, leaving you with Ben in the kitchen. You frowned.

“If you go back to the U.S., especially to New York, they’ll have a much easier time finding you,” you pointed out.

Though part of you kicked yourself for doing so. An idea was forming in your mind, and it could just mean your freedom…

And that was when Ben looked over at you once more. His eyes were guarded, more so than they had been with you of late.

“Why do you care?” he asked snidely. “You’ve barely said two fucking words to me in days.”

Which was true. You’d been carrying your grudges and your anger, both at him and at yourself, and your own conflicting emotions ever since you’d arrived at this new house.

The effects of V24 had long washed out of your system, but it still stung—that that poison had saved you. And so had these men, who had kidnapped you in the first place.

Shaking your head, you frowned at him to cover up your ongoing internal circus.

“Because you’re about to go on a fucking warpath. With, I imagine, a lot of collateral damage in store,” you replied, maybe more sharply than you’d intended.

Ben’s green eyes were dark and narrowed.

“There’s that self-righteous fucking tune,” he said. But his next words cut into you like so many knives. “You’ve been a fucking lapdog your entire life. Doing whatever daddy, Vought, or the CIA tells you to do. So remind me, why the fuck do you care so much about what I do, huh?”

For a moment, you were speechless.

Soon enough though, your shock melted into an angry glower as you tried to hide how much that actually hurt you.

A harsh breath expelled through your nose. Maybe he expected you to blow your top, like you usually would. Because that had worked so well at getting through to him in the past.

So instead, you tried to go with what seemed to work before.

“I didn’t used to,” you replied honestly. It seemed to make him pause, a little.

“When I joined the S.A., it was just my chance to break away from Vought,” you continued. “But…I don’t know. The more out of control supes we took off the street, the more I felt good about it. The work that I was doing.”

You let out a sigh, glancing down at your hands still wrapped around your cooling cup of coffee.

“You were right before, about me. I was part of it too. I helped cleaned up Vought’s messes. I made their supes look good, behind the scenes,” you said. “But I’m trying to do something that matters. Something honest, that actually makes people safer. It makes my family safer.”

That fell between you two for a while. Ben seemed to take it with his usual stoicism, but you knew him well enough by now. He’d been listening.

And eventually, he spoke.

“Then you should be grateful,” he said. “Noir. Stan. Vought. All those cocksuckers…I’m going to take them all out for fucking good.”

Are you, really? You couldn’t help but wonder. He’d been successful with Payback, and Homelander (with help from Butcher and Hughie).

But Vought was a machine. It had been an institution for decades. A multibillion conglomerate with a thousand and one hydra tentacles of ways to fuck people over…but if anyone was powerful enough to try to bring it all down, it was Soldier Boy.

Still, power isn’t everything. You thought of how he’d lost control against Noir, and how he’d blown up a hole in your bedroom ceiling and couldn’t remember much about it afterwards. Ben was still a mess.

But you considered a world where Vought couldn’t create supes anymore, like pop tarts coming out of the damn toaster. You considered what Ben could accomplish, now that he was properly motivated to end his six-month sabbatical.

And you considered what would happen if you helped him do it.

This is not the time to be reckless, the more rational part of your mind reminded.

And yet, you just had to continue following the impulsive voice that had led you for weeks.

“You can’t just run at this head on, guns blazing,” you told him. “Stan’s too smart for that.”

Ben eyed you with guarded interest.

“You look like you’ve got something in mind,” he said.

You nodded, though your lips pursed. You hated this idea, even though it had been growing since this conversation began. And you couldn’t even believe you were suggesting it, really.

“We can get into Vought under the radar, if you let me make a call,” you said. Ben’s expression tightened. Yours did too, with the beginnings of anxiety.

“Who do you need to call?” he asked.

“My father,” you replied.

As Stan Edgar’s Chief of Security, Jon didn’t often receive calls from phone numbers he didn’t recognize. Certainly not to his personal, blacklisted cell phone. He took the call into his personal office and shut the door behind him.

He answered it with a healthy measure of suspicion, “Hello?”

The last voice he expected to greet him was his eldest daughter’s.

“Hey. It’s me,” you replied.

Jon’s expression slackened. He sat down heavily at his desk, and your name fell from his lips in disbelief.

“You’re alive,” he said in genuine wonderment. “I thought…I thought you were dead.”

Your response was dry. “Before or after you sent Black Noir after us?”

Jon frowned, shifting back in his chair.

“That was Stan’s call,” he said. “There was no sign of you in any of our reports.”

“Then you weren’t looking very hard,” you said.

Your tone was matter-of-fact, unyielding. It was so like you that he had to smile.

“If nothing else, you were ambitious going after Soldier Boy,” he said, rubbing his chin. It reminded him that he needed a shave. “I should’ve known you were still alive…it seems I taught you better than I thought.”

On the other line, you had Ben’s cell in your hand while you spoke to your father on speaker. Ben and Frank were both in the room with you, sitting in chairs on either side. Frank suggested this conference room beside the study to conduct the call.

However, you tried not to look at either man while you tried to focus on getting through this.

“I managed to grab a phone from one of my guards,” you said into the speaker. “I can’t reach out to the CIA. They think I’m a damn turncoat at this point. But if you really want Soldier Boy, I can tell you where he’s going to be.”

“…Where?” Jon asked.

You glanced up at Ben before you replied. He gave you a nod.

“He plans to be in New York in three days.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said wryly. “To find Black Noir. It’s all he’s been moaning on about. He’s kind of a simpleton that way. Tit for tat on the vengeance beat.”

Ben gave you a dark look for that one, but you ignored him.

“Well, I can certainly give him a meeting with Noir,” said Jon. His voice shifted into that calculating tone you knew all too well. “That, and much more.”

“Good. Give him a big enough distraction, and I can lose his crew,” you replied.

There was a beat on the other line. You and your companions waited, for his agreement, for some kind of confirmation, but he didn’t give you that just yet.

“Are you all right?” Jon asked. “How’s your sister?”

Your lips pursed. “Clearly, I’m peachy. Are you in on this?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll help you get out of there, don’t worry,” he said. He almost sounded like a father. It made anxiety crawl up through your lungs, into your throat.

“It’ll be good to see you,” he added. “What’s it been, a year? More?”

You swallowed your unease.

“Let me make this clear,” you said. “This is just business. If you want to help me, fine. But don’t make it more than that.”

There was another pause, a heavy sigh.

“Oh, believe me. I know you wouldn’t be calling unless this was your last resort,” Jon said.

You tried to swallow, and found resistance.

“Good,” you said. “I’m glad we have that understanding.”

“See you soon,” he said. You ended the call afterwards.

Both men had been monitoring you throughout the exchange, but it was Ben’s gaze you felt, hot across your profile. Even now, he watched you behind impassive eyes. You wished you knew what he was thinking.

Regardless of things you’d said when you were angry, Ben knew too much about you now. There was no way he didn’t see it—how you were putting your all into keeping yourself together.

You stared back at him, but he didn’t ask if you were all right. He just nodded.

“Are we done?” he asked.

You scoffed, hiding your disappointment, and maybe the beginning of tears burning in your eyes. You blinked past them with an unsettled breath.

“Yeah,” you replied. “We’re done.”

Ben watched you get up, and you let the cell phone clatter on the table before you left.

Late that night, Ben wandered the dark halls of this house. He was trying to familiarize himself, and remember why the hell he bought this gaudy thing.

It was another big, empty shell that didn’t have much life in it—even less than the last place in Medellin. At least that one had character, surrounded by the mountains and wildflowers.

This house, while beautiful, felt stale; like an old photograph in sepia tones.

He found himself stopping outside your door. It was late, and he couldn’t hear your TV on, so you were probably asleep by now. If he stood close enough to the door, his superior hearing could just make out your soft, even breaths.

He knew you were pissed at him, but really, he thought you were being a bitch about it.

I fucking saved her, he thought sourly, and not for the first time. She should be fucking grateful I lifted a finger.

But then, he remembered just how pale you were when he found you in the helicopter, after the blast, and after he made his escape. Ben saw how wide your eyes got when you saw what had hurt you—that giant fucking piece of wood embedded in your body.

He remembered the sound of your scream, blood on his hands. He could feel your life slipping through his fingers…and for once, he wasn’t okay with letting it happen.

So he stopped it. Or at least, he ordered Frank to do it.

And afterwards, Ben couldn’t believe how you turned on him. That you were actually angry at him for saving your life!

What kind of idiot are you. He’d wanted to grab you and shake you until you saw good sense.

You were stronger on V. You were powerful, almost his equal. And Ben could admit, if only to himself, that he craved that: having an equal.

When he’d had Countess, that bitch, he thought he had his life sorted. He’d figured he had time to settle, to have a family…

But now that life was gone. His asshole team was gone. What the fuck was left?

Ben leaned against your door, as if he could brace against the depths of thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself to fall into since he left the U.S.

Still, he couldn’t help but think…after he became a supe, he’d reveled in standing alone, in the spotlight. When did it start to get harder?

Just then, his sensitive ears picked up on something: your breath hitched. He paused, listening closely. Soon enough, he heard a whimper.

Ben debated for a few seconds, but he decided to open the door, quietly twisting the knob and pushing it open. His eyes found you in the dark, curled in on yourself on the bed.

He drew closer until he reached your bedside, and even heard your pulse starting to race. His lips drew into a frown as he read the distress in your features. You were dreaming, and whatever it was, it didn’t look pleasant.

Ben hesitated, but he kneeled by your bed and carefully slid your hair away from your face. You were an angry, stubborn, mouthy little thing. He could just hear your voice now.

You still haven’t even apologized!

The audacity you had, to demand shit from him.

But then, he almost sighed when he realized he was glaring down at your sleeping form.

What the fuck’re you doing, anyway? He shook his head at himself and got up to leave, but your voice stopped him.

It was a pained whimper, a shuddering breath. Ben’s attention shifted back to you as he watched you tighten in on yourself, your hand curling into a fist that pressed against your throat. He didn’t know if you were trying to choke yourself, or fend someone off—

And then, Ben had to struggle against a firebrand of anger under his skin.

He finally realized what you were probably dreaming about; who you were fighting, even in your sleep.

He regretted letting you call your father. Maybe he even regretted pretending he didn’t notice…how talking to your dad had clearly fucked with you.

But he wasn’t about to show weakness. Not in front of his men…

With a quiet sigh, Ben reached out and soothed a hand over the top of your head. His fingers slid through your loose hair, stopping when they reached some tangles. Slow and careful, he repeated this. Until finally, your breathing seemed to ease up.

He unclenched your fingers out of their loosening fist, and he absently stroked his thumb over the back of your hand. You’re one deep sleeper…

You sighed and shifted in your sleep, resting your cheek easier on the pillow. Your brows were still knitted, but after a while, even your face relaxed.

Ben placed your hand down, giving the back of it one more tentative swipe.

And then he left, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. You never woke up to catch him.

A helicopter took you from the house to a private jet with Ben, Frank, Loco, and a few other hired men for the mission. You sat across from Ben, both seats facing one another. Your eyes were narrowed as you watched him accept a glass of whiskey.

“Where’s Saul?” you asked. Ben gave you a side glance, and with a quiet exhale, he answered you.

“He’s dead.”

You nodded through your sad, angry frown. You’d had a feeling that was what he and Frank had been hiding the other day, but you hadn’t wanted to face it.

“Black Noir?” you asked.

Ben nodded and sipped at his whiskey. “Yeah.”

“Do you even care?” you asked. Ben eyed you a bit sharper, but he didn’t comment.

“A couple of knocked banks didn’t get you this jet, on top of everything else,” you remarked, gesturing at your surroundings. “Where’s the money coming from?”

He’d bought back at least two properties from Vought, along with all the other shit he’d likely been blowing his money on for the last few months.

Ben sipped at his drink. You imagined it was hard for him to cross his legs in his super suit, otherwise he might’ve, to complete the air of asshole-ish nonchalance. You’d decided to dress comfortable, but prepared in yoga pants, sneakers, and a matching activewear jacket.

“Why do you think I settled in Columbia, of all places?” he asked you. His lips curved into a smirk and he shot you a wink. “Best drugs in town.”

His assets were frozen by the government, which meant he’d gotten the money from somewhere…

Your face soon fell as you realized your own stupidity. The shady characters he’d recruited, not just Frank, Saul, and Loco, but other men too that would occasionally traipse through the house. Plus the mysterious “jobs” they would routinely disappear on, sometimes for days on end.

Ben had infiltrated a drug cartel.

“Frank and his men were the muscle for some hot-shot kingpin, until I cut the head off the snake,” Ben revealed. “Which is what I’m about to do to good ole’ Stan.”

You crossed your arms with a deep frown.

“Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, I discover a new scum-ridden layer,” you said.

His lips quirked humorlessly. “Disappointed?”

You just shook your head and looked out the window of the jet.

“Mostly in myself,” you replied.

Ben didn’t show how your words sunk into him. He continued drinking.

Hours later, you all arrived at JFK Airport in New York. The jet landed far enough away from the larger commercial planes, but somehow that made you even more nervous.

You felt like you were stepping out into the Wild West as you disembarked from the jet and landed on the concrete ground of your home city.

Ben’s presence burned behind you, guiding you with a hand on the small of your back. Frank and Loco had the bags (and weapons). But before you could ask where to go next, Ben paused with a thoughtful frown on his face.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, but then you heard it. A thin whistling in the air that couldn’t be attributed to an aircraft.

Ben pulled out his shield from its sheath on his back, and with his free hand he grabbed you, yanking you into his chest. He all but dragged you several steps away from the jet and then kneeled to cover both of you when a missile soared overhead.

It speared into the jet, destroying it with an epic explosion that seared across Ben’s back. He felt the heat, but it only singed the back of his neck without even burning his skin. His suit and helmet protected him from the rest, just as his shield and body protected you.

You could claim to hate him all you wanted, but your hands were braced against his chest as you leaned into him. And when you looked up, your eyes were wide with shock and fear.

“Go,” he ordered, pushing you towards Frank. You went with him, but you still looked back at Ben as worry undeniably claimed your heart. Loco and the rest of his team stood behind the supe.

Meanwhile, Butcher had appeared on the tarmac. With a rocket launcher, naturally.

He wore a smirk along with one of his customary, glaring Hawaiian shirts and long black trench coat. The hem of it fluttered as the wind blew between the long span of distance between him and Ben.

“So the CIA’s partnering with Vought now? How does that fucking work?” Ben remarked.

Butcher was joined by Hughie, Kimiko, and Frenchie, and then entire units of CIA and SWAT teams piling out of several armored cars.

“I’ll admit, you’re a tricky bugger to track down,” Butcher said. “But consider this your debt to fucking society paid in full.”

He launched yet another projectile from his gun. You gasped, but even though Frank pulled you towards the airport building and away from the fight, you still craned your head back to watch Ben bat away the missile with his shield. It landed far away, spilling concrete where it hit and shaking the ground.

Then a warning star bolt hit in front of Frank’s feet, stopping both of you short. You looked up and found Annie and M.M., the latter with an impressive gun in both hands.

“Stop right there, motherfucker,” M.M. ordered. “Time to let her go.”

“You okay?” Annie asked you. You had to smile, despite yourself.

“Yeah. It’s good to see you guys,” you said. Frank’s hand tightened on your arm, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from leaving his side. He was stronger than usual once again, with the help of V24. He wielded his own gun trained on M.M.

“Step aside,” he ordered.

Annie pursed her lips at shot a star bolt at him. You took your opportunity and kicked at the back of Frank’s knee. It made his grip falter just enough that when M.M. jumped in to fight him, you scrambled away and Annie took your hand.

While the two men fought, you finally noticed the black sedan the pulled up on the tarmac behind you. The tinted driver’s window rolled down, revealing your father in black sunglasses.

Annie followed the path of your gaze in confusion. “Who the hell’s that?”

“Annie,” you squeezed her hand. “You know I’m your friend, right?”

Her brows furrowed, especially when you let go of her. “What’s wrong? What’re you about to do?”

“I need you to trust me,” you said.

You knew she didn’t understand, nor did she want to let you go. But you ran away from her, towards the car. She meant to follow you, but Frank held M.M. at bay long enough to aim a few well-placed bullets between you and Annie.

It stopped her long enough for you to climb into the black sedan before it peeled away, speeding around to the private gate of the airport. While you caught your breath, Jonathan’s gaze peered at you through the rearview mirror, after he lowered his sunglasses. The car was empty except for you and him.

Good, you thought. That meant he was the only one you had to watch closely.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Just fine,” you breathed. “Where to now?”

“Let’s get you to safety,” Jon said. You nodded. And when his focus was back on the road, you discreetly retrieved a tracking device from your pocket and placed it on the side of your seat, hidden from view.

Ben had given it to you before getting off the plane.

The device was small and flat, with a smooth back that would attach to almost any surface.

You rolled it experimentally between your fingers and looked up at Ben. His face was harder to read than ever.

“Why are you trusting me with this?” you asked.

Ben’s lips quirked wryly, but there was little humor in it. His hand, half-covered by his glove, reached up to brush your chin.

“I’m not,” he replied. “I expect you’ll jump at the chance to get back with Butcher and your asshole friends. But either way, I’m gonna find out if you were worth it.”

You frowned up at him. It was hard to believe that for all you two had been through together, this was really how it was going to be from now on.

“If I was worth saving?” you challenged.

He didn’t answer you, but his hand fell away from your face.

The car soon made its way out of the airport and onto the open road. There you were greeted by the familiar highways and approaching skyscrapers of New York City. You would be relieved to be home (almost), if you weren’t so tense.

“I need to see Stan Edgar,” you told your father.

Jon’s gaze met yours in the rearview.

“I have intel that he’ll be interested in,” you said.

“Okay, and that is?” he asked.

“About Supe Affairs, Soldier Boy, take your pick. But it’s the kind of information you don’t play Telephone with.”

“Mr. Edgar is a busy man,” Jon started to say.

“And you’re his Chief of Security,” you cut him off. “Who’s wiping his ass while you’re here with me?”

Jon sighed. “Always with that fucking mouth. Do you want me to relocate you? Put you in a safe house until we finish dealing with Soldier Boy?”

And give your father abject control over your life? I think not, you glared at the thought.

“I want to speak to Stan. I don’t care if it’s here, or Vought HQ, or in the middle of Times fucking Square. Take me to his damn office,” you demanded.

Maybe Ben had rubbed off on you a little.

“Or pull over right now, and I’ll make my way to the Tower myself,” you said. Jon came to a red light and had time to regard you in disbelief.

“Jesus…all right, let’s see if Stan will see you,” he said.

You let out a breath and finally allowed yourself to sit back in your seat. When the light turned green, Jon took the correct fork in the road that would lead you to Vought Tower.

And before you left the car, you made sure to grab the tracking device from the side of your chair, carrying it with you into your bra.

It was strange to enter this building again. You had worked here for five years, but it had been a year and a half since you’d returned.

It was still as busy as ever in the halls. Though you noticed the ratio of employees to tourists was about 30-70. It was incredible what taking out Vought’s golden psycho could do to a company’s profits.

Now they just needed to put the final nail in the coffin.

Jon led you to the elevator, and all the way up the Tower to Stan’s office. You had only been to this room once, when you were hired, but it was more or less how you remembered. Very spacious, minimalist furniture in a desk and a slim couch set, complete with a long glass coffee table.

But Stan was nowhere to be found. You frowned.

“Where is he?” you asked. Suspicion and awareness pricked at your spine.

You turned around to face your father, just in time to slap away something metallic headed for your neck.

It was a syringe. You watched it spin across the floor, and you glared back at him incredulously. He had enforced his will on you before, but he’d usually managed that with his hands, not with drugs. Maybe Vought had changed him too.

“All right, easy,” Jon said, raising placating hands. He drew closer as you backed away from him.

“I had a feeling Soldier Boy let you go,” he said. “That you’d probably planned this little bait and switch with him from the beginning.”

Heat made your cheeks flush as you glared back at him. Your father quirked a smile.

“Despite what you’d like to believe, I know you better than anyone,” Jon said.

You begged to differ on that…but part of you knew he was right.

“You did what you had to do with Soldier Boy. I understand,” he said. “Playing both sides of the game was smart. But I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

“By sedating me?” you shouted. Your voice quivered, both with rage and fear. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He knew that you’d tried to play him, but his mistake was thinking you’d been playing Ben too.

“Later we’ll talk. When you’ve calmed down,” Jon said.

He reached out to grab your arm, but you evaded him. He called your name in warning.

You just got into a defensive stance. And the next time he tried for your arm, you snapped back with a fist to the bridge of his nose. It sent Jon’s head back with a grunt.

When his hand came back bloody from his nose, his demeanor shifted, from placating to stern. His cool gaze met yours, and you stared back at him stubbornly, poised for a fight.

“You little brat,” he said, wiping his nose again. “I fucking pulled you out of the fire, and you’re being difficult. As usual.”

“You didn’t save me,” you retorted. Emotion burned in your eyes, but your anger (and a frisson of fear) allowed you to clamp it down. “You never have.”

You shot out a preemptive strike, but your father surprised you by grabbing your wrist. And he backhanded you hard enough to make you see stars.

AN: 🫣 Welp, we're back in the U.S. SB is storming the castle, but at what cost...

Next Time:

A moment later, Frank patched through while he struggled and fought.

“She needs help,” he said gravely.

Ben took his hand off the comm, gritting his teeth. Black Noir was still waiting on him, attuned to Ben’s every move as the other supe brandished one of his blades.

Shit, Ben thought. He needed to end this.

Right fucking now.

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opalescent-cheetah · 2 years ago

Text

SAJDKASHGFDGFD THIS IS SO WONDERFUL AAAA TYSM SECRET QUEEN!!!! 💖💖 It’s so rare to see aroallo characters in any kind of media, and then to see one written so well and handled with so much care and respect - that means more to me than words could possibly express. This was so refreshing and fun to read, I really really enjoyed it! Bitney AND aroallo rep?? This is literally everything I wanted and more <33

Your writing style is so charming and fun to read, so I hope you don’t mind if I scream about a few of my favourite lines hehe

“So is…well, it’s more likely that Vanity is shitfaced and in the middle of a club with no service, but either way she’s unreachable.” PLS I’m one paragraph in, Courtney is having a terrible time, and I am already laughing my head off LMAOO this line is GOLDEN! Courtney’s,, narrator’s voice?? I’m sure there’s a word for it but I can’t remember, but whatever it’s called, you’ve written it AMAZINGLY - I should not have been laughing at her plight, but the Vanity line and sentences like “Maybe she could swim to Australia?” kept SENDING me lolol

“It was confusing, and at times a little frustrating - but that didn’t change the little spark of happiness that Courtney had felt cracking through the misery when Bianca appeared, or the way that watching her eyes light up when she laughs makes Court melt. She’d let the silly crush be a silly crush if it meant she got to keep Bianca around.” This is so CUTEEEE AAAAA,, the descriptions are so <3333 Also, Bianca’s lines immediately after are SO GOOD; I can practically hear her saying them lol, they’re so her and so funny

“Bianca’s studio apartment is warm and homey, and Bianca’s presence is warmer. And now they’re here. Bianca has a hand tangled in Courtney’s blonde hair, there’s Hallmark garbage playing on the TV, and Court wishes every night could be like this. Fuck, Courtney thinks she’s in love.” The vibes are so!! yes!!!! That first line in particular has me going <333

“And then: “That new start fucking sucks, right? Magnolia or whatever her name is.”

“Hey, don’t change the subject! We were having a moment - you were being vulnerable! This is progress!”” LMAOO THE MAGNOLIA CAMEO WE LOVE TO SEE IT!! Also, your characterisation throughout the entire fic is FANTASTIC, it’s like I can hear every line in their voices - I could definitely hear this line in Courtney’s 😂

I’m not going to copy-paste their entire conversation but please know that I LOVE IT SO MUCHHHH AAAAAAA,, I didn’t realise just how nice it would be to see aromanticism discussed in fic (with two of my favourite queens, no less!) but AAAA I FEEL SO SEEN <333 also, Bianca’s “The fuck does that mean?” response SENT ME 😂 I’m so glad she had Courtney to help her figure out her identity lol

And Courtney being so understanding and respectful was!!!! yes!!!!! The way you’ve written their relationship is so lovely; the way they care so deeply for each other without being romantically involved <3 So refreshing to read!!

ALSO PLS Bianca sending every remotely sapphic girl Courtney’s way is SO FUNNY PDGHJDJFHG and this:

“You didn’t just think you’re that irresistible to every single sapphic-leaning woman you’ve ever met?”

“Well, I don’t want to say yes, but…”

I’M PFHJDFHD this SENT me

And then Bianca finding a way for Courtney to make it back to Australia despite the snowstorms was so sweet 😭💖 Their friendship is so!!!! yes!!!!! (Also, I love that Courtney is wearing a Gerri Halliwell top LOL, that’s so her)

Thank you so much for writing this for me!! I’ve read it through multiple times already and you best believe I will be reading it several more <33 It makes me so incredibly happy to see aromanticism in fic, especially in a fic as fun and sweet as this one 💖 Happy (late) holidays and thank you again!! ✨

🎁 Lonely This Christmas (Bitney) for Cheetah

A/N: When I got the list of tropes etc to possibly explore from Cheetah, one thing that really stuck out to me was the idea of exploring aromanticism or atypical relationship dynamics - and if anyone knows my writing, you know that I've never [redacted for containing spoilers about the creator's identity] although she herself might not have found the words for it yet, I wanted to explore that a little more while also writing some silly festive fluff (a month late lmao.)

Cheetah, I hope you enjoy this <3<3 Hope your holiday season was magical, and thank you for inspiring this fic since I had a ton of fun with it. Much love!!

“We’re sorry, the person you are trying to reach is unable to take your call. Please leave a voicemail after the-”

“Fuck…” Courtney ends the fourth attempted call, and drops her phone into her lap. Her head sinks into her hands. It’s the middle of the fucking night in Australia - of course her mum isn’t answering her phone, she’s probably asleep. So is Kim. So is…well, it’s more likely that Vanity is shitfaced and in the middle of a club with no service, but either way she’s unreachable. Stupid fucking New York and its stupid fucking shitty winters.

It had been snowing heavily when she woke up that morning, and hadn’t stopped all day. She’d gotten the news via a Twitter notification in the cab to the airport - all flights bound for NYC were being diverted, and all scheduled to leave it had been grounded. She’d hoped for a miracle, but the odds of one occurring had dwindled into the single digits as she’d arrived in the airport to be told her flight was delayed by five hours. It had been outright cancelled twenty minutes ago.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her suitcase, staring down a never ending line of closing check-in desks - the departure boards above them, bright red CANCELLED labels next to every listed flight, feel like they’re mocking her. Adore was right, she’d left it too late. Court makes a mental note to listen to her roommate more often. Adore had fucked off home for the holidays a week ago, of course - blissfully unaware of the current mayhem in JFK Airport and probably stoned halfway to a coma with her mom. Lucky cunt.

What kind of idiot waits until December 23rd to fly halfway across the world back home for Christmas? Well, her and by the looks of things a couple of hundred other idiots, pacing and yelling into cell phones and arguing with the poor arseholes at the customer service desk, as if they could do anything about the bloody weather. Courtney is trying to summon the willpower to brave the cold and shuffle out to the waiting line of taxis, where it looks like half the population of the city are lined up with pointlessly packed bags and weary faces and screaming kids. It’s already Christmas Eve in Sydney.

Courtney feels her eyes welling up. Between work, and fighting to get the time off work to get home at all, and packing and shopping and everything else, the stress has been melting her head for weeks. And now this. Horrible, crushing defeat - falling at the last hurdle with no solution in sight. Maybe she could swim to Australia? It’s starting to get dark; the snow still falling down in sheets and wind blowing with such force it feels like it’s shaking the wall she’s leaning against. Fuck this for a laugh.

“Hey stranger.”

A familiar abrasive voice. Followed up by a slightly-too-hard nudge with the toe of a sneaker. Courtney looks up, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

Bianca’s dark hair is spilling out of her ponytail, LV holdall slung over one shoulder as she stands in front of her in sweatpants and a parka. She looks a hell of a lot more zen than most other people waiting around; face unflinching and almost entirely unbothered.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for, this shit isn’t going anywhere any time soon,” Bianca continues, gesturing to the window with her head. Courtney cracks half a smile.

“I don’t know either,” Courtney shrugs. “If I leave, I have to accept that I’m fucked and I don’t want to do that yet.

“‘Fucked’ is a strong word,” Bianca says with a snort of a laugh. She offers Courtney a hand, pulling her up off of the floor.

Bianca was the intimidating, take-no-shit head bartender of the club that Court worked as a shot girl in; it seemed like she’d made it her life’s mission to make everyone who came into contact with her think she was a total cunt. However, there was an element of trying too hard that Courtney had always plainly seen through - Bianca being a closet softie wasn’t anything close to a shock. She’d been the one that took the GM to task when he’d tried to refuse to give Court time off to go home over Christmas, and probably the only reason that Court wasn’t there right now, in a miniskirt and fishnets trying to upsell high-end tequila to groups of drunk Wall Street cunts on their office night out.

She’d also been the subject of a long-unrequited crush that Courtney had been harbouring since she started working there two years ago. Not because she didn’t care, or because she didn’t like her. Court had woken up in her bed a few too many times for that to be the case. But Bea doesn’t shit where she eats. Like she’d said the last time she’d rebuffed Courtney’s suggestion to go for brunch the last time they’d gotten too drunk and woken up naked and spooning.

It was confusing, and at times a little frustrating - but that didn’t change the little spark of happiness that Courtney had felt cracking through the misery when Bianca appeared, or the way that watching her eyes light up when she laughs makes Court melt. She’d let the silly crush be a silly crush if it meant she got to keep Bianca around.

“So, what’s your plan exactly? Sit here and feel sorry for yourself until the snow melts?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I’m going home like a normal person - I drove here, do you want a ride?

Courtney nods a little hesitantly.

“Actually,” Bianca says, noticing the uncertainty on Courtney’s face. “I could probably use the company, do you wanna come hang out at my place? Saves you sitting around feeling like shit by yourself.”

“Yeah,” Courtney says, a smile creeping onto her lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

******

“Hold on a fucking second,” Courtney lifts her head up from Bea’s lap.

She’d gotten to Bianca’s apartment and originally sat at a respectful distance on the other side of the couch - they’d chatted idle shit for a while, bitching about work and people they knew and how much Christmas sucks as a holiday. All the stress and chaos and planning, and spending money you don’t really have on people you don’t really like. And then Courtney had cried a little about not making it home - actually, she’d had what most people would describe as a mental breakdown. She hadn’t seen her family since last bloody Christmas, missing god knows how many birthdays and milestones. She and Vanity had been planning their New Year night out for a month. She was homesick - a state she practically lived in, but that was so much worse now that she’d been touching distance from getting there and then couldn’t. Bianca had gotten a little closer, pulling into a hug and letting Court leave a wet patch of tears on her sweatshirt.

Then they’d ordered takeout and opened a bottle of wine - finished that and then started on a second. Bianca’s studio apartment is warm and homey, and Bianca’s presence is warmer. And now they’re here. Bianca has a hand tangled in Courtney’s blonde hair, there’s Hallmark garbage playing on the TV, and Court wishes every night could be like this. Fuck, Courtney thinks she’s in love.

Bianca has her other arm around Courtney’s shoulders, their legs tangled under a blanket as glow from the streetlights creep through the curtains. She’s never seen Bianca this soft; this tender. Her eyes are a little glassy, but she looks so content, and so fucking beautiful in the soft light.

“What?” Bianca tilts her head.

“You were at the fucking airport too - and you’ve not complained once about not getting home. I get that I'm being a drama queen about this, but that’s weird.

“Because I don’t really care,” Bianca shrugs. “I’m missing the annual family argument and my grandma asking me a hundred weird judgy questions about why I don’t have a boyfriend yet - big fucking deal. I don’t have to deal with them, and the situation is out of my control so I don’t get in shit for not coming, it’s a win-win.”

Courtney is stunned into silence for a second.

“What? Some people have a shitty relationship with their family, this is news to you?” Bianca laughs, clearly noticing the look on Courtney’s face.

“No - I just…I don’t know. I just never thought about it with you - you’ve got your shit together, you’re happy. Well, ish. Didn’t think you had all of this like…internal angst,” Courtney says, and then hiccups. She reaches for her glass.

“It’s not angst - this isn’t ‘mommy and daddy don’t love me because I’m a queer’ shit - it’s just…I don’t know. It’s nothing. We’re not close - we never have been. And I’m happier on my own.” Bianca says, her shoulders hunching a little bit. And then: “That new start fucking sucks, right? Magnolia or whatever her name is.”

“Hey, don’t change the subject! We were having a moment - you were being vulnerable! This is progress!”

“Cunt,” Bianca protests with a chuckle. “What more do you fucking want from me? We’re not friends until I’ve told you the ins and outs of all of my inner turmoil? Because there’s not much there.”

“I’m just saying, you’re a bit…I dunno, cold? You try to pretend that you’re all big and scary, but you’re not - and you keep pretending anyway."

“Your point?”

“My point is I really fucking like you, and it’s like you-”

“Bitch, you think you’ve been subtle about that?” Bianca laughs. “I know. I know you really like me. And I’m sorry if I’ve given you the impression that I don’t…I don’t know, like you or value you as a friend and want you in my life. It’s not that - it’s just fucking complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Courtney sits up, her brow furrowing. “Because at this point, it feels more like being led on. You’re so nice to me, you make me so happy - and then you make me feel like a crazy person for thinking there’s something there and wanting more.”

Shit, Courtney feels more strongly about this than she’d realised. Bianca flinches.

“Because I don’t like it when there’s more,” Bianca says with an exhausted sigh. “I’m terrible at relationships - I always have been."

“But I don’t mind that, I’d-” “Trust me Court, you really, really would. I don’t talk to anyone that I’ve ever dated any more. It sucks, it makes me feel like shit - it probably makes them feel worse. I don't do it on purpose, but I don't think I feel the way that people are meant to feel about this kind of stuff. It's just hard and confusing and stressful - and then it ends, and I’m by myself again, so I might as well be by myself because I’m choosing to be. Not because I’m a shitty girlfriend.”

She puts her head in her hands. Courtney feels a quiet pang of guilt - in the first instance because this is the closest thing to upset she’s ever seen Bianca, and equally because she’s thrown off the balance of what was a fucking amazing time. Bianca had made her forget about Christmas, or missing her fucking family - about any of the sadness she’d been carrying when she came in. She’d made everything feel better, and then Courtney screwed it up as a thank-you.

She remembered a few of the exes. Raja and Katya and Dela - all completely unalike in every imaginable way. Courtney remembered being horribly jealous of them when they came into the bar, watching how happy they seemed to make Bianca from a distance and hating it. And she always remembered it going downhill; Bianca casually complaining about how they’d been fighting over nothing, or how whatever-her-name-was hadn’t spoken to her in days. And Bianca had always mentioned that it ended completely off the cuff - completely unbothered. Or so she seemed.

“Bea, I’m sorry…”

Courtney frowns. “Bianca, I’m…” she pauses to think. A lot of what Bianca just said sounds a little familiar. “Do you think it’s possible that you might be aromantic?"

“The fuck does that mean?” Bianca furrows her brows.

“It’s like, kind of similar to asexuality-” “I know I’m not that,” Bianca says, accompanied by a little snort of a laugh. “I think you do too.”

“Yeah, I do,” Courtney can’t help but let a little exhale of a laugh escape. “But it’s a lack of romantic attraction. So instead of not being into sex, the idea of being with someone or needing a relationship to feel fulfilled doesn’t do anything for you.”

“So you’re telling me I’m some kind of fucking weirdo who doesn’t know how to love people?” Bianca says, accompanied by a confused, slightly embarrassed chuckle.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying - because clearly you do. You care about people - you just don’t need to date them to prove that.”

“Huh,” Bianca nods.

“Look, that’s something you need to figure out for yourself - but I don’t mind either way. I just thought this whole time that you didn’t want to go out with me because you didn’t like me.”

“Not even close,” Bianca looks at the floor, smiling. “This doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you, or I don’t want you in my life. Actually, it means I want you in my life so badly that I don’t want to risk screwing that up by dating you - since I’ve never had a relationship that I haven’t screwed up.”

Courtney bites her lip. Secretly, she thinks she’s been imagining a future in which Bianca gets over herself and then they spend the rest of their lives together. And secretly, she’s always known that’s infantile and stupid and impossible. This feels final; but the sting of the rejection isn’t there like she thought it would be. Maybe because it’s not really a rejection.

“Anyway, it’s not like I’ve not tried a hundred fucking times to help you get over it,”Bianca continues.

“How exactly?” Courtney laughs, perplexed.

“Valentina, Aja, Joslyn, Shea - any girl at work mentions anything about being into girls, and the first thing I do is throw them at you. I’ve been trying so fucking hard to set you up with literally anyone else for the last year. You didn’t just think you’re that irresistible to every single sapphic-leaning woman you’ve ever met?”

“Well, I don’t want to say yes, but…”

“Fuck off,” Bianca laughs, Courtney tossing her hair. Then: “I’m sorry, Court.”

“You don’t need to be sorry either,” Courtney says, picking herself up a little and smiling. “I think I saw this coming. Or, some variation on this conversation happening at least. I’ll get over it.”

“Look, compromise - we can go back to cuddling and watching sappy movies, and then after tonight, you move on and find someone to pine over that isn't me. And I'll still be there for you, as a friend. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Courtney nestles herself in Bianca’s lap again. Bianca smiles softly, gently pressing a kiss to Courtney’s forehead. Courtney feels a flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She likes this - even if she knows it won’t last. After tonight, they’d part ways again; back to an occasional lingering glance across the bar, or a hand hovering over a waist on a night out. But why should she wake up right now?

******

“Bea- fuck, what time is it?”

Courtney says groggily, lifting her head off of the couch cushion. She’s still wearing the sweatpants and cropped Gerri Halliwell tee she’d put on yesterday morning. Bianca is standing in front of her, fully dressed with a Starbucks cup in each hand. She hands one to Court - almond latte, extra shot and chestnut praline syrup. The fact that Bea had remembered her coffee order makes her melt.

“Six-thirty. Get up and get your shit together.” “Why?” Courtney asks, her voice dry as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

“Some of the snow cleared overnight - there’s a flight from LaGuardia to Toronto at ten am, you can get a connection to Sydney from there and be home by the 26th. I know it’s not perfect, but it’s something.”

“Bianca, you didn’t have to…”

“Yeah, but I did. Come on, let’s get you home to your family.”

Courtney stands up, pulling Bianca into a tight hug, her eyes moist. And then she stops, pulling back a little.

“What about you?”

Bianca gives a tight-lipped smile.

“I’ll be fine.”

#fic rec #still screaming from how good this is #EEEEEEE

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