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godmadeaterribleerror · 7 months ago

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Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This one's the first of many doozies. I recommend you clock out now if you think the following will distress you: mentions of rape, but no scenes or explicit description. If not, read on! Chapter Title is from Rebel Rebel by David Bowie.

Word Count: 7.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Your first mission is delivered, and it goes about as expected. Contains usual tags, emphasis on mention of rape/non-con.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst

Read on A03!

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

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When your team stepped into the safe house, you could see the moment the smell hit their noses.

“Merde,” Frenchie was the first to speak, a poor omen within itself. “What the fuck am I smelling?”

“Uh, probably the milk and meat. They’re the strongest.”

Annie said your name carefully, watching your reaction as she spoke. “What happened.”

“He wouldn’t put away the groceries.” You said with a shrug. You were over it. It was like, ten bad things ago.

“So you just. Left them out?” Hughie said, seemingly baffled.

“Yeah.”

“Mallory said she delivered them on the first night.” Annie glanced between you and Hughie.

“She did.”

Hughie’s eyes widened further. “That was almost two weeks ago.” When you just nodded in agreement, he pushed further. “They’ve been out the whole time?”

You frowned. “He doesn’t get to win.”

“What are you, five?”

You just sighed, giving Hughie a pleading look. “Don’t tell MM.”

“What?” Butcher taunted from the back of the group. “That he was right, and you can’t handle Soldier Boy?”

“I thought you were on my side about this.”

“I’m on the side of the truth, Love.”

Both you, Annie, and Frenchie let out huffs of amusement at that claim, with Hughie looking sheepishly amused.

“You can’t possibly believe that.” Annie gave Butcher a pointed look. He only winked in response, leaving her to turn back to you with an eye roll.

“Has it been like this,” Hughie gestured vaguely around him. “The whole time?”

“Nah. Worse.”

Really, hell would be a better word for it. After the knife incident, there had been the toilet paper incident, which you had won, the coffee incident, also your victory, the laundry incident, point Soldier Boy, the TV incident, point you, and the Lord of the Rings incident, another point Soldier Boy. The Elton John, Jimmy Carter, and Rockefeller Center incidents had ended in stalemates akin to the Cold War, but should those fuses reignite, you were sure you could take them home. Overall, you’d burned him seven times, he’d thrown two chairs at you, you tossed shit in his face once and threatened castration on fifteen separate occasions, and he had offered to sleep with you thirty-one times.

“He hasn’t, he hasn’t hurt you. Right?” Hughie wasn’t fully looking at you when he asked, his voice soft and nervous.

“No. I mean, he’s tried. Not in… that way, but I’ve had a few things thrown at me. All the physical violence died out around the laundry incident, though. Now we’re using psychological warfare.”

“Laundry incident?” Hughie said at the same time that Frenchie said, “Psychological warfare?”

“Don’t ask.” Was your response to both. You’d avoid revisiting the laundry incident in your mind for the rest of your life if you could help it, and the actual practice of your warfare was more childish than you’d like to admit.

“Well, as lovely as a reunion this has been, we need to talk to you both. Where’s the cunt, anyway?" Butcher craned his neck to look down the hall.

“Probably moping around in his room.” You shrugged. “Let’s talk in the living room, standing at the door is weird.”

While the living room hadn’t taken even close to as much damage as the kitchen, it had not escaped you and Soldier Boy’s sparring unscathed. Books provided by the CIA, which were mostly stereotypical classics, had been upended from their shelves and strewn across the floor. The TV was still intact, as was the sofa, but the former was stuck on PBS, and the latter was, at this point, compromised of 70% trash.

“Holy shit,” Hughie muttered as he stepped over a copy of Catcher in the Rye. “You can’t plan on living like this the whole time?”

“Well, if America’s number one man-baby would stop moaning and bitching about his glory days, then maybe, yeah.”

Annie gave you a concerned look. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll castrate him.” Though the threat had now been made sixteen times, it never satisfied you less to say it.

“I’ve told you, Sunshine, if you did that, you would only be hurting yourself.”

Everyone in the room fell silent, their eyes trained over you with tense gazes. You turned to find Soldier Boy almost directly behind you. “I’ve told you, by definition, I’d only be hurting you.”

He gave a mocking pout. “Wouldn’t that plague your perfect little conscious?”

“I’d live.”

“Bitch.”

“Cunt.”

“Prude.”

“Manwhore.”

“Whiny Brat.”

“Waste of space.”

“Waste of good pussy.”

“Waste of government money.”

“Waste of Compound V.”

“Pathetic, assfaced Dickwad.”

“Stuck up, pretentious Ice Queen.”

“Geriatric, entitled, blue-balled G.I. Joe Fuckdoll”

The room had practically vanished around you as you and Soldier Boy fell into your now well-tread path of insults. Your blood was burning with that feeling, aching to burst across the room as both of you glared hard enough to, fingers crossed, kill the other.

“Jesus Christ,” Hughie said, breaking you out of your own spell.

“What are they doing here?” Soilder Boy asked, somehow having only just clocked their presence. “Do I finally get to do my job and leave?”

“No,” Annie answered. “We have no way of knowing how long you’ll be here at this point.”

“That’s what I said,” you muttered under your breath, turning back to your team.

“Yeah,” Soldier Boy said at full volume. “And I don’t fucking trust you.”

“Will you get off my ass about it now?”

“I think you like me on your ass, Sunshine. My offer never leaves the table.”

“Cunt.”

“Bitch.”

“Helpless man-child.”

“Prissy tease.”

“Glorified propaganda poster-“

“No,” Annie cut it. “We’re not doing that again.”

“Party pooper,” Butcher grumbled. “I was hoping they’d kill each other this time. Then we could just go home.”

“Well, did you at least bring me drugs?” Soldier Boy seemed to search the room, as if a pile of weed and coke would miraculously appear on the floor amongst the mess of wrappers and fluid-filled paper towels.

“We’re not buying you drugs with government money.” Annie said, giving you a look of apology. “As I’m sure you’ve been told.”

“Many times,” you affirm under your breath. You’d had to hide the glue on day five, which had let to the toilet paper incident on day six. A day had not passed since where you didn’t catch him trying to turn a new household object into something to snort.

“I thought weed was fucking legal now.” Soldier Boy glared at you, as if you were personally responsible for the CIA not buying him blunts. “It’s a free fucking country. I should be able to smoke whenever I damn please.”

“Porn is legal,” you reply. “Doesn’t mean the federal government is going to bring you some.”

“If they brought me porn and weed, I’d be far more open to whatever shit you want from me.” He winked at you.

“We gave you that last time,” Hughie pointed out, shifting nervously. “It barely helped.”

“Will you be a good little supe if we come back with porn and weed? Because we can go and-“

“No, we need to do this now.” Annie spoke over Butcher, and you noticed a line of worry on her forehead, along with Hughie’s nervous fidgeting. Though Butcher didn’t seem plagued by an anxious tell, he relented to Annie faster than you’d ever seen, and alarm bells went off in your head.

“Annie,” you bit the bullet, asking softly. “What is the ‘this’ you need us for?”

She gave you an apologetic look. “Trial run.”

“Trial run?”

“We’re giving you a test, Love.” Butcher said with a smirk. “See if your little experiment is even viable. Maybe take out a player in the process. All depends on if you and him,” he jerked his head to Soldier Boy. “Do your jobs right.”

“I don’t need your little ‘test’ to know if I can do my job.” Soldier Boy snapped.

“Last time you failed,” Hughie muttered.

Frenchie nodded in agreement. “In a spectacular manner, yes.”

“Because that bitch and that pussy stopped me.” An angry scowl was thrown at Annie and Butcher, who returned it and grinned widely back respectively.

“You were going to kill a kid,” Annie said coldly.

“He shouldn’t have been in the line of fire.”

“The line of fire? Do you hear yourself? Do you really care about others so little that-“

“I’d do it again,” he snapped back, unbothered by Annie’s disgust. “You don’t get to ask me for help and get mad when I do.”

You gave Butcher a pointed look. “Aren’t you glad you listened to me?”

Though all you got in response was a grunt from Butcher, Soldier Boy’s eyes shot to you. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You returned his glare, steeling your own eyes to match his interrogating gaze. “We’re removing the ‘kill a kid’ option from your choices. You want to know why we’re stuck here? Because you fucked it last time, and we won’t let you fuck up again.”

“You won’t let me?” He sneered, leering at you coldly. “You don’t let me do anything, Sunshine.”

If the “Sunshine” thing continued to stick, you might have to throw yourself off a roof. But you didn’t flinch, just tilting your head mockingly. “You wouldn’t need a shock collar if you hadn’t bit the hand.”

“I wouldn’t bite the hand if it hadn’t tried to kill me.”

“Nobody tried to kill you, Mate.” Butcher interjected. Soldier Boy’s anger switched back to him with fists curling at his side, but Butcher kept talking with a bored drawl. “You shouldn’t have bloody fucked up.”

“And, like I said,” you shrugged. “It won’t happen again.”

“If I see the shot, I’ll take it. Whether you like it or not.”

Looking into his eyes, you believed him. No doubt fogged your brain that, given the opportunity, Soldier Boy wouldn’t hesitate to take out Ryan Butcher with Homelander. Part of you, the angry and bitter part still trapped underground, understood that. But you’d see Ryan once, from afar, and he had looked so young. You didn’t have to imagine his fear or touch him to understand what it was like. For your life to change abruptly and without reason, to have to sprint to keep up with your new one. Soldier Boy had volunteered for this life. Ryan hadn’t. You hadn’t.

So, holding Soldier Boy’s gaze, you made your voice clear and steady. “You don’t get to take the shot until it’s clear. Ryan will be out of the picture before you even see Homelander.” You turned to Annie. “What’s the test?”

“Head-popper.” Butcher answered for Annie with an odd look at you. His voice carried the usual light and oddly joyful tone he used when discussing murdering supes, but his eyes on yours were quieter, with less manic vengeance than you’d seen before. If you didn’t know better, you’d call them thankful.

“Head-popper?”

Hughie jumped in at your confused frown. “Neuman.”

“Oh,” you paused, looking over Hughie’s worried face. “We’re going after Neuman?”

“Who the fuck is Neuman?” Soldier Boy asked with a reluctant grumble. You had picked up on his consistent annoyance with new things after you’d found him screaming at the microwave three days ago, and not knowing new people didn’t seem to be any different.

“She’s a supe who can pop people’s heads like balloons.” Frenchie gestured in imitation for effect. “It’s disgusting.”

“And she’s the VP elect, which would put an ally of Homelander in the White House, one step from the Oval Office.” Annie said pointedly, giving Frenchie a look. You offered him a small smile over her head. Though the demonstration hadn’t been helpful, watching his hands fly around mimicking Neuman’s powers was undeniably entertaining.

“She's dangerous,” Hughie added. “But she’s not a bad person. We don’t want to kill her, just remove her powers.”

“What do we need her for then?” You didn’t have to look to know Soldier Boy’s accusation was directed at you. You bit your tongue, trying to ignore the way the words seeped into your skin.

Because he’s right. A cruel whisper said into your ear, and the itch on your skin began to feel like a rash. You were saved from the plague of your thoughts—the urgent feeling to fall prompted by almost nothing—by Butcher.

“If you think you’re going anywhere without her, Governor, you’d better get used to being wrong. She’s there for the same reason she’s here. So you don’t go postal.”

Soldier Boy gave you an unreadable look as the rush of your heart in your chest slowed from Butcher’s words. You turned away from him, but you could almost feel his eyes through your skull as you looked at Butcher with a blank face.

“What’s the plan?” You asked, praying it would be simple, with as few people as possible around and, ideally, in the middle of a desert filled exclusively with fire extinguishers.

“MM and Kimiko are doing recon on one of Bob Singer’s rallies. Frenchie will create a distraction for the secret service, and Neuman’s personal detail is going to suddenly disappear-“

“Disappear?” You interrupted Butcher with raised eyebrows.

“Keep your panties on, they’ve been bribed. Once she’s isolated, Soldier Boy’ll blast her, and we can all go home confident in your little gambit.”

You hesitated, trying to imagine the last political rally you’d seen. Group of people in tight groups, electrical wiring for microphones, speakers, and lights. Gates and closed doors, hallways leading out onto streets. “How are we going to isolate her?”

“Me and Butcher will work on that,” Annie said, almost reaching for you with a reassuring pat, but thinking better and jerking her arm back. She opened her mouth, an apology certainly on her, but you raised your hand to cut her off.

“How long until we leave?” You asked. Maybe they’d say ‘three hours’ and you’d get to talk to someone who didn’t think swing music was sonically viable for a bit.

Hughie checked his watch. “Ten minutes ago.”

“Ago?” Your eyes widened.

He gave you a sheepish look. “We thought it would take less time to get you.” He turned to Soldier Boy. “Your suit’s in the van. I can bring it out-“

“I can change on the way.” Soldier Boy grumbled, ignoring Hughie’s start of sputtering protests. “Let’s get this over with.”

———-

Much to his annoyance, they had forgotten Ben’s shield, and nobody would let him change in the van. He tried several times, only to be met by a chorus of groans, shouting, and swearing. He had listened to their complaints only because she had started giving him a look he recognized as a flag for a storm of uncontrolled fire. No hot disgust or sparks of rage, only a cold and quiet, almost glassy-eyed stare. Her heart steady but her breathing too fucking controlled to be natural, measured so equally that it sounded mechanical. So, because he figured she would only become more bitchy to live with if she incinerated her alleged “friends”, Ben stopped trying to pull his shirt over his head.

Once he did, the van fell insufferably silent. The edged pleasantries and conversation he’d overheard during Butcher and his band of Assholes arrival had ceased save for tense questions and hushed conversations. Ben didn’t fail to notice all the spineless avoidance and careful words directed at them both. She, even after the foggy look faded, remained curled into a corner, trading small and toothless smiles with her team. More timid than he’d seen her before, almost like a scolded child as she looked around the van nervously. Her eyes watched the shadows as though Homelander himself might jump from them, the chew of her lip giving Ben a headache. The only words she spoke were a jab at Ben when he’d said something about political rallies post-election being fucking pathetic—giving him a lecture about American politics now heavily depending on something called “going viral”—only to fall silent once more after. Her team looked at her like a glass bomb, as if she was a delicate statue looming over their heads and not the vulgar, violent woman who slept down the hall from him. That woman infuriated him, testing his patience every time she opened her mouth, but this paranoid, skittish pussy of a girl was so much worse. So when the van halted and Butcher’s team began to filter out, he called her name. When she ignored him, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“What the fuck!” She pulled herself out of his grip in a second, staring at him with anger. She glanced down at her arms, a look he didn’t understand crossing her face, before returning her attention to him. “Do not touch me.”

“I barely touched you,” he glowered, annoyance quickly flooding him. He had only brushed skin, with a light grip she had thrown off, there was no need to be so dramatic. “When I touch you for real, you’ll fucking know, Sunshine. And you’ll fucking beg for it. I needed to make you listen, you were fucking ignoring me.”

Her brows knit, and he heard the chew of her teeth on her tongue. “I’m not going to beg for anything, and I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“I said your name, and you kept fucking walking.”

“I didn’t hear you.” She snapped, but didn’t relent. “Speak up next time.”

She knew just as well as Ben did that they were both far from quiet, pussy-voiced fuckers. And while he definitely hadn’t yelled for her attention, it shouldn’t have fucking mattered. He’d seen her pick up his grumbled insults and mocking comments just fine over the past two weeks. “Bitch.”

“What do you want?” She asked with a sigh, ignoring his jab and looking at him as if he exhausted her just by breathing. “We have to go, and you still need to change.”

“You shouldn’t let them treat you like that.” He said, not hiding the contempt from his voice. He wasn’t going to skirt around his thoughts, lining them gently to help her fucking feelings.

Her body tensed, her limbs looking as if they’d locked into place. “Like what?” Ben heard her swallow as she answered, her voice not lost enough to make her sound clueless to his words.

“Like you’re a child they have to coddle. A problem they have to deal with.”

She stared at him, her glassy-eyes returning. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, cunt-face.”

Ben snorted. “They don’t treat you like the bitch you are. They always use that sweet, pussy voice, like they’re talking to a fucking puppy, when they say something to you. They’re always all fucking pouty when they look at you, pussyfooting around so they don’t make you sad.” He gave her a mocking grin, hoping the next words landed like a bullet. “They treat you like me.”

It had clearly worked, as the van had grown hot, and her eyes were clearing as her heart began to pick up. Ben felt an odd feeling cover him as he heard it, almost familiar and sparking pride in his chest. She wasn’t a jittery shell anymore, she was going to try and kill him. It made his grin grow genuine, and the van grew only more heated, the air waving around them.

Her mouth opened, and Ben hoped whatever came out of it would be vile and crude.

“Hey!” She turned her head and clenched her jaw as someone called her name from outside, the van rattling as a fist banged against it. “We need to go!”

The door opened to reveal the Cocksucker, whose face grew quickly red, a bead of sweat falling from his hairline, as he was blasted with a quickly dying wave of heat.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning from Ben as the heat dropped further. “Coming.”

Cocksucker gave her a worried look, his gaze flying quickly to Ben, but just nodded and stood aside for her to move past.

As the door closed and Ben began to change, he listened for their soft, tense words.

“Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?” Cocksucker’s voice was nervous and gentle, like being suffocated by one of those fucking fluffy blankets Ben had seen in the empty bedroom of the safe house.

“No, he just grabbed me to talk. And you don’t have to keep asking me that. I’m fine, and it’s not as helpful as you think it is.” Ben frowned at her voice, the malice from it drained entirely in only a few seconds, replaced with only a tired hollowness.

“Grabbed you?! Like, he touched you?”

Having anticipated Cocksucker being more interested in the “talk” part of her sentence, or the shit that sounded like it was about feelings, Ben's brain rattled over Cocksucker’s word, his tone of panic looping in Ben’s head. He spoke of Ben’s touch as though it were a plague, and not something many people would kill to feel. Ben almost burst out of the van to say just that, but froze when he heard her answer.

“It was fast, I didn’t feel much. Even if I did, it doesn’t matter. I can’t go the rest of my life without touching people.” Her voice had a finality to it, and Ben could almost picture her downturned lips and wrinkled brow.

“You touch us when you heal us.” Even Cocksucker’s voice didn’t sound sure of his response.

“It’s not the same, and you know that.”

There was a momentary stall in their words, and Ben took the opportunity to emerge, securing his belt as he walked to the door. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see, but Cocksucker looking pathetically around, anywhere but the woman as she curved into herself, wasn’t it. She held a white-knuckle grip on the sleeves of her jacket, her thumb running up and down in small movements. They both turned to him as the door banged open, and Ben caught the empty look behind her eyes before her indifference slipped back into place.

“Did you hurry me just to sit around like pussies, or are we going to start fucking moving?” He asked, the air feeling too uncomfortable to sit in.

Cocksucker blinked, glancing at his watch. “We have a few minutes until they arrive, but I guess it can’t hurt to be vigilant-“

“Arrive?” The woman’s eyes widened, and Ben saw smoke curl from her hold on her jacket. “They’re coming here?”

Cocksucker nodded. “It’s a high-security escape exit-“

“It’s a fucking street, Hughie.”

“That’s used as a high-security escape exit.” After a moment of searching the area, Cocksucker pointed a few yards down, at a large door set against brick. “Neuman will come right out of there, and her guards will close her out here, where Soldier Boy will blast her.” He paused, glancing at Ben, before looking back at the door and taking small, cowardly steps away from his spot between them.

“It’s a public area, anyone could walk past! What the fuck were you thinking?!” Her voice was hushed and agitated, and Ben had never seen her face lose color at that speed before, had never heard her heart stutter and jump as if trying to escape her body.

“It’ll be fine,” Cocksucker’s voice wavered, giving them both a nervous look. “It should be fine. MM said it would be fine.”

“You heard him, Sunshine,” Ben gave her a wink, adding a half-cocked smile when she didn’t even return him with a dirty look. “MM said it would be fine. And have some fucking faith in me, I’m not a fucking monster. I won’t blast any running pussies except for this head-popper broad.”

“You don’t even know what she looks like.” Her tone wasn’t quite the vicious mockery he was used to, but it was better than the apathetic, empty voice she’d been using. She was rolling on the balls of her feet, speaking without looking at him, her eyes moving restlessly from the door to the end of the street. “And I don’t believe you.”

Ben just shrugged, allowing the silence to hang. The wind was picking up, whistling through the chill of winter air, making the heat around them, emitting from both Ben and the woman, all the more obvious. Despite the biting cold, Cocksucker had taken off his stupid puffy jacket, even stepping back further from where they stood, with Ben in the center of the street and the woman off to the left. Despite her slowly stepping further and further back, her back now almost against the wall, Ben could feel her watching him, hear her heart continue its new and erratic beat.

“How long now, Hughie?” Her voice was raised to carry over the wind, though it hadn’t lost that stupid fucking weakness. Cocksucker, thank fuck, didn’t get a chance to respond with pathetically comforting words, as only one skipping heartbeat after she spoke a shrill fire alarm sounded.

“I’m assuming that’s your stupid French fuck's plan?” Ben asked dryly. “Start a fucking fire? I thought you pussies were all about minimal damage.”

“He probably just pulled the alarm.” The Cocksucker’s answer lacked any confident assurance. “And I think we’re just against needless murder.”

Ben almost started to rant about their so-called needless murder being a mighty high horse for a group of people who had manipulated him just as much as Vought, who’d been willing to help him kill all those backstabbing pussies from Payback so he’d help them. About how their stupid fucking moral purity complex seemed to adjust perfectly to aid them, and maybe he wasn’t a fucking angel, but he was strong and powerful—something they fucking needed—man, and he wasn’t a pussyfaced liar about what he was, what he did. The words died on his tongue, though, as hundreds of frenzied footsteps reached his ears.

“Fuck!” he growled, turning around and pointing at Cocksucker. “You fucking pussy.”

Cocksucker gave him an idiotically confused stare. “Dude, uncalled for.”

“She,” Ben pointed to the woman, whose heart was beating impossibly fast and looking on with a bloodless face. “Was fucking right. This is a stupid plan, because unless your head-popper walks like a human centipede, it’s not going to be just her that I fucking hit when that door opens.”

Cocksucker only gaped at him like a fish as the footsteps grew louder, annoyingly unsure stutters escaping him, and just as Ben decided it might be good to slap the idiot out of his daze, the woman stepped forward.

“We need to move, Hughie. Now.” Her voice wasn’t steady, her whole body was tensed and hyper, but it held a determination Ben almost admired. “We can’t be here.”

“He- he could be fucking lying, or wrong-“

“That’s not a risk we can afford to take.” She cut off Cocksucker’s doubts, and Ben found himself surprised at her defense of him, even if it could barely be called that. Her hands were smoking once more, but she had firmly planted herself in the middle of the road, eyes turning sharply to Ben. “If people see you, any element of surprise over Homelander would be lost. We need to fucking move, you need to get in the fucking van now-“

The door banged open, and the streets flooded as hoards of people in star and stripe-themed outfits flooded the road. Everything became so loud, and that rapt, snapping sound in Ben’s head started to spread through him, spurring the drum in his chest. They were finding rhythm so fast, everything fading as Ben tried to slow it. But there were screams and shouts, and everything was getting further and further away from him while carving into him all the same, so though Ben could hear the sounds of metal clanging and shouts of his supe name, he couldn’t think anything past the beat beat beat, until he lost it all at once.

As his vision grew clear with his head, Ben expected to see shattered bodies and bloody walls. Instead, all he saw was the woman and fire. Her face was flushed red, her eyes crazed, and her clothes had become charred with holes as the fire surged from her into a barrier, cutting them off from the crowd. Cocksucker was yelling her name, urging them both to return to the van and leave, but as Ben moved, he glanced back to see the woman frozen and heard her heart as if it were his own. The wall was growing wider and shooting high, Cocksucker wouldn’t shut the fuck up about moving, but her eyes had squeezed shut, unresponsive to anything but the growing flames.

“We need to fucking go, now!” Ben turned to see a large man he vaguely recognized barreling down their side of the street, his face twisted in anger. Butcher, Starlight, a small woman he remembered fighting, and that French prick followed him, all loading into the van as the large man stopped beside Cocksucker.

“I told you he’d fucking blow it,” the man said, giving Ben a disgusted look, so flawlessly revolted Ben wouldn’t be surprised if he’d fucking practiced in the mirror.

“Hey, I didn’t fucking blow it, you pussy-“

“You said that Neuman would come out of here, that it would just be her!” Cocksucker, much to Ben’s shock, cut him with a high voice and a wave at the wall of fire. “That’s way more than just her! Is she even there?!”

“No,” the man said gruffly. “Neuman saw Butcher and figured out something was up. She’s long gone.”

“Fuck!” Cocksucker yelled, running a hand through his hair.

“Oi, we can go over how MM fucked up later,” Butcher leaned out from the van. “We need to go before she sends Homelander.”

“How I fucked up? You’re the one who disobeyed me and blew our cover-“

“What’s wrong with Madame Anomaly?” The French Prick appeared at Butcher's side.

Cocksucker glanced at the woman, calling her name before turning to the large man Butcher had called MM. “She absorbed Soldier Boy’s blast. I think it got her stuck.”

“We don’t have time for this. Get Soldier Boy in the van, I’ll take care of the Anomaly.” MM repeated the French Prick’s words, and Ben realized they were, for the first time, using the woman’s supe name.

“You heard him, Gov. Get in the bloody van.” Butcher’s words were clearly directed at Ben, but as he climbed into the van Ben saw Butcher’s attention locked on the woman.

MM had moved closer to the woman, a move Ben deemed more fucking stupid than brave. If she had “absorbed his blast,” as Cocksucker said, he wouldn’t recommend any non-supe be anywhere near her. MM seemed to realize this himself at the last possible second, taking a pathetic, stumbling step back with a pause. He and Cocksucker exchanged a look, something passing between them that Ben didn’t understand, before Cocksucker leaned down to grab a pebble from the road. Ben watched as he shakily shook out his arms, wound up, and tossed the pebble at the woman.

It was a terrible fucking idea, Ben didn’t have to be Einstein to know that, but the chain reaction that played out still managed to go worse than he might have guessed.

The woman whirled around, her eyes blazing, with a roar sounding from her chest. Fire shot from the wall directly at Cocksucker. In almost slow motion, Ben watched her face become painted with horror as she recognized her target, a different, fearful sound leaving her. She reached an arm out, her heart seeming to falter, and barely redirected the flames before they hit Cocksucker in the chest. The blaze just grazed Cocksucker’s arm, passed the van clear of anyone else, and hit the building with a boom.

The moment the bricks caught fire and the ground began to shake as the building crumbled, the woman's wall of fire fell. The woman herself remained upright, but only barely as MM shouted her name and she started to stumble to the van. Cocksucker was hauled in by Starlight and the French Prick, the former fussing over his burnt arm—Ben had seen worse at Herogasm and nobody whined about it—and Cocksucker waved her off. The woman pulled herself in, ignoring Butcher’s outstretched hand, and the door closed behind her. MM appeared in the driver’s seat, and as the engine started everyone fell into a heavy-breathed silence.

Through the ride, Ben watched the woman open and close her mouth a million times, returned to her fetal position in the corner but watching Cocksucker with a strained face. Her hands tapped against her still-smoking jacket, reaching out hesitantly before she pulled them back into herself. No words were spoken, not even the anxious whispers of the ride there. Ben felt relief as the van stopped, MM climbing out and opening the doors to reveal the exterior of the safe house, grateful for any excuse to leave these stupid, sniffing pussies to wallow in their failure.

MM led Ben and the woman to the doors, opened them by leaning oddly at the doorbell, and gestured for them to walk through. The man followed them in, shutting the doors behind him with a rough push.

“If we failed the test, I am not doing that fucking shit again.” Ben grumbled as MM turned around from the now-shut entrance.

“Butcher told me about the fucking mess you and him made in here.” MM ignored Ben entirely, speaking to the woman as if he wasn’t even there. “A team cleaned it up while you were gone, and Mallory will send more groceries tomorrow night. I saw a picture, it was fucking gross. I’m only doing it once, because I don’t want a new disease to develop in here. You’re an adult, you should take care of this place by your goddamn self.”

The woman looked at her feet, humming a small acknowledgment. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “Is Hughie going to be okay?”

MM sighed. “The kid will live. I’ll look at him when we get back.”

“I could help-“

MM cut her off with her name. “He’ll be fine. We’ll make sure of it.”

She gave another nervous hum, and Ben jumped in.

“Can you answer my fucking question-“

“We’ll let you know what our next steps are after we talk to Mallory and Singer. This wasn’t good, but it’s not the end of the damn world.” Once again, MM ignored Ben. It was starting to feel personal. Before Ben could push further, MM reached a hand out to rest on the woman’s shoulder, right over a hole in her sleeve. Her head shot up with her heart, but the panic in her seemed to evaporate just as soon as it appeared. Her name was gentle as MM spoke it, eyes locked with hers. “You didn’t fuck up. You did your job.” She nodded slowly. “It’ll be fine.” With those last words, he exited the building, leaving Ben and the woman in the hall.

“What’s his fucking problem?” Ben grunted, half directed at the woman, half to just say it.

She gave him a flat look. “You killed his family.” Before he could come up with a clever response, honest or dodging the annoying feeling of guilt forming in his throat, the woman turned from him and walked away.

———-

You were so tired. Your bones ached, oddly cold in a way you hadn’t felt in a while, your skin crawled with feverish chills, and when you closed your eyes, you could see the flames graze Hughie and the building turn to dust. As MM’s lingering calm he’d offered you faded, all you felt was tired. Worthless. A liability. You had fucked up, just as much as Soldier Boy. Maybe more so, because he had PTSD, even if he would deny being a “hung-up pussy”. He had lost control because he’d been tortured by Russians, you’d almost killed your friend and definitely destroyed a rec center because you’d been startled. You just wanted to sleep, to deal with the inevitable fight about groceries in the morning, running on more than quickly expiring adrenaline and caffeine pills stuck in your throat.

You made it to your room, changing into one of the pajama sets folded in your drawers, hoping someone mentioned that the allegedly fire-proof wardrobe you’d been given apparently wasn’t strong enough for the full force of your fire combined with Soldier Boy’s nuclear explosions. A shame, you’d liked the pants you’d chosen for the mission. You’d live without the jacket, though. You’d hardly pulled the shirt over your head when the door ripped open, a still suit-clad Soldier Boy standing at your door.

“What fucking happened to you?” His question was blunt and confusing as he entered your room, remaining near the door but over the threshold.

Your body was too heavy to fight with him right now. There was no tense prickling on the bridge of your nose, only the throbbing stab of a headache. “Go away, Soldier Boy.”

“All of you have a fucking thing. A weird, sad reason to whine around and pretend you’re better than me.” He didn’t budge, but rather leaned forward. “What’s yours.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You said I killed MM’s family. Butcher’s always pussying around about Homelander stealing his girl. Cocksucker mentioned something about that fast asshole doing something as well. I’m not sure what the French Prick bitches about, but I’m sure it’s something.”

“First of all, you did kill MM’s family.” You really don’t want to do this right now, but maybe he’ll give up and fuck off. A fruitless wish, a small part of you knows, but you have nothing left to push back with. “And Homelander didn’t ‘steal Butcher’s wife’, he raped her.”

“Right.” Soldier Boy watched you, his expression unreadable in the shadowy room. “Those are all fucking things. So tell me what yours is.”

“I don’t have one,” even as you speak the insistence, it sounded fake and hollow.

He takes another step forward. “Yes, you do. I saw how you froze, nobody without a thing locks up like that. I heard Cocksucker ask you if I ‘hurt you’. Just for the record, Sunshine, I may not be a Boy Scout, but I’m no fucking rapist.”

“You’ve tried to sleep with me thirty-three times.”

“And I’ll blow your mind when you realize how much you’d love it, no sooner. What’s your fucking thing.”

You stare at him, the intensity in his voice throwing you off. He’s insistent, comfortable in your room but standing at his full height, attention fixed entirely on you. That impression of dissection has returned—the feeling as if he’s trying to pick you apart for him to play with. “Why do you even care?”

“Because maybe if you tell me, I can kill what supe fucked up your pretty little head and you’ll be less of a bitch.”

You can’t stop the snort that escapes you. “What a selfish fucking cunt reason.”

He shrugged in something that could’ve been an agreement. “Maybe.” He falls silent, but doesn't leave.

You collapse to sit on the edge of your bed, staring ahead as you rub your temple. “Please just go.”

“No.”

You look at him, not caring if he sees the desperation in your eyes. “Can this not wait six hours for the morning?”

“No.”

“Do you know any words but no?” You mutter under your breath.

You didn’t miss his annoyed humph. “Oh, just fucking tell me.”

“No.” It was your turn to snap. Your exhaustion was becoming lined with bitter childishness, and you didn’t care enough to try and suppress your urge to sneer at him.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re an idiotic, self-absorbed, sadist asshat who wouldn’t know empathy if it started sucking his dick.” You mocked.

He grinned. “Ok, now name my bad qualities.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I’ll start guessing,” he took another step forward, now almost directly before you. “Did that red-headed lesbian steal your puppy?

You frowned up at him. “Maeve was bisexual.”

“Did Noir take credit for a college project?” He ignored your comment, leaning down with a mocking smirk.

“Trust me, I got all my dues in college.”

“Did that gay-for-Jesus blond steal your boyfriend? Did the fast asshole that stole Cocksucker’s girl break up with you? Did water-boy eat your goldfish?”

“I’ve never met Ezekiel, A-Train actually murdered Hughie’s girlfriend, and The Deep famously doesn’t eat seafood, he fucks it. But by all means, keep going.”

Soldier Boy blinked. “He fucks it?”

“Yep. It’s gross.” You shrug. “Are you done?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

You give a toothless smile. “Not until you get all your guesses out.”

“Oh?” There was unquestionable surprise in his voice at your relent, only making your fake cheer grow and your immature anger fully overtake you.

“I want you to feel like a real fucking asshole when I tell you.”

His face split open with a grin. “Well then, did the Twins kick you out of Herogasm? Did that bitch, Crimson Countess, overshadow your big debut? Did a Z-lister get more attention than you from the Vought pussies?”

You just raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms as Soldier Boy continued until the list of supes ran dry. As the last jeer left his mouth, he mirrored your face of cold amusement.

“Well?”

You leaned back, watching him closely as you spoke. “Homelander kidnapped me, kept me in a dungeon, raped me in an attempt to make more mini-Homelanders, and, after you returned, started experimenting on me to try and recreate the V used on you.”

A small shock rushed through you after you spoke. You hadn’t said any of that out loud, not fully, since you’d escaped. You danced around it with Butcher and his team, with Mallory and the CIA leaders, always picking and choosing parts to omit so nobody would look at you with pity and fear. It hadn’t worked, they did anyway, but there had still been control over it. Up until this moment, nobody had known why Homelander had done all those things to you. Everyone had seemed happy to chalk it up to him being a fucking psychopath, not anything deeper. Certainly not attempting to create a small army of additional Ryan Butchers. Small things were still yours, flashes of hunger and warped sounds remaining in your head, but everything else you had just told him.

Why did you do that? A voice hissed as the high from your petulance faded. Why did you let him win? Why did you give him a weapon to use that could hurt you?

But looking at him, he didn’t appear to be a portait of self-satisfaction and heartless triumph. He was staring at you, scanning you as though the scars Homelander left would be visible on your bare legs and arms. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t weak or coddling, but angry.

“He kept you locked up?”

You nod, part of you getting ready to fight him over something.

“He hurt you? To try and recreate me?” Your repeated nodding only seemed to inflate whatever was happening. “Did it hurt?”

Your arms and face started at that, an uncertain feeling spreading through you. There had been no reverent tone as Soldier Boy had asked the last question, no sadistic for affirmation. But you didn’t know what he wanted to hear. Why he even wanted to know. But an involuntarily honest answer escaped you. “Yes.”

He stared at you for another second before he opened his mouth, only to close it without making any sound. Abruptly, he whipped around and began to leave, giving you only one more indecipherable look as he closed the door behind him, leaving you on the edge of your bed, alone in your room.

You lay down slowly, half expecting him to storm back in at any moment, but minutes passed, quickly turning into a half hour, and your body sat at the edge of collapse once more. Soon it was unbearable, and you lay down, your racing mind being forced to a halt as sleep pulled you under.

Your sleep, as had been the case for a while now, was haunted by nightmares of blue eyes and yellow, fluorescent lights. You woke up in a cold sweat, and took a long, needlessly warm shower before forcing yourself to leave your room around 9:30. Despite your lingering fatigue, no part of you wasn’t restless as you walked down the stairs. Your body tense and ready to run, your head spinning with hypotheticals and lining up words you may need—that feeling under your skin creeping up your spine and fluttering in your gut. But Soldier Boy wasn’t in the living room or the hall. You poked your head in the dining room, hoping to avoid the minefield of the kitchen, but it was empty, the plastic chandelier lights off, the table occupied only by a vase of wilted flowers. You moved to the kitchen, ringing growing in your ears, but he wasn’t there. You turned to walk away, continue your search, but double-back as it hit you.

Nothing was in the kitchen. It was empty. Of Soldier Boy, and of the groceries MM said would be delivered.

You wandered in slowly, watching the counters as if they might start to glitch and flicker, revealing hidden produce and dirty dishes. But, leaning over the sink, there was a single plate, soaking in water that was dotted with crumbs. Slowly, you moved to the refrigerator, slowly opening it as you glanced around the room. Your eyes widened at the sight inside. Milk, drinks, and produce had been placed inside, disorganized and haphazardly. There was a jar of mayonnaise in the fresh drawer, along with a box of pasta on a side shelf, but the fridge was full. You moved quickly to the pantry, which had been sorted in a similar fashion, but filled. And when you opened the last cabinet, you saw a piece of paper stuck under a jar of peanut butter.

I know I did a shit job. Clean up if it bothers you, but don't bitch to me about it. And tell Mallory to get smooth peanut butter next time, or I’m not doing anything for her but killing Homelander - Ben

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iwritefandomimagines · 1 year ago

Text

NOTES — JESS MARIANO

based on a request

masterlist

pairing: jess mariano x reader

description: after months of mutual pining, jess arrives at luke’s having read your favourite novel. oh, and he has some notes.

warnings: swearing, jokey sexual reference, other than that just tooth rotting fluff vibes

author’s note: thank you so much for this request, i loved it sm i had to immediately start writing!!! i hope it does jess justice — i love writing him so much. i may go back and edit some bits im not 100% happy with — but i hope you enjoy!!!

pleaaaaase let me know what you think — i love love love reading you guys’ feedback <3

———

“I finished it.”

If you were anyone else, you’d have jumped out of your skin at the sudden, and rather loud, appearance of someone beside you.

But this was you, and it was Jess, so you were more than used to your ‘peaceful’ study sessions at Luke’s being interrupted by his ever-present smirk, his flirting and his endless supply of smartarse comments.

Not that you could complain.

You’d grown used to his omnipresence over a year ago. And it had been months now since you’d realised that you no longer just tolerated his company — you enjoyed it a ridiculous amount and instead longed for it when he wasn’t around.

You eyed him quizzically, noting how proud of himself he looked for reading your favourite book, but also noticing an unusual lack of self-assurance glimmering through his expression.

“I would ask if you mean this trig stuff for Mr Elton,” you gestured down to the homework you’d been painfully poring over for the past hour, “But I know you too well to expect you to actually do your homework, so what are you talking about?”

He didn’t mention that the real reason he never studied in your trig study sessions was because he was more often than not too busy staring at you and coming up with things to say to make you laugh.

Jess raised his eyebrows, but then shook his head and cleared his throat to do a godawful impression of you, “Oh Jess, I can’t believe you’ve never read it. My favourite novel in the whole world and you’ve never read it!”

You scoffed, “If that was supposed to be me, get out of here.”

“Please, like you really want to get rid of me,” he teased, gesturing to the pile of papers in front of you, “Then you’d be miserable and heartbroken and, even worse, have to actually finish your trig homework. Besides, I enjoyed it.”

Your eyes brightened up at this, and you could tell he noticed, “Don’t look so surprised, Y/N. Your taste isn’t that bad… I mean, you hang out with me don’t you?”

“For some reason, yes,” you pretended to grumble, feigning ignorance of the butterflies in your stomach at his usual smug smile, “But you really liked it?”

He sat down in the seat opposite you now, pulling the book from his bag and slamming it down in front of you, “Well, I have notes of course.”

You rolled your eyes, at which he couldn’t help but laugh, “Hey, it wasn’t terrible. I did say I enjoyed it… Some of the notes are nice.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure.”

“You wound me,” Jess feigned a pout, “Romance isn’t usually my genre and you know that.”

“Of course. Hemingway fanboy is too cool for my sappy romantic books, huh,” you joked, heart still racing wildly at the notion he’d even started reading it, let alone finished it.

“Pfft. Austen fangirl should be less rude and give more Hemingway a try, I say,” he quipped back, tongue in cheek.

“Hey, I like Hemingway,” you shook your head, “I just don’t go to bed and jerk off over how great I think he is like you so obviously do.”

He shook his head and pulled a face that faked shock, “And how much time in the day, on average, would you say you spend thinking about what I jerk off over, huh?”

“You are such an ass,” you tutted, swatting his arm, “Approximately none, thank you very much.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

“Anyway, if you’re done being gross, let’s get back to the important thing here. You read my book,” You reached to pull the book towards you, only for him to snatch it back and rest his elbows on it.

You furrowed your brows at him, “What’ve you got to hide in there?”

His eyes narrowed, his lip between his teeth now as though he was thinking hard about something.

“C’mon, Mariano,” you leaned forward, “I assumed that since you brought the book with you, I’d get to see at least some of your notes.”

His fingers were picking at the edges of the book’s cloth sleeve, his toes drumming on the floor anxiously like they’d recently begun to do more often when he was around you.

He heaved out a deep sigh, “Look. I’m going to give you this, and then I’m gonna leave the diner, alright? And then, and only then, you can open this book up, and you can read what’s in there. And if you never see me again it’s ’cause I’ve died of embarrassment or something. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes, chin on your palm.

He slid the book in your direction now as you watched him swallow thickly and cocked your head to the side like a curious puppy, “Ever so cryptic, aren’t you?”

“You’ll figure it out, Miss Marple.”

With that, he rose to his feet and darted out of the diner before you could even say another word.

You briefly made eye contact with Luke behind the counter, who watched you carefully for a moment before looking down at the book now carefully clutched between your fingers.

You wasted no time then, pulling open the book and desperately skimming for whatever the hell he was talking about.

You weren’t sure what on earth you expected to find when you flicked through its pages, but it most certainly wasn’t a plethora of sticky tabs with scrawled notes on about how the protagonist reminded him of you.

You expected even less, then, to find a note in Jess’ handwriting at the very back of the book declaring that he realised halfway through — when the two love interests whose relationship bore a crazy resemblance to your own, realised that they were in fact in love — that he’d been stupid to deny that he even liked you, let alone that he’d quite obviously fallen stupidly in love with you.

Shock coursed through you, your heart racing at the uncharacteristically romantic and yet somehow still so incredibly Jess gesture.

You stood up, almost knocking over your chair as you placed the book under your arm and turned to leave, “I’ll be back—uh, soon.”

Luke nodded, “Go get him kiddo.”

You smiled, butterflies whirling in your stomach as you left the diner almost as quickly as Jess had just minutes ago.

You knew exactly where you’d find him — perched on the bridge swinging his feet and letting his mind convince him you wouldn’t in a million years feel the same.

When he heard the sound of your footsteps approaching, you saw him clench his eyes shut as if in hope that he was imagining you and that you’d soon disappear.

“You can’t confess your love for me and then run away, Jess,” you bit your lip as you teased him softly, “It’s not fair not to give me a chance to say it back properly. You do get bonus points for how much of a romance novel cliché that move is, though.”

He sighed, a deep heavy sigh of relief, and it was as though suddenly he reverted to his usual self, “Technically the book confessed my love for you, actually. And the window for reciprocating hasn’t quite closed yet. I’m all ears, pretty girl.”

You loved this.

You loved how easy things always were for you with Jess.

Everything that went unspoken still never went unsaid — sure, you’d been flirtatious friends for a while now, uncertain of quite how seriously he reciprocated your feelings, but deep down you always sort of knew.

You loved that ever since he’d come to Stars Hollow, he’d shown that he cared in his own silly little ways.

And he loved you.

And you loved him.

You sat down at his side, still clutching the book tightly as he finally looked across at you with a small smile.

“You’re such a romantic, huh? I didn’t know you had it in you,” you nudged his side teasingly, “But I— Jess I do love you, and I’ve probably loved you for a long time even though I didn’t want to let myself admit it.”

“Wow, okay Mr Darcy… Wait ‘til Luke hears that the real reason you’ve only just told me that is because you think he’s embarrassing,” he mocked, but you felt him shuffle closer, “I’ve definitely loved you for longer than I thought I had too, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Much better, Miss Bennet,” you laughed, linking your arms and leaning against his shoulder as he pressed a small kiss to the top of your head.

You felt Jess’ chest rise and fall as you closed your eyes and let the sound of the stream beneath you wash over you.

“So, like, I don’t know the protocol with the whole ‘best friends to lovers’ trope like you do, so you’re gonna have to help me out here,” Jess chuckled.

You sat back up to look at him whilst still keeping hold of his arm, “Hmm, I think what’s meant to happen next is you kiss me and ask to take me on a real date. Pretty sure that’s right.”

“Right, everyone’s favourite cliche moment,” Jess rolled his eyes jokingly but cupped your face with his palms, “God, what have you done to me?”

“You looove me,” your response was muffled as he pressed his lips to yours to shut you up, at first gently and then with a touch more urgency.

When you pulled away, he let go of your face and smiled softly, “So about that date?”

“You got it, Mariano,” you grinned, kissing him quickly once more as you paused, “But you’re going to have a tough time doing anything as romantic as annotating my favourite book and writing me a love note, you know.”

He scoffed, “Oh I’ve got plenty more where that came from, Y/N.”

“Is that a threat?” you giggled, leaning back into his side.

“Just you wait and see.”

———

ok so i kinda lost my way with this a bit eventually and i’m sorry it’s quite short but i had sooooo much fun writing it. i love jess so fucking much and i’m so grateful for all the jess requests i get — trying v hard to work through them asap because it’s so fun.

thanks for reading! here’s my masterlist for more <3

#jess mariano x y/n #jess mariano #jess mariano x you #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano x reader #gilmore girls #gilmore girls imagines #gilmore girls imagine

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henry-fox-biggest-stan · 1 year ago

Text

If you are a movie fan and haven't read the book yet, here are some irrelevant details from the book

Henry owns a cardigan

Arthur and Catherine meet on a Henry V play (which they named Henry after), which Catherine went to see and saw Arthur playing. She "shook off her security to disappear into London and dance all night".

Pez listens to kpop, and he got Alex into it

Nora watches drag race and got Henry into it

Henry is an Elton John fan (actually relevant in the book)

Alex is a Hall & Oates fan

Alex wears glasses (actually relevant in the book)

Henry is described by Alex as having lots of moles

Bea is the rockstar girlfriend, at the end of the book she plays on a concert and everything. She plays the guitar and is always wearing a leather jacket. She also has a fat cat called Mr Wobbles. And the queen wanted her to learn violin “since it was more proper” instead of guitar. “Bea was allowed to learn both, but she went to uni for classical violin.”

During the turkey phonecall, Henry is wearing a peely face mask

Amy is trans and has a pansexual wife

(Actually relevant) Catherine was not off in another country the whole story, just battling intense grief for her husband's death, so she wasn't present in her children's life, so they felt as if they lost both parents.

There's no king, she's actually a queen, her name is Mary and she should die (she's so so much worse on the book than the king is on the movie)

David is a service dog

(Actually relevant in the book) June bought a teen magazine at 15 and 13 year old Alex would sneak into her room to stare at the magazine (and the picture of a blonde 14 year old British prince on it).

Bea is the middle kid, Henry is the youngest

Henry is canonically on therapy and on antidepressants (since the start of the book)

I don't remember if they mentioned it on the movie but Arthur was James Bond and died of pancreatic cancer.

Alex’s favorite Olympic sport is rhythmic gymnastics

Bea had an addiction problem when Henry was about 17 (as a way to cope after their father's death) and only got herself into rehab after Henry went to her and started crying about dad was dead and he was gay and scared so she couldn't kill herself. That's how he came out to her

Alex doesn't wanna be president at the end of the book, he starts law school

Henry favourite star wars is Jedi, Alex's is Empire

June is allergic to peanuts

Alex runs and runs to cope and clear his head

He did not know he was bi until after Henry kissed him. Yes, he had a friend with benefits relationship with his high school friend Liam, but he genuinely thought it was perfectly platonic and straight

Also he doesn't keep on touch with Liam after high school (their friendship just slowly fades away, with living so far and Alex being suddenly famous) but they reconnect at the end

Alex and Henry move in together on a brownstone on Brooklyn, eventually they marry (after Henry abdicates) on the lake house, they move to a farmhouse on Austin, they spend their honeymoon unpacking

Pez is lactose intolerant

Bluebonnet is June’s code name, Barracuda is Alex’s

Henry is a big Austen fan, and makes references to her books through the story

Amy knits

Zahra has a sister who recently had a baby

June forced Alex into dresses as a kid

Henry’s favorite food is a cheap falafel stand ten minutes from the palace

Henry really likes sailing

Shaan has a motorbike

Alex is allergic to dust

Henry keeps a copy of Le Monde, the newspaper from the day they were in Paris, on his room

Alex and Nora dated when Alex was 17 and Nora 18 but realized they were definitely better off as friends. When they are bored, they like to create rumors about their relationship

Alex makes tons of lists to organize

Alex wears chinos, and claims kakhis are for white people

Nora is very good at math

Alex grew up catholic

At the end of their e-mails, Alex and Henry quoted historical lgbt love letters

Nora’s one-bedroom is “full of books and plants she tends to with complex spreadsheets of watering schedules.”

Nora is bisexual and on the aro spectrum (not canon on the book than she’s aro, but Casey did mention it somewhere)

Arthur gifted Henry a telescope for his seventh birthday

The karaoke scene happens not while on Texas but in some club full of queer people. The whole group is there, Pez got them matching kimonos. Alex’s says Hoe Dameron, Henry’s says Prince Buttercup. Aside from Henry singing Don’t Stop Me Now, Bea sings Call Me by Blondie, and Pez sings So Emotional by Whitney Houston in a “shockingly flawless falsetto”.

The lakehouse confessions happens while at night

The Kensington fight (after the lakehouse confession) is much more dramatic, they don’t go to the v&a that night, but the next night. That morning Henry got up early, and brought Alex coffee when he woke up. They made up.

Also Alex takes his coffee with cinnamon

Alex, Nora and Henry are gen z, while June is a millennial

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rose-tea-and-strawberries · 2 years ago

Text

After All Is Said And Done

Masterlist After the events of the winter holidays and Jamil’s manipulation, you and your friends are left to pick up the pieces.

Warning: I write the reader as female. Also the reader celebrates Christmas.

Includes: Angst, Female Prefect!Reader, Book 4 Spoilers, references to PTSD and depression, Jamil x Reader if you squint, platonic Ace x Reader x Deuce but can be read as pre-romantic

Honestly, after writing this, I’m thinking about writing a version with Riddle, Azul, Vil and Malleus...

You know I'm still standing better than I ever did

Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid

I'm still standing after all this time

Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind

- Elton John, I’m Still Standing

“Hey Y/N, there’s another one,” Grim called out from the doorstep. You can feel your stomach sink, already knowing just what was left at your door.

“Ugh,” Ace groaned in disgust, “you’d think that he’d give up after all this time.”

You mentally agreed. Ever since the incident in Scarabia during the winter holidays, Kalim has been making an effort to invite you to his parties. Eagerly calling out your name whenever he spots you and enthusiastically telling you to come join him, listing all of the food and music he’d love to share with you. You have to admit, you did have a soft spot for the young heir, his genuine wholesomeness making it impossible for you to outright dislike him. It’s clear as day that his kindness is authentic, that he actually does want to spend time with you and wishes to bring you enjoyment. The kicked puppy look he gives you every time you politely turn him down with a new excuse each time does take a stab at your conscience but you can’t help it. Every time you think about the possibility of stepping into that dorm your mind reels with memories of darkened rooms, harsh reprimands, agonisingly scalding marches, banging on doors until your hands bruised and screaming for someone, anyone, to let you out until your throat ached.

“Just burn it, Grim, you know the drill,” Deuce told the feline, his face twisted into annoyance.

“Hell yeah,” Grim crows in triumph, about to summon one of his beloved fire blasts before Ace swiped the ornately detailed paper from his paws and unceremoniously threw it into your fireplace not even giving it a glance as the flames burned it to ash.

“Don’t even bother,” Ace said, “stuff like this isn’t worth anyone’s time and effort. At least it can be used to kindle the fire for s’mores now.”

You looked at Ace and Deuce and you thanked The Seven for having such amazing friends. Whilst the uncomfortable twisting in your stomach still remained, their obvious attempt at helping you definitely alleviated it.

The previous winter holidays made it clear just how much they cared about you. The moment that they realised that something was wrong, they put aside their differences and used their own resources to personally check up on you. Granted, you would have appreciated it more if they arrived a few days earlier whilst you were still being kept prisoner but the warmth you felt inside at seeing such friendly faces after so long made up for everything.

When Ace and Deuce had entered Ramshackle with Grim one afternoon to prepare for another impromptu sleepover, with bags of groceries and overnight things in their arms, they were surprised to find it completely silent. Apart from the scuttling and twittering of woodland creatures, the moaning of old pipes and the nervous whispering of the apparitions that lived with you, it was disturbingly quiet.

They felt a collective chill go up their spines, though whether that was due to the lack of heat in this abandoned building, the growing fear that something is wrong with you or the presence of undead spirits huddled up in your living room was unknown.

The ghosts’ head shot up at the sounds of the door creaking closed behind them and the thuds of the boys dropping their bags onto the floor, frazzled worry lining their wispy white non-corporeal forms as they floated towards them. Their clear agitation did absolutely nothing to soothe the trio’s growing anxiety.

“You youngins’ are here for Y/N right?” one of them asked.

“Yeah, we are,” Ace replied, his voice coming out more harsh and aggressive to mask the growing dread.

“Is something wrong?” Deuce’s voice, on the other hand, clearly conveyed every inch of fear that he felt.

“We don’t know,” a taller ghost stated, “we haven’t seen Little Miss in ages.”

“All this time she’s been in her room, without a peep,” another butted in, “it’s been hours and she hasn’t even come down for dinner.”

“And you didn’t think to check on her?!” Ace said angrily, “she could be in trouble.”

“We can’t go in there!” the shortest of them explained defensively, “that’s a lady’s room.”

“And even if we could, what’s the point?” the first one elaborated, “it’s not like we have bodies that can help her.”

“Please go see her,” the second implored, “we’re worried.”

“You really care about her, huh?” Ace noted, seeing the panicked, begging looks that were being directed at them.

“Of course we do,” a ghost stated matter-of-factly, “Little Miss is family.”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Deuce said after a beat of silence, trying to calm himself and everyone else, “maybe she’s just sleeping?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Grim was quick to jump to that conclusion, any conclusion that wasn’t the fact that his beloved henchman is in trouble, “Henchman’s just conked out. She’s fine.”

Despite his cheery words, he couldn’t help the pit forming in his stomach, a deep hole that not even tuna could satisfy. The three of them looked at each other before running up the creaking stairs, with Deuce throwing the ghosts a quick thank you. As they reached the top and made their way down the corridor and towards your bedroom, they could faintly hear the sound of rushing water getting louder and louder. In spite of the darkness enshrouding the passageway, your room appeared to be fully lit, if the hazy golden glow peeking out from under your door was any indication.

With a firm twist, Ace banged open the door, completely ignoring the sound of it ricocheting off of its adjacent wall in his hurry to see you, only to find your room completely bare of any life. Noticing that the door to the attached bathroom was wide open, the trio rushed towards it only to stand frozen at the doorway.

The sight they were met with was you, sitting hunched up in your bathtub, still fully clothed sans your socks and shoes. Your shower was still on, sending streams of water down towards your crouched figure, completely drenching you.

“Y/N!” the three of them yelled, racing towards you. Grim jumped into your arms, getting on his hind legs so that he could paw at your shoulder and face, doing whatever his tiny hands could do to get you to notice him. Deuce did the same, stepping into the bathtub whilst Ace turned off the spray of water so that he could grip your shoulders and shake you whilst whisper-shouting your name. Still, you did not react, the only result of their attempts to stir you were your eyes laxly opening at their sudden manhandling, causing them to cease their jostling.

You looked less like a human and more like a marionette who had been cut from its strings. Your eyes, that were usually glowing with personality, all bright, fierce and lively, were currently dull, glassy and doll-like, all dim and staring without seeing. The only confirmation they had that their best friend was not a corpse were the small, dainty, robotic blinks of them and the way your chest would softly rise and fall.

“The hell, Deuce,” Ace looked more worried than he did before - and considering the amount of near death experiences he’s been through with you, that’s saying a lot, “what are we supposed to do?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” Grim exclaimed fiercely, not moving from where he was nestled against your cold, drenched chest, “Henchman needs you!”

“I know-I know,” Deuce was quick to appease him, “why don’t we start by getting her out of here and into something warm? Then we can figure out what to do.”

And so he brought you up into a bridal carry. Usually being so close to you would’ve flustered him beyond belief, his shyness around girls amplified around you despite all that you’ve been through together, especially now that the shower water made your soaked clothes stick onto you like a second skin and making certain aspects of your femininity more obvious but his need to help you was far stronger than any bashfulness he had.

He was scared - they all were. To see someone strong enough to fight overblots, to stand by their side and boldly face down the monsters in the mines, to live in this world that they are both literally and figuratively at the bottom of the food chain, so broken was nothing but haunting, a horrific sight that they’ll never be able to unsee.

Ace opened up your closet, grabbing some towels and a pair of pyjamas that he tossed onto your bed, as Deuce carried you to your bedroom, your head resting against the curve of your shoulder before gently placing you down onto your duvet.

“Let’s get you dried up, okay,” Ace cooed at you, smiling softly and speaking with a gentleness that surprised even him. He began to swipe a towel over your sodden frame as Deuce got to work gently drying your hair from behind you and Grim nuzzled, whined and purred against your lap.

“The ghosts told us that you haven’t eaten dinner,” Deuce murmured, “you should change into some dry clothes whilst we go and get you something.”

He got up from your bed and made a move to leave but your hand shot out and grasped onto the hem of his shirt. You continued to look down, not meeting anyone’s eyes as your shaking voice whispered, “don’t go.”

“Y/N, you’re drenched,” Ace said, “and you haven’t had anything in a while. We’ll be just downstairs and we won’t be gone for long.”

“Stay. Please,” your voice was weak and your eyes downcast, “don’t wanna be alone.”

The card soldiers gave each other a look before nodding and climbing onto your bed so that they sat as close to you as possible. You immediately cuddled up to them, allowing yourself to get enveloped by their touch.

“What’s wrong with me?” you whisper.

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Y/N,” Deuce soothed you, gently stroking your head and back like you would a wounded animal.

“Yeah,” Ace agreed with his rival, “it’s everyone else here that’s messed up.”

“Then why,” you did nothing to stop the tears from falling, your words coming out choked from the way your throat was constricting, “then why does all of this keep on happening to me?”

“I don’t know,” the red head sighed in defeat, continuing his ministrations on you.

You said nothing, allowing them to embrace you as you buried your face into their bodies, letting their clothes and Grim’s fur soak up your tears and muffled sobs.

It didn’t go unnoticed how your companions became even more protective of you after that incident. Wherever you went, they would flank you like guard dogs, shielding you from the rest of NRC and directing a glare at anyone who so much as looked at you. After hearing about how uncomfortable you felt being around certain people, they were on the lookout, not-so-sublty steering your body away from anyone they deemed unworthy of being within your gaze (you could’ve sworn that you heard Grim hiss at some students a few times).

It wasn’t just them. Your family of ghosts also made an effort to check in on you. Even when you couldn’t see them, you could feel them hovering near you in another room, making sure that you looked after yourself, gently reminding you to eat, sleep and rest. They called you over more often to join them in games, sharing stories and jokes, making sure not to mention anything that they felt could upset you.

Your past self - the person you were before your entrance to NRC, a person that now seemed almost like a stranger to you - would’ve found it smothering, almost demeaning at how they’re affections seemed to infantilise you but now, all you can think of is how much their presence comforts you, how loved they make you feel. It made you feel seen and heard, that at least the small handful of allies in your tight inner circle care enough to consider your feelings instead of sweeping them under the rug like everyone else. Like how a few words here and there and a few taps on the wrist were enough to clean up the mess that was the last overblot.

When the dust settled and all was said and done, everyone else partied whilst you were left hurt and broken and once again left to pick up the pieces of your shattered self.

It’s like your body is in constant fight or flight mode, with someone’s fist persistently banging on the ‘flight’ switch. Despite the anxiety and fear buzzing in you whenever you take a step outside, you feel constantly tired, both physically and mentally, your head feels like it’s perpetually submerged underwater and every bite of food you take tastes like sandpaper. ‘Down’ is the only word you can think of to describe yourself. Just chronically down - buried deep, deep underground with no way of clawing back onto the surface. It didn’t matter where you were or who you’re with, all you can hear is your mind constantly screaming at you that you’re in danger. No matter how many times they tried, the combined efforts of your new found family still couldn’t drive away the intrusive thoughts that crept up on you, the dark cloud of foreboding that would hover over you, the cold stare of the Grim Reaper that would follow you. Waiting.

You couldn’t fault Jamil for his overblot. Despite the pains of your heart, the logic of your mind knew that he wasn’t truly to blame for tossing you to the ends of Scarabia, for leaving you shivering in the freezing blizzard, your body numbing from its close brush with hypothermia, for sending projectile after projectile after you with the intent to maim, the intent to kill, for leaving the imprints of snake fangs in your body as companions to the myriad of other scars that were gifted to you from him and the overblots that came before. It didn’t take a genius to know that everything he did whilst covered in that disgustingly sticky black ink (the ink that will now and forever be a recurring character in your dreams) wasn’t under his complete control, no matter what your nightmares and the sinister voices that would whisper in your ear during the dead of night told you.

But you allowed yourself to blame him for everything that happened before his subsequent descent into madness; for kidnapping you, hypnotising you, locking you up in a dark room against your will, keeping you away from the only people (and ghosts) that actually cared about you and prevented you from contacting anyone.

You didn’t blame him for wanting freedom, for holding bitterness because of the cards he was dealt with, you just wished that he didn’t sacrifice your wellbeing in his schemes.

Whilst you did hate him for hypnotising you - in this world you already lost so much control of your life, he had to go ahead and take away even more of it - you resent him even more for manipulating you, for feigning affection in a world that gave you anything but, for using you, exploiting your weaknesses and the fact that you had no one apart from Ace, Deuce and Grim to call a friend.

Whilst Christmas doesn’t exist in this world, you made sure to make plans with your family in Ramshackle - you actually had fun detailing all that you were going to do with the ghosts and Grim: coming up with a menu, making or buying hand puppets to create your own Punch and Judy style panto, asking Sam to stock up on this world’s version of Christmas crackers, and just doing what you can to forget the fact that your friends and family are in a whole other world with no way to even give them glad tidings - but instead you spent it marching in the hot desert, contracting heat exhaustion, fainting due to said heat exhaustion when Kalim (actually Jamil) deprives you of any treatment despite your pleads and complaints, slurring your words and vomiting as you tried to ignore the worst migraine of your life and then spending half an hour breaking down into sobbing fits as you were once again imprisoned in that horrid room.

He made you believe that he was a friend, someone you could rely on. When you lost consciousness in the scorching desert, he gave you medicine and treated you to relieve the pain; when you felt confused and hurt by Kalim’s Jekyll-and Hyde-like behaviour and in anguish over not being able to leave, he provided a sympathetic ear and comforting smile as he gave you words of solace. But it was all a lie; you were suffering in the desert because of him, Kalim was hostile to you because of him, you were chased, treated horribly by the Scarabians and locked up against your will because of him.

All the torment you felt was because of him.

When you asked the Dorm Leader of Octavinelle and his underlings for help, you felt sick to your stomach, like scorching acid was leaving your mouth instead of words, at the very idea of having to ask the ones who conspired to make you homeless for help. But you had no choice, and the fact that he put you in a position where you had to go to people that you would rather die than ever associate with again makes you hate him even more.

Although, if you had to be honest, in a strange, warped sort of way, you almost respected Ashengrotto for what he did to you. At least he was honest when he stripped you of your home and the only family you had in this world, at least his malicious intentions weren’t hidden when he slyly slid you that dreaded contract - you didn’t even know why you were even surprised when he sent the eels out to harass you in his attempt at sabotage, he might not have invented sleaziness but he sure as hell perfected it. As dodgy as the mermen are, it would be better to have someone that you know you can never trust than one who takes your trust and then crumbles it to sand with his own hands right in front of you.

And Kalim - God, if your feelings for Kalim weren’t the epitome of mixed then you don’t know what is. On the one hand, the genuine warmth he exuded upon meeting you was unprecedented. Unlike the other students in this school, who openly treated you with hostility and malice before you could even say a word, he was the only one good-natured enough to show you the kindness you had missed from your world. Despite the obvious power imbalance, he treated you as an equal, sweeping you away on a magic carpet ride, treating you to the finest delicacies he had to offer, chatting, laughing and playing with you as if you were a person and not some magicless human that didn’t belong. But on the other hand he disregarded everything you went through under his so-called ‘best friend’s’ schemes. All the pain you suffered, all the scars you gained - both physical and emotional - were swept under the rug as Kalim answered Jamil’s public (“and insincere,” your mind adds) apology with an “I forgive you.”

“I forgive you.”

‘I forgive you’ Kalim says brightly and merrily goes out of his way to include Jamil during dorm activities like the Vice Housewarden didn’t do the magical equivalent of drugging and kidnapping you. Like he didn’t play you like a fool, dangling the possibility of friendship, of the companionship that you craved in this strange and lonely new world, before ripping it away from you and stabbing you in the back. Like he didn’t use you as a pawn in his sick, twisted game, literally controlling you and isolating you from any kindness you could get. It didn’t matter that after this you’ll never be the same again. No, of course not.

Because in this world, you didn’t matter.

It all comes to a head when the Viper himself is the one that approaches you.

You’re eating lunch in the dining hall when you feel an arm wrap around your shoulders and you get pulled into Ace’s chest. On your other side you can see Deuce’s hackles raise, his jaw clenching and glaring at an unknown individual with barely concealed anger, looking very much like the ex-delinquent he used to be.

“Whaddya want?” Grim drawls boorishly at the source of your friends’ ire, “we’re eatin’ here.”

“I’m aware of that,” the smooth, velvety voice of the Vice Dorm Leader of Scarabia makes you tense, an action Ace must have felt because you feel his hand squeeze yours shortly after. You writhe in place, loosening his hold and giving you enough wiggle room to get out of his grip. With your hand still in his, you turn to look at the interloper, to see what he says next, “Kalim’s hosting a banquet this evening and he’s asked me to personally invite Y/N.”

“Well she’s not coming,” Grim snapped at him.

“She’s busy,” Deuce said.

“And she has nothing to say to you,” Ace interjected, “so you can go ahead and bog off.”

Viper sighs, “I see. If that’s all.”

He turns around to leave but you stop him, “w-wait.”

At this not only he turns to look at you with bewilderment but Ace, Deuce and Grim as well. You continue, “can I please speak with you outside, there’s something I have to say.”

“Wha-Y/N are you sure?” Deuce said, looking at you with worry.

“Yeah, you don’t have to do this,” Ace agreed.

“He doesn’t deserve it,” Grim said imploringly.

You smiled at him and pet the fur on his head before giving Ace and Deuce reassuring glances, “I’ll be fine. We’ll be just in the corridor outside so you’ll be nearby.”

“Alright then if you say so. But if he tries anything…” Deuce gives the Scarabian a glare, letting his threat linger.

With that you get up and wordlessly walk out of the dining hall and into the empty hallway adjacent to it, knowing that the other was following you without having to turn around and look. You stop at a corner and after taking a deep sigh to brace yourself you turn around and tell him with varying steadiness, “I just want to say that as much as I appreciate Kalim’s generosity and hospitality, I’m afraid that I have to decline.”

“Quite the journey just for one sentence,” he raises an eyebrow, the only expression his inscrutable face allows, “you couldn’t have said this back there?”

“It’s best if I told you this one-on-one just to get it out of the way. Make it clear that I’m the one who told you that I can’t attend and my friends have nothing to do with it. Now if you’ll excuse me-”

“But that’s not all you want to say, is it?” his question pierces you like a blade to your chest, releasing all of the air that was in your lungs.

“Whatever it is you want to say to me,” he intones, his voice as calm and collected and fake as it always is, “I can take it.”

Jamil Viper was many things but an idiot is not one of them. After Kalim’s first five consecutive rejections, he was well-aware that the so-called emergencies, errands and other assorted tasks were just excuses you made to prevent you from outright telling the Dorm Leader that you just didn’t want to attend. He can’t say he blamed you. He understood that you had a less than stellar time during your last visit to the dorm - after all, he was responsible for it. He tried explaining to Kalim that perhaps it would be best to leave you alone but his bleeding heart refused to understand that you were just being polite. He did consider you a friend after all, and truly wanted to pay you back for everything that you did to help him and his dorm during the holidays and to hear your refusals disheartened him, sending him whining about how he wished he could make you happy to thank you for all that you’ve done and make up for what happened. Jamil’s statements that maybe you just wanted to be left alone fell on deaf ears as the young heir decided to send another invite through him. Jamil bit back the remark that he would be the last person you wanted to see and begrudgingly left to do his duty.

“What if what I want to say to you is that the very sight of you makes me sick?”

You’ve got to hand it to yourself, despite having over a decade to fine tune his poker face and hide his inner thoughts, his eyes visibly widened, shock flashing over his features before immediately regaining their usual unreadable appearance.

You would’ve relished at his slip up, that for less than a second you were able to gain an upper hand over the man who toyed with your vulnerability and orchestrated your suffering, if you didn’t have a voice in your head warning you that it could all just be another ploy, another way for him to trap you in his coils and squeeze until you choke.

That’s what snakes do after all. They patiently lie in wait, completely unassuming and unthreatening, before they strike so fast and so viciously that its prey is completely helpless to the onslaught of venom that’s injected into its neck.

He continues to stare at you, speechless so you continue, clenching your hands in a desperate attempt to stop them from shaking and willing your voice to stop wobbling despite every nerve in your body yelling at you to hightail out of there, to get away from the threat, the danger, that you’re not safe, just run, just flee to the refuge of Ramshackle before you inevitably get hurt again.

“I can’t look at you without wanting to throw up. Every time I see your face all I can remember is what you did to me, how you used me, how my feelings were nothing but toys for you to play with to make you feel better. You hurt me. In one of the most unforgivable ways possible and I don’t think that I can go back to the person I was before the holidays.”

“You know what?” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head at yourself, “honestly, I can’t say that you’re completely to blame. It was my mistake for actually being stupid enough to fall for your act. If my time in this world taught me anything it’s that I should never let my guard down. I should’ve known that you never wanted to be my friend, that you, just like everyone else here, only care about yourself, without giving a damn about who you have to hurt to get it. It’s my fault for not learning from my experiences, for deluding myself into thinking that someone can actually like me in this damned place. God, I’m an idiot. At least now I know better than to believe your deception.”

“Y/N-”

“Was it fun, at least? Did you enjoy it? Taking a helpless, magicless girl and using her to satisfy your own twisted schemes? Taking my powerlessness and using that as a stepping stool to make you feel better? Manipulating me like your little lamb for slaughter? At least, I can say that the whole experience taught me something and it’s that no one here cares about me, that apart from Ace, Deuce and Grim, I have no one. So I think it would be best to tell your Dorm Leader that unfortunately, I will not be attending. Or not. You could just hypnotise him. Either way is the same to him.”

You turned around and was about to go back to the comfort of your friends, before tossing a few parting words over your shoulder:

“Congratulations, Vice Dorm Leader Viper, you’ve achieved what you wanted. You said that you did all of that so you can finally have your actions acknowledged - well, here you have it. Now I can’t go a minute without acknowledging what you’ve done.”

And with that you walked away, meeting up with Ace, Deuce and Grim as they wrapped their arms around your shaking body and walked you back to the sanctuary of Ramshackle.

#angst #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #twst grim #jamil viper x reader #ace x reader x deuce #fem reader

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