...my brain went places after seeing the G20 trailers the other week!
If I do make something of this, it's my first time writing a reader character and not OC so I may need to iron out some kinks throughout the process.
“Homelander, you’re taking this the wrong wa-”
“Wrong way? You’re trying to add another member to The Seven without even asking me!”
“He’s not joining The Seven! He’s here to deal with the less delicate matters… the dirty stuff that your pristine gloves can’t be allowed to touch.”
“What? He’s the fall guy?”
“No. He’s the shadow. He’s the man in the dark that no one sees until it’s too late. He’s the one that takes care of the things that your reputation needs to be kept away from. He’s the problem solver.”
---
Homelander stiffened as the new guy walked into the room. He heard Deep gasp and watched as Maeve went incredibly pale.
His shoulders were broad, like his. He walked with purpose, like he did. He didn’t acknowledge the lesser beings in the room. No, pale blue eyes were locked directly onto Homelander's face. His mirror image walked into the room and sucked all of the oxygen out of it. They were the same, but different. His hair was the darker, dirty blonde that John’s naturally was without the bleach. His facial hair was dark and kept short, whereas John shaved and plucked his daily to perfection. The smile… the smile was the same. As dangerous and toothy as a shark about to bite. For the first time in his life, John felt sick. His nostrils were overcome with the scent of gunpowder and blood, along with a masculine musk. Traces of something sweeter could be detected, but John was certain it wasn’t him that the scent belonged to.
“Homelander, meet Edward.” Madelyn gave a bright smile as she motioned towards the man in black.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Vought knew you were strong from a young age… but they needed to make sure there was insurance just in case they did accidentally go too far one day. So, Vogelbaum replicated your DNA."
“I-I don’t understand.” Homelander stood toe to toe with his doppelganger. He felt like he was drowning. He’d always been enough, he’d always been the best, and now he was faced with something that shouldn’t exist. They doubted him?
“Things have been getting muddied. The water is murky, Homelander, and we need that to stop.” He knew Madelyn was referencing the few instances where his publicity hadn’t been squeaky clean. “So, we use Edward to do things in the dark whilst you’re out and in the public eye. If someone decides to say Homelander did it then we have the evidence that that is impossible, because Homelander was right in front of all of those cameras.”
---
“Well, this family reunion has been fun, but I need my bag.” As if on cue, an intern lugged a black suitcase behind him. “Be careful.” Edward chided, his eyes flashing in warning, as they tugged a bit too hard and caused it to tilt. “I’ll take it from here.” He grabbed the handle and effortlessly hoisted the luggage on to the table. He waited for the intern to disappear before carefully unzipping the top.
“Holy shit.” Maeve exclaimed as he reached in and grabbed a handful of hair, a flushed tear-stained face became visible. The girl had a gag in her mouth but she took in deep breaths through her nose as she was finally released from the small, dark space.
“There’s my girl.” Her face looked tiny being cupped by his black gloves. “Tut. I told you not to panic, it was only temporary.” More tears spilled down her face as she tried to nod and agree with him. “We have a whole new life ahead of us.”
Homelander didn’t think he’d ever heard a human’s heart beat so fast.
A/N: Vengeful blond Aussie Antony Starr re-wired my brain and I needed more of him. Specifically, I needed soft!Rutledge, so here is an indulgent fic born from the idea "Yes he's evil, but what if I was his favorite?" I know this man would do anything for the woman he loves, even if that means cheating death itself. Also they did not do his backstory / trauma as a veteran justice at all in the movie, so I'm here to fix that too.
Description: Edward Rutledge x Fem!Reader, established relationship. Hurt + comfort, fluff, spice, extreme angst: eat up, y'all | Rating: MATURE, just to be safe. Warnings: kissing/making out, sensuality, pet names (endearing), blood and injuries described in-depth, partial nudity, mild language, alcohol, PTSD + trauma alluded to, suggestive themes, Reader is distraught for bit, Eddie gets patched up and all the loving he needs. | Word count: 4.2 k | Tagging: @hangmanscoming @walkingnearfoxes
Imagine Rutledge coming home to you after you believed him to be dead, and helping mend more than just his wounds
How could it have gone so wrong? What was supposed to the last stop on the way to freedom had become a nightmare that you couldn't wake up from. The remote safehouse where you had waited for Edward had transformed into a prison of shattered dreams. By the third day, the tears had stopped. A cold emptiness had taken their place, creeping into your bones and settling into your every fiber. You felt the ache of his absence with every breath.
It was the sixth day now. Time alluded you, but you were vaguely aware it was sometime in the evening because the shadows were growing long. You sit on the floor of the hallway with your knees pulled to your chest, utterly numb. This had become your preferred spot. The bed was hollow, and the sofa was haunted. Whenever your mind screamed at you that you should get up and try to leave, such thoughts were inevitably met with despair.
Of course, there was no rational reason to stay. You understood all the facts. No one was coming to save you. The food was almost gone, and there'd hardly been much to start with. You were going to die here alone if you didn't leave.
Edward was not coming back.
No, there was nothing rational about what you felt. You just couldn't let go. This is where you were supposed to wait for him. This is where he was going to come back to you. This is the last place that you were together.
Holding your head in your hands, another wave of grief washes over you. From the day you met Edward, you knew it was never going to be easy. You also knew there was no one else for you but him. His demons danced perfectly with yours, and you wrestled them better together. Even still, he had his own war to wage, and he had to fight it his way. As long as you could be at his side when the battles were over, you made peace with looking the other way.
Then, he found a way to win, once and for all. That's what he believed, at least.
You both agreed that the less you knew about the G20 Plan, the better. But being ignorant about the finer details didn't prevent you from worrying; if anything, it only made it worse. The knowledge that it would be the last time he'd leave you for a mission had been the only thing keeping you sane. That, and thinking about the future that awaited you when he returned.
You squeeze your eyes shut against the memories, but you were powerless to halt their coming. That last night before the summit seemed so long ago now. If only you'd known then...if only you could've stopped him...
★
The warm night air spills through the open balcony doors and clings to your skin. The smell of damp earth from nearby rain fills your nose, and the steady chirping of crickets evokes a familiar comfort. You recline on the sofa with your head propped up on your hand along the back, waiting for Edward to return with his 'surprise.' In the kitchen behind you, you hear him shuffling around and rifling through the cabinets.
"You're not peeking, are you?" he calls out.
"I'd never dream of it," you holler back, smiling despite yourself.
"I just got word from Titos. The boys are all set for tomorrow. Everything's falling right into place," he informs, no small amount of satisfaction in his voice as he draws nearer, "Now that the cryptowallet is in our possession, all that's left is to take the bastards down."
"No turning back now," you say to yourself, holding back a sigh.
You look up to see him returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, a grin spread across his face.
"Tada," he announces, placing them on the coffee table in front of you. "I know, not much. But we can't make a bloody toast with water, now can we?"
"Wow. What exactly are we toasting?" you inquire, sitting forward.
His expression twists with confusion, but he doesn't lose his smile as he proceeds to pop the cork and begin pouring. "Our victory, of course. What else, darling?"
"Don't you think that's bad luck? You haven't won yet, Eddie," you remind, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in your gut.
"But we will," he insists, offering you your drink, "And since when have you been the superstitious type?"
"Since you decided to break into the most heavily armed place on the continent," you answer. You take the libation and stand up to join him.
"My poor love. Ever fretting over my sorry hide," he teases with pitiful affection, "Needlessly, might I add."
"Someone has to, Rutledge," you retort, glaring at him knowingly, "I've grown rather fond of that 'sorry hide', so you call it. Or have you forgotten?"
He bites his lip in amusement, noticeably trying to maintain his composure after your comment.
"Perhaps you need reminding," you suggest, bating your eyes.
You can't help but smirk, enjoying how easily you could make him flustered.
Re-establishing eye contact, he leans in closer and drops his voice to a whisper. "I think these ought to be empty before I can permit that kind of talk, girl."
"Agreed," you concede, pleased with yourself.
He raises his glass, and you do the same.
"To a new world," he declares.
"To a new world."
The clinking of crystal rings through the air. You swallow a generous sip and try to wash the words from your mouth. Edward downs half of his own portion before turning away and stepping out onto the balcony.
"By this time tomorrow, everything is going to be different," he exhales, peering out into the pitch black night.
You reclaim your seat and train your wistful gaze on him. You knew what he was doing. The nearest civilization was miles away, but that did not deter him from scanning the perimeter. You'd grown used to his vigilance; come to depend on it. Yet even in the middle of a moment of celebration, he could not fully let his guard down. You consider calling him back inside, but think the better of it. The moment would pass, as it typically did.
Instead, you reflect on the half-hearted toast you'd just made. Your playful exchange had distracted you from your troubled thoughts momentarily. But as sure as the coming dawn, they reappeared. You'd tried to put on a smile for him, but in truth, you were feeling far from jubilant. In the weeks since Edward first spoke to you of the G20 plan, it'd become a chore to keep your mind from wandering into the future, and all the dread that it held for you. There was no small part of you that was truly worried for his safety, a concern you attempted to convey to him time and again to no avail. It wasn't even the prospect of living in hiding that you found troublesome, as would be necessary after every nation on the planet saw his face tomorrow. You were already accustomed to one form of "off-the-grid" living or another following Edward around the globe for the past few years, so the concept certainly didn't bother you anymore. Your identity from before was long gone, and as long as you were together, the person you'd have to become next made little difference to you.
The reason for your dismay was much worse than that. You hated yourself for even thinking it, but deep down, you could sense that you'd begun to doubt him. You feared what would happen if his plan failed, and perhaps even more, you were terrified of what would happen if it didn't.
At last, Edward turns toward you, grinning once more. "The world is going to be our oyster, sweetheart. You've got nothing to worry about anymore."
You distractedly swirl around the remaining golden liquid in your glass. "Oh Eddie, you make it sound so easy."
"That's because it will be," he assures, pointing emphatically, "For the first time in my life, I have clarity of purpose. I know what I have to do. People have to be awakened to what's happening before their very eyes. They must be made to understand the truth so we can bring about real change. No one will stand in my way this time. And when the work is done, when we finally put an end to all the wars and deceit and corruption, I'm going to have everything I want. What we're owed."
"Oh yeah?" you ask, unconvinced by his impassioned oaths.
"Is that doubt, I'm hearing? Surely not," he says, sounding genuinely surprised. He walks over and sits beside you on the couch, awaiting an explanation. "Tell me I've not lost your faith."
You stare down at your hands as you speak, unable to look at him.
"You haven't. I know you'll accomplish what you need to. You always prevail. It's just..." you hesitate, unsure if you should reveal your insecurity.
"What is it? Hm?" he asks, comfortingly resting his hand on your leg.
"You'll be the most powerful man on the planet. You could go anywhere, do anything, with anyone. And I'm just wondering where I fit into all of it."
He's silent only a moment before he replies with renewed resolve.
"Now you just listen hear, darling. I said I was going to give you the world, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."
Shaking your head, you set your glass on the table. "I don't need the world, Eddie. All I want is you."
He smirks, undaunted.
"You already have me," he says, pulling you into his lap, "You know that, don't ya?"
You nod distantly in response, proceeding to softly trace the tattoo on his arm with your finger as he continues.
"You've been beside me in the dark, and I want you right there with me in the light. It's gonna be you and me, just like always. The money won't change that."
"How will it not?"
"Because I won't let it," he vows, "Besides, I couldn't replace you if I tried for a million years. You are my one and only." He snakes his arm around your waist and meets your eyes before repeating the words, "My one and only."
"And you are mine," you reply, leaning in closer until your forehead rests on his. Just like that, he had silenced your doubts, and put in their place a hope that you could hold onto. "You sure have a way with words, Corporal."
"I know, I know," he chuckles, "How about just two more?"
Instantly, you detect a shift in his tone that makes your heart skip. You sit back and stare at him expectantly.
He beholds you with quiet confidence. "Marry me."
"Eddie, be serious," you begin to laugh.
"I am being serious," he says, his gaze softening, "I love you. With all my bleeding heart, I love you, Y/N."
Your heart swells at his confession, tears flooding your vision. "I love you, too."
"This is the final mission. I'm done. I know I've put you through it, and somehow, through thick and thin...you haven't given up on me."
"Not yet," you smile.
He follows suit, continuing his impromptu speech.
"I want to take care of you. Proper like, from now on. Let me prove that your faith in me has not been for nothing," he says, taking your hand in his, "When I get back from this, will you marry me?"
"Yes," you answer, beaming, "I will."
"Atta girl," he purrs through his smile, "Now what was this you were sayin' earlier? Something about a reminder..."
Before you can blink, he eagerly pulls you against him and closes the meager space between you, capturing your mouth with his own. You claw at his chest and kiss him back fiercely, tasting the champagne on his tongue when he parts your lips. You melt into his wandering touch as he then peppers kisses along your jaw and down your neck. The gentle scratch of his beard on the sensitive skin makes your pulse quicken as you close your eyes.
"Promise that you'll come back to me," you say breathlessly.
He pauses his fevered exploration to cup your face in his calloused hands.
"Nothing will stop me from coming back to you. I promise."
★
The memory leaves you reeling, Edward's voice still echoing your head. You could see it all so clearly, as if you were still there in the ecstasy of his embrace. But when you open your eyes again, you're met with the cruel reality. He was gone, and he'd taken everything with him.
The sound of the locks releasing on the main door of the safehouse pull your from your desolate stupor.
You scramble to your feet as quickly as you can, but consecutive days of sporadic food and water intake immediately catch up to you as you struggle to find sure footing.
In mere seconds, a thousand thoughts flashed through your panicked mind. This was it. They'd come for you. Someone somewhere had figured out your connection to Edward, and they were about to lock you away for the rest of your life. It didn't matter that your only true crime was loving him. They would say you were a terrorist too. Guilty by association. You'd never see the sun again.
What difference did it make? It held no warmth for you anymore.
Accepting your fate, you step out into the open. You expect to see a stealth squad of some kind, hoping to catch you off guard and take you in for questioning.
Instead, a lone figure staggers forward from the shadows. You stand frozen as they limp closer, and the waning sunlight spills across their battered visage.
The second those familiar blue eyes meet yours, the air in your lungs disappears.
His name falls from your lips in a whimper. "Eddie?"
"Hello, darling." He flashes a weary smile, holding his arm across his torso.
"Is it really you?" you whisper, afraid that you would make him fade away if you even dared to move.
"It's me, love," he answers weakly, wincing just to speak, "What's left of me, anyway."
"Eddie, oh my god," you cry, your fragile composure shattering.
You run to him and throw your arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life. After recovering his balance, he holds you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
"You were dead. You were dead," you repeat through sobs.
"Shhh, it's okay. I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here," he consoles, stroking your back, "Everything's alright now. I'm here."
Now that you were sure he was not a ghost, you feel secure enough to release your grip, if only just a little. His arms stay firmly encircled around your body as he gazes upon you with glistening eyes.
"It was all over the news. They said you fell, that-that survival was impossible," you stammer in disbelief, "I thought you were gone."
"For a moment there, so did I," he replies, reaching to caress your cheek. "But I had a promise to keep."
With that, you pull him into a desperate kiss. He returns it fervently, his fingers lacing into your hair. You savor every sensation you thought you'd never feel again as your hand slides up underneath his shirt. He lets out a pained groan against your lips. You're keenly aware of his injuries once again and carefully surrender your hold on him.
"Easy, darling. I'm gonna need a little R and R before I can have too much fun," he teases, touching his forehead against yours.
"Sorry. Habit," you wince, "Are you okay?"
"I'll live," he chuckles, "I missed you too."
It's then you realize that your hand doesn't feel quite right, and you look down to see your fingers smeared in crimson.
"You're bleeding!"
He growls in frustration, "The damned stitches must have ripped, climbing up this bloody mountain."
"Put your arm around me, let's get you to the couch," you instruct, moving to hold him upright.
"Too bad we finished that whole bottle, ay?" he grunts, complying through the pain.
Adrenaline helps you overcome your own fatigue enough to bear his unsteady weight over your shoulders and hobble into the next room.
"You're not dying on me now, Rutledge. You owe me."
"What are you on about, woman?" he grounds out, followed by a string of curses as you help lower him onto the cushions.
"You owe me a husband. You can't die until after you've married me," you pant, your head starting to pound from the exertion.
His pained expression turns baffled. "You still want to?"
Between the immense stress and his audacity to ask such a thing, your temper starts to flare. "I know you didn't just ask me that."
Switching on the lights, you rush to the kitchen to run some warm water and retrieve the medical kit, trying to work out a strategy. You quickly return with the necessary items, noticing the sudden shift in his mood even in your frenzied state.
"Why would you want to be tied to a miserable ratbag like me? You don't deserve that," Edward mumbles, looking at his boots.
The weight of his failure had apparently started to crash down on him, but it's more than you can bear at present.
You clench your trembling fist and stand over him. It takes all of your remaining strength not to yell.
"For your sake, I'm going to blame what I'm hearing on the head trauma you clearly sustained. Because I know if it weren't for that, there is no way in hell you'd be saying those things to me after everything that's happened," you warn, finding your courage. "Now shut up, Corporal, and help me get all of this off."
As much as you wanted to slap him and scream about the grief he put you through, your focus was on keeping him breathing. Gritting your teeth, you help him remove his soiled clothing until he was stripped down to the waist. He's left in visible agony afterward, but makes no complaints, lying as still as he can manage. You reflexively cover your mouth with your hand as you realize the full extent of the damage. His self-sewn stitches on his abdomen were indeed torn open at the bottom of the evident puncture wound, and he had what appeared to be a stab wound towards the back of his left shoulder that had since stopped bleeding. On top of that, he was completely covered in bruises, all shades of purple and black that made your stomach churn. By the looks of his right side especially, he probably had broken ribs, but there was nothing to be done about it. Staunching the bleeding was your priority, but despite your initial scare, it didn't seem as bad as you'd first thought.
You both remain silent as you kneel before him and begin cleaning the surrounding area with a wet cloth the best that you can. Apart from the rise and fall of his ragged breathing, he remains unmoving. You glance up to see a thousand-yard stare plastered on his face. Better that than the nonsense from before, you think. You wiped away as much dried blood as you could before deciding it would have to be good enough. Before long, you have the antiseptic at the ready.
"This will hurt," you say calmly.
He closes his eyes and sets his jaw. Steeling yourself as well, you pour it over the wound liberally. He flinches, but only just so. As difficult as it was to imagine, you remind yourself that he'd been through worse than this.
While you carefully dab the area with gauze, your eyes wander to the scars you knew by heart. Like you'd done many times before, you attempt to picture where he was when those wounds were fresh, and who had been there to care for him then. He almost never spoke of his past, and whenever he did, it was only of the people he'd lost. Never of his own pain.
Having sorted through the supplies and found the suture kit, Edward raises his hand in protest.
"Leave it. It'll mend. Just the bandage."
"Are you sure?"
He only nods. You don't push it any further, too drained to argue. He obviously had far more experience with first-aid than you, and you felt better knowing you'd at least treated it against infection.
"I said I would give you the world. I failed..." he says solemnly.
"Edward, stop," you implore. You're blinking back tears once again, trying desperately to concentrate on your task. "Please. I don't want to hear about that anymore. I can't take it."
You secure the edges of the crisp white bandage in place, but your plea falls on deaf ears.
"I failed you."
You'd finally had enough, all of your emotions spilling over beyond the edge of your control.
"You really are the most thick-headed man I've ever known. Don't you understand? I never cared about any of it! All I have ever wanted is you. Not the money, not the politics, not the revenge. Just you!"
Your strained outburst echoes through the room.
"And I know that doesn't make sense to you, because you can't understand how someone could love you as you are. Accept both the good and the bad. But I do, Eddie. I always have. You're just gonna have to find a way to live with that."
"I'm broken, Y/N."
You open your mouth to dispute him, but the tear running down his scarred cheek steals your words away. He looks upon you with a tormented gaze that cuts through you like a knife. The devilish twinkle that you loved so much had vanished from his eyes. In some ways, he seemed like a completely different man than the one who sat in that very same spot only nights before and proposed to you. Yet in others, he was more that man than he'd ever been, and all you wished for now was to take the pain away from him.
You crawl into the seat alongside him and slowly turn his head towards you. "Then show me how to fix you, one and only."
Your offer destroys what remains of his fortitude as he breaks down into sobs, succumbing to his grief. You cradle his head to your chest and press kisses into his hair while he weeps. His numerous injuries don't prevent his unburdening, the pain deep inside clearly far greater than whatever he felt in his body.
"They're gone. They're all gone, because of me," he cries, "I failed them. I always fail them."
Suddenly, you're seized with realization. He didn't just mean the men killed at the disastrous summit. His meant his brothers in arms that he lost in the war. His best mates. At last, you understood. He felt responsible for their deaths, and the guilt was killing him. It had been poisoning him long before you'd ever met.
"It's not your fault, baby," you console, wondering if he'd ever heard those words before, "It was never your fault."
"Why did I survive? It should have been them. They should have lived. Not me...not me."
His anguished laments send shivers down your spine as your heart breaks for him. How quickly had it all reversed. Now he was the one that clung to you for dear life.
"Oh my love," you murmur, tears falling from your eyes onto his blond locks, "I'm so sorry."
He'd been through more suffering and loss than he had a right to, and you longed to carry that burden with him. But even in these throes of sorrow, you couldn't ignore the spark of hope you were now feeling inside. A sense of peace had begun to settle where the dread and despair had so recently been. For the first time ever, Edward had truly let you inside his darkness. He trusted you; not just to tend to his wounds, but to mend his heart. Indeed, it was the smallest of sparks, but it was a hope that you would die to keep burning for him.
You hold him in your arms for as long as he needs, and it feels like a lifetime before he finally draws back and looks to you with bloodshot eyes.
"Don't give up on me," he begs, his voice raw, "Please, I can't lose you too."
"Never," you pledge, taking his shaking hand and holding it to your heart. "Thick and thin, remember?"
He smiles a bit, some of the light returning to his eyes. The storm inside him was beginning to subside.
You continue on, "All of those men followed you because they believed in you. Just like I believe in you. And I'm not going anywhere."
He stares at you in awe. "What did I ever do you deserve you?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, Rutledge," you answer, overwhelmed with yearning.
"I swear to you, I will earn this second chance," he says sincerely, cupping your cheek, "If you'll still have me."
Rutledge never stays. But he’s here tonight, starved for closeness, too quiet when it’s over. You never ask why. You just hold him anyway.
Edward was a complicated man, never a constant presence in your life, always a mystery, carrying that enigmatic air around him. He dropped in out of nowhere, texted in the middle of the night from an unknown number, never caring about whatever plans you had. And when he showed up, he swept the whole world in with him.
He never told you exactly what he did or what he was, but there was something in his eyes that told you everything you needed to know. The scars, the countless nervous tics he had, the way he tasted like mint no matter what time or place.
Unstable. That was the conclusion you came to one night, right when he stormed out of your bedroom and vanished for three whole months, disappearing off the face of the Earth after what started as a silly argument on your world views took a sharp and wrong turn. But he always came back, like a stray, rugged cat that wanted, craved, needed attention and a warm embrace from time to time. You’d never turn him away, having a weird soft spot for the strays.
Just like tonight. He showed up on your doorstep and you let him in without a second thought, sinking into his arms the moment the door clicked shut. There was no hello, no pretense of small talk. Only his mouth on yours; messy, rushed, like he didn’t know what he was depraved of more: breath, contact, or the faint promise of being wanted and needed back.
He kissed like a man starved. Like he thought it might be the last time. And maybe he did.
He was all over the place. Gripping your waist too hard, dragging your shirt off like it offended him, pressing you up against the nearest wall as if the distance between your bodies physically hurt him. You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound like it meant something. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to take control or hand it over to you. One second his hands were in your hair, tugging, grounding himself. The next, he was melting under your touch, chasing it with watery eyes and soft breaths, begging with his whole being, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
There was something unhinged, manic even, in the way he held you, like he was trying to crawl inside your skin, trying to forget. Or remember. You never knew with him. You just knew you’d let him take whatever he needed.
And when it was over, when the tension finally bled out of him and he was left wrung out and quiet, no longer attacked by the buzz in his head, he collapsed face-down across your lap, barely covered by the sheets. In your bed, in your space.
You ran your fingers through his dirty blonde hair, gently scratching the back of his neck. That always earned you a soft little sound from him, one he always denied making. Stubborn.
Still, you’d hold him through anything. Trace the sharp angles of his face with the pads of your fingers. Let him cling, let him stay as close as he wanted, and never say a word about it, aside from that one time your ribs had protested under the strength of his grip.
You really wished he could stay.
But he was dripping with pain. Drowning in it.
And seeing Edward on the news, consumed by everything he carried, was far from pleasant.
Welcome to the beginning!
Shadow = reader. Reading fics that have "reader" or "y/n" generally always takes me out of the rhythm of the story so Shadow is the only ‘official’ name that you have purely for my imagination purposes.
As I said, I’m trying to make this a reader insert but this is my first time doing it so if I add too much detail to Shadow’s character then please let me know. My current bad habit is writing in third person so I do keep reading back to ensure corrections are made - I usually have my characters all thought out so writing like this is taking some getting used to! The most detail in my mind is she is a short female with long hair, but feel free to imagine as you wish to :) I will make sure to add short!reader tag.
I hope it was worth the wait! I doubt there will be much plot to this thing. I may try and work Shadow into some of the canon events but I'm doubtful. I see this WIP as a way to write something without the pressure of keeping to a tight storyline.
Warnings: violence, sexual themes, non/dubcon, Homelander is a warning.... and so is Rutledge.
He was here for reconnaissance. Rutledge covered his eyes with a dark cap and stuck to the shadows of the club. It was easy to be a ghost here. Everyone was too busy trying to fuck or shoving coke up their noses.
Humans… so predictable.
He hated that he had to be surrounded by them. Every nerve in his body was alight with disgust and the need to cleanse the world of some of the cockroaches in here. Still, Vought wanted to know what this rising politician was up to in the dark. Currently, he was nose deep in white powder in one of the VIP lounges. Half-naked girls were dancing around him and his group of beer-guzzling friends. Just like he thought… predictable. There was nothing interesting about this creature, but he took a damning picture all the same. Vought could use his drug habit as their way to sink their claws into him.
It should have been job done. Case closed. Time to leave the sweaty, needy atmosphere. However, something else had caught his eye.
A young thing that hovered on the outskirts of the dancefloor. You must have been only a few inches over 5 foot, yet your aura seemed to fill the entire space around you. Your eyes were on a group of young women that were dancing off to the side – close friends, Rutledge assumed – but you remained to the side nursing a glass of liquid. Vodka on the rocks, he surmised after a quick sniff of the air.
You looked unassuming, dressed in a little black dress and heels that added a few inches to your height, but he could feel you. There was something in the air. You were a supe. If there was one thing he was good at, it was sensing things. It was one of the many tricks that made his job easier; if someone so much as changed their face wash, he’d be able to smell it. He could feel the vibrations in the air around you; a little demon in plain sight.
And then he saw it.
Whilst you stood still with your drink, your shadow danced and twirled behind you. The bar staff were too busy to notice and everyone else was drunk or high. The black silhouette twisted its hips and raised its arms in the air to the beat; his enhanced eyes noted that little tendrils of black played with the hair that brushed against your shoulders.
He needed to know more.
Rutledge slipped his phone out of his pocket and snapped a photo that he immediately sent to Drew, his contact within Crime Analytics. In minutes he’d have all the information he’d need on you.
Where you lived.
What your name was.
Where you liked to go.
Hell, he’d even know your Starbucks order by the time morning came.
--
His reward for a job well done was a few days of downtime. He knew they were preparing to introduce him to his… brother. Fuck, he already had a headache from the whining that little fuck would do. Edward knew he’d been created from John’s DNA as a backup plan, a replica, but he didn’t care. He knew he was better.
He wasn’t a little boy playing dress up and smiling for the cameras. He was the devil in the dark; the creature in the night that would tear a person in two just because they looked at him funny. He had freedom, whilst Homelander was kept in his pretty cage with rules and regulations. Vought could think they pulled his strings as much as they liked, but the truth was that he was only loyal to himself. He hunted the people they said because most of the time they had security and safety nets which made the game fun, it gave him a challenge. The moment that Vought became dull, was the moment he’d be gone. Whilst it was fun and interesting, he’d play along, but he wouldn’t stay somewhere that bored him. Homelander could pretend he was satisfied all he likes, but Rutledge was a ticking time bomb. He wanted more. He wanted everything.
The thought of having to live in that grey tower made his stomach churn. It was so… controlled. So, it was time that he captured something of his own. A little toy that he could use. With any luck, you were as strong as he had felt the night before. You’d need to be, if you wanted to survive him. He needed something to keep his mind turning during the day when he had to lay low.
So, that’s why he was back in a place that set his teeth on edge.
Another bar.
Another cesspit.
There you were stood to the side nursing a glass of clear liquor whilst keeping an eye on your friends. He watched as you waved them off with a smile as they tried to drag you to the dancefloor.
‘I’m fine here, Sophie. I promise! You know this isn’t really my scene.’ He heard you say as the redhead in pink stumbled back into the sea of bodies.
He watched as your fingers drummed to the beat against your bare leg. This time you wore denim shorts and a cropped band tee with Converse wedges. Although you stood on the side-lines, he could tell you were happy enough. A smile being sent each time a friend looked to you, a slow move of your hips when a song struck something within you. You were independent. You were a lonely soul but that was just the way you liked it.
Rutledge thought of himself in the exact same way. He worked alone. He had contacts, sure, but he did his work alone for the most part. He returned to his apartment at the end of the day and relaxed by himself. He enjoyed his own space. That was why he found himself wanting to possess you. Having to play nicely alongside The Seven made him feel unsettled, so he needed something that was his own whilst he shared a space with the others. You would be his.
“Vodka with ice.” He motioned to the bartender, his cap pulled down so they didn’t think he was the infamous supe in blue. He kept you in sight at all times and assessed the area around you. So far he hadn’t seen your shadow anywhere; it would seem you weren’t exercising your energy tonight. Rutledge waited for you to turn around, positioning yourself to look towards the DJ booth as your friends moved to the front of the crowd where the music was loudest. Once he was satisfied you were distracted, he made his move. He slithered past the needy bodies around him and stood a few inches from you.
He inhaled and groaned in the back of his throat. Your scent was intoxicating; your perfume a classic vanilla oud mixing with the creamy almond and coconut body wash you’d used prior to getting dressed. His arm came around you, presenting the drink.
“Oh, no, thank y-” You began to protest just as his other plunged the syringe of yellow liquid into your neck. His hand quickly dropped the glass, the shattering sound covered by the thumping beat, and moved to grip your throat as you stumbled backwards into hard chest.
“Careful, careful. Don’t hurt yourself.” He snickered as you tried to undo his grip from your throat with shaking fingers. Black tendrils crawled up his fingers but slowly flickered out as your body weakened. “Ssssh. It’s so dangerous to be distracted when you’re standing in the dark, sweetheart.” You didn’t fall unconscious, but it made your limbs go slack enough that it was only his strength that kept you upright. You put up no fight as he swiftly walked over to the fire exit doors and pushed you out into the cool air. The door shut behind him unceremoniously and he watched emotionless as you attempted to push yourself up from the ground on shaky arms.
“What the fuck…” You slurred.
“I am impressed. I wasn’t sure how it would affect you. It should knock you unconscious… but look at you fighting against it.” Rutledge nodded to himself. You were strong. He stepped around you and crouched down. A grin on his face as you used your remaining strength to glare up at him. He watched as your eyes began to turn black and a hiss echoed from your mouth. “Not yet… but soon.”
He just wanted to meet you tonight. He didn’t have everything ready for you yet.
--
He’d watched from afar over the next few days; CCTV tracking your movements whenever you left your apartment. He chuckled into his glass as he watched your tense body language, your head scanning each area as you made your way to the grocery store before quickly making your way back to ‘safety’.
He was impressed that you left your apartment at all. You had guts.
He couldn’t wait to fight you. He couldn’t wait to see how hard you hit, how your powers would try to harm him, and how your face would fall as you realised how you couldn’t beat him. He was hard just thinking about it. He wondered if your tears would taste as sweet as he thought they would. He wondered if your body would be malleable or if he’d have to bite and bruise you into position.
God, he hoped he’d have to break you down.
He officially had 6 more days before he was introduced to The Seven. Everything was right on track. He’d take you tomorrow, and then you’d have the better part of a week to acclimatise to your new life.
---
2AM
You lived just on the outside of the city so the streets were silent at this time of the night. The streetlamps lit up the pavements, but the alleyways remained shadowed and dark. Rutledge stood as still as a statue just across from your building, looking directly up at your apartment on the 7th floor.
You had started your usual night routine around 11pm; a hot shower, skincare, and a glass of ice water. He’d clenched his fist as you danced around naked waiting for your body oil to sink in to your skin. He had never been more thankful for his x-ray vision, the walls of your building becoming mere windows into your little world. You’d not drawn the blinds, only being shielded from the outside world by the sheer curtain in front of the glass balcony doors. If a single soul had been walking past and looked up at you, Edward would have sliced them in two before they could truly appreciate your silhouette.
You’d settled under the sheets about an hour ago, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted as you welcomed the release of sleep. You were completely unaware that the supe dressed in black was quietly flying up to your balcony, a smile on his face as he used his laser vision to burn through the lock and silently enter. He prided himself on his control of the beams, unlike America’s Hero who burnt through anything and everything in his path.
Rutledge stood in the shadow of your door and admired your figure. Lucky for him, you liked to go to sleep in tiny shorts and a baggy cropped top, so he had much to admire. You let out a groan and stretched before turning over on to your front. He was silent as he approached from the side and carefully ran a hand through your hair. He hadn’t even had a chance to appreciate the silkiness of your locks before a force sent him flying into the wall. His body left a large crack in the wall but he did little more than chuckle and stand, lazily brushing the plaster dust from his shoulders.
“Hm. Sneaky.” He looked up and grinned; there you were. The real you was a sight to behold. Your eyes were completely black, smoky tendrils came from your hair and fingers like snakes, and your shadow was twice your size against the wall.
“Who are you?” He may have Homelander’s face, but you knew he wasn’t the infamous supe. This guy didn’t hide the darkness within him and he wasn’t as neatly groomed as the sociopath that graced the front pages.
“Edward Rutledge. I like to play in the dark, don’t like the spotlight like my counterpart… it’s much more fun to play in the shadows. Wouldn’t you agree, sweetheart?”
His reflexes made your breath stop in your chest; he easily dodged a punch from your shadow and sent a well-aimed kick into its abdomen. With a hiss you dived off the bed and flew forward with a hard right of your own. He barely flinched, grabbed your wrist and delivered a stiff closed fist to your cheek causing you to stumble back against the bed. It would have crushed a lesser being’s skull, but there wasn’t even a droplet of blood on your face. Your lips curled into a snarl as he nodded in approval. It had been a long time since someone had stood toe to toe with him. Your shadow came back with a high kick to his temple followed by a backhand causing him to smile
“Come on, darlin’!” Grabbing the shadow’s hair he brought its head down and used his knee to once, twice, three times, deliver rough shots to its face before throwing it against the wall he’d hit. The weakened structure crumble to dust and your shadow disappeared into the darkness of the other room. Rutledge barely had time to face you again before dodging the lamp you threw his way as a cheap distraction; when he turned back to you a black tendril shot from your outstretched hand and hit his chest like a bullet. It knocked him backwards a little as he faltered in surprise. You used this opportunity to stride forward and push him to the ground. He choked out a laugh as your hands wrapped around his throat and he felt a tickle in his lung. Had it been someone weaker, they’d have choked on the black smoke filling their respiratory system, but he was better. It was more of an annoyance to him really.
“Alright, that’s how you’re gonna play.” With a tight grin his eyes glowed red and he crashed his forehead against yours followed by a boot to your ribs causing you to fly backwards into your dresser. The wooden furniture shattered upon impact, but to his surprise, you jumped back up to two feet without breaking a sweat. “You’re a tough one to break.” He was impressed; a single punch has broken people’s jaws before, but you haven’t even got a single bruise yet. Your heartrate had increased by a small amount but you were otherwise unaffected by the fight. The only hint that you were affected by his strength was the fact your shadow had yet to reappear. You bit your lip as you felt that part of you sink back into you; you would lose your energy too quickly if you carried on using all of your power.
“What do you want?”
“You.” He said simply with a smile. “And I’m tired of playing now.” His eyes began to glow red as he stepped forward. It was at this moment that you finally faltered. You’d faced a lot before, but never the lasers that you’d seen on television. Homelander’s lasers sliced through buildings like a knife through butter. You knew you were pretty indestructible, but you didn’t know if your skin would be able to stand up to this weapon. The red faded back to blue as he let out a sarcastic laugh. “So, that makes you scared. Good to know.” He tapped a finger against his head before rushing at you and pushing you into the wall. Your hands went to his throat as his went to your face and squeezed your cheeks. “So pretty when you’re scared.”
“Fuck you.” You grunted against his grip and created a smoky noose around his neck that tightened instantly. This time his red eyes came back in a flicker and he used his grip on your face to send the back of your head crashing through the wall. The coil immediately disappeared from his neck as you blinked up at him slowly. He’d used his full strength this time. He hadn’t held back. There was a hole the size of your head in the wall and he hummed as a smudge of red painted the wall. You should have been a mess of brain matter, but there was only a small cut on the back of your head.
You grunted and tried to pull yourself up but he gripped your hair and sent your head back into the wall. The room span around you as you lay taking in deep breaths, desperately trying to come back to your senses as the supe in black let out a low whistle. “A few more of those and you might end up a vegetable.” He watched as you tried to push yourself up on to all fours and quickly brought his boot between your shoulders and pressed down. “Stay. Down!” Tears built up in your eyes as for the first time in your life you felt helpless. You weren’t used to this. You didn’t interact with supes often, but when you did, they never got the upper hand. You flinched as he moved your hair to one side and a cold metal slid around your neck. He let out a pleased noise as a quiet click echoed through the room. His heavy boots moved away from you and you watched as he sat on the edge of your bed; a shit-eating grin on his rugged face.
“What? You get that much satisfaction from beating a woman?” You spat as you shakily pushed yourself up.
“I just think that this is the start of a beautiful relationship.”
“You’re insane.” And that’s when you felt it. It was like a cold chill down your spine. Your connection to the shadows seemed frozen. It was like a part of you had been ripped away. Your brows furrowed in confusion causing a vicious laugh to leave his lips. “What have you done?” You tried to throw another smoky bullet at him but nothing more than a black stain appeared on your fingertips for a few seconds before fading away.
With his grin still intact, Rutledge stood and took lazy steps towards you. “You’re mine now, little Shadow.”
Try to understand me little girl,
my twisted passion to be your world.
Love Hate Love – Alice in Chains
