Soldier Boy X Reader - Tumblr Posts
An Actress Life - Chapter 17
warnings: rude!alan, Jensen’s mom is a sweetheart, hurt!reader, crying, angry!Jensen
word count: 1,887
A/N: sorry for being so inactive loves, but I have Covid and wasn’t feeling so well
They arrive at his parents' house, Jensen parks in the driveway and she gets out of the car.
"Okay, I don't know why, but I'm kinda nervous." She says with a nervous and awkward laugh. "Why that?" He asks with a small frown.
"You know, they love you." He adds softly. She gives him a weak smile and he takes her hand and leads her to the front door.
He rings the doorbell and his mom Donna opens it. "Oh gosh, y/n. So good to see you." She says happily and she smiles slightly at her, then Donna pulls her into a warm hug. She hugs Donna back as well, feeling calm as Donna rubs her back. She quashes Y/N's cheek gently before pulling away to give her son a hug as well. "Now, come in." She says happily and gestures them in. They follow her into the living room to greet Mac and Josh.
"Y/n so good to see you, really." He gives her a reassuring smile. Is it that obviously that I'm nervous? "Guys, dinner is served." Donna says softly and they all go into the dining room. Y/N sits down next to Jensen and Mac. Josh, Donna and Alan across from them.
The food always smells so good, Y/N loves her cooking. "Donna the food smells so good." Y/N says happily with a smile, while Donna places the food on the table.
"Thanks sweetie." She says squeezing your shoulder and sits down.
Everyone starts putting food on their plates, after that they begin eating. "Why are you back with my son although you cheated on him?" Alan suddenly speaks up and Y/N chokes on her food. "Wh-What?" She asks in shock with wide eyes and looks at Jensen, who's eyes are widened as well.
"Dad, seriously?" Jensen says with a clenched jaw. "I'm just asking, I don't want my son to be with someone who's cheating on him." Alan says with shrug. "Okay, wow, Alan I thought we both were happy that they're back together." Donna shakes her head in disbelief, feeling slightly ashamed.
Y/N looks at Jensen to see how disappointed he is of his father. She doesn't know, if she should leave or stay. She's also hurt about how his father is thinking of her. Did Jensen never tell them the truth?
Maybe Jensen and she shouldn't be back together- "Dad." Jensen says firmly and rips her out of her thoughts, making her blink. "She never cheated on me." "It's that what she's telling you?" Those words hit more than she thought.
"That's enough!" Mac shouts at Alan. "Honey, please stop crying." Donna says and stands up from her chair. Y/N hasn't even realized that tears have welled up in her eyes. Donna walks behind her and pats her shoulders gently.
"Everything will be fine, I absolutely support your relationship with Jensen." She whispers into her ear and hugs her from behind. "Dad, I love her! She was and is the only one that makes me happy." Jensen says firmly and honestly. "I know that." Donna says softly and puts her other hand on Jensen's shoulder.
"At least one of my parents." Jensen scoffs in disbelief. "Joanna was better for you." Alan says and looks coldly at Y/N. "That's enough!" Jensen and Donna say. Jensen stands up and throws his napkin on the plate in anger.
"I'm sorry mum, I'm not hungry anymore." He says with an apologetic smile and goes into the backyard to get some fresh air. Leaving her all alone. Great. "Dad what is wrong with you? I- we thought you like her." Josh says confused. "I do, but after what she did to him." "You want to know the truth?" Y/N speaks up and everyone looks at her. Tears streaming down her cheeks. "I already know the truth." He says while eating a piece of his food.
"I think you don't." Mac says. "Honey speak." Donna says. "I made mistakes, that's true. I'm not gonna deny that. At this time, when Jensen and I broke up, it wasn't feeling right anymore and I didn't think we should stay together anymore. It felt like a must, because of the press and the internet. We didn't see each other often, but-but I loved and still do love him...so much. I've never cheated on him, yes I met someone, but we never kissed or had sex. Nothing. I felt unwanted and unneeded-" She rambles on and chokes on a sob.
"She felt that way because of me." Jensen interrupts her, leaning against the doorframe. "But you were going to purpose to her, didn't you?" Alan asks with a frown. "Yeah, but I didn't notice how I made her feel or how I treated her I was most of the time irritated about everything. I noticed that after she told me that she wanted to end the relationship. She went to this guy, yes it's true, but it was after everything ended." Jensen continues. "To be honest, at first I thought she cheated on me, but Jared and Gen told me about everything, after I kept saying she betrayed me. When you know Jared and Gen, you know, they never lie."
"But when you felt this way-" he looks at her "-why are you back together?" Alan asks confused. "I got a job offer of Supernatural. When started I thinking about Jensen then, I realized I still had feelings for him. I thought I was over him, but I wasn't. Jensen and I met up and talked about everything. While we talked about everything, I noticed that it still feels like those years ago. He told me, he never stopped loving me. That's when we decided we should give us another try." She explains and looks at her hand in her lap.
"But it's okay, if you still don't trust me."
"Look, I'm really sorry-" She looks up and doesn't trust her ears as she hears him apologizing "-I-I didn't know the truth. I thought it was because our son-" he points at Jensen "-told us so."
"Hey, it's not his fault. Who would ever thought they would get back together?" Josh asks.
"Exactly, nobody." He adds. "Also Dad, since when do you believe in rumours from the press?" Josh asks with a raised eyebrow. "I really don't know." Alan says rubbing his temple,
Donna and the rest look at Alan, while Y/N looks at her hands. 'Now apologize.' Donna mouths to him. "Y/N, I guess I have to apologize." "You guess?" Jensen scoffs.
"It's okay, I guess I would have reacted the same way." She says with a weak smile. "Really? So you're not mad at me?" He asks. "No, already forgotten." She looks at her hands before giving Alan a weak smile. Jensen gazes at her, knowing she's lying.
He knows, it's definitely not okay. She's hurt, but he also knows she respects his parents. She would never say anything, that's rude or inappropriate. "Okay, the good vibes are gone now." Mac chuckles. "Seems like that." Y/N smiles at her. "Mum, thanks for dinner, but I think it's better when y/n/n and I leave now." Jensen says softly.
"Thanks Donna." Y/N says softly and hugs her, Josh and Mac. "I hope we see us next time under better circumstances." Donna says softly while they're making their way down the hallway to the front door. Y/N gives her a small smile. "Bye." She says one last time, before leaving the house and entering the car. Jensen does the same. Before he starts the car he looks at her and searching for her eyes, but she avoids looking at him. "You're okay?" "Yeah." She brushes it off.
"Can we just head home?" She adds. He doesn't say anything and starts the engine in response.
During the drive home they don't talk much, it's a real odd situation. "Can you stop being so...quiet?" He says while they arrive at their driveway. "Jens, what do you expect from me?" She looks at him for the first time and unbuckles her seatbelt. "I-I don't know, that you're not mad at me?" She sighs and reaches for his hand.
"Jay, I know it's not your fault we both thought both your parent are okay with that. Your mom was-is, but your dad-" she takes her hand away and looks at her lap "-your dad isn't okay with that. Yeah, maybe he apologized, but he sees me as the bitch, who cheated on his son. It hurts, that your dad doesn't like me anymore. It's an odd situation, Jensen. You know the truth and you also know I love you so so much, but maybe I am not the-"
"The right woman for me?" He scoffs and completes her sentence. "Yeah, I don't wanna be a wife, your dad doesn't like. It-it-" she chokes on a sob "-it breaks my heart even thinking about that, we just-" she's interrupted by Jensen's lips on hers. His hands cup her face and kisses her gently as her hand find its place on his neck.He stops and rests his forehead against hers.
"Please don't say that, I- I don't want to loose you ever again. Never." She looks into his green orbs and can't help but smile. "My mom, sister and brother are happy for me and to be honest for me it's more important, that my mom supports us than my father." He shrugs and smiles at me.
"Y/n/n, I love you more than everything. Since I got you back I'm the happiest man alive. You're the woman I want to marry, to have kids, a family with." He gives her a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Are you really sure about that I am the right one?" She asks him just above a whisper. "Don't you ever doubt that. You're making me a lucky man." He says with a laugh. She smiles slightly.
"Let's finally head inside." He adds and brings her hand to his lips and kiss it softly. She gets out of the car and walks to the front door. Jensen unlocks the door and she steps in. She kicks her shoes off, before both go upstairs into the bedroom, she changes into some comfy clothes and lies down on the bed.
He lies down next to her and looks at her with a frown. "About what are you thinking?" He asks. "About a lot-" she cuddles into his chest and he wraps his arm around her waist "-about what happened, about-" she lets out a sob "-about that fans hate me for being with you, these letters, the girl on the airport, about what has happened an hour ago. It's-" she takes a deep breath "it's too much to handle for me lately." She cries into his chest and fist his t-shirt in her hand. "Shhh." He strokes her head gently.
He hates seeing her this way, after a few minutes she cried herself to sleep. He takes his phone from the nightstand and opens Twitter. He has enough of how she's feeling, she's been treated like shit, although she hasn't done anything.
He tweets:
Read next part here!
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tag list: @leigh70 @jensensgirl @stoneyggirl2 @akshi8278 @mrschapter
TAG LIST is open☺️
────⠀ ⠀NEW BOTS .ᐟ
࿐ ʚ jensen ackles ۫ . ˖ he teaches you how to golf, since you're pretty bad at it.
☆
࿐ ʚ jensen ackles ۫ . ˖ after talking with you a lot, he finally asks you out on a date at a resturaunt that he likes a lot—but he's so nervous about it.
☆
࿐ ʚ jensen ackles ۫ . ˖ you're a famous singer in a girl group, and jensen so happens to have a huge crush on you, which he'd let known on a recent talk show.
☆
࿐ ʚ soldier boy ۫ . ˖ he takes care of you after talking your virginity.
☆
࿐ ʚ damon salvatore ۫ . ˖ you're new to mystic falls, and find yourself at the miss mystic falls pageant. after elena introduces you to damon, the two of you get to talking.
What I was promised
Pairing: Soldier boy x Sup!Fem!Reader
Summary: The deal was simple, he kills Homelander, and Butcher gives him greenlight to fulfill his dream of having a family, you were just… collateral damage, another sup taken care off if you ask Butcher.
Warnings: SPOILERS OF THE BOYS SEASON 3 CHAPTERS 7 & 8.
Cursing, Dub-con, involuntary imprisonment, unprotected sex (do I have to remind you to not have a party without a party hat?), breeding kink, housewife kink, cursing, dirty talking, the works and everything fun related to this guy
Wordcount: 3.7k
Notes: Oh I really wanted to write about this hot sup and honestly? his talk about wanting kids just triggered me
This is it, the final fight. Butcher and Soldier Boy were getting ready to storm the tower, the final battle against Homelander where they knew they were going to win. Sharing stories about their childhoods and their crappy dads.
“I always wanted them, kids I mean, I've always thought I could do a better job than my father ever did” Butcher saw the plan he carefully and dangerously crafted crumble into pieces in front of his eyes
“Homelander is not your son” he said carefully
“He is the only thing I have”
“You can have more kids” he said then, “I know you like old bags, but you can still choose a young one, I don’t care, but he… has to go” Ben looked at him with with furrowed brow
“The young girls these days don’t want to form families, that’s what that cum-eating little shit told me”
“Well, yeah but you are a handsome devil, I know you can figure it out” he uttered hopefully
“Well, yeah, homelander is a piece of shit anyways, so fuck him” Butcher signed relieved
“That my boy”
“I could convince that girl to give me a couple of babies, I mean, she is sweet like that”
“Who?”
“The sweet one… the one on your team, the one with the telekinesis thing”
“(Y/N)?” he asked, it was Butcher´s turn to frown, “I don’t think she is your speed”
“I’ll make her my speed” he said firmly, and that’s when they both look at eachother, definitely
“That’s not how we do things with the ladies” he said carefully, “We ain’t in the 40’s no more” he growled. Ben only smirked
“So now you are telling me I can’t have her either?”
“Only if she wants to” he reminded him
“Turn a blind eye, convince everyone we are dead, and I'll waste my own son for you”
“They are going to hate me if they found out I gave her to you like some sort of stuffed animal in a carnival”
“That’s the part where you convince them we are dead” he said simply, “You want me to fry Homelander? My own son? You’ll let me take her” Butcher looked at him
“But she can never tell anyone what happened” he warned
“I’ll take care of that” he said simply, “You just think there is going to be one less Sup you need to worry about”
“Good riddance then”
“You two are sick” Maeve muttered, and they both froze when they saw the redhead standing in the doorway of the room
“Oh, we getting sentimental love?” mocked Butcher, “She is just going to be collateral damage, we kill the bastard, whatever it takes”
“And what are you going to do to her you sick fuck?” she asked then
“You don’t worry your little head about that” muttered Butcher
“She doesn’t deserve this, she is actually a decent person”
“You heard the man, he won’t waste Homelander if we don’t let him take her, so that’s it” Maeve went quiet, sharing dirty looks with Soldier Boy, the man just smiled
“I’m not gonna hurt her” he said simply, “I’m just gonna turn her into what any decent girl should be, make an honest woman out of her”
“This is so wrong” she whispered, but said nothing more as the three prepared to storm the tower
“They already have a huge startpoint” muttered Hughie
“We still have to try”, said Annie decisively
“Agree” you muttered, looking up at Frenchie, Kimiko and MM, “we all know what we are up against, right?”
“Soldier Boy and Homelander won’t walk out of that tower” muttered MM, “whatever it takes”
“Whatever it takes” you all agreed
The plan was simple, Frenchie and Kimiko would go for the nerve gas to stop Soldier Boy while you all gained time and try to stop them. Hughie was to the control room to warn everyone as you and Annie ran in front of MM to protect him of whatever lies in front of you through the halls of Vought tower
But when you got to them… it was already late. You couldn’t even walk through the doors of the news study when a huge blast threw you backwards. You flew through the air feeling as the air was punched out of your lungs and you collapse against a marble pillar, losing all consciousness
. . .
When you came to your senses again, your head weighed a ton, and you had to make a huge effort to open your eyes. You took in the room, you were laid on a King size bed, and the room looked cozy, with a fireplace and all, a little outdated, like from the 80’s, but it was a very comfortable looking room. You took your hands towards your face and they both looked fine, you drew out your push wave and it still worked, your powers were ok, not fried out
“Oh good, I was scared I fried your powers” you grunted a little more when you recognized the men behind the words, “I wouldn't want you to lose them”
“Ben?” you called, finding him entering the room you were in, he smiled when he heard you calling him that, this is exactly what he wanted from you, his real name being moaned from those lips he liked so much, “What happened?” you murmured, “You used the radiation against us?” you seemed hurt, you sounded scared, and he didn't like that
“You tried to stop us from smoking Homelander” he explained simply, not denying it
“Is everyone else ok?” you asked, “Annie and MM? Frenchie and Kimiko?” he sigh loudly, impatient, not wanting to have to explain to you, he didn’t care about them, he cared about you
“I don’t know, they were breathing when I left”
“You fried us up” you frowned your pretty little face and he didn’t understand why this was so hard for you to understand. Your eyes stopped at the TV, which was broadcasting the lastest news… Homelander was DEAD
“WHAT?” you said urgently, seeing the entire Vought tower completely destroyed, “What the fuck hapened?”
“Sweet things like you don’t talk like that” he whispered with that husky voice of his
“Ben… what happened?” you asked, softly, to appease him
“I complied with my part of the deal, I wasted Homelander” even if he clearly won, he looked defeated, “Homelander, what kind of shitty name that is anyways?” Even though this is what you all wanted, it felt wrong to celebrate the death of a human being, even though it was a Supe-supremacist psychotic piece of shit like him, still… celebrating a man’s death wasn’t right
“Is everyone ok?”
“I think so, I really didn’t care, I only cared about you” you felt your cheeks flush at his words and then he flashed you a poster boy smile. To distract yourself, you looked around. If the outside was any indication, you seemed to be in some sort of cabin
“Ben?” you asked, suddenly scared, your super hearing wouldn’t let you hear anything else but his breathing and the birds outside chirping, no cars, no other people, nothing. He raised from his seat on a small sofa and sat right next to you on the bed. His closeness made you uncomfortable
“Yes, sweet thing?” he purred, and you understand why he got laid everywhere he went, he had to only speak with that thick voice and all the panties in the room would drop
“Where are we?” Softly and gently was the way to go with him, you looked into his beautiful green eyes looking for the truth and the truth only, he smiled softly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ea, the contact of his gloved hands made you trembled in your spot
“We are in a cabin Legend gifted me after our first gig together, the old thing is still standing”
“But why? Where are the others?”
“Around, why do you care so much?” he asked, annoyed, “I’m here”
“But you had a huge fight, and Homelander is finally dead, and I… he was the most powerful man alive, I mean, I just want to know…”
“Everyone is ok” he said with a sigh, probably the others were covering your tracks, I mean, you just wasted Homelander and Vought probably had tapes about all of you doing so… so now you were fugitives again, and you had to lay low, if the other were ok it was all going to be fine.
“Except for Noir, Homelander got to him before I could”
“Noir is also dead?” you asked, feeling bad for the ninja, you actually like him and your time in the tower and the times you spent with him had been very pleasant. But to Soldier Boy not too much since he was your worry his face turned in anger
“He was a traitor who gave me away to the Russians” he growled, “He is lucky Homelander got to him and not me”
“I’m sorry for what he did to you, but to me he was always… polite” you whispered
“Let’s just not talk about that traitor fucker, a walking tumor” his tone made you frightful, so you just looked down scaping his gaze
“I’m sorry you had to be the one to kill Homelander” you muttered, “Hughie told us, that he was…”
“My own son” you looked back at him and it scared you he didn’t seem remorseful, or that he didn't show any emotion at all, “I didn’t get to raise him, he was a weak little pussy”
“I'm sorry about that” you whispered, “He wasn’t a good person”
“It doesn’t matter, I have a second chance” he muttered, he leaned in and before you could stop him he trapped your lips with his. He kisses you slowly. At first you are so impressed you couldn’t react until he tried to pry your lips open with his tongue. You pushed him but accidentally used your powers. Even when it barely move him, not being able to throw him off the bed
“You are a little firecracker, did you know that?” he asked, amused by your outburst
“No” you whispered, he leaned in again to kiss you roughly, and you felt limb against his arms and chest as you return the kiss
He might be traumatized, he might have been an asshole, but he was hot as hell. He was one of the most handsome guy you had ever met and in a fraction of a second you thought about even if you fuck him, it wouldn’t mean anything but a good time, he was going to pretend nothing happened by tomorrow, so what’s the harm?
His hand went to encase your face against him, and you in turn grabbed his chestnut hair, playing with it with your fingers. His hands soon left your face to go down your neck to squeeze your breasts, as he groaned, pleased against your mouth
“Fuck” he whispered when he left your mouth to drop open mouth kissed down your chin and then devouring your neck, “You are a little slut, aren’t you?”
“No” you whispered, “I just want to fuck you” you said simply, your hands travelling down his body and then up against agains’t his skin until you reached his chest. He chuckled, his husky voice made your panties more wet if that was even possible. He slowly eased you down against the mattress, while he got rid of the blankets that were still covering you, so he could lay next to you. He was wearing some cotton pants and a simple shirt, and even though it would be to even hotter to fuck him while he was wearing his suit, this worked just fine.
You moaned, losing all shame when he sucked on a special spot in your neck, and you spread your legs instinctively. You barely realized you weren’t wearing your super suit, you were wearing a plain t-shirt and cotton leggings just like him, which he ripped from your quivering body when he realized you had spread your legs for him
He wastes no time in trapping you under him once he gets rid of your underwear. He opened up your thighs, your sex exposed to him, admiring your wet pussy. You wanted to be even so you, in turn, ripped to shreds his clothes as well, and to your surprise, his ock jumped free, missing the underwear
“God I love the new age” he purred, you squeezed his thick cock, moaning when you couldn’t completely wrap your hand around his thick range, he was going to rip you apart if he wasn’t careful, which you were sure he wasn’t going to be. His thick finger danced teasingly trough your folds, testing you, tasting how wet you were, because you were dripping for him
“I’ve never been the one much for foreplay” he murmured, you just nodded, wanting him inside you, “Hell, we have time later for some pussy tasting” the tip of his cock replaced his fingers, and you opened more your legs for him to be able to place himself comfortably between your legs, as he started to open you up with his thick cock.
“Oh shit” you cursed, closing your eyes, your hands laced under your knee to keep your legs open for him. The stretch burned, but if felt so good you could kill him if he ever stopped.
In a rough push he was completely seated inside of you, making you groan, uncomfortable because of his huge size, needing time to get accustomed to him, but fuck, you had never felt so full, and he touched all the right places inside of you, places you didn’t thik even existed
“Fuck you are tight” he cursed under his breath
“You are too big” you complained, but he only smiled, retrieving himself and then pushing into you roughly, the tip of his cock touching your cervix, making you scream in surprise
“Are you ok?” he smirked, and you just nodded, playfully grabbing his ass, encouraging to start thrusting into you, which he did. Soon he started at a rough pace, the mattress making you bounce off the force.
You grabbed him by the back of his neck and drew him towards you to kiss him deeply. He chuckled darkly against your mouth when he read your intentions
“You are a sweet girl who likes to make sweet lovin’ aren’t you?” you nodded shamefully, like it was a bad thing, but he looked down at you with a glimmer in his eyes that made you rethink everything you knew about him.
His thrusts where deep and calculating, almost methodical as he kept pounding into you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix every time
“Shit!” you cursed as your eyes turned to the back of your head from the pleasure, the knot in your belly kept getting tighter and tighter
“Fuck I feel your little pussy fisting my cock” he purred against you temple. With a wide smile, and using all the force you had, you managed to switch positions, getting him under you, much to his surprised when you placed your hands in his chest and started moving your hips teasingly, finding the perfect angle his cock would touch that sweet spot inside of you, oh and when you did, plus him grabbing your tits and squeezing them, made you cum so hard your thighs trembled at his sides. He grabbed your hips, taking control again and he started moving you roughly on top of him. You navigated your orgasm that lasted longer that you could handle, making you wanted to faint on top of the superhero
“Did you make yourself cum on my fat cock?” he mocked thrusting his hips up to meet you, making such a sloppy sound it was straight up filthy. “Answer me” he demanded, spanking your ass
“Yes I made myself cum on your cock” you confessed full of shame. Oh and you prayed the others weren’t at earshot, this was going to be very hard to explain
“Fuck, you are so tight you are going to make me cum” he admitted, fucking you even roughly, grabbing the globes of your ass, making you bounce up and down his cock for his pelasure, chasing his clímax
What he didn’t expect was to draw another orgasm from you while he pumped you full of his come. Secretly, he hopes it sticks the very first time, as he made sure to press you against him for his cum to reach your womb if it had to
He cum inside you, you felt it deep in your womb and you whined, feeling so good and warm. You weren’t on any birth control, but you guessed you could buy some plan b tomorrow, and slapped yourself mentally for being so careless
“That was one of the bst fucks of my life” you looked at him like he had three heads at his admission.
“Good to know, I thought you were some sort of manwhore” you giggled, and he laughed heartily
“I am” he admitted, caressing your hips, while you were still on top of him
“It’s ok if I cuddle?” you asked dumbly, you liked to cuddle but you weren’t sure he wanted that, and if the others were going to come back soon
“Of course sweetheart” he said with a chuckle, as he trapped you down his arm and against his chest sliding his softening cock off of you, making you whimper in the process.
You relaxed cuddling into him, you laid against Ben’s chest, caressing his soft skin. He chuckled when he heard you purr, content against him.
“Aren’t you a sweet one?” he chuckled, caressing your naked shoulder and down your back, “you are a powerful superhero, and a mynx in the sack” he laughed, and you giggled against his skin, “Fuck I like those powers of yours too, I really hope our kids will inherit them”
“Our kids?” you asked, curious, raising your head to look at him, “what do you mean?” If he was him flirting he sucked at it
“The kids we are going to have together silly girl” you would have laughed at his poor attempt at flirting if you didn’t believe it was real. You wanted to cry
“Ben… where are we?” you asked again, a single tear falling down your eye
“I told you, my cabin”
“The others are not around, are they?” you wanted to climb out of bed, but he grabbed you and made you stick to him with a grunt
“We were having such a good time sweetheart, don’t ruin it” his voice was calm but he hid a threat in them, so you stood still against him again. “In exchange of me killing my own son, Butcher promised me he wasn’t going to get in the way of me taking you for myself”
“No” you cried, “He is an asshole of massive proportions but he wouldn’t do that” you muttered, “Besides the rest of them, the boys wouldn't…”
“They think we are dead” he said simply, “I had to destroy the entire tower to make sure our story sticked” you whimpered in fear, knowing perfectly well you would never be able to fight him off
“Why me?” you asked then
“Who better than you to give the kids I always wanted?” he asked in return, and you whimpered some more as bitter tear ran down your cheeks and to his chest
“We’d be terrible parents” you cried
“That’s not true” he said, angry, “You are sweet, and good and hot as hell, I mean, look at that ass” you whimpered some more, maybe referring to him.
“I will raise them right, like strong men',' and with his iron grip around you you just managed to curl more into yourself.
2 years later…
Your husband, Ben, sat at the head of the table with your one year old bouncing on his leg. The baby, your son, giggled and showed him his one tooth he had to his father proudly as he smiled. That made your heart swell. It’s been a rough couple of years and you understood that what lies ahead, meaning the fact of raising your kids with Soldier Boy, was going to be challenging to say the least, but one thing you understood after so many times you tried to call someone or get help, there was no getting rid of him, so you had to stick around, you couldn’t leave your children, specially with HIM
“He is a handsome little devil, isn’t he?” he admired. Your son, Henry, he was big for his age, and chubby, healthy and strong like his father, who looked at you when you put the dinner right in front of him. He smiled at you and placed his hand on your 8 month baby bump. He wasted no time in putting another baby inside of you as soon as you recuperated from having the first one… And he was going to do it again…
“We make cute babies” you offered with a smile
“And strong ones as well” he said proudly, “These little shits are going to rule the world some day” he muttered. He rose his son in his arms and cuddle him against his chest, sometimes you wondered if he was going to be a good role model when he grows, you then look down at your belly, praying that it was a boy as well, you knew how old school he was, but you also thought a girl would melt his cold heart.
Your son hid his chubby face on his father´s neck, and that made you believe everything was going to be fine.
A small continuation... here
Tag list!💕 @black-repunzel99
SUPERHERO MASTERLIST
a/n: our fav superheroes & supes <3 (i cry at the lack of smallville!clark kent content floating around so why not make my own?) if written for a different version of a character it will be specified. (eg - henry cavill superman = hc) ps i love jensen ackles
CLARK KENT
— real love baby!
summary: to make your ex jealous, your best friend suggests the two of you work together. but it’s not like you knew, he was never planning on letting you go.
SOLDIER BOY (BEN)
— coming soon
JASON TEAGUE
— coming soon
BRUCE WAYNE
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DICK GRAYSON
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JASON TODD
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THE BOYS: America's First Hero ⭐
Mama delivers you gender bend soldier boy and winter soldier
Take A Chance On Me Series Masterlist
Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!Reader, Reader POV
Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you’re around him the more you hate him, but you can’t help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)
Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Eventual), Little bit of Grumpy vs. Sunshine, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy
Chapter 1: Are You Always Like This?
Chapter 2: What A Great Freakin' Way To Start The Day
Chapter 3: Please Remember To Take Your Happy Pills
Chapter 4: You Want to Live Where?
Chapter 5: We Got Us An IKEA Virgin
Chapter 6: Best Friends Forever
CHAPTER 7: COMING SOON!
{One Shots}
Open Mic Night
Last Updated: 08/18/2024
Taglist:
@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard
@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb
@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40
@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse
@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles
@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger
@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @ej13928 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @modiddys-blog
@acciosherlockholmes @minas-fantasies @fireskyy
(Photos on Mood Board From Pinterest)
You Call It Madness But I Call It Love
Chapter 12: My Heart Is Beating For You Constantly
Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV
Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twelve of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)
Word Count: 9.1K (I got really carried away)
Warnings: I'm going to label this one 18+ just in case. References to sex, Implied Sex, Heavy Making Out (not really explicit, but also not real un-detailed…), Cursing, Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, Soft Soldier Boy, Angst, Fluff.
Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!
Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics
A/N: The song they dance to is "You Call It Madness, But I Call It Love" by Russ Columbo.
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
**************************************
1984
You take a sip of wine, leaning over your coffee table to pull another photo from the Rosewood box perched on the edge. It's your birthday, your 65th birthday to be exact, of course one look in the mirror revealed that you barely looked over 30. To some women that might be a welcome thought, but given your current situation it wasn't.
It marked the fourth year since you told Ben that you were unhappy on Payback and as a supe, told him that you wanted a normal life, and four years after you'd let him talk you into staying. But this was the year. You were going to tell him that you were done, that you were moving on and getting out.
Unfortunately the only person you had to convince about letting go was yourself, because leaving meant giving up Ben. And you weren't sure that was something you could do. You were having a hard time convincing your heart to let go of him or rather the old version of him, that only made it's appearance when it was the two of you. The memories that tied you to Ben were tight and difficult to unravel. You couldn't imagine your life without him, couldn’t see past this moment in your life.
But that's why you had to go. You knew you were in too deep. Fantasizing about a relationship with someone who would never love you the same way you loved them, hoping in something that would never happen. And you needed to let him go, whether it be the new version of him or the boy you used to know, you needed to let Ben go.
The Rosewood box was filled with photos, old doodles, memories, and objects from your past. Usually it was stored under your bed, but tonight you had dragged it out into the living room to reminisce on your birthday. It was a tradition you started a few years ago as a way of remembering the past. Sometimes it was a welcome distraction from the way things were now and tonight you were letting it be a last supper of sorts, to indulge in the memories Ben and you had shared over the years before you told him that you were leaving.
You had no idea where you were going, but the thought excited you a little bit. Finally striking out on your own for the first time, doing something for yourself for once, it felt right.
Leaving Ben was the only thing that felt wrong. You wanted him to come with you, for him to choose you the way that you chose him that night, but you knew he wouldn't. He liked this life too much to let it go, he thrived in the spotlight, embraced everything about being a supe that you hated, and so you would let him go.
You look down at the strip of paper in your hand. It was a collection of photos from a photo booth, yellowed with age, but lined up one by one from the first baseball game Ben ever took you to, one of your favorite memories from your childhood. You were wearing the ridiculous pinstriped hat and Ben looked as handsome as he always did, smiling wide with his dark hair hanging in his face. It was hard to look at it now, hard to look at Ben and you when you were so young, and you didn't know where your lives were going to go.
Your eyes drift to the velvet case pressed into the corner of the wooden box. You had kept the ring that Howard got you, well, technically you had tried to give it back but he refused, begging you to reconsider.
Sometimes you thought about throwing it away. It was ugly, but it was a reminder. Not a reminder of Howard, you could barely remember what he looked like, but it was a reminder of the night Ben asked you to come with him. You could remember the earnest look in his eyes, how he cupped your face, and the promise he made to you. The future he promised had been filled with so much possibility, but you weren’t sure anymore. You think about the years you'd spent together and how leaving felt like the end of an era.
But it was necessary, breaking away from all of this would be good. Yes you would miss Ben, but you needed to move on. You knew that deep down. Because you wanted something more than all of this, and the night Ben asked you to come with him you thought he could give it to you, but after all these years you understood that he couldn’t and that he didn’t want to.
Someone knocks loudly on your door.
“One second.” You take the last sip of wine before standing and crossing the room to open the door. “Hey what are you doing here?”
Ben is standing in the hallway outside your apartment, looking handsome as always. He's wearing a tailored dark suit with a black tie, his hair is combed back from his face, dark stubble graces his rugged jaw and a wide smile pulls up at the ends of his lips that makes it very hard to focus on anything else. “Happy Birthday Sweetheart.”
“I’ve had too many birthdays.” You laugh and wave a hand to brush it off. “What are you doing here, I thought you had an interview about the premiere tomorrow?”
Tomorrow night was the premiere of the third and final installment of Anti-Communist films that Ben was currently staring in. The first two had been utterly ridiculous and you knew that the one tomorrow would be just as pointless. Which you knew for a fact, because one day Ben asked you to meet him on set and you saw a scene he was filming, not to mention one time he tried to get you to run lines with him and you told him you'd rather drop dead than read Countess' lines, who took the co-star role when you refused. Ben’s offer of the co-starring role to you had been his way of appeasing you after you told him you were unhappy. When you refused, Countess had been more than willing to slide into it. Who was still trying her upmost to get into Ben's pants, but he still completely ignored her, which gave you an unmeasurable amount of joy.
“I told them that I couldn’t miss my girl's birthday.” Ben smiles wider. “Plus I’d much rather spend tonight with you than those fucking vultures and I’ve never missed your birthday.”
Instead of the words "my girl" filling you with happiness as they had the first night Ben said it in the dancehall, they only make you frustrated. He had called you that several times over the years you'd been friends and each time it made you more and more angry. You were tired of it. Tired of Ben acting like Ben only when it was the two of you. Tired of Ben acting like he cared and like he wanted to be more than friends only to crush you the next day. Tired that he called you “my girl” and then did nothing that meant more than friends. You loved him more than you’d loved anyone ever, took care of him, did everything you could for him, and each time when he didn’t acknowledge it, you felt like you weren’t enough. It made you feel like a kid again when you tried your upmost to please your mother only to have her be disappointed in you each time.
“That’s sweet.” Anger and frustration burns in the back of your throat, but you push it down with a tight lipped smile.
“And I got us reservations, so go get dressed.”
"What?"
"I got reservations. Come on." Ben makes a gesture with his hand.
“Oh I’m okay, I was just going to-“ You motion back at the bottle of wine, the couch, and the box of photos.
“No. I’m not going to let you sit here on your birthday. Come on. Let’s go.” Ben takes your arm and turns you around gently pushing you towards the small hallway that leads back to your bedroom with his hand on the small of your back.
You brace yourself for the warmth that follows with the brush of his fingers against you, but each time you're unprepared for how it makes you feel when he touches you.
“But I don’t have anything to wear! And if you do have a reservation, how much time do I have?” You argue, trying to come up with an excuse to avoid dinner.
As much as you wanted to go, you didn't want to sit there and pretend to be happy. You were tired of doing that, but then you raise your head to look Ben in the eye.
He's smiling down at you the same way he always has, looking like the boy who climbed in your window after flunking out of boarding school to bring you paint and your resolve wavers. You hated saying no to him.
Damn it.
“By the time you stop making excuses it will be time to go. And as sexy as those pajamas are, you can’t wear them to a restaurant.” Ben teases, tugging on the bottom oversized paint-splattered shirt you were wearing
“Fine.” You grumble, cheeks flushing bright red as you snatch the shirt from his hand. “Give me ten minutes.”
**************************************
"Shut up." Ben laughs from across the table at you. "Your mother loved me!"
His laughter is contagious, making your own release from your lips and ease the tension you are holding in your chest.
The Italian restaurant is small and filled with the soft lit of music from the band in the corner, the rich aromatic smell of food, and has the calming atmosphere of a intimate bar. When Ben parked out front, you were surprised. He usually liked the restaurants on page 6 where other heroes would be found eating and places where he could be photographed for the news, but this place was different, it was almost, special. And the way Ben was acting was unusual.
He'd walked around the car after he parked and took your hand in his, to lead you down the steps to the front door where a hostess had asked for his name. Ben had used his real name rather than Soldier Boy for a reservation and when you walked out of your bedroom wearing the dress you found at the back of your closet that you had for emergencies, you swore you saw his eyes darken as they trailed across your body making your breath catch in your chest. It was odd. Ben had taken you out for your birthday before, but tonight seemed to be filled with a palpable tension and electricity that you couldn’t place.
Then again, you were probably imagining it like always.
The restaurant was perfect, it made you forget about being a supe and the glamorous lifestyle that Ben indulged in and allowed you to pretend that you were normal. However, while you sat there together, you tried not to think about what you were going to have to tell him eventually, that you were leaving. He would ask for an answer why and you’d try to tell him the same thing you told him four years ago while avoiding screaming “because I love you, you fucking idiot” at the top of your lungs.
But it was difficult to find a way to tell him, not when he had a soft smile on his face and every few minutes Ben would find some reason to touch you. So you allowed yourself to indulge in this, to have this last wonderful memory together before you have to tell him. And in doing so, you let yourself forget being a supe, forget everything else but Ben and you in this moment.
"Oh sure, you were her favorite." You snort into your wineglass. "She put a crucifix up over my window to keep you out. Every time you went to a new boarding school, she prayed in the living room with a rosary to God begging him to keep you far from me and she cried whenever you came back. Not to mention when you got me thrown out of boarding school she forbade me from seeing you-"
"But you couldn’t stay away." Ben sing-songs with a grin before taking a sip from his glass. "And your roommate was a fucking snitch."
"She was." You smile down at the table. "I also think she was a little jealous." You lean back in your chair, holding the wineglass in your right hand.
"Oh and why is that?" Ben's smirk widens.
"Don't make me say it-" Your eyes roll.
"Oh I want to hear you admit it." He leans towards you across the table, eyes shining with a mischievous glint that makes it suddenly hard to breathe.
“Not going to happen.” You look around the room to distract yourself with the other couples.
All the tables around you were full of people sharing stories, holding hands, brushing feet under the table and for the first time you weren't jealous of their love. The couple next to you was practically breathing the same air, leaning towards each other with sappy looks in their eyes. You were happy for them, allowed yourself to be filled with compassion at their happiness. You remember what you said to Ben four years ago, about wanting to have someone to come home to, someone who loved you and then remember the night at the dancehall watching the elderly couple dance under the twinkling lights holding each other close and gazing deeply into one another's eyes.
You wanted someone to look at you like that, wanted someone to share you life with. You wanted that so badly, that in this moment you knew that you were making the right decision leaving because you would be closer to getting it, because the man across the table from you might be your best friend and have your heart, but he didn’t want to be more. And as much as it hurt to leave the only man you’d ever loved, you knew it was the right thing.
Ben taps his index finger on your left hand where it rests on the table between you, drawing your eyes back to his. "Did I lose you Doll?"
"Hmm? No sorry. I was-" You smile at him. "Distracted. What were you asking?"
Ben's gaze shifts to the couple sitting to your right, the one you were watching a second ago, who are holding hands on top of the table. The man says something that makes his date laugh and lean towards him to grasp his other hand. The way he smiles at his date makes you smile. Ben's eyes slide back to yours and an odd look flashes through them that you can't identify.
"You know what I was asking." His index finger begins to brush over your knuckles in a smooth circular motion. Warmth trails with his touch, sending goosebumps dancing up your left arm.
Shock buzzes at the back of your mind, you didn't understand why he was doing that, Ben had barely had anything to drink tonight, in fact that was his first and only Whiskey. Not to mention when he showed up at your door he seemed more sober than usual. He didn't smell like reefer. So for him to touch you this much was unusual, especially when he wasn't drunk or high.
“Come on Sweetheart.” He smiles at you in a way that makes your heart ache.
"Fine. Pearl thought you were devilishly handsome and was upset that I danced with you when I had Howard-"
"Don't mention that pussy." Ben’s smirk drops into a frown and he stops moving his finger against the back of your hand.
"I don't understand why you were so jealous of him." You try not to think about how much you wish he would start moving his finger again.
"I was not jealous of that idiot." Ben rolls his eyes.
"Uh-huh. After all these years, you still can't admit it." You tease him taking another sip of wine. It was giving you a pleasant buzz that made you feel just a little bit warm and bold enough to make you brush your thumb against his where his hand sits only a few millimeters from yours.
If he was touching you, you thought that maybe it would be okay for you to touch him, maybe it was okay to pretend that he wanted to hold your hand as much as you wanted to hold his, like the couple next to you were.
"I will if you admit you were jealous of Missy Callahan." Ben's eyes trail down to your thumb before looking back up at you, waiting for your answer.
"I was not-"
Ben raises an eyebrow. “I can hear your heartbeat Doll.”
“Just as I can hear yours Darling.” You smile back at him.
“Y/n.” He chuckles.
You roll your eyes at his ridiculous smile. "Fine, I will admit that was a little jealous of her, but she was awful. She was dumb as a rock and she was the most terrible gossip-"
"I knew it." Ben smirks.
You sit there in silence for a minute gazing at Ben, your eyebrow raised. "I'm waiting."
"Oh I'm not going to admit that I was jealous of Howard. I just wanted to hear you say the thing about Missy." Ben laughs, beginning to run his index finger against the back of your hand again. His eyes on yours, as if he's gauging your reaction.
"Bastard." You roll your eyes at him. "Did I tell you that I saw Howard?"
"What?" Ben looks surprised.
"Yeah, when I went to my brother's-" You clear your throat remembering when you saw Howard four years ago. You don’t know why he went to your brother’s funeral, but he was there, gray hair slicked back staring at you open mouthed. The last time you'd seen him was the day after he proposed, when you tried to give him back the ring and he refused, stating that he wanted you to keep it, to think about it. He never got over the break up, never dating anyone else, never married. It had been an awkward reunion, especially since he kept trying to corner you, but you evaded him expertly through the crowd. You weren't interested in making awkward small-talk about the past forty years.
Ben's hand finally slips into yours, intwining your fingers together because he understands what you’re about to say. "I'm sorry I didn't go with you, I should have."
It was weird that Ben wasn’t with you, but it was also weird because you tried to comfort your sister in law and her son and his family, but it felt forced. Ben was the only person who understood what it was like for everyone to age around you while you stayed the same. Standing there to celebrate the life of your brother while you, yourself couldn't die completely or even age felt awkward. You found yourself longing for Ben when you were away, wishing that he was there to hold your hand or try to deflect some of the awkward conversations, none of which were focused on your brother and were all about you being a supe. You hated how much you depended on him.
After the funeral you had stayed in Philadelphia an extra week to help your family and when Ben called to see how you were you broke down on the phone. Ben had showed up within the next hour at your hotel and sat with you while you cried. It was one of your favorite memories, because Ben held you gently against him, whispering "It's okay Sweetheart, I've got you" while you pressed your face into his shirt, letting the smell of whiskey and his cologne soak into your skin. It was so unlike him and it made you believe that Ben wanted more, but then he never acknowledged it, like always.
"Ben it's okay, you were there when it mattered. And you went to both of my parent's funerals. Surprising because my mother would have hated that you were there. Always said you were going to ruin my life." You meant for it to be a joke, but the look in Ben's eyes shifts to something more vulnerable for a millisecond before it hardens again.
"Did I?" He asks quietly. Ben looks down at where he was holding your hand, his thumb beginning to move over the smooth skin on the back.
The question catches you off guard. It was the very question that you had been considering the past few days before you finally decided to leave all of this and your best friend. But the truth was you didn't believe that Ben ruined your life, you blamed yourself, blamed yourself for loving your best friend, blamed yourself for loving someone who didn’t love you the same way.
And it wasn’t that you hated your life, it was different than what you would have planned for yourself, but you liked parts of it. Not to mention you would have hated it more if you had said no to Ben and married Howard. If anything, Ben had saved you and you were thankful for that.
Of course the way he's looking at you and holding your hand is making it difficult for you to consider leaving. It seemed like every time you tried, Ben would do something like this- take you out to dinner or act like he wanted you and only you, and then you would reconsider. Four years ago it had been him holding you after your brother’s funeral and now it was this.
"Ben." You sigh, squeezing his hand and putting as much love into your gaze as you can. "No. You didn't. If anything you freed me. I didn't want to be with Howard and I was too afraid to say it until you asked me to come with you.”
“He could have given you a life though. You said that’s what you wanted.” For a second you think you see Ben’s eyes flick to the couple on your right with his words.
Your mind stutters to a halt in surprise. He remembered what we talked about four years ago? After he almost killed Noir?
“Um-" You clear your throat to recover. "And if you remember that conversation, you should also remember I said I didn’t want that life with Howard.”
“Yes, but you said you wanted to marry someone.” The ends of his lip twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “Still waiting on that wedding invite.” His thumb is stroking long smooth patterns on the back of your hand, making your throat tight and making it impossible to think.
“I’m sure you’ll get it any day now. Legend is happy that I finally said yes.”
“I should have known. Y’all looked pretty cozy at that party two weeks ago.” Ben laughs. “So if you’re engaged to him, does that mean you don’t want your birthday present?”
“I’ve said it once and I’ve said it again, I’m too old for birthdays.”
“Then why did you come out with me?”
“Oh I’m just going to write this off as old friends having dinner. That or a kidnapping. You practically dragged me to the car.”
“Be thankful I let you change.” Ben replies.
“I don’t know, I think I would have really made a statement with my paint splattered shirt and sweatpants."
You’d chosen the dress you were wearing at random. It was a dark green, the same color as Ben’s supe suit, off your right shoulder cinched around your waist and fell elegantly to your ankles. It was one of your favorites, something you believed accentuated your body effortlessly.
"They were something. Though I think that you-" Ben pauses, dropping his eyes to where he's still holding your hand, before looking back up at you. "Um-"
"What?" You smile.
He clears his throat, a soft smile on his face. "I think you look beautiful now too."
Your next words dry up in your mouth, there's not a shred of joking or teasing in Ben's eyes. Ben had said it before, but with a mischievous glint in his eyes, but now there is only sincerity. And it makes your heart jolt out of rhythm.
He said too. That means that he thought I looked beautiful before when I was-
"Thank you." You flush red and squeeze his hand. "I don't think you look too bad yourself, you know, for a old man." You add that last part because you don’t know what to say when he's looking at you like that.
Ben's smile slips into a frown. "You should be nicer to me, I got you a birthday present."
“See, you keep saying that, but I haven’t seen it.”
“I thought you didn’t want it.” The mischievous glint is back in his eye.
“I could be persuaded.” You smirk.
Ben releases your hand and reaches into his coat pocket to pull out a long navy blue velvet box wrapped in a thick silver bow before sliding it across the white tablecloth.
“You get me another paintbrush?” You smirk running a fingertip over the velvet top to examine it while acutely missing the feeling of his hand grasped in yours.
“Something like that.”
“Did you steal it?” You pick up the box and wave it for emphasis, remembering all the times Ben stole little things from the stores that lined Downtown Philadelphia and the box he had hidden under his bed filled with random trinkets.
You never understood why he did that. Ben's family was almost as wealthy as yours and although his father didn't approve of anything Ben was doing, he never cut him off.
“Maybe.” He shrugs and leans on the table towards you, his eyes filled with excitement.
“With how much money they pay you for those ridiculous films you shouldn’t be stealing anything.”
“I’m sure if you sold your artwork instead of shoving it in the closet you’d be just as wealthy as me.”
“Yes, but my grand plan is to have you pay for everything so I can continue to use you and I can’t do that if I’m rich."
“You can use me anytime sweetheart.” Ben winks.
“Shut up.” You roll your eyes at him, but can't stop the blush that stains your cheeks at his insinuation.
Everything about tonight felt just like old times, the way he joked with you and the way you couldn't stop smiling, but at the same time, something else nagged at the back of your mind. The handholding was new, as were the compliments and deeper conversation, especially because Ben wasn't drunk or high, and yet he was being gentler than usual, almost soft. And that was something Ben never was, at least not in public.
You tried not to be frustrated with the turn of events and just enjoy the moment, but deep down you wanted to know.
Was Ben doing this because he cared? Or was he doing this because he sensed I was unhappy and that I was leaving and he thought this was the only way to keep me around?
“Come on, open it.”
“Fine.” You smile down at the box and slowly slide off the bow. “Please tell me you have photos of you trying to tie this bow. Preferably while you were wearing your supe suit.”
“I already destroyed the evidence.”
“Figures.” You sigh. “Would have been a nice birthday present.”
“I think this is better, but given the pace you’re going at I’ll still be sitting here waiting for you to open it at your next birthday.” Ben takes a drink from his glass.
“Which I won’t be celebrating.”
"Oh you're going to. I’ll make sure.”
You roll your eyes at him, before finally opening the velvet box and your next joke is forgotten as you struggle to catch your breath. You were expecting something art related. Ben always got you brushes, paints, colored pencils, and any other art supply-like gift, because he knew that you liked those things but not tonight. Because for your 65th birthday Ben decided to get you something that took your breath away.
Nestled in black velvet is a pearl necklace, elegant, beautiful, catching in the fluttering warm light of the restaurant as the band in the corner continues to play a jazzy tune that makes you remember the records your father would listen to while he smoked before bedtime.
“Ben-“ You begin to say, but you can’t finish your sentence, you're too surprised to say anything else.
Not once in all the years you’d been friends had Ben bought you jewelry. Shopping for his birthday was harder, his last one you had gotten him a pair of silver cufflinks that he was currently wearing, but each time you bought him something like that it didn't feel like you were revealing too much about how you felt and it never felt like a gift you would give someone who was more than your friend. But now, staring down at the necklace that Ben bought you feels, intimate almost romantic.
“I remembered how upset you were when you lost the one your dad got you.” Ben says slowly, his eyes on you. “I know it’s not the same one, but the lady in the store said it was the most like the ones they made when we were younger and I thought-“ He rubs the back of his neck. “Um- I thought you’d like it.”
You smile, still unable to speak, fighting the happy tears that build behind your eyes. You had lost the necklace your father got you a few months ago and you tore your entire apartment apart to find it. Ben had walked right into the middle of the chaos and found you a sobbing mess.
Your father had bought it for you on your 23rd birthday. It was your first birthday as a supe and your first one away from home. Your father had it delivered to you with a vase of fresh cut lavender, because you couldn’t go home and he couldn’t get away. It was one of the last things you had from him, besides the antique watch perched on your wrist.
“I can’t believe you remembered that.” You swallow the ball of emotion lodged in your throat.
“I do listen to you.”
You look up and raise an eyebrow.
“Sometimes.” His soft smile makes you feel light headed and makes you wish all over again that you had the courage to tell Ben the three little words that you'd always wanted to.
“I don’t know what to say-“
“Too much? Because I can take it back and buy you a paintbrush-“ Ben starts to reach for the box, but you catch his hand against the table tangling your fingertips together.
“No. It's perfect. Thank you Ben.”
He looks relieved by your answer. “You’re welcome.”
The soft sounds of conversation swell around you mixing with the tinkling of utensils against plates and the music that pours from the band in the corner where a singer dressed in a long red sequined gown sings a familiar song. But you can't stop admiring the necklace nestled in the fabric, your hand still clasped in Ben's on top of the table.
Ben finally breaks the silence. “Do you want me to help you put it on?”
You blink for a minute to comprehend what he was asking, raising your eyes to his genuine smile. "Please.”
Ben stands from his chair and comes around behind you as you gently twist your hair out of the way, so he has access to your neck. His rough fingertips brush against the smooth skin of your neck sending a shiver down your spine that you hope Ben misses because how would you explain that? When he secures it at the back of your neck you look down at the pearls, holding them between your thumb and forefinger.
"They're beautiful." You whisper, before looking back up at him.
"Yes, beautiful." He responds, but Ben isn't looking at your necklace, his eyes are locked on your face.
What is going on?
"Ben-" You begin to say, attempting for the first time to ask him why he does this, acts different around you, gives you hope and then takes it all away, but he interrupts you.
"Come on." His hand falls on yours and he pulls you up out of your chair, weaving through the other tables to stand in front of the band in the corner. His right hand finds the small of your back, while his left gently holds your right in the air.
"What are you doing?" You ask.
"Isn't it obvious?" Ben smiles. "We're dancing."
"No one else is dancing." You look around the room at the couples sitting quietly together enjoying their meals, who have begun to watch Ben and you sway to the music.
He leans forward to whisper into the curve of your ear. "Then let's show them how it's done Sweetheart."
You can't help but laugh at him, enjoying the way that he feels pressed against you, how it makes you feel alive in the best way, how you feel safe in his arms. Being here, swaying to the last few notes of the song with him made you reconsider leaving again. Ben was the only person who knew you completely, inside and out, the only person who seemed to understand you. Choosing to leave him would be like choosing to leave home, because after everything you'd been through, Ben was home.
As soon as the song ends, the one that follows is familiar, a tune that sparks a memory at the back of your mind. You raise your eyes to Ben's. His are crinkled with his smile, a mischievous glint behind them.
"Ben, did you tell them to play-"
"Yeah. I told them to play our song." He whispers, holding you tighter against him.
The memory of the night you first danced warms against your skin. You remembered it well. It was the night that you almost told him you loved him, the same thing you were considering right now. You couldn't believe that he remembered the song you danced to. You smile at the memory of that night, when Ben punched Howard in the face and it gave you a sickening amount of joy.
“What are you smiling at?” Ben asks you.
“I still can’t believe you hit him.” You shake your head with a laugh.
"He hurt you. And I didn't like that he made me stop dancing with my girl."
You sigh before you can stop yourself the phrase immediately making the laughter dissipate and making the warm feeling at his touch fade. Tonight Ben was again making you think that he wanted to be more, and worst of all it was making it harder to leave. Because what if this was him trying to tell you the only way he knew how? What if this was him finally admitting that he loved you and you just left?
"What?” He frowns down at you.
“I don’t know why you keep calling me that.”
"What?"
"Your 'girl'." You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the frustration from making you say more.
“You don't think you are?"
“What do you think it means? To me it means being in a relationship with someone. We have been friends for over fifty years and you have never once said that you wanted to be more-"
"I did try to propose.” Ben jokes, not understanding that you’re upset.
"Really? That was your proposal?" You scoff rolling your eyes. "A joke while you were sitting on my shitty couch drunk off your ass while trying to apologize for almost killing Noir and telling me that you hate when I get in your way? Forgive me for imagining some big gesture and for not swooning."
“I wasn’t that drunk.”
“Oh please-“
“I’m fucking serious.” He shrugs.
“What?” You look him in the eye to look for the teasing glint, but it's not there, Ben looks serious.
“I wasn’t that drunk.”
“Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not.” Ben’s eyes lock with yours. “I also didn’t apologize for almost killing him. And I do hate when you get in my way."
"Yes, I figured that given how angry you looked." You roll your eyes, glancing to look at the couples around you again, but this time the happiness you felt for them is gone. The jealousy is back coupled with the frustration of Ben acting like Ben and then pulling a complete 180 the next day and making you question everything. Because you wanted to exist in the moments that he was still Ben and you didn’t want to leave him, but you did want to leave Soldier Boy. The problem was right now all you saw was Ben and you hated that you couldn’t enjoy it because you knew it would end. Someone would piss him off or he’d get drunk or high or go down the rabbit hole with some other woman and Ben would be gone.
You didn’t understand how he could go from hot to cold so quickly.
“But I didn’t lie when I said I’d never hurt you.” Ben's voice rumbles up through where his chest is pressed against yours.
You want to say that you believe him, but after the past forty years you weren’t sure anymore. And that thought hurt more than anything else. You didn’t know your best friend anymore, and it scared you.
Your eyes are leveled on Ben’s chest, by now he’s stopped swaying you to the music. You know what will happen when you look up into his eyes, he'll make a joke or say something like the last forty years never happened and you'll crumble like always. You can feel his breath against your face, the warmth of his body transferring through his chest and soaking into yours.
“Y/n, please look at me.” He releases your hand and cups your cheek to tilt you head upwards to him. The one still planted on your back slides down to your waist, tightening around you as you lock eyes with him. “You know that I’d never hurt you. Right?”
Ben's eyes lock on yours, the love and care reflected in the irises makes your body burn. He's never looked at you like that, looked at you like you were the only woman in the world and deep down it makes you want to pull him close and whisper the three little words you've wanted to say for fifty seven years.
You focus on Ben's words to shake it off, it was the same thing he’d said four years ago, but this time the air between you is charged with electricity.
And you can’t take it anymore.
“Why?” You whisper.
It catches him off guard. “What?”
“Why are you different with me? When the cameras stop rolling, when the team goes home, when it’s just the two of us, you’re different." You stop to catch your breath. "Ben, I’ve known you for fifty seven years. And in the last forty you’ve changed. But not around me, not when it’s just the two of us. You show up at my apartment in the middle of the night, we talk, we laugh about the past, you sleep in my bed, you call me 'your girl'-”
“You’ve known me longer than anyone else-” His hand is still cupping your cheek now, thumb gently brushing against the smooth skin making your throat tight.
“But even before all this, when we were still in Philadelphia. You were always around me, showing up, taking me out to do things in the city. Ben, we both know how you are. I watched you chase after whatever caught your eye and even now-“ You shake your head frustrated. “But you never act that way with me.”
Ben is quiet for a minute, his eyes searching yours, soft green in the fluttering lights above your heads. “Because you’re different y/n. You’ve always been different.”
“But that doesn’t tell me why Ben. We’ve been doing this for so long and I want-“ You sigh frustrated with yourself because you can’t say it, can’t say that you want him. “I mean I’m not sure if I can-“ You were going to say that you weren’t sure you could do this anymore, that you wished he would let you go, wished that you could walk away, and wished that he would stop giving you hope that the two of you could be something more because you couldn’t do it.
But the words are stopped when his lips meet yours.
You inhale sharply in surprise, before your entire body melts against his, deepening the kiss as you drag your hands up into his dark hair, while your mind goes blissfully blank. Ben’s mouth is firm but tender against yours, moving in a slow dance that makes warm tingles trail down your spine. The hand that was on your cheek, joins the other on your waist. His hand tightens on your hip as your song continues to play while the other presses against the small of your back to secure you against him. The solidness of his chest is familiar, molding against your curves in the best way as if he was made for you and you were made for him. You feel his thumb begin to circle slowly against the fabric on your hipbone and suddenly you remember the night he helped you loosen your corset and all you wanted was him. You never thought it would feel like this.
When you finally pull away for air, Ben doesn’t let you go far, he leans his forehead against yours, the look in his eyes is surprisingly vulnerable, as if he thinks you’re going to push him away.
“I-“ He begins, his green eyes are wide almost afraid.
Why?
You raise your hands to gently cup his strong jaw, searching his eyes with a smile to confirm you aren't going anywhere, before pulling him back to you for another kiss that makes your toes curl in the tight shoes you forced them into an hour ago. Ben sighs into your mouth, a soft sound that surprises you. You had seen him kiss other people before. Ben was anything but gentle, but now you believed that he reserved that gentleness just for you and it made you feel like you were going to melt into a puddle.
When you pull back again, Ben’s forehead is still against yours, his eyes bright and unmoving from your face. For a moment neither of you speaks, too afraid to break the silence.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours Sweetheart?” Ben asks, the deep rumble of his voice working up through where your chest is pressed against his. His expression is gentle, and he brings up one of the hands that was on your waist to trace the pillow of your lips with his thumb.
And before you lose your nerve your smile curves into a smirk. “Took you long enough Benjamin.”
“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes at you.
“Make me.” You mutter against his thumb.
And then he’s kissing you again, moving his lips in tandem with yours while your heart flutters and dances. And you never want it to end, because he's kissing you like he never wants to let you go and you're kissing him like you don't want him to.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Ben mutters against your lips with a smile, his deep eyes catching yours. "Don't be jealous of Missy Callahan. She's nothing compared to you, never has been, never will be."
Your heart warms, cheeks blushing with his words, because even after all these years, Ben still knew exactly what to say. You hold his face reverently, admiring the familiar dips and curves, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "Don't be jealous of Howard. He meant nothing to me. No one means as much to me as you do Ben." You whisper back before you kiss him and allow yourself to fall again, hoping that this time he’ll catch you.
*************************************
“Did you want something to drink?” You ask Ben, gesturing with your free hand towards the kitchen.
Standing in your apartment feels different post kiss. It feels like this all represents something bigger now. The apartment, him coming upstairs even though he has spent most of the nights here since you bought it and of course the way he’s looking at you, how he’s been unable to stop looking at you since he kissed you.
“Are you going to get it for me?” Ben is still holding your hand, had held it the entire car ride, only releasing it when he got out to open the door for you and then took it again as you walked up to your apartment. His thumb is moving across the back in a soothing motion that makes you want to curl up in the warmth that trails behind like a cat in the sun.
“I’m sure you remember where it is”
“Mhmm.” Ben is eyeing you again, the green in his eyes darkening in a way that makes your throat tight.
You’re not sure who moves first, all you know is that someone closes the distance between you, and you lose yourself in him. Your curves melt against the hard muscles of Ben’s chest and arms as he pulls you into him, his hands gripping your waist so tight that you know there might be bruises but you don’t care.
Your hands trail up his muscular chest to tangle in his hair, pulling at the darkened strands and forcing his mouth harder against yours.
He tastes like whiskey and smoke, night and day, and all those bittersweet moments you’ve shared over the years you’ve known him. There is no semblance of Soldier Boy left behind, it’s just Ben and you and it's everything you wanted for so long. The kiss is charged with so much emotion and tension you feel something inside you snap and warmth floods your body in its wake. Ben moans into your mouth, his hands coming down to sweep low over your curves and ignites a fire in the pit of your stomach that you’ve never felt before.
There had been others try to do exactly this. Other heroes you politely declined because you didn’t feel anything for them. You remember the kisses with Howard, passionless, boring, but being here with Ben was like nothing you’d ever imagined. The subtle scratch of his scruff against your cheeks makes you lose all feeling in your legs, his strong embrace makes goosebumps burn against your skin, and the sounds he’s making against your lips makes your heart seize in your chest.
He backs you up and you both fall on the couch in a tangle of limbs, his body caging you beneath him while his fingertips boldly trail against your body, finding places that make you moan into his mouth.
You can feel his smirk against your lips and you’ve never felt more sexy in your life. Ben’s moans against every piece of skin he can get his lips against make you blush crimson and echo his cries with soft sounds that make him grip you tighter. His hands are everywhere, coaxing along your curves, discovering places that you didn’t know could be sensitive and that make you gasp and arch against him as he continues to kiss you.
Everything about this feels right, feels perfect, as if you were both made for this exact moment. The subtle drag of his hands against you, the firm assertive way he holds you beneath him, how your body responds to his touch, and the way your heart continues to swell in your chest, frantically beating as if it wishes to break free. You forget about all the other women he's ever been with, all the others he's probably held close, nothing else exists at this moment, nothing else exists except him and you here on this couch. His lips ghost to your neck as he sucks a mark into the column of your throat and you realize he's saying your name over and over the way that no one ever has.
There’s a loud ripping noise and you understand that Ben ripped off the bottom half of your dress, the tattered remains just barely brushing against your thighs. But you can’t be angry with him for that, not when everything he’s doing feels perfect.
Ben’s hands slowly begin to push up the bottom of your now ruined dress and you come back down from your high, feeling the gentle press of his fingers against your thigh as they begin to move upwards.
“Ben-" You breathe.
You hate how breathy your voice sounds, but the new sensations running through your body are almost too overwhelming for you to gain control of. If you weren't both as indestructible as you were you would be afraid of the possibility of killing Ben.
He moans into your neck, working his hand up further to a place that makes your grip his shoulders tight and you leave bruises of your own, because you’re the only person strong enough to bruise him, to leave marks against his almost invulnerable skin. And it makes a shudder go down his spine.
"Ben wait-"
He stops, looking down at you with wide eyes, pupils dilated in a way that almost sends you back into a frenzy with him. "What's wrong?" He is also out of breath, chest rising and falling fast. You can hear his heart beat thundering in his chest, beating in tandem with yours.
“Before we do this I just want to tell you that I’ve never-" You bite your lip nervously. "I've never done this before.”
“This?” He looks confused, withdrawing his hand from under your ruined dress.
“Well- you know." You gesture between the two of you. "This.”
"You've never had sex with anyone before?"
"No." You flush bright red wondering if that's a deal breaker for him. If he wanted someone more experienced. "I’m sorry."
He sits there for a minute, staring down at you. "Why are you apologizing?” Ben’s hand brushes your hair away from your face in a gentle gesture, so different than the heavy caresses of his hands against your curves he did earlier.
“I don’t know.” You whisper embarrassed. “I just- everyone else has and I’m pretty sure you have with millions of people.”
“Well not millions.”
“But still.” You suddenly think that this was a giant mistake, that you should just go to your room in shame. You drop your eyes to his chest embarrassed.
His hands are stroking along your waist, toying with the frayed edges of your dress. “Y/n.” He whispers.
“What?” You mumble.
Ben raises his hand to cup your cheek, turning your gaze back on him. The way he’s looking at you causes a hot jolt of energy to race down your spine and makes you wish that you were more confident or knew what you were doing.
He’d been with hundreds of women all kinds of women and what had I been doing all these years? Nothing and no one. I’m not really sure if I understood the mechanics OF sex- but oh how I wished. My head was just getting in the way of everything else as usual.
“I will admit that I have slept with a lot of women.” Ben sighs. “But it’s okay. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to-“
“I want to.”
“Are you sure? I don’t know if I’m the best person for this-“ And for a moment you think he looks almost worried.
Why would he think that?
“I’m sure. I want it to be you. I’ve always wanted it to be you.” You breathe, running your hands through his hair, your cheeks flushing bright red with your confession, afraid that you’re saying too much, giving too much away as to how much he means to you.
“Really?” Ben smiles in a way that makes your breath catch.
You nod.
“I can’t promise it won’t hurt.” The darkness in his eyes shifts to something else and for a moment it’s difficult for you to form a sentence. He leans his forehead against yours, searching your eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Ben whispers it like a secret.
“You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you Ben.” You whisper, knotting you hands in his hair.
“You do?”
You nod your head. “And I’m pretty sure that I’m just as capable of hurting you-“
“Maybe.” The look in his eyes is back, blazing through his green irises in a way that makes your throat swell closed. He bends over to whisper against the curve of your ear. “Then again, I kinda like that Sweetheart.” His lips brush just behind your right ear, making a shiver go down your spine. Ben smiles at your reaction before he dips down to kiss you, but it’s different, the kiss is soft, trusting, and not the previous manic haze of desire it was previously. “ I know you think it’s a big deal, but I like that I’m your first. Because it means that no other man has touched you, made you feel any of the things that I’m going to do to you, and that I’ll never have to share you with anyone else.” His grip on your waist tightens possessively. “That you’ll be completely and utterly mine and no one else can do a damn thing.”
You inhale and try not to faint from the darkened look in his eyes. “Well when you put it that way-“
“Come on.” Ben stands from the couch.
Before you can get up to follow he picks you up like you weigh nothing causing you to automatically wrap your thighs around his waist as he kisses you feverishly again, wiping your mind of anything and everything but him.
“What are you doing?” You breathe, entangling your hands at the nape of his neck to secure yourself.
“I’m not going to let your first time be on some shitty couch.” He mutters against your lips while adjusting his grip under your legs
And with that he takes you down the hall and kicks your bedroom door closed behind you.
********************************************
A/N: Well it finally happened. Unfortunately this is also when all hell breaks loose…
Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know :)
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Chapter 6: Best Friends Forever
Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV
Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)
Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy.
Word Count: 9.9K
Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), derogatory comments, sexism, swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension, little bit of homophobia (It's Soldier Boy). Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.
Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!
Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.
A/N: I know I said I was gonna be more angsty with this chapter, but I got distracted, the sun was in my eyes, and my hand slipped…
Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist
The next morning Mike’s screeching begins all over again, but today he starts with "My Girl" by the Temptations.
He's getting warmer.
You think with a smile, singing along to the song under your breath as you prop yourself up on your pillows with a content sigh. The smell of gardenia wafted over your bed in a gentle wave as your curtains opened, allowing the sunlight to drift over your bed. The beautiful white flowers bloomed from the plant sitting on your bedside table, each petal frosted with mist from the mister hanging on the wall behind it.
Gardenias reminded you of home. They were your grandmother's favorite. There were several large bushes gracing the front yard of her home that rose almost as high as the second story. Whenever you were back home you would make sure that they burst into bloom so she could fill her home with the sweet smelling flowers. It helped you relax and sleep at night, though sometimes it didn't do much to keep the nightmares away.
You hadn't had a good night sleep in a while, but after Ben and you had been up late putting together the bookshelf that stood proudly in the left corner of your bedroom, you were exhausted. Now it was filled with your worn brightly colored paperbacks and covered with a healthy amount of pothos vines as was everything else in your home, but you loved it.
When the delivery men had arrived late yesterday evening and they had been more than willing to carry the couch up the three flights of stairs, but Ben had told them to leave and said "I'm not some kind of pussy that waits for her fucking husband to come home because she needs him to change a lightbulb."
And so they left, leaving Ben and you with the box your unassembled bookshelf came in and a giant three piece couch.
Mike's mother had set up a folding chair with her best friend Mary Ann outside on the sidewalk, drinking glasses of wine and giggling like schoolgirls each time Ben and you came back down to haul another piece of the couch back up into the apartment. He tried to make you sit upstairs and wait for him to bring it in, but you had cussed him out and held up the only finger that mattered.
Putting together the bookshelf hadn't been that much better. Ben had almost broken two of the tiny wooden pegs that secured the back panel all the while cursing under his breath when you tried to show him the instructions.
And being in the presence of the instructions seemed to trigger Ben. It immediately turned the two of you into the couple in the car that bicker over a map before they get murdered in a horror movie.
The shouting got so loud that Mike raced over hopeful that Ben had broken your heart and that he would there to pick up the pieces, while Mike's mother followed in quick pursuit hoping to console Ben.
But when Ben had answered the door sweaty and shirtless- because you'd ripped his shirt on accident when he tried to walk away from you muttering something about "women and their fucking instructions" and you'd grabbed him while shouting "say it to my face you geriatric asshat!"- Mike thought that he had interrupted something else and retreated back to his apartment in shame while his mother stood in the hallway waving a hand in front of her face to calm down.
As annoying as Ben was, you loved the bookshelf. It was perfect for your bedroom and looked a little whimsical, which was how most of your apartment looked with the mismatched vintage furniture, all the plants, and the crocheted blankets. What you couldn't figure out was why he bought it for you.
You had relented on his purchase of the couch, because it did make sense, he was spending the most time on it, but his purchase of the bookshelf confused you. He'd been in your bedroom all of five minutes a few days ago and had only looked at the pile of vine covered books once.
So why did it bother him so much that I had a pile of books on the floor of my bedroom? Why did he have to buy it for me? Why did he care enough to?
No one had ever done that before for you. Your high school boyfriend, Newton, had seen the same pile of books in your bedroom back home every time he came over and never did anything about it, but Ben had only seen it for a moment and remembered.
I don’t understand why he’s acting so nice. You stretch your hands up over your head and begin to get out of bed. Probably because he thinks if he’s nice I’ll sleep with him.
The thought was becoming familiar, but you weren't sure what other reason it could be for. The two of you had nothing in common. He was always angry, sexually forward, annoying, not to mention he was from another century and he didn't understand anything about the present time.
I mean sometimes it's kinda cute how clueless he is about stuff like that. He always gets that adorable frown and- Nope, nope, nope not thinking about that right now.
Bean purrs in agreement with your thought at the end of your bed, stretching his front legs and arching his back. His charcoal fur looks almost silver in the light from the sun that streams through the open window leaving behind the imprint of the brilliant square on your comforter.
Bean had enjoyed watching the two of you put together the bookshelves, well, he enjoyed playing in the box that the bookshelf came in. He ran in and out, back and forth through the openings on both sides of the box, using it like a tunnel all the while Ben complained over the small screws and even smaller pegs that never seemed to fit where they needed to.
Personally you just think Ben was jealous that you knew how to read the instructions and he didn't.
And last night you understood just how bad Ben was at receiving directions. He had ignored you when you tried to help him, which had lead to the yelling match that Mike walked in on.
But you still didn’t understand why he cared so much about the pile of books in your bedroom. They'd been sitting there since you moved in, because you hadn't found a proper place for them, not to mention the pile just kept growing.
At least he didn't look too closely at the titles. The last thing I want Ben to know is how many romance novels I read.
You grab a bundle of your clothes and open your bedroom door, while Mike continues to sing "My Girl." You creep down the hallway, intent on taking a shower, but your curiosity gets the better of you, so instead of going to the bathroom, you peek into the living room.
Ben is sitting on the new charcoal couch that you crammed into the room, reading a newspaper and you have no idea where he got it.
Maybe he already left sometime this morning? Guess he can be quiet when he wants to be.
Bean prances down the hallway behind you and jumps onto the back of the couch, kneading his paws in the soft pillows, before dropping down next to Ben. Ben smiles at the cat and folds the newspaper closed so he can scratch him under the chin.
"Hey buddy." You hear him mutter. "Y/n up yet?"
Bean only purrs and rubs himself further into Ben's hand.
"Don't know how anyone can sleep with that jack-off next door." Ben rolls his eyes, but doesn't raise them from the cat that has begun to crawl into his lap. "Why does she hate me so much?" He whispers to Bean with a sigh.
His question made you freeze where you were standing in the hallway. It was so open, so honest, so completely unlike Ben. It was the last thing you were expecting him to ask your cat, well, honestly you didn't think that he would talk to the cat at all. You suddenly wondered what other things he said about you when you weren't around.
And why does he care so much if I hate him? I mean I don't, he just gets on my nerves constantly, and knows how to press all my buttons.
You liked to think that you were an easy-going person, but Ben drove you crazy. You'd never met anyone who could do that to you before, never allowed yourself to get angry, not even when Poppy Mansfield who put chocolate pudding on your seat at lunchtime when you were in fourth grade and made everyone think you'd pooped your pants. You'd only shrugged and walked to the bathroom, it was Annie who lost it. Annie had grabbed a handful of pudding and smeared it on Poppy's face and earned her the nickname "Poopy Poppy" until she transferred to another school at the end of the year.
But not with Ben, he crawled under your skin and stayed there whenever he teased you . Usually you let insults and teases roll off your back like water off a duck, but not with Ben. He knew what to say to make you lose your temper. You didn't know how he did that.
Not all the time though.
The trip to IKEA had been kind of fun, well, fun until Ben had insulted your boss and when the two of you watched a movie together it was fun.
In fact, the more time you spent with him, the more you were starting to like him. You wish you didn't. It just made everything harder. You remember what he said at the plant shop, tried to burn it into your heart, that he didn't care about feelings or emotions and you did. You wanted to be with someone who cared about that, someone who understood everything about you, and loved you. You wanted love so bad your heart ached sometimes, and yes maybe you read way too many romance novels, but you wanted something like that to happen to you. You wanted to be so wrapped up in someone else that the world faded away, someone kind and sweet, who remembered little things like how much you liked gardenias or how much you loved pineapple iced tea from the place just around the corner and someone who would be okay with sitting on the couch or in bed, with you laying back in their arms while you read your newest book or tried to crochet.
Ben didn't care about any of that, probably what he would call "pussy shit." He just wanted sex, plain and simple, nothing more, nothing less.
And you didn't want just sex.
You didn't want to start something with Ben, develop strong feelings for him, and then only have him push you away as soon as he got what he wanted. You couldn't handle having your heart broken again. Newton had been enough and after him you told yourself you were going to try harder, were going to find someone who saw your self-worth. Of course that had been a few years ago and each year kinda felt like another nail in the coffin when you went on countless dates with people who never seemed to want the same things you did.
Plus, you were sure that Ben was only interested in you because you kept saying no and that made you "exciting" or whatever. So that just meant you were going to have to keep trying to find someone else.
You take a step back into the hallway, creeping further away as silent as possible. You didn't want him to catch you spying on him and you didn't want him to know that you had heard him ask Bean that. You force your door closed, before putting your clothes in the bathroom and shuffling down the hallway, purposely being as loud as you can so Ben can hear you over Mike's inhuman screech.
“Good morning.” You say as you enter the living room, as if it’s the first time.
“Morning Petals.” Ben looks over the back of the couch. He smirks as his eyes trace over your body. “Don’t you look delicious this morning.”
Your shorts were a little shorter than what you usually wore, hitting the middle of your thigh, and the oversized shirt you wore hung over them giving the illusion that you weren't wearing anything underneath it.
He is so confusing sometimes. Maybe he really just doesn't know how to talk to a woman in this century. Did that really work for him before? Does that work with all his dates?
“Thanks.” You say dryly.
Ben’s smirk twitches and something passes through his eyes that looks a little bit like regret, but it’s gone as soon as you see it.
You turn towards the kitchen. You didn’t know what you were looking for, truthfully you were just making conversation because you felt bad about what Ben asked Bean. You didn't know why that hurt you so much for him to think that you hated him, maybe it had something to do with everything that he'd been through. You wave a hand, perking up the plants in the box over the sink and the raspberry and blackberry vines covering the refrigerator to distract yourself.
“Um-“ You begin, but Ben interrupts you.
“There’s coffee in the microwave!” Ben suddenly blurts.
“What?”
Why is it in the microwave? Shouldn't it be in the coffee maker?
You sniff the air for the tell-tale smell of coffee, but smell nothing. A glance in the direction of the coffee maker reveals that the pot is still sparkling clean from when you washed it out last night.
Is he really lying about coffee? It's like he wants me to hate him.
“Um I mean-“ Ben clears his throat. “I got you coffee.”
“You got me coffee?” You parrot, surprised. “When?” You turn to look at him. He's watching you from over the back of the couch and he almost looks a little awkward, like he's not sure where to go from here as if he's not sure what to do when he does something nice for someone.
“I went to get a newspaper and I walked past a coffee shop.” He shrugs as if suddenly uninterested turning back around to face the jasmine covered wall, picking his newspaper up and opening it.
But you have a suspicion that he wasn't actually reading it, that he was just using it as a prop so he didn't have to look at you anymore.
“Oh. Thanks." You open up the microwave and withdrawal the still warm coffee mug taking a sip.
How in the fuck did he know how I like my coffee? You think to yourself, about to do a spit take you were so shocked, because the coffee was perfect. "How did you know-"
"I read the label on the one plant boy bought you the other day." Ben doesn't look up from his newspaper. "Is it… okay?" He asks it tentatively and a little awkward.
"Yeah. It's perfect actually. Thank you." You say it almost robotically. You couldn't believe that he remembered something like that about you. That he actually thought about you when he went to get a newspaper this morning.
He grunts a "You're welcome."
You take another sip and place it back in the microwave. Preparing to go back to take a shower.
"Do you…" Ben clears his throat again. "Do you work today?" He says it hesitantly.
"No. I usually have Friday's off because Annie and I make plans, but this week she cancelled because Hughie got tickets to some concert a few hours away and they're making it a day trip or whatever." You tried not to sound disappointed, but Friday's were usually you and Annie's day. You would plan random trips to shops in NYC, go to brunch, find ridiculous tourist attractions, try new restaurants, or you would go spend the day in Central Park reading. But Friday nights were wine, greasy pizza, sushi, Chinese food, snacks, and movie nights, had been since your parents died. It had been a family tradition before, Friday night films, but when they died Annie took it upon herself to continue it with you because your brother hadn't been willing to. Of course, when you were kids there wasn't wine, there also weren't movies with Glen Powell or Pedro Pascal, but as you grew so did the films and the conversations and the men, but your friendship blossomed with it.
"Oh." Ben leans his head back over the back of the couch, the smirk back in full force. "Well I've got a few ideas for what we could do today. Sounds like you're a little disappointed there Petals. I'm sure I could cheer you up."
You roll your eyes. "I'm going to take a shower."
"Great, I need one too." Ben jumps to his feet, leaving the newspaper on the couch as he turns to follow you.
"Ben." You sigh his name in frustration.
This is exactly what I'm talking about, he does something really nice and then he follows it up immediately by trying to sleep with me. Is that what this is to him? Do something chivalrous to make me like him and then finally let him fuck me?
It made you angry that he believed it would work.
"What? It'll save water and I just want to make you feel better Petals." Ben wiggles his eyebrows. "You sounded so sad when you said that Annie ditched you-"
"She didn't ditch me!" You snap. "She just had plans with Hughie that's all. And I can't believe you!"
"What the hell did I do?"
"You think that doing something like buying me coffee will get me to sleep with you."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about! You're trying to act all chivalrous and nice just so that you can get me to finally sleep with you. But I'm not going to fall for it Gramps! I am not going to sleep with you just because you do one nice thing for me or try to pretend to care about me." You turn and stomp down the hallway, leaving Ben absolutely speechless in the living room.
When you get in the bathroom you blast your ABBA Gold Album from your Bluetooth speaker to drown out Mike's singing and to drown out your insane internal monologue. And when the music doesn't work, you start to sing the lyrics to the familiar songs letting the melodies soothe you.
You’d liked ABBA since you were a kid. Your mom would listen to it when she was cooking in the large kitchen in your childhood home and when your father got home from work at the end of the day he’d creep up behind her and pull her away from the stove for an impromptu dance.
Your childhood was filled with so much love from two people that were absolutely head over heels. And it made you want that too. It’s why you wouldn’t give in to Ben, because the memories of your parents and the love they shared still warmed your heart years after you’d last seen them.
You dry your hair with a towel, continuing to sing as you dress in your jeans and t-shirt, hoping that you could just escape the apartment by going to Central Park and read on your favorite bench to avoid seeing Ben. You were maybe a little embarrassed that you had yelled at him again. You never intended to.
Maybe I can just creep past him.
You think to yourself as you open the door of the bathroom, but as you step into the hallway you trip over something big on the ground and begin to pitch forward with a started screech. The thing you tripped on catches you so that you fall directly into Ben's lap, your legs on either side of his thighs. You realize that it was Ben you tripped on, who had decided to lounge with his back against one of the walls of the hallway, his legs bent at the knee, directly outside of the small bathroom.
As you fall into his lap, your hands land on his shoulders grabbing tightly in fear and surprise, while his hands catch your hips, pushing up the shirt you had just changed into enough that his hands are resting on a sliver of skin that peeks between your shirt and your favorite pair of jeans.
You weren't expecting it to feel so damn good for his skin to touch yours, to feel the roughness of his hands against the soft skin of your hips. Your hands are still gripping his shoulders tightly, heart thrumming in your veins as you lock eyes with him, adrenaline from the fall still rushing through your veins. He looks as surprised as you do. His face is so close that you can feel his breath on your lips, his body warm and hard beneath yours, and it's making you have flashbacks of the other night when he kissed you in front of Mike, when Ben crushed you against him and kissed you with so much passion that you couldn't equate it to anything else you'd ever felt in your entire life.
You weren't about to admit that aloud, that the kiss you shared with Ben was the best one you'd ever had. And you weren't going to admit that if he kissed that good, you were betting that he would be the best you ever had at other things too. Newton hadn't exactly been a Casanova, and you'd hoped that Newton would have gotten at least a little better at some things the more you two were intimate, he hadn't. You'd also hoped that Newton would have been more concerned about you the closer the two of you were, but each time you were a little disappointed and he was, well, happy.
No. Not thinking about sex right now, not when I'm sitting on top of Ben for fucks sake.
That was a little detail that you were trying very hard to ignore, but it was difficult, not when you could feel everything that made Ben-ahem- Ben, beginning to get interested in your position on top of him.
Ben's eyes are dark, focused on your face, an emotion swimming behind them that makes something snag under your ribs and try to yank you forward, to close the distance between the two of you. His eyes flick from your eyes to your mouth for just a millisecond, moving his face an inch forward, just enough that you can feel the warmth of his lips, but they still do not touch.
"Ben what are you doing on the ground?" You say leaning back to lengthen the distance between your faces, but you can't force your voice into more than a hoarse whisper.
"Dropped my keys." He lies.
"Ben?"
Ben hesitates for a moment. "You've got a pretty voice, wanted to hear better." He admits under his breath, looking as if you caught him with a baseball bat outside your broken kitchen window.
What?
You could feel yourself flushing to the roots of your hair. You'd forgotten that he could hear you in the shower and forgotten that his hearing was so good that he’d be able to pick up what was Mike and what was you. “I’m sorry if it was too loud-“
“No. It was nice.” The end of his mouth twitches in half smile, eyes twinkling impishly. “I’d never tell a woman she was being too loud. I like that doll."
You roll your eyes at him, but his comment doesn’t annoy you this time. You wondered if that was because you were getting used to him and the way he was.
You wanted to kiss him so badly that your lips were aching. He always looked so good and right now was not an exception. Some of his dark hair had fallen forward over his forehead and your fingers itched to push it back, to drag your fingertips over his skin and feel the dips and grooves of his handsome face. The smell of his shampoo was everywhere, spicy and familiar in the best way.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” You whisper. Your hands hands have fallen from his shoulders to rest against the front of his shirt. You don’t really remember when you did that, just that now you can feel the warmth of his chest and the subtle beating of his heart in the palms of your hands. “I think I am kind of upset that Annie cancelled on me today.”
“It’s okay, I'm used to it." Ben's hands are still on you waist, firmly keeping you on top of him. “You always seem to yell at me.”
"Shut up I do not yell at you that much." You laugh, pushing back on his chest playfully.
Ben smiles, but then you watch it drop.
“Look I didn’t get you coffee because I thought it would make you let me fuck you. I got it because you always say you need it to deal with me.” The way he says it breaks something, because he sounds almost sad and you’d never heard him sound that way before. “And I figured that I would see you today and that you’d need it.” He drops his gaze to where your hands are placed on his chest. He’s watching them curiously, like he can’t quite understand it.
Honestly you couldn’t understand what was going on either. Ben was holding you gently, almost reverently on his lap. It was odd. You’d never seen him be this way with anyone.
“Ben-“ You sigh. “I need coffee to deal with everyone, not just you. You’re not special.” You joke to get him to smile again, but he doesn’t instead he continues to look at your hands.
“Hey.” You whisper and this time your hand drifts softly to Ben’s cheek holding his gaze on you. His eyes widen slightly with your bold touch. “Ben I don’t hate you. I just-“
There’s a loud frantic knocking at the front door that startles you off of Ben and on to the ground beside him.
“Were you expecting anyone?” Ben asks as he stands up and holds out his hand to help you.
“Um- no actually.” You reply taking it.
The frantic knocking starts again.
“Do you think it’s Mike checking to see if we broke up again?” Ben snorts.
“I think it might be his mom hoping you answer the door shirtless. Almost gave that poor woman a heart attack.” You start to walk through the living room.
“I remember you having a similar reaction a few days ago Petals.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Though I will say if you ever decided to walk around the apartment shirtless I’d be perfectly okay with that.”
“I did not. And I’m sure you would.” You roll your eyes. “But I doubt you’d be okay with letting me answer the door like that since you seem to be so jealous. Are all the men from your generation so possessive of women they can’t have? Or is it just you?” You tease, remembering how he reacted yesterday afternoon at IKEA in front of Jake.
You doubted that he was jealous. Ben didn’t have anything to be jealous about. He seemed to be plenty happy with the women he found on tinder and you thought it was ridiculous that he needed to have you too.
You glance back over your shoulder to look at Ben seeing if he’s preparing another insult. He’s gone stick straight, his jaw clenched tightly, eyes dark, frown deepening.
Shit I was just kidding but-
You turn back to look at the door but can’t fight the tight feeling that rose in your chest when he looked at you like that.
Get a grip.
You interrupt the next bout of frantic knocking by opening the door.
A man in a rumpled navy suit stands out side the door, a bright blue quilted baby bag covered in elephants hangs from his left shoulder, a little girl holds on to his left hand, while a little boy screams shrilly and hangs from his right arm.
“Mr. Wilson- hi-“ You stutter, surprised. “Are you alright? Here-“ You reach to take his almost one year old son, Josh, from his arms. Josh continues to wail loudly, shaking his head back and forth.
“Can you please watch the kids?!” He says eyes frantically looking around the apartment behind you and focusing on Ben.
Mr. Wilson was another one of your neighbors, but he and his wife lived on the fifth floor. You’d met the Wilson’s by accident when Martha, the five year old holding on to his left hand wearing a bright pink tutu, decided to ride the elevator down to the lobby all by herself and met you while you were moving all your stuff into your apartment. She’d declared you her best friend as soon as she saw the colorful assortment of flowering plants you were lugging through the lobby of your apartment building in a cardboard box. You’d babysit for the Wilson’s sometimes when they needed a few quiet moments alone and on date nights. Not to mention they had a ton of money and paid almost five times per hour the amount you made in an hour working at “Please Don’t Die.”
Josh wails, his face turning bright red, so loud that Ben flinches behind you. You remember what he said about the supe that blew out his eardrums and can't help but feel a little sorry for him. Your own hearing was only a little better than other people's, but not enough to be as bothered as Ben.
“Hey little guy, its okay.” You coo gently bouncing Josh on your hip to make him stop crying. He sniffles and wraps his arms around your neck, gurgling quietly as he catches his breath.
“Y/n!” Martha shouts putting your right leg in a choke hold.
“Hi Marty.” You smile down at her, adjusting your weight so you don’t drop Josh. You look up at her father. “Mr. Wilson, I'm just not sure that now is the right time."
You think about Ben standing behind you and how horrified he looked when the children descended upon you, as if they were ticking time bombs. You weren't sure if you wanted Ben around kids, or if he had ever been around children before. He wasn't the best influence, not to mention you didn't think that he would be able to filter what he said or what he did around the,
“My wife she just-“ He swallows brown eyes wide. “She just went into labor."
"Oh. OH. Well-"
They had been expecting their third child for a while now, something that had resulted from you taking care of Josh and Martha more and more, and Mr. Wilson's promotion at work. You had learned before Mr. Wilson by accident when you reached down to pick up Josh's binky that was on the ground and your ear brushed against Mrs. Wilson's almost completely flat stomach and you heard the heartbeat.
“Please! I’ll pay you triple the hourly rate and her mother will be here tonight to take over for you.” The man looks close to getting on his knees and begging you. "You won't have them for long-"
Have a heart she’s going in to labor. What else is this poor man going to do? Drag the kids there with him? A part of you whispers. But then they'd be stuck here with Ben all day long. Well, maybe he will leave.
“Okay.” You relent with a sigh.
“Thank you!” Mr. Wilson exclaims shoving the bag into your free arm and then disappears from the doorway without saying goodbye to his children, but you were going to cut him some slack. You understood that when a woman went into labor most men didn't understand what to do with that information.
Shit. You grit your teeth to avoid saying it aloud when taking the bag throws you off balance. With one kid still hanging from your leg and the other one hanging from your neck, it was difficult to maneuver with the bag too.
Ben’s hand appears in your line of vision and he takes the bag, practically with one pinky.
“Show off.” You mutter, but turn your attention to the little girl hanging from your leg.
“I want a flower crown!” Martha crows.
“Okay sweetie just give me one second.” You take another step with her holding on to your leg.
“Now!”
“Martha.” Your voice turns stern as you look down at her and she pouts. "Please let me get Josh situated first."
“Fine.” She pouts and lets go of your leg.
The relief you feel is quickly overshadowed by Ben standing there, holding the diaper bag out from his body like it’ll bite him. Honestly you wished you had your phone ready to take a photo of Ben holding the bag, and then use it as blackmail.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Ben asks looking down at the two children confused.
“Shh language!” You snap, eyes widening as you look down at Martha and Josh. Josh has begun to pull your hair from the ponytail at the back of your neck.
"What language?"
You give Ben a death stare wincing when Josh yanks the hair tie out. Martha has let go of your leg and is looking up at Ben with the same fascination that you'd seen her look at Prince Charming from Cinderella.
Guess it works on girls of all ages.
You think about telling her that Ben might be charming from a distance, but he isn't anything like a prince. Honestly, you were more worried that Ben was going to act like a total dick and crush this little girl's heart.
"Hi." She waves her hand at him. "I'm Marty."
Ben stares down at her, as if he's deciding whether or not to say his name aloud. "Ben." His eyes flick back to yours. "What are you doing?"
"We have had the money conversation many times, but I guess you must be getting forgetful in your old age, so we can have it again." You smirk. "Some of us weren’t born with a silver spoon in our mouths or have a trust fund. I don’t have money, therefore, I babysit to get some extra cash sometimes. Hence the children.” You wave your free hand commanding the vines to open up the pantry and grab Josh's high chair out to set up for you. "I told you that I work several jobs."
"What do you mean several? You said that you worked for Butcher and plant guy." Ben huffs, still holding the bag.
"You know his name is Jake. And we live in America if you can't remember. You know? America home of the free, home of the brave single woman trying to make ends meet and pay for her crappy apartment by working fifty million jobs?" You begin to buckle Josh in to the high-chair. "But thanks for showing me how to fix the plumbing under the sink. Definitely going to add that to my job application.
"How many jobs do you have?"
"I mean it’s really what I do when I’m not working for Butcher. I works at the plant shop, I babysit, sometimes I’m a dog walker, oh and there’s this senior living facility a few blocks over that I run errands for when the people living there need me."
"You run errands for senior citizens? What kind of fucking person does that?"
"LANGUAGE! And this freaking person does that thank you. It's not all that bad. Plus I thought you were going to act like them when I first met you, but you are more h-a-n-d-s-y." You spell it out because you don't want the kids to say it. "Oh and I'm also a gardener."
"A gardener?"
"Sometimes." You shrug. "But now that you've met the kids, it's time for you to go."
“What?”
"I don't want him to go." Martha stomps her little foot enclosed in a bright pink sparkly flat.
You ignore her and reach for the table part of the high chair, strapping Josh in. He's wearing an adorable pair of overalls and a teddy bear t-shirt underneath. Despite his early hissy fit in his father's arms, Josh is smiling happily at you, his wild curly black hair sticking up in different directions. “I’m not going to let you be around a kid. You're barely on your best behavior around me."
“What do you think I’m gonna do?”
“I don’t know. Smoke a doobie, roll a doobie, make horrible life choices, drink, curse-“ You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face him, raising an eyebrow.
“You really don’t see me in a positive light.” He smirks at you. It's hard for him to pull off when he's still holding the bright blue bag covered in elephants. It was quilted, probably a knock off Vera Bradley, which only made you wish for your phone even more.
“No I do not.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Fine, just go watch TV in my room. But if you start going through my underwear drawer I swear I will cut off your D-I-C-K.” You spell the word and narrow your eyes, letting them flash bright green to emphasize your point.
Martha is still staring up at Ben, upset at the idea that he's going to go anywhere. "Wait y/n! Please let him stay, he can help me braid Betty's hair!" Betty was Martha's favorite doll, one that you were sure was in the sparkly backpack that hung across her back. Another photo opportunity you did not want to miss.
“I don’t want to go in there.” Ben states.
“Well that’s the first time you’ve ever said that. Usually you’re all for going in my room.” You huff, before turning to look down at Martha. "Alright, you want jasmine like last time? Or do you want some Lavender too?"
"Strawberries!" Martha exclaims.
"Strawberries!" Josh echoes, mashing his meaty fist on the tray not quite comprehending.
"Alright, but you remember. Our little secret right?"
Martha and Josh's parents didn't know you were a supe, they figured that you really liked plants and that Martha's occasional flower crowns came from you manually making them, not from you waving your hand and watching the stems weave together. You weren't sure how the Wilson's would react to finding out that you were a supe. They were more straight laced than you.
Probably also wouldn't like Ben hanging around if they knew who he really was. Actually I'm surprised that Mr. Wilson didn't ask more questions about Ben when he saw him.
Martha nods eagerly.
"Secret?" Ben asks.
"The Wilson's don't know I'm a supe." You murmur so only Ben can hear plucking a strawberry from the plant on your kitchen table. Secretly it was your favorite plant and it was much older than all the others in your apartment, encased in a hand-painted pot.
It was the first plant that you ever grew, sprouted from the chopped strawberries on your high chair tray when you were nine months old. Your parents had potted it inside the house and since then it had never wilted, and it never would. It meant everything to you, weird as that may be, strawberries were like a good luck charm and the plant that sat on your threadbare circular kitchen table was the symbol of your origin story.
"What do they think all the plants are?"
"They just think I like plants." Your eyes are glowing bright green allowing the strawberry in your hands begin to grow a stem and leaves, the stems weaving together to form a circle, sprouting small white flowers that ripen into red fruit, delicately intertwining to create the crown that Martha wants.
She squeals happily when you put it on her head and dances past Ben into the living room on tip-toe.
"You want one too Gramps?" You smirk at Ben.
"Tempting, but no."
"Alright." You look back at Josh, who has begun to chew on his chubby fist. "Are you hungry? I think you're hungry." You turn to look at Ben who is watching Martha do a mock impression of a ballerina with a horrified expression. "Ben can I see the bag?"
His head snaps in your direction. “Why?”
“Because it’s a magical bag with baby food in it.”
He holds it out and you snatch it away.
“Geez. Calm down Petals.” Ben leans against the counter behind you watching you methodically take out the jars. “Now what?”
“Well Sherlock, I’m going to feed the baby.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I know! I know!” Martha screams jumping up with her hand in the air. “Oh please!”
You bite back the urge to laugh. “Yes Marty?” You act as if you're calling on her in class.
“He can help me make friendship bracelets!”
Ben scoffs and rolls his eyes while crossing his arms over his chest. “Like hell I’m gonna-“
*Twenty Minutes Later*
“Please tie another knot for me.”
“No.” Ben grunts
"You're funny." Martha laughs and hands Ben the elastic string so she can start another friendship bracelet.
She was wearing the one that she had spent the last twenty minutes on, a string of bright pink, light pink, hot pink beads, and white pearly stars broken up by the name Marty. Ben had sat there the whole time next to her, pouting while occasionally throwing angry looks at you like it was your fault.
It's not.
You couldn’t understand why he stayed. You figured that he would leave to go on a date or try to escape as soon as Martha mentioned the words "friendship bracelet," but he hadn’t. He sat there at the kitchen table with Martha, whose little legs hung over the front of her chair, her face tight with concentration as she made friendship bracelets.
You’d taken two photos and you were very excited. But you’d been more focused on feeding Josh. He was still eating bits of strawberry and watermelon, but you would give him the occasional bite of teether.
Ben had looked like he was going to throw up when you broke off a piece for yourself.
It wasn't that bad. Kinda like eating a piece of flavored cardboard.
"You really like the watermelon huh?" You ask Josh taking another piece from the plastic container and cutting it up so it's small enough for him to eat.
"Waa waa." Josh mumbles picking up another piece. The red sticky juice was running down his little arms and each time you tried to wipe him off he would scream "No!"
You figured that he had learned that from Martha.
You hold out the circular Tupper-ware of watermelon out to Ben, who takes a piece, still frowning at you the whole time.
He's got to lighten up.
“Benny pick a color for me!” Martha says shuffling her fingers through the organized little boxes of her friendship bracelet kit, the beads rustling loudly against the plastic sides.
"It's Ben."
"Benny!" She whines. "Pick a color."
Ben sighs heavily as if she’d asked him to stab himself. He was probably considering that to get out of this hell. “Green.”
“Light green or dark green?”
“I don’t give a-“
“Ben.” You growl under your breath staring at him.
He sighs again sinking lower in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “Dark green.”
When Martha finishes the bracelet it has light green, dark green, and black beads with brilliant pearly white stars and the name Ben spelled out on the strand. She hands it to him. “This is for you. Now we’re best friends forever.” Her face turns serious. “Guard it with your life.”
Ben holds the bracelet between his thumb and index finger, frowning down at it. For a second you hope that he’s not going to throw it away in front of Martha. You noticed that she was trying to impress him the best she could and even you had to admit that her bracelet making skills were unmatched. You were also a little jealous. She didn’t make one for you.
But then Ben does something you didn’t think you’d ever see him do, but puts it on. “Thanks.” He grunts and Martha’s smile is so wide you’re sure it would blind anyone in a ten mile radius.
You’re surprised, so surprised that you drop the watermelon you had been holding on the ground.
What in the actual fuck is happening? He’s being so nice to her.
“Y/n, pick a color!” Martha shouts handing Ben another piece of elastic to tie a knot in.
“Um- light green.” You say, but you can't look away from Ben.
Am I hallucinating?
You were so shocked at his behavior. Yes he was still being a little bit of a dick, but he hadn't done anything that bad in the time that the children had been here, just occasionally curse.
The bracelet that Martha makes you looks a bit like Ben’s, except you have light green, dark green, purple, and black beads with white pearly stars broken up by your name.
"Thank you Marty." You smile at her and roll it on your wrist.
"Y/n?"
"Yes sweetie?"
"I have to go to the bathroom." She stands from the chair and hops from foot to foot. "I don't want to go by myself, the hallway is scary!"
"Oh okay." As soon as you get up Josh begins to wail, face turning bright red as he does, pounding his little fists against the tray of the high chair, sending pieces of strawberry and watermelon flying everywhere.
Oh shit.
"Hey it's okay Joshie." You unclip him from the high chair and pull him into your arms, bouncing him to make him stop crying.
"Y/nnnnnnnnnn!" Martha whines, continuing to hop from foot to foot. "I really have to go."
"Well I- um." Your eyes dart to where Ben is still sitting at the kitchen table, cringing slightly when Josh gives another particularly loud wail.
Am I really about to do this?
"Ben can you take him for just a second."
"What?" Ben's eyes widen.
"Please? I have to take Marty to the bathroom."
"She can't go by herself? Suck it up or whatever?"
"It's dark Benny!" Martha cries, peering around him down the hallway. "I don't want to go by myself."
"But-" Ben begins to say.
"Please Ben." You plead.
He curses under his breath. "Fine." He stands up and takes Josh from your arms, holding him away from his body in the air with both hands like Josh is a live grenade, which only makes him scream louder.
Martha grabs your hand and begins to drag you down the hallway, while Ben grimaces at the wriggling child in his arms. "Try holding him against your chest." You say to him as Martha continues to pull you towards your small bathroom.
I am definetly getting a night light for this hallway. Then again, she doesn't even like it when the lights are on. She said that the yellow glow looked "creepy." But I don't think I should leave Josh alone with Ben. What if he drops him or kills him or- shit why did I do this.
As soon as Martha is finished and has washed her hands you return to the kitchen prepared for the worst, but then you see Ben. His back is to you, but he's gently bouncing Josh in his arms who giggles happily over Ben's shoulder at you.
"See you just need to man up." You hear Ben say. "The ladies don't like a man who cries kid, take it from me."
You smile to yourself. And if you thought that Ben was gorgeous before, Ben standing with a baby making a baby smile, makes something primal at the back of your mind begin to stir and unfortunately makes every plant in your general vicinity burst into bloom. The smell of gardenia, hibiscus, honeysuckle, and lavender hitting you in a strong wave as they do. You weren't sure what instinct it was, all you knew was that the image of Ben and the baby would be very difficult to wipe from your mind.
"Did you miss me Benny?" Martha shouts coming up behind him, her strawberry crown still perched over her dark braids.
"Um." Ben turns around to look at where you're standing at the edge of the kitchen. He looks a little sheepish, like he didn't want you to catch him with a kid.
That's understandable. Hughie told me how he reacted to seeing a diaper commercial. The guy just doesn't seem to be the most gentle or really loving. And yet look at how he is with Josh.
"Of course he did Marty." You smile rubbing her back. "Right?"
"Sure." Ben sighs, but then he lifts his gaze back up to you. "You shouldn't call her that." Ben grunts.
"Why not?"
"You keep calling her a man's name and everyone is gonna think she's a boy."
You kick Ben hard in the shin.
"Ow. What the fu-" Ben snaps, eyes blazing.
"Marty, why don’t you pick out a movie you want to watch, anything you want." You smile sweetly at her, ignoring Ben's angry glare.
"Anything I want?" She exclaims, eyes bright.
"Anything you want."
She squeals happily and runs to the couch, disrupting Bean who had been watching with contempt from the cushions that line the back. He didn't like the kids as much as Ben did. Bean leaps off the couch and vanishes down the hallway before Martha can catch him.
"I call her that because she asked me to Ben. Don’t say things like that to a five-year old. In fact don't stuff like that at all. It's 2024 not 1920."
"What does that mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean." You frown at him.
"Fine." Ben huffs and rolls his eyes.
"Why are you still here? I thought that you were going to go on a date or whatever it is you do when you're not being forced to work for Butcher?" You say taking Josh from Ben, who fights you as you rub a wipe against his sticky cheeks.
"I didn't want you to be outnumbered Petals." Ben smirks.
"Uh-huh. Sure. Admit it, you really wanted a friendship bracelet."
Ben leans closer to whisper in your ear. "As soon as she leaves, this is going in the trash."
But for some reason you don’t believe him, but at the same time you didn't care, because you had photo evidence on your phone of Soldier Boy making friendship bracelets.
The opening song of Frozen begins to play from the tv behind you and you smile mischievously at Ben.
Now he's in for it.
"You're gonna wish you left Gramps." You snort.
"What do you mean-" Ben starts to say.
And then Martha begins to sing.
After a stunning and masterful performance of the Frozen movie done by Martha that included singing, dancing, and screaming the dialogue back at the tv, followed by Frozen 2, both Josh and Martha have fallen asleep just as the Aristocats began to play, leaving you and Ben to sit in the blessed silence of your apartment with the movie playing quietly in the background.
You were all sitting on the couch, Josh was sleeping on top of you, his little head buried in your left shoulder, while Martha curled up beside you, covered in one of your crochet blankets. Ben was sitting on the other side of Martha, leaning back and avoiding any contact with her feet that occasionally twitched while she slept, scrolling on his phone.
As much as Ben had hated the performance, you think that he might have actually liked Frozen. He'd noted that Elsa was hot, which Martha didn't quite understand and stated "No silly she's cold."
But then Ben followed up the observation by saying "You know, I knew this supe that looked exactly like her, who did this thing with her tong-" and you'd clamped your hand over his mouth and hissed "the kids are too young for that. Frankly I am too." Ben had only smirked at you and for the first time since you'd seen him do that, you smiled.
You didn't think that Ben had been paying attention, given that he had been scrolling on his phone through the entire movie, but he was. Because when Hans betrayed Anna Ben muttered "what a dick" under his breath.
Butcher had called during Frozen 2 and Ben had taken it in the hallway, filling you in quietly when he got back. Tomorrow Butcher wanted the two of you to infiltrate the party and see if the supe showed up to steal any of the cars.
It sounded like a solid plan, but it also meant that you were going to be on a mission alone with Ben, wearing God knows what. The last time Frenchie had stolen a dress for you wear on a mission, you'd practically had a heart attack when you first put it on and then made Annie go instead. You hoped that this time Frenchie got you something a little more, you. But you doubted it.
Plus the whole idea is to not be you genius.
“You’re really good with them.” Ben murmurs from his seat on the other side of the couch interrupting your chain of thought.
“You sound surprised.” You whisper back gently rubbing Josh's back with your hand. “And here I thought you were going to make a misogynistic comment about me having to be good with kids because I’m a woman.”
“I thought about it.” He shrugs shooting you an easy grin that makes you roll your eyes.
“Wouldn’t have expected anything less Gramps.”
You'd be lying if you said you weren't enjoying Ben try to act normal around the children. You liked watching him be all uncomfortable and awkward, especially because he prided himself on being a "big strong man." It was the same look he got in his eyes whenever Mike's mother cornered him.
“So have you been around kids before?” He asks.
“No. I never had any younger siblings, just my older brother. Were you ever around kids?”
You barely knew anything about Ben or his life before becoming Soldier Boy, just all the propaganda that Vought fabricated about his early life. He had called you guarded but he definitely seemed to keep everything closer to his chest. Sometimes you found yourself wishing that he would tell you more. You wanted to know more about him, but another part of you told you that it was a bad idea. You were getting too close to Ben, developing feelings for him, and you knew that it wouldn’t end well.
“Not people I knew. Vought used to send me on tours around America, talking to assemblies at schools.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Do you-“ Ben pauses considering. “Like kids?”
“I mean I like that I get paid to watch them but-“ You look down at the children quietly sleeping between the two of you. “I like these two. I think it kinda depends on the kid.”
He nods and turns his head back towards the tv. Thomas O'Malley has started his song, sauntering along to the tune.
Is it wrong that I think Ben has Thomas O'Malley vibes? Or Kovu from Lion King 2 vibes?
You thought about texting Annie that exact question, but you didn't want to tell her how you spent your day babysitting with Ben. You knew that it would only bring on another onslaught of photoshopped baby pictures and potential baby names.
“Do you want kids?”
“Huh?” You glance over at Ben who is watching you curiously. He was doing that thing again where he acted completely different than how he acted around the team, had been doing it all day long.
“Um-“ You contemplate. “I’m not sure. I’m kinda young or well in my head I am. I think I’d want to wait a little bit.”
“But you do?” He presses.
Why does he want to know that so badly?
“I kinda see myself as a mom.”
Ben’s eyes are studying you. “I think you’d be a good mom.”
The compliment makes you inhale in surprise. Ben had been acting weird all day long, being nice to Martha, wearing the bracelet she made him, sitting with her to watch a movie and listening to her recount the lore behind it. He was being uncharacteristically patient and kind. For another moment you see the possibility of Ben being more than just an angry, horny, jerk, and you try hard not to give in.
“Do you want kids?” You whisper back.
Ben’s expression darkens and he turns back towards the tv, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t say anything for a good two minutes, the silence awkwardly growing between the two of you. “I did.”
“With Countess right?”
He looks at you surprised.
“Hughie told me.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry Ben.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. You’re not the bi-“ He stops and looks down at the kids who are still sleeping silently. “You’re not her, Petals. You don’t have to be.”
“I know that, but still. What she did was shitty.” You whisper the curse word. “You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.”
It was the first time you’d said that to Ben. The first time the two of you would have a conversation about his life before you met him, the life that he seemed to want to forget. You couldn't blame him for that. In fact, the two of you had barely talked before these past few days other than the occasional tease or Ben’s attempt to get you into bed with him. And it was actually kind of nice, learning more about him.
Josh gurgles quietly and you adjust him in your arms, gently rocking him for a moment. Martha stirs but then leans further against your right arm cuddling up against it.
Ben watches you for a minute with the same expression he has when he seems to be unable to understand you and then the mask slips for just a moment, enough for you to see something genuine in his eyes. "Thank you." He murmurs.
"You’re welcome." You reply with a small smile as you turn back to watch the movie, aware of Ben's gaze on you. "Then again I should be thanking you. I couldn't have made it through today without that coffee."
Ben chuckles and leans back against the couch cushions. "You're welcome Petals."
Mr. Wilson's mother in-law shows up to take the kids just as the movie finishes. Ben and you stand there for a moment in the aftermath taking a breath and when you smile at him, Ben actually smiles back.
But before you can ask Ben if he wants to order a pizza or something, he states that he has a date and not to wait up for him as he shrugs into his leather jacket.
And when he goes you try not to notice how quiet the apartment is and how empty it seems without him in it.
A/N: Alright the angst will begin to come NEXT chapter, probably, I promise... I just couldn't get this silly little idea out of my head and I thought why not?
As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist or if I missed you on the taglist please let me know :)
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had a dream about soldier boy and homelander (im sick so my dreams are insane rn, like seriously i dreamed i watched a mailbox *eat* a person, just dont ask) anyways it went like this
Homelander to Soldier Boy: Soldier Boy, What are you doing here?
Soldier boy to homelander: What are YOU doing here, Twinky?"
Me: "Twinky? Thats good, that was good. A+"
anyways, ten out of ten dream, deff made up for the mail box nightmare
Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir
Series Masterlist
Author's Note: Happy fake season 5 premiere. Now are you ready for some SAD? Chapter Title from Pavlove by Fall Out Boy
Word Count: 21.9k
Chapter Summary/Warnings: You want to go home. Usual Warnings, and also just so sad.
Read on A03!
Chapter 16 - Chapter 18
It had been one month, one week, two days, five hours, thirty-seven minutes, and thirteen seconds since Ben had lost Her. Failed Her. Held Her and heard her voice say his name.
The Thing kept time for him. It had forbidden him to forget for a single second that She wasn’t there. Because of him. She was gone, he’d broken his promise, and now the Thing’s only job was to look for Her in corners—in strange shadows and oddly placed objects that might be Her—and beat every part of Ben bloody with an anguish for Her. To remind him, as another second passed, that he had failed Her. That She wasn’t at his side, where she belonged. That She had trusted him, and now she was in danger.
The first week had almost killed him. He’d barely slept—and when he did nightmares of Her, just out of reach and screaming, would carve into his chest as the drums overtook him—so he’d wait until he was about to fucking collapse and then do it on the couch. Never on the bed. He didn’t go into the bedroom except to get to the bathroom. And every time he did, he had to fight the sick feeling in his body that She wasn’t there. He’d almost wrecked the apartment in wrath as well, smashing two chairs against the wall and shattering the TV. Then he’d been furious with himself for losing his fucking control, because She’d be upset the TV was broken.
How the fuck is that helping anything, Benjamin? She’d cross her arms and glare at him. Then make him clean it up while She watched, cross legged on the couch. Still not really that mad at him, because Ben would grunt and glower at Her but do it all the same. Then he’d steal Her chocolate from the cafeteria in a silent apology, and even though she’d already forgiven him She would smile at him and tease him for being a grump as he watched Her eat.
She was haunting him. Ben knew Her too well, She’d planted herself so deep in his every thought that She was everywhere. Not just scattered through the apartment—clothes in drawers he had to pretend he couldn’t see, unfinished books on tables, and an empty coffee mug in the sink—but plaguing his every move. He couldn’t eat or cook without hearing Her frown at instructions and ingredients.
What does “crisp up the edges” mean? Like, burn lightly?
Ben had to stop cooking. It was wrong when Her voice was there but he couldn’t kiss the top of Her head or wrap his body around her own, hugging her into him as they both frowned at the stupid recipe.
As such, at first he’d only left the apartment to get food—stalking back immediately after because if the Pussy Brigade kept looking at him with fucking pity he’d kill them all and that would defiantly make Her pissed—and to attend briefings. Boring, pointless fucking briefings where Butcher would say they still didn’t have a lead—at that point they didn’t know anything except that She was with Homelander and Vought said she was in “recovery”, so nobody had even fucking seen her—and Ben had to find another way to live with himself. With how he’d failed Her.
The Pussy Brigade had been pissed with him. MM’s glares had become somehow damn angrier than before, Annie and Hughie kept fucking sighing, Frenchie looked at Ben like he was about to rip everyone’s heads from their shoulders at the smallest word in his direction, and Butcher and Kimiko were acting like Ben was the fucking asshole. Like they weren’t the ones sitting on their fucking asses, and Ben was slowing them down. He had been attending their stupid fucking meetings and managing not to kill anybody when every single fucking one ended the same way, with Her not any closer to coming home. So every single one of them could go fuck themselves until She was.
Then he’d been called to the dining hall for another meeting, and found only MM and Annie waiting for him.
“You need to talk to her sister,” MM snapped. “She needs to know what happened.”
“No.” Ben’s grunt was meant to be final. He didn’t want to talk to Violet. He didn’t want to be reminded of Her, he already had to see Her perfect face whenever he opened his phone. He had no desire to see her in all the similarities and mimicked expressions on Her sister’s features, or hear her in the way they both always spoke with a frantic pace, as if the words might get away from them.
“We’re not fucking asking-“
Annie had stopped MM with a hand, looking at Ben carefully. “She’d want her sister to know.”
She would. She’d be pissed Violet didn’t already know. But Ben couldn’t. “One of you pussies fucking do it then.”
“It has to be you,” Annie had said Her name gently. “She would want it to be you.”
Ben had wanted to kill Annie. To tell her she had no fucking clue what She would want him to do, but she was right. Ben had to do it. This was a fitting fucking punishment for failing Her.
They’d called Violet. Annie had wanted Ben to see her in person, but MM had decided it was too dangerous. So they’d called her, using MM’s phone.
She’d asked Ben what the hell had happened, and he’d told her.
The line had gone silent for a long, painful minute before Violet spoke again.
“You’re going to get her back.”
Even though it felt like the words were clawing at his throat, Ben had parroted what he’d been telling himself since he’d lost Her. “Like I fucking said, we have to kill Homelander-“
“I don’t give a shit about Homelander,” Violet had snapped. “You’re going to get her back.”
“You think I don’t fucking want to?! You think this isn’t fucking killing me?” Ben had almost roared into the phone. He knew he’d failed, he didn’t fucking need this. Nobody needed to tell Ben he’d lost Her. He’d never be able to goddamn forget it if he tried.
“I know this is fucking killing you. And I don’t goddamn care.” Violet’s response had been cold. Furious. “She’s my sister, and I want her back. And if you care about her even a quarter as much as I think you do, you’ll want her back too. So go get her back.”
It hadn’t been a question or a plea. It had been a command. Ben was going to get Her back. Fuck Homelander, fuck Butcher and MM and Mallory. Ben cared about Her, more than he’d ever cared about anything, and if he didn’t get Her by storming the Tower he’d rip the world apart until he found Her and brought her back. Brought her home.
Violet had hung up the line, Ben had chucked MM’s phone back at him, and turned to stomp back to his room. To get his shield and fucking bring Her home. He’d spent a week doing it the team’s way, fucking sitting on his ass like a pussy, and that was fucking it. He’d get her back, his way, no matter fucking what.
MM had stopped him. Planted himself in Ben’s path with a glare.
“Move.” Ben had hissed. There wasn’t fucking time for this. He had to do something. Get Her back right goddamn now.
“Stop being a fucking child,” MM’s words had been blunt. Furious. And Ben’s vision had gone red.
“The fuck did you just say to me-“
“You’re being a whiny, pathetic, sulking child.” MM hadn’t flinched, and Ben had been certain he had a death wish. “I sure as hell understand why Violet’s angry. But she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. We’re going to get her back, but when it’s safe.” MM had said Her name, and Ben had almost broken the teeth in his own mouth. “She’s strong. She’s smart. She wouldn’t want us to compromise the mission for her.”
Of course She wouldn’t want that. She was always fucking throwing herself in the line of fire, taking bullets meant for everyone else because she could. But she shouldn’t fucking have to. Ben didn’t give a shit how strong She was, she shouldn’t keep fucking doing this to herself. He couldn’t keep fucking allowing everyone to just let her do this to herself.
“I don’t give a single fucking ass’s ballsack.” Ben had hissed. MM needed to be crystal fucking clear where his priorities were. Not with the Pussy Brigade, not with the mission. With Her. Always with Her. “I’ve already fucking wasted too much goddamn time pussyfooting around for you-“
“This isn’t for me, you dense motherfucker,” MM was still in Ben’s way, and Ben had been more than ready to fucking move him. “Or for Annie, or Hughie, or even fucking Violet. It’s for her.”
“Fuck you, you don’t know what the goddamn hell you’re talking-“
“She hasn’t broken out,” it was Annie who spoke, and Ben had turned on her with a scowl. “She’s still there-“
“I’m well fucking aware-“
“For a reason, you fucking asshole.” MM’s sneer had been cold. “We all know how strong she is. She could’ve broken out-“
“Her fire wasn’t working.” Ben’s fists had been curled at his side, and he’d felt fucking sick. “It just stopped. She can’t break out, she fucking needs me-“
“We haven’t damn seen her. We don’t know even if she’s in the fucking tower or not. And no matter what, we have to play this like she would.”
That had halted Ben. “What in Christ’s fucking asshole are you talking about.”
“We can’t play this like Homelander. Or Butcher.” Or you. Annie hadn’t said the last words, but Ben knew they were implied. “She’s the one who’s there. Who knows what is and isn’t possible, what precautions Vought does and doesn’t have. What they’re planning with Her. Right now we’re in the dark, but she isn’t. So we have to play this like she would, like she’d tell us to do if she were here.”
Ben had been silent, trying to find a good reason to not just fucking killing Annie and MM and storm Vought Tower to get Her back. He didn’t care about the mission or plan anymore. He just needed Her home. With him.
It’s not about us right now, Ben. Her voice had echoed in his head, gentle but firm. Don’t throw a temper tantrum, I’ll come home soon. Once this is over. Trust me.
She’d play it smart. He’d known that immediately, that She’d play it smart. She’d play it underhanded and unfair—with sharp words and dirty tricks—but fucking smart, and She’d get the job done. At any cost that She deemed truly unavoidable.
Ben really fucking wished She’d start realizing that she wasn’t an unavoidable cost.
But that’s how She’d play it. She’d use herself like a weapon and then crawl back to Ben with Her guts falling from her body. She’d be planning something. Ben knew Her, he knew that she’d be planning something. But She was so fucking afraid of Homelander. There was no certainty that she was Her right now, that her mind was currently capable of finding a way out of this.
“We don’t know where she is,” MM had said slowly, and Ben had remained silent. “And we don’t have a way to get her safely, except killing Homelander. Don’t be a fucking idiot, you asshole.”
“We won’t rest until she’s back,” Annie had added, tone a hell of a lot more soft than MM’s. “I promise.”
Ben had stormed past them, uninterested in their fucking promises, and tried to find a way around this. A good reason that he could just go get Her.
He could go to the tower. Demand Her back.
And I’m sure they’d be super chill about that. Homelander would just hand me over and apologize for the inconvenience.
He could just fucking kill Homelander right now. Stop waiting for whatever pointless fucking shit Butcher and Mallory were planning and kill Homelander now.
He’s not going to fight you. Not after we kicked his ass on the lawn. He’d see you and fly off.
He could bribe someone-
With what money, Pretty Boy?
If you’re so fucking clever, Ben had hissed at the voice. Then what would you do?
I’d play it out. I’d make a plan and then I’d play it out.
You always shut the hell down when you’re afraid, no plans, barely even full goddamn sentences. And you’re fucking terrified of Homelander.
Wow, I wonder why.
“Shut the fuck up.” Ben had snapped that last part aloud, and Her laugh had carried on the wind.
He’d sat in it, arguing with Her voice in his head for hours until his phone had buzzed on the table.
William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible.
Emergency. Dining hall, right now.
Don’t make me fucking drag you.
They’d all been waiting when Ben had arrived. Huddled around Hughie’s laptop with wide eyes and mouths hanging open like fucking idiots.
“Unless the emergency is you pussies doing a fucking circle-jerk-“
“It’s not,” Hughie had spoken over Ben, and his eyes had widened slightly as he saw Ben’s murderous scowl, realizing what he’d just done. “Uh, I mean you’ll want to see this. It’s important. It’s uh,” Hughie had opened and closed his mouth like a fucking fish, and Annie had taken over.
“It’s her. It’s-“
Annie said Her name, and might have been about to say more, but Ben hadn’t fucking cared. He’d crossed the room in two steps and ripped the laptop up from the table. Ignored the protests of the group as he’d stared at the screen.
They had been watching some fucking cable channel, with BREAKING NEWS written in bold letters on the bottom of the feed. It was a fucking interview, where a charismatic haircut in a suit was behind a desk, smiling at Homelander. Smiling at Her.
Her.
Alive. In public. In immeasurable fucking danger, but within an arms reach. She wasn’t speaking, just smiling and looking between Homelander and the host as they spoke. Laughing on a perfect fucking cue when Homelander made a horrible joke.
But Her eyes were fucking empty. That wasn’t her real smile, or real laugh, and no part of Her body was relaxed. She didn’t look harmed, but it was impossible for Her to look harmed. Her hair was styled perfectly, but she never wore it like that. She wasn’t speaking, even as Homelander compared them to Romeo and Juliet and called it the best love story ever told. She hated Romeo and Juliet. She’d lectured Ben at least twice about how it was a fucking cautionary tale, a tragedy, not aspirational. She was laughing at jokes Ben knew she wouldn’t find funny, and Her eyes were fucking dull. She was sat with her hands on the table, and he could see Her middle finger, tapping slightly.
“Unfortunately, Soldier Boy got away. What are your plans going forward to bring him to justice?” The Haircut had been asking Homelander, and She’d blinked. The only sign she’d heard.
“Well, I was so focused on saving the love of my life,” Homelander had placed a gloved hand over hers, and She given him a too sweet smile. “That Soldier Boy managed to run away. I could’ve caught him, of course, but she needed me. So I stayed. But we’re working on a way to find him, and eliminate his threat all together. Permanently.”
The Haircut had nodded, and looked at Her. “The public is dying to know more about you and Homelander’s plans, now that you’re reunited. What can you tell us?”
She hadn’t even opened her mouth, letting Homelander speak for Her. “Right now we’re just focusing on each other. Building a strong foundation for our future together. You’ll hear more when we’re ready to share,” Homelander had given a shark-like grin. “And it will be juicy. Right, honey?”
She’d nodded. No words, only a nod.
Ben had been about to smash the laptop and leave. Go fucking find Her. This was live, she was somewhere in the city right fucking now, and he’d made up his mind. She wasn’t herself, her eyes were vacant and she was never fucking silent. She needed him, and he was going to find her.
But then She’d looked right into the camera. For only a half-second—he’d almost fucking missed it in his anger—She’d made eye-contact with Ben through the camera. And her face had morphed. Twisted into one Ben recognized for just that split moment, before growing blank once more.
I’m okay, Benjamin. Trust me. I’ll see you soon.
She’d see him soon. And when she’d stood up—hand clasped in Homelander’s without fingers tangled, without touching him beyond his glove—she’d been wearing green. It had been a hideous dress, fucking frills and bows and lace and one size too small. But green.
And Ben understood.
She was playing this her way. She was asking him to trust her. She’d see him soon.
He fucking hated this. But She was asking him to trust her, and he did. She was still Her, perfect, and she was wearing green.
She’d see him soon.
Ben had chucked the laptop back at Hughie, and glowered around the table. “What’s your fucking plan.”
“We, uh, don’t really have one-“
“Then fucking make one.” Ben had sneered at Hughie. At all of them. “Now.”
Annie had frowned at him. “I mean, I don’t think that’s important, not when she just-“
“It’s the only fucking thing that’s important.” Ben had hissed. “If you goddamn pussy idiots want to play it like her, do it fucking right. No fucking room for error, or doubt, or goddamn hesitation. If we’re getting Her back by killing Homelander, then let’s fucking kill Homelander.”
Butcher had nodded. “Welcome back, Gov. Whatever it fuckin takes.”
Ben had left. He hadn’t answered Butcher, because he’d have just killed him. Split his face open in fury. The pussy didn’t fucking get it. Butcher’s whatever it takes was about the job. Ben’s whatever it takes was about Her. Getting Her back, making her safe. He was a goddamn fucking hypocrite, and he didn’t fucking care.
Whatever it takes.
Not Butcher’s whatever it takes—what Ben had once meant, a lifetime ago—where he was really saying at any and all costs.
Her whatever it takes. Where she was saying at my cost. At my sacrifice.
Her sacrifice was giving every part of Her. Letting Her worst fears and nightmares become reality.
Ben’s sacrifice was going to be his fucking sanity. His peace of mind traded for the torture of failing Her. Of having to let Her do this. But she’d done it, and he’d be fucking damned if she did it for nothing. She was playing this how she wanted, and Ben knew a lot better than to stand in her way. He’d play fucking nice, and do what the Pussy Brigade told him to, because She’d come home to him.
He’d failed his most important promise to Her. That was broken, shattered, gone into the fucking past.
Now he had to let Her do what she needed to do. And then everything would be keeping Her safe.
She’d need to be safe when she came home. Ben had to keep himself the fuck together, so he could hold Her when she came home. So he could be Her home, and make sure she still trusted him to touch her, care for her, and-
Ben had nearly run straight into the Kid.
He didn’t look like Homelander. There wasn’t anything evil on the Kid’s face, anything deeply gut twisting and skin crawling. Homelander’s face was fucking wrong. Weak. Inhuman. The Kid just looked like a damn kid. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes that Homelander did, but a lot of fucking people had blond hair and blue eyes. Fucking Annie had blonde hair and blue eyes. And, to keep it damn fair, Homelander didn’t look like Ben. Homelander wasn’t Ben. So the Kid probably wasn’t Homelander.
But Ben had lost Her for the Kid.
So he didn’t really give a shit about if the Kid was Homelander or not. Butcher had what he fucking wanted, and She had given it to him. Butcher had traded Her for the Kid. And Ben didn’t want a goddamn thing to do with either of them.
The Kid had been about to say something. Maybe call Ben fucking grandpa again. She’d have loved that. She’d have fucking fallen over laughing and then kissed Ben’s scowl, calling him an old grump.
Something hurt deep inside Ben’s chest. He might be doing this Her way, might have resigned himself to sitting on his fucking ass and working fully with the Pussy Brigade, but he didn’t need another fucking reminder that She was gone. Not when the Thing was keeping time. Not when Ben couldn’t escape Her voice.
He’d shoved past the Kid without a word.
It took Ben two whole fucking weeks to find a rhythm without Her. To pull his shit together for Her.
He didn’t sleep in the bed. He wouldn’t sleep in the bed, not if She wasn’t there. He changed the sheets because she deserved them to be clean. He brushed his teeth because she’d notice if he didn’t. He fucking perfected pancakes, so he could make them when she got home. He fixed the TV. He called Mallory to fix the TV. The TV got fucking fixed, and it didn’t really goddamn matter if it was Ben or Mallory or Hughie who did it. The TV was in one piece, and She’d be able to use it when she came home.
He found small ways to torture himself until She returned. Ways to remind himself She was gone, fucking gone and alone, while still holding Her as close as he could. Ben used Her stupid fucking flower shampoo once a week, just so he could smell her like a pervert. He watched all the movies and shows she adored and tried to learn all the goddamn million songs she loved. For such an intelligent person, She liked some stupid fucking shit. The music was slightly harder for Ben to get through, mostly because of the sheer goddamn whiplash. Bright pop to heavy guitar to—fuck him—showtunes. He managed to get one song down to a key, which brought his total up to two whole songs that Ben knew and could sing to Her. Moon River and Rainbow Connection. He’d have to learn a third, because the fucking banjo made him want to shoot himself. For TV, he could’ve watched all the movies and shows She liked because they were good—The award winning ones made by a bunch of pretentious whining art pussies—or he could watch the ones She loved because she was a fucking enigma of a woman. A low-budget film about a hot woman and the worst fucking “dread pirate” Ben had ever seen. A fucking movie about pageants and the FBI. A goddamn cartoon about talking cars and spies. Another fucking cartoon with a billion damn episodes about a family who made burgers. Another too long show about monsters and hunting them and being a self-righteous pussy all the time.
Ben didn’t actually hate that one. He liked how much they decapitated people, and that he could almost hear Her talking through the whole thing. He couldn’t see any deeper meaning in any of this fucking dimly-lit shit, but She’d find some. And he wanted to try and look for something so that when she inevitably made him watch it, Ben could blow her fucking mind with some sort of stupid observation or metaphor. Her pretty mouth would fall open, and her eyes would widen—half with disbelief and half with delight—and She’d be so fucking happy.
And that was where the torture part began. She wasn’t smiling at him. She wasn’t happy. She wasn’t even fucking safe. She was with Homelander. She was doing fucking everything for fucking everybody instead of resting against Ben and telling him about all Her perfect, strange, and pointless thoughts. Ben wasn’t holding Her, laughing with her or fighting with her over nothing. She didn’t even have a fucking way to know how much this was killing him. How every movie he watched and song he listened to made every part of Ben just fucking miss Her. He missed Her so fucking much.
That was the worst part, really. It wasn’t that Ben had to put up with Butcher’s fucking lectures or Annie and Hughie’s goddamn sympathy. It wasn’t seeing the Kid or having to play nice with the Pussy Brigade and their terrible ideas. It was that he fucking missed Her. Mallory and Butcher would start fucking bitching about plans and intel other boring shit and Ben couldn’t look to the side and roll his eyes at Her. He had to eat alone—Ben was pretty goddamn certain he wasn’t welcome at dinners without Her—and she wouldn’t throw food at him or talk to him through large mouthfuls. He had to go into the bedroom to get changed and see Her clothing, still mixed in with his. Static. Never fucking moving from place unless Ben touched them. Because She wasn’t fucking here. If She was here she’d know what to fucking do with all of this, she always knew what to do, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t smiling at him with a pretty mouth and adoring expression. She wasn’t snorting or giggling at him with that same perfect smile. She wasn’t watching the world with sharp eyes that became soft when She looked at Ben. She wasn’t looking at Ben at all, except through the camera. All he had of Her were moments where the mask would drop. Where Her eyes would flash with confirmation through the screen that She was still Her, but nothing more. She never had enough time for anything more.
Homelander was fucking parading Her around. After that first week—where nobody had even known if She was still in the damn city, or state, or country—She was everywhere. Red carpets and interviews and rallies where She’d stand, silent and empty, and Homelander’s side. Never speaking or moving, only smiling as Homelander guided her with a hand on Her lower back. She didn’t flinch when Homelander touched Her, but that wasn’t where She was supposed to be touched. She wasn’t meant to be herded around like a fucking sheep by Homelander. She was meant to be wrapped in Ben’s arms, safe and tucked into his side while she held his hand on Her shoulder. She was never supposed to be fucking silent. All She fucking did was talk, and when she didn’t it was because Ben was touching Her the right way—carefully and devotoutly—and all she could say was pleas of his name. But those were still goddamn sounds. Perfect fucking sounds. Ben didn’t even hear Her goddamn voice until around the third week, when everyone had been gathered around Hughie’s laptop in the dining hall to watch a film premiere for Fish-Boy’s movie and Homelander had dropped down from the sky with Her in his arms.
She’d looked fucking terrible. Still perfect, always perfect, but not Her. Ben couldn’t miss the slight gray lines under her eyes the makeup wasn’t covering, or the sheer fucking emptiness on Her face. She kept tapping her finger on the ridiculous fucking dress they had Her in—dark blue with lace and velvet that made Her face twitch almost imperceptibly whenever she looked at it—and Her cheek was being pulled into her mouth. That had almost been it. Ben had almost decided to just goddamn fuck it and go get Her now. She wasn’t fine, Homelander was still goddamn touching Her, and fuck it all Ben was getting Her back.
But She’d spoken. For the first time in three weeks, one day, nine hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifteen seconds, Ben heard Her voice. It had been mechanical, over-saturated, but Her voice.
They’d asked Homelander another useless, brown-nosing question about Fish-Boy and supporting sea animals, and he’d met them with too many teeth and cold eyes. And told Her to answer it.
“Marine wildlife and its safety and preservation is a cause that’s very important to us both,” She’d smiled at Homelander, and it hadn’t reached her eyes. “Which is why, after the premiere tonight, me and Homelander will be donating 2 million dollars to the Timothy Foundation!”
“We really care about octopi,” Homelander had kept talking, and She’d still been fucking smiling at him. “And squid, and ocean slugs.”
She’d blinked, and Ben saw the words flash across Her face.
Slugs aren’t cephalopods, you fucking idiot.
She’d said me and Homelander. Not Homelander and I. She was tired, and being fucking used like a puppet, but still Her. They were letting Her speak now, and when the pussy interviewer had asked Her to spin so they could see her full dress, Ben had seen it. A jewel hair pin, completely out of place. Too fucking elegant, too fucking Her for whatever the hell they had her wearing. Green.
So Ben had to keep waiting. It was fucking killing him—especially as they let Her speak more and more and he had to keep hearing Her voice speak words that weren’t hers—but he fucking pushed through. He wasn’t a pussy, he was a goddamn man, and if She could keep herself together then Ben could as well. For Her.
But it was still fucking destroying him.
The nightmares got worse. The longer She was gone, the less Ben slept. Half because the couch was not meant to be slept on—Ben’s legs kept dangling uncomfortably off the side and he could only fit one arm at time—and half because he couldn’t fucking sleep. Not without Her there, not when she was in fucking danger and that thought was chasing him into his sleep. His nightmares weren’t about Russia anymore, they were of Her, screaming and screaming and begging Ben to help Her. And Ben never could. He’d run and turn the fucking world upside down but he could never fucking save her from Homelander. He’d drop at Her side, give Ben a cold grin, and they’d both fucking vanish.
And Ben would wake up with the drums tearing out of his chest.
At one month, one long, horrible, mindless and suffering month of being without Her, the Thing became painful. It had been painful, reminding Ben of everything he’d lost and how the whole world was fucking shit because She wasn’t there, but now it was starting to grow bloody. It hadn’t gotten weaker with Her absence, if anything it was becoming a fucking monster. Stronger, angrier, more goddamn insistent to tell Ben that one fucking thing. The one he couldn’t figure out, the one he had needed to tell Her and had never been able to. It couldn’t use words, so it used memories to try and fucking kill him. To try and make Ben understand what he just fucking couldn’t. To make him rip himself further apart because She wasn’t fucking there. The Thing only offered him good memories, which was worse. The horrible ones—the images flashing in his head of Her fear and terror that would climb into Ben and make him want to kill whatever was making Her hurt—were justified. Ben had fucking failed her. And they reminded him to just keep fucking going until she was gone.
The good ones made him want to die.
The memories of Her legs tangled in Ben’s or wrapped around his torso. Of Her smiling at him with so much joy and Ben kissing her when she laughed because it would turn into a moan and those were the two best sounds in the whole fucking world. Of Ben touching her, casually and always, and her leaning into him and pressing her head into his chest. Of watching Her—he always watched her, she was like a fucking star and he couldn’t look away—and how he’d memorized every perfect fucking detail of Her face. Of how her eyes would light up when she looked at him, and She’d tell him she adored him. He fucking adored Her. She was fucking perfect, still fucking perfect, always goddamn perfect. And every single piece of Ben that mattered, his will and resolve and care and mind and blood, was trapped in the tower with Her. Leaving only his body and the Thing, wrathful and desperate, to ache. His whole world fucking ached because She wasn’t there.
And Ben couldn’t fucking do shit to get Her back.
The Pussy Brigade was working on it. Whenever Ben would yell at them or demand updates, they’d always say they were working on it. They’d leave for meetings and missions that they’d brief Ben on, but never let him just fucking help. Let him bring Her home. Ben couldn’t go out in public, not after the tower, not when he’d been declared Public Enemy #1 by Vought and was a threat to America in the eyes of the general population. So he was fucking benched.
“We’ve got another lead,” MM had been giving a briefing, and Ben had been half-listening. All these meetings always amounted to the same thing. Ben stayed behind, the Pussy Bridage found nothing, and She was still fucking gone. “It’s on Sage, old member of Teenage Kix’s might know some sort of fucking psychological weakness we can use against her.”
Most of the fucking missions were about Sage. Trying to figure out what she was planning, what her long-game was, how they could get her out of the picture for an easier shot at Homelander. The pussy had locked down all of the Seven, and was taking goddamn precautions. Limited press, limited public appearances, all the focus on Her and Homelander’s fake fucking love story. On how Vought was trying to take Ben down for justice, to avenge Her. Fucking protect the country.
“I don’t think she has psychological weaknesses,” Annie had frowned. “I think we need to be focusing on what her plan is-“
“Or we could just bloody kill her,” Butcher’s glare had been around the whole table, even at Ben. Which was stupid, because he was entirely in fucking favor of killing Sage. “Take her out permanently. Blow a hole in her fuckin chest that she ain’t gonna heal from.”
“If you find an actual window for that,” MM had snapped. “Then let us know. Until then, we’re following the lead.”
“It ain’t even a good lead, Mate.” Butcher had grumbled. “It’s fuckin useless. We’re not makin any progress chasing leads.”
Ben agreed. He might have even spoken up and told MM that Butcher was, for once, fucking right about something, but the asshole never knew when to shut his mouth.
Butcher had said Her name, and Ben had seen red. “Still with fuckin Homelander. And we don’t know what type of shit he’s doin to her while we sit on our asses-“
“Shut the fuck up, you fucking asswipe of a pussy.” Ben’s hiss had been a promise. A threat of blood on the tiles and Butcher’s brains scattered across the table. Butcher didn’t get to talk about Her. Didn’t get to say what she’d want, or imagine what pain Homelander was inflicting upon her, or even fucking think about her. She was lost because Butcher made her think she was worth less than the Kid, was worth less than all of them, was better off as a fucking pawn. So Butcher didn’t get to fucking say Her name.
“I’m fuckin defending her, Gov.” Butcher hadn’t stood down, because he was a goddamn self-assured idiot. “We’re all tryin to get her back-“
“I said,” Ben had pushed back the bench, standing with his fists clenched. “Shut the goddamn fucking hell up. You’re the piece of shit who said we had to wait. And you don’t get to fucking defend her, she’s not yours to fucking defend.”
“But she’s yours?” Butcher had sneered, rising as well with tensed arms. “She’s your fucking woman? Your Sunshine? You think she feels like you’re fucking defendin her, when she’s trapped with Homelander?”
She was Ben’s. Ben was Her’s. They didn’t fucking own each other, but She was Ben’s. To protect, to make happy, to hold and touch and-
“Watch your fucking mouth.” Ben could hear the drums somewhere in the distance. “Or I’ll fucking kill you. You’re a weak, pathetic, excuse for a man, a manipulative, lying, backstabbing pussy. You couldn’t defend her if you fucking tried.”
Butcher had been about to hit him. Ben had seen his fist curl, seen the flash of violence in his eyes, and fucking prayed Butcher was going to hit him. To throw a fist at Ben that he’d let land, to fucking feel it. Real, physical pain, instead of this never ending fucking ache. Then he’d fucking kill Butcher. It would be justified, the pussy would’ve thrown the first punch, so Ben could cover his hands in Butcher’s guts as he tore them out and nobody would say shit. He’d have proof, real fucking evidence, that he was fighting for Her. That he was doing goddamn something.
But Butcher hadn’t hit him. He’d just glared, and Ben had stormed out of the dining hall. Back to exile in their apartment. Without Her.
Hughie had tried to follow him. To fucking apologize.
“Soldier Boy!” His weak, nervous voice had called after Ben, and he’d felt fucking sick. He had never hated his supe name before, it had been his whole fucking life. He’d been fine with the Pussy Brigade using it, because to them he was Soldier Boy, and he got to be Ben to Her. But She hadn’t called him Ben in a month. He’d only heard his supe name. And now he fucking loathed it.
He’d kept walking, and heard Hughie’s heart speed up as he chased after him.
“Wait, please just,” Hughie had taken a large gasp. “Holy shit, you walk fast. I just want to talk-“
“Go fucking talk to Annie,” Ben hadn’t turned around. “We’re not fucking buddies, Kid. I don’t have shit to say to you.”
“It’s not about me-“
“I don’t fucking care.”
“It’s about her!” Hughie had stopped running, just yelling Her name after Ben. “I want to talk about her!”
Ben had turned. Not to talk. He didn’t have single fucking interest in talking about Her with anyone. But he’d needed Hughie to see his face when he spoke. “Don’t fucking say her name.”
“She’s, she’s my friend too-“
“I don’t give a fucking flying shit what she is to you!” Ben had roared, closing the space between him and Hughie with furious, long steps. “Or Annie, or Butcher, or fucking anybody. She’s fucking-“
“She’s something to you.” Hughie had, in an act of bravery Ben hadn’t imagined him capable of, cut him off. “She’s something really important to you. Something more to you. I, uh, I don’t really know what, but I know she is. And I just, I wanted to ask if you were okay. With her not here. You haven’t really talked to us-“
“Shut the fuck up.” Ben wasn’t about to talk about his fucking feelings. Not with Hughie, not with fucking any of them. Ben’s feelings weren’t important right now, and they weren’t for the Pussy Brigade to ever fucking see. Let alone fucking talk to him about.
“I’m, I think she wouldn’t want you to feel guilty.” Hughie had stood his ground, and Ben was almost impressed. “She cares about you. Like a lot, a kind of insane amount. And we all care about her, but she really, really cares about you. And like I said, she’s kind of more to you. So I just, I want to help.”
She was more to Ben. She was the whole fucking world to Ben. Fucking perfect, and she wouldn’t want Ben to feel guilty. She’d probably fucking apologize to him, or get pissed at him for being a dick to Hughie.
You’re being a baby, Benjamin. Her voice ran through his head. This isn’t anyone's fault. Not Hughie’s, not yours. I mean, a lot of things are your fault, but this isn’t one.
Ben didn’t fucking care. He’d still lost Her. He might miss Her, and it might be destroying him that She was gone, but he’d see Her again. Soon. And he wouldn’t fucking break, so that She could. When she was safe. With him.
“I’m not a fucking pathetic pussy who needs you to jerk me off about my goddamn emotions.” Ben had sneered at Hughie. “And she’s not fucking here. So don’t pretend you’d know what she’d fucking say or do or want.”
None of them fucking knew Her like Ben did. None of them had any clue what She’d want, they barely had a grasp of what She fucking do, and they wouldn’t let Ben tell them. They knew he wouldn’t leave, not until She was home, but they still didn’t trust him. Not like She trusted him. Not like Ben trusted Her. And any care they had for Her was worth nothing compared to how She was fucking everything to Ben. How he was fucking devoted to Her, how he-
“What would she want?” Hughie had asked, taking a slight step back but not leaving. “What do you think she would do?”
“She’d talk to Neuman.” Ben had shocked himself with the words, because they’d fucking fallen out of him with certainty. She would talk to Neuman. And She wouldn’t bother asking about Sage. She’d look for breaks in Vought, or Homelander.
Sage is too smart to leave a leak. Her voice mused in Ben’s head. We need an in. A way to pull Homelander’s attention and trust away from her, or find a breach that Homelander is responsible for. He’s not a fan of being told what to do. You need to exploit something she can’t control or predict. Neuman worked with them both. She’d have an idea what they clashed about, and we can use that.
Hughie had stared at Ben. “Neuman? What would Vicki-“
“She worked with Homelander and Sage.” Ben had echoed his imagined words of Her, saying Her name and trying not to let it hurt. “Would think chasing after Sage’s weaknesses was stupid. She’d think it’s a waste of time, especially after a fucking month with no result.” It’s the definition of madness, Benjamin. This door isn’t opening, you can’t brute force your way through it. Find another entrance. “She’d want to talk to someone reliable. Find another fucking way, that actually works.”
Ben had left Hughie gaping in the hall, and marched away. Back to the apartment. Alone.
Another week passed, and nobody had called Ben for a meeting. He was running out of patience. They were nowhere fucking closer to Her. He had to keep fucking watching her on the TV, watch Homelander touch her incorrectly and repulsively, watch Her smile in a way that wasn’t hers. He was kept from insanity by those small moments that proved She wasn’t gone, just not safe, but Ben was at the end of his fucking line.
He was about to do something. Every day he’d been getting closer to doing what he should’ve from the fucking start, because the Pussy Brigade kept saying they were playing this like She would, but they fucking weren’t. Ben knew how she’d play this, he’d even damn spelled it out for them, and they were still doing it fucking wrong.
He was going to do something. Today. Now. Ben was going to just fucking risk it, and everyone could hate him and he couldn’t give a single shit about that. He was getting Her back, his way, today-
His phone buzzed. Lighting up with a message from Hughie. It stabbed Ben’s chest to have to read it, because he had to look at Her face on his lockscreen and see the name She’d entered for Hughie’s contact. But he did anyway. He wasn’t a fucking pussy. He could read a damn text.
Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt.
We’re having a meeting.
Please come ASAP.
When Ben arrived in the dining hall, everyone was gathered around Hughie’s laptop again. He was starting to think this was some sort of fucking mating ritual of theirs, with how damn often they did it.
“Oh, you’re here.” Hughie sounded surprised. As if he hadn’t fucking told Ben to come. “You’re uh, on time. The call hasn’t started.”
“What the fuck are you talking about.”
“We’re calling Neuman,” MM snapped, meeting Ben’s eyes with a glare. “Congrats, motherfucker. Looks like your idea might actually work.”
Ben scowled, but stalked around the table. He didn’t gather in their little fucking herd—standing off to the side as they all shot him glances—but waited. They were finally fucking being half as smart as She was, so he’d put up with their weird looks and goddamn attitudes to make sure they didn’t fuck this up.
Neuman appeared on the screen after five minutes of heavy silence. Ben immediately knew where she was. His old room, in the safe house.
For her sake, he hoped someone had fucking cleaned it before she arrived.
“Hi, guys.” Neuman’s voice crackled slightly, but the video remained smooth. “Mallory said you had some questions for me?”
“How are you, Vicki?” Hughie asked, apparently with no fucking sense of urgency. “Have you and Zoe settled okay?”
“We’re good,” Neuman shrugged. “I mean, a little stir-crazy, but good. I heard about the Anomaly, I’m really sorry-“
“This is actually about her.” As Annie spoke, Ben’s fists tightened at this side. “We’re, uh, we’re trying to find a weakness in Homelander. Kill him faster, get her back. And we were wondering if you had any ideas.”
“Ideas?”
“You worked with both the cunt himself and Sage,” Butcher drawled. “You can’t be fuckin clueless as to what they might be plannin.”
“I mean,” Neuman frowned. “I remember Sage was trying to develop a gas to use against Soldier Boy-“
“We got that already,” MM leaned forward, slightly over Hughie’s head. “We’re thinking more long term shit. Something we can use against Homelander, something that might make him turn away from Sage. She’s the real threat right now. We’ve got Soldier Boy to blast Homelander, but we can’t get a shot as long as Sage is keeping him in check.”
“Huh,” Neuman’s face twisted in thought. “I’m not sure. In November, right before Maine, I heard Homelander and Sage fighting about something. Homelander had gone somewhere and not told her. She said if word got out it could ruin everything she’d planned, and he said she wasn’t his boss, he was hers, and it had been for his own health.”
“Health?” Annie frowned. “He’s invulnerable.”
“Mental health,” Neuman corrected herself. “He said he needed closure. That he’d gotten it, and now he could move forward.”
“The hell would that asshole need closure about?” MM and Butcher exchanged looks. “He kills everyone he hates, everyone who threatens him. He doesn’t have a family-“ Ben didn’t miss the pause, or everyone’s quick looks in his direction before MM continued. “Or at least one that matters. No childhood, no friends, no past. The fuck-“
“He was made in a lab, no?” It was the French Prick who spoke up, looking around at his team for confirmation. “That is his childhood. Maybe that is what he needed to move forward from.”
Butcher nodded slowly. “Prick is bloody obsessed with family. That was his whole fuckin thing with Ryan and-“
Her. That was Homelander who fucking thing with Her. And Ben wasn’t going to let Butcher fucking say it. He stormed forward, into Neuman’s view.
“Where the hell is Homelander’s lab. Where they fucking grew him, or raised him, or any of that fucking shit.”
Neuman gaped at him, shaking her head slightly before speaking. “It was, um, I don’t really know. Sage said he couldn’t just disappear right now, and Homelander said he hadn’t even left the city. So he was in New York, but I don’t know where.”
“It’s a big fucking city,” MM muttered behind Ben. “I don’t think we’ve got the time to comb it for one lab.“
Kimiko was signing something to the French Prick. Fast, with a determined face and a lot of nods.
“What the fuck is she saying,” Ben snapped, and could feel MM’s glare through his skull. He didn’t fucking care.
“She said that sounds similar to where they kept her,” the French Prick said Her name for clarity, watching Kimiko carefully. “That we found that by looking for the dead scientist. That the Homelander probably was not paying his childhood home a visit for fond memories.” He looked over Ben, at Butcher. “She wants to tell Monsieur Butcher that when they made her into a monster, they tried to find weaknesses. She thinks they might have done the same for the Homelander.”
“MM,” Butcher said, and Ben looked back to see him frowning. “Call Grace. Tell her we need any records of Vought scientists she’s got. Lad,” Hughie turned as well, blinking at Butcher. “Keep talkin to Neuman. See what else she’s got while we work this.”
Butcher started to walk away, and Ben followed. Blocking the asshole in his path.
“The bloody hell is your problem-“
“I’m going on this one.” Ben snapped. “There’s not fucking shit you can do to stop me. We won’t be in public, this is the best fucking lead we’ve gotten in a goddamn month, and I’m fucking going to check it. Make sure you pussies don’t fuck it up.”
He thought Butcher would argue. Tell Ben to shove it, that he was still benched. But he just looked Ben up and down with a scowl and narrowed eyes, and shrugged.
“Your fuckin funeral, mate.”
Ben let Butcher walk around him, and stalked back to the table. Sitting silently off to the side as Hughie, Annie, and Kimiko all spoke to Neuman. The French Prick had left with MM, leaving Kimiko to type her thoughts on Her phone, but Hughie always repeated them aloud for Neuman, and Ben had fucking ears. Nothing interesting happened—New Noir was weird, Neuman was pretty sure Ashley was bald, and something called a Believe Expo was happening in a week—until the end of the hour.
“How are you guys holding up?” Neuman asked, and Hughie shrugged.
“I mean, we’re fine. Can you, uh, repeat the thing about the Deep-“
“What, that he’s an octopus fucker?” Ben couldn’t see Neuman’s face, but she sounded exasperated. “You already knew that Hughie. I’ve told you everything I have, I just want to talk to my friends.”
“We’re okay, Vicki,” Hughie glanced across the table to Ben, watching silently. “I mean, it’s rough, but we’re okay.”
“How is everyone, with the whole Anomaly thing?”
Ben really fucking wished they’d all stop looking at him like that. Like he was about to start fucking crying.
“We’re mostly just worried about her,” Annie said slowly. “I mean, we miss her. It’s weird without her here. But there’s not much we can do until we kill Homelander.”
“That sounds like Butcher talk, Annie.” Nueman said flatly. “That doesn’t sound like you guys.”
“It is Butcher talk,” Hughie admitted, rubbing his neck. “But he’s not always wrong-“
“I didn’t say he was,” Neuman interrupted. “I just wouldn’t trust his judgment with this. I mean, he’s being a hypocrite.”
Annie frowned, glancing up at Ben again. At his hands, curled into white-knuckled fists as he listened. “About what? Like, with Ryan?”
“No,” Hughie shook his head, giving Annie a sad look. “Becca. That’s what you’re talking about, right, Vicki?”
“It is. I mean, this is almost exactly like Becca. And you told me he was doing anything to get her back. But Soldier Boy-“
All eyes shot up to Ben, and he held their weak, nervous fucking gazes as Hughie cut off Neuman with a stutter.
“He’s, uh, Vicki he’s here. Soldier Boy, he kind of, uh, he’s listening.”
Neuman didn’t falter. “Good, he should hear this. Butcher had a wife, Homelander did to her what he’s done to the Anomaly. And Butcher did pretty much anything he could to get her back. Searched for her, killed for her, whatever he could to get her back. I mean, Stan even told me they cut a deal for it. If Butcher wasn’t such a heartless asshole, he’d care more about Soldier Boy and the Anomaly. About how Becca didn’t seem like the type who would want him to let what happened to them happen to anyone else.”
Hughie swallowed. “I don’t think he doesn’t care, or isn’t trying to help her. I just-“
“Hughie, don’t make excuses for him. I saw how Soldier Boy was about her. Like Butcher was for Becca. And if he’s still there, then that old asshole should know that Butcher did whatever it took for Becca. He might even be right, but he’s still a hypocrite.”
Ben left. If they all kept looking at him like that, with all that fucking pity, he’d lose his goddamn mind. He already fucking knew about Butcher’s wife. The Kid’s mother. He’d learned about her on the first go. She’d had Homelander’s son, got killed, Butcher had made her some sort of fucking promise, and Ben hadn’t given a fucking shit about any of it.
But he’d never known Becca Butcher. He’d heard Her talk about Becca, when she’d yelled at Butcher about Homelander and when they’d been planning to trade Her in for Ryan, months ago. But he’d never known about Becca outside of those sparse details. He didn’t know the lengths that Butcher had gone to. Lengths he wasn’t allowing Ben to go to for Her.
Ben was going to fucking kill him.
Jesus, Benjamin. Were you even listening to Neuman?
Shut up. His voice in his own head was a growl. Ben didn’t need Her voice to tell him off right now, because even in his head she was always fucking right, and Ben didn’t have any interest in being talked out of this.
You shut up. Butcher’s a dick, but he’s not an idiot.
He’s a fucking hypocrite, Sunshine. You’d be fucking home if he wasn’t such a goddamn cold-hearted pussy. I’d have gotten you day one if Butcher hadn’t stopped me.
You wouldn’t have gotten me, though. Butcher’s, for once, right. Homelander would’ve hidden me the moment you stepped foot in the tower.
Homelander hid Becca. Butcher still fucking fought to get her back.
Becca died, Ben. She’s like, really dead.
Ben faltered for a second. Becca had died. That doesn’t fucking mean anything.
I’d say it’s kind of important. If I’m really Becca two, then maybe Butcher’s just trying not to get me killed as well.
You can’t fucking die. And you’re you, not Butcher’s fucking dead wife.
I know that. All I’m saying is maybe Butcher just doesn’t want you to lose me, like he lost Becca.
I don’t think he gives a fuck about me that much, Ben drawled Her name in his head, and could almost fucking hear Her sigh.
He’s not heartless, Ben. I mean, he’s a cunt. But he’s not Homelander. He’s capable of thinking of others, sometimes.
Ben wasn’t a fan of how, when She was just a voice in his head, he couldn’t shut Her up by kissing her. He had to listen to Her, and she was always fucking right. She was too good, too kind, but right.
Ben didn’t kill Butcher. And, when he was called to the dining hall two days later for a briefing, there was finally a fucking plan.
“We’re heading to Queens,” MM was stood at the head of the table, Butcher a pace behind him. “A group of known Vought scientists and a handful of chem and bio majors at NYU interning with Vought all went missing round November, and they all got cars that were parked in Queens. Mallory found a building that’s getting electrically wired underground, and we’re going to check it out. Got it?”
Annie raised her hand, and MM nodded. “Do we have a way in? If it’s a Vought building-“
“Ain’t nobody been seen entering it since all those fuckin nerds vanished,” Butcher shrugged. “I’d wager we’ll just walk right in.”
“What about security, Butcher. Keycards. Locks.”
“We’ve got America’s strongest cunt comin with us,” Butcher shot Ben a smirk. “You think you can open a locked door, Gov?”
Ben scowled at him. “You fucking know I can, you pussy.”
“That’s the bloody spirit.”
“Do we, uh, what are we looking for?” Hughie glanced nervously between Ben and Butcher as he spoke. “Is it just kind of a pray we find something situation, or is there like something specific?”
Butcher didn’t stop glaring at Ben as he answered. “A weakness, Lad. Anythin that Homelander or Sage wouldn’t want us to see or know.”
Hughie nodded. “Like a weapon? Or a drug?”
“We’re not sure yet, kid. But I’m sure there will be something.” MM sighed, then muttered under his breath. “There better be fucking something.”
“Oh, okay. So it’s all of us, or-“
“Me, Soldier Boy, MM, Kimiko, and Frenchie. You and Starlight will stay and hold down the fort.” Butcher clasped Hughie on the back, and Hughie gave a sputtering cough. Idiot had just put water in his mouth. “Try not to fuck on the tables while we’re gone.”
“We’re not going to fuck on the tables, asshole.”
Butcher winked at Annie. “Long as you clean up after yourselves, I don’t care where you twats fuck.”
“It’s not your business-“
“As much as I’d love to have another long and graphic conversation about my co-workers sex lives,” MM cut Annie off with a glare at Butcher. “Can we get our fucking asses up and into the van?”
“I’m not the one who can’t keep it in my fuckin pants, Mate-“
“We all keep it in our pants!” Annie was almost shouting. “Everyone keeps it in their pants, it’s not our fault we’re capable of love, you lonely, bitter asshole!”
“Love ain’t lust, Starlight-“
“Can we please fucking move-“
Ben stood up, and the Thing was trying to fucking kill him. It was Her, she had to know that unspeakable fucking thing Ben couldn’t goddamn understand-
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” MM shouted after him, Butcher and Annie still locked in their pointless fucking argument that was making the Thing go feral.
“I’m fucking getting ready.” Ben snapped, not bothering to turn. “And I want a gun.”
He didn’t wait to hear MM’s response. If they wouldn’t give Ben a gun, he’d take one. And there was not a fucking world where they could stop him from bringing his shield or wearing his suit. This was fucking important, and their bitching and moaning about protocol and safety wasn’t going to help with fucking shit.
I feel like you just really want a gun, Ben. Her voice hummed, carrying through the silence of their apartment.
I do want a fucking gun. It’s a goddamn useful weapon.
You’ve done fine without one before.
No, I didn’t. I gave you my gun and I fucking lost you.
And how the hell would the gun have stopped that?
I don’t fucking know. But it would’ve.
You can just want the gun, you know. You’re allowed to just want something.
I only fucking want you. Ben's jaw was going to crack. The gun will help me get you. I don’t want the damn gun, I want you.
Aw, I want you too, Pretty Boy.
You as well.
Fuck you.
“I wish I fucking could, Sunshine.”
He’d spoken aloud again. He had to fucking control that better, or the Pussy Brigade would start asking questions Ben didn’t want to answer.
They were taking the Pussy Mobile. Butcher’s car only fit five—a limited they’d tested once and had no interest in testing again—and nobody seemed thrilled with Ben’s pitch of just leaving Butcher behind, so he found himself in their awful fucking van, pressed up against the wall without Her at his side. The ride was silent, and Her ghost—not a fucking ghost, she wasn’t fucking dead—whispered in his ear the whole goddamn way to the Bronx.
Do you think they ever clean this thing?
No.
I mean, they have to. They all get shot and beat up way too much for it to not be a biohazard.
It doesn’t fucking smell like they clean it.
But MM’s like, obsessed with cleaning. I don’t think he’d step foot in here if they didn’t.
Maybe this is where Butcher jerks off. MM cleans it and Butcher jerks off right after.
Her giggle rattled around Ben’s head. What type of porn do you think he watches?
Hentai.
How the fuck do you know what Hentai is, old man.
There was fucking hentai in the 80s, Sunshine. I’m not a damn dinosaur.
See, I don’t believe that.
Doesn’t fucking matter what you believe. You’re the one who’s going to fucking benefit from my years of experience and study.
Ben could see the flush of her face somewhere behind his eyes. Could just fucking hear Her heartbeat pick up, a million miles away.
Shut up.
Someone backs down real fucking fast when she’s horny.
I’m not the one who just promised to fuck me with tentacles.
I never said shit about tentacles.
Fuck you.
I want to.
You’re impressively horny, Benjamin.
It’s all for you, beautiful.
Thanks, that means a lot. I’ve always aspired to be an old man’s spank bank.
Brat.
Cunt. And you’re wrong. Butcher is actually into femdom.
Ben snorted aloud, and the French Prick gave him a strange look.
He was losing his fucking mind. He missed her, and he was losing his damn sanity over it.
This better fucking work.
Butcher had been—fucking annoyingly—right. They all but walked right through the front door, down into the basement, and found the elevator. Without any damn buttons.
Butcher hadn’t been right. Good.
“What the fuck are supposed to do now?” MM scowled at the sealed metal doors. “We don’t have a keycard, and there aren’t any more stairs-“
“I’m fucking thinking, MM, calm the bloody hell down-“
Ben’s attention was pulled away when Kimiko tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him with wide eyes. “What the hell do you want.”
She waved the French Prick over and began rapidly signing, occasionally pointing between herself and Ben.
“Mon Coeur,” the French Prick frowned, glancing at Ben. “I am not sure that this is a good idea.”
She shook her head, and repeated a lot of the same signs once more.
“But-“
She covered the French Prick’s mouth with a hand, pointing at Ben again before removing it.
“Very well,” the French Prick addressed Ben with a twitchy gaze. “She says both you and she could go down the shaft. Send the elevator up after you. But,” the French Prick looked back at Kimiko. “Mon Coeur, what if you cannot send the elevator-“
“That’s a good fucking idea.” Ben snapped. “Tell her that’s a goddamn good fucking idea.”
Kimiko flipped Ben off, and the French Prick sighed.
“She can hear you.”
“I don’t give a shit what she can and can’t hear. We’re doing that.” He turned over to MM and Butcher, still fucking arguing. “Me and her,” Ben pointed to Kimiko, still glaring at him. “Are going down.”
“The fuck are you on about.” MM grunted, looking between them wearily. “Frenchie-“
“Kimiko wishes for Soldier Boy to open the doors, then they will both jump down the shaft. They will survive, and send the elevator up for us.”
“Ain’t no way in Satan’s fucking taint we’re letting you out of our sight, Gov.” Butcher sneered. “Me and MM will figure it out, and you’ll follow our fuckin orders-“
“Fuck you, Butcher.” Ben marched over to the elevator. “I’m not going to fucking run or betray you. I’m not a fucking backstabber, and if I wanted to pull something I would’ve already.”
As Ben pulled the metal apart, ripping the doors open with ease, he still fucking heard MM’s low mutter to Butcher. These fucking pussies kept forgetting he had super hearing.
“He’s not lying, Butcher. If he was going to betray us, he’d have done it in fucking February. When she went soft of him.”
“MM, you of all damn fuckers-“
“I know what I’m fucking saying.” MM’s voice had gone cold. “I goddamn know who I’m defending. And I also know he’s not going anywhere. Not until Homelander’s dead.”
Not until She’s back. MM didn’t have to say it. He knew, just as well as Ben knew, that he was fucking stuck here until She returned to him. Technically he could run. He could fuck the whole lot of them and break out, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t leave Her—with Homelander or just in fucking general—so he wouldn’t go anywhere until She could go with him.
And Butcher fucking knew it as well, so the asshole fell silent, and let Ben pry the doors fully open.
Nobody ended even fucking needing to jump down, making the whole goddamn argument pointless. The elevator was stuck right at their level, and didn’t require a keycard to operate, so they were able to all fucking ride it down the normal way.
When they finally halted after far too goddamn long and the doors opened with a pleasant ding, the smell hit Ben’s nose first. The whole lab, tubes and equipment and computers, was covered in a goddamn horrible smell. It was rotten, and fucking disgusting.
“Merdre,” the French Prick spoke first, the group filtering off the elevator. “I am not the only one who is smelling this, non?”
“I sure as shit do,” MM glanced around the lab as they spread out and spotted the brain-crushed, pantless, very dead man who had a clean hole right through his fucking dick. “But it’s fucking putrid, it can’t just be Dick-hole.”
“If someone finds a candle or somethin,” Butcher drawled. “We’ll light it. Until then we’ve fuckin work to do.”
Ben stared around the lab, and his eyes landed on a large, red door. Sealed shut, burn marks scorched around it. It took only five seconds to open it. One to wish he hadn’t fucking bothered.
“Christ on a fucking Cross.” Ben muttered. “It’s not just Dick-hole.”
It was blood. Fucking bodies and blood and rotting flesh smeared and torn across the room. A slowly decaying body of a woman—untouched save for being tied to a chair and half her face having fucking fallen off in death—was in the corner, but everyone else had been ripped limb from fucking limb.
“Bloody hell,” Butcher muttered, a few feet behind Ben. “I’d say it’s a safe wager that Homelander’s visit wasn’t a happy fuckin reunion.”
“Holy fucking shit!” Ben turned to find MM’s face twisted in a nausea, hands raised like if he blocked the view it might vanish. “Some warning might have been fucking appreciated-“
“We ain’t got time for warnings, MM.” Butcher started moving around the lab, poking over papers and frowning at folders. “Faster we find what we’re fuckin lookin for, faster we get out of this place.”
It took four hours. Four whole goddamn hours for four grown fucking men and Kimiko to tear apart the whole goddamn lab and find absolutely nothing of use. Ben took half of the room—he moved faster than all four of the pussies combined—while MM and Kimiko searched their half closer to the elevator and the French Prick and Butcher searched closer to the door. Files and papers and records and half-finished experiments all amounting to goddamn zero. They overturned tables, ripped plaster off of walls, and shouted at each other to keep fucking looking. Still finding nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Kimiko gave up first, around hour two, and turned on the old TV in the corner of the lab. Squatting down next to Dick-hole and watching the only channel the piece of shit seemed to get, Vought News Network. The French Prick joined her almost immediately, and around hour three MM stood off to the side—away from Dick-hole—and watched with them.
By hour four it was just Ben and Butcher. Destroying whatever was fucking left. Finding nothing.
Butcher grabbed Ben’s shoulder, and Ben nearly fucking punched his face in on instinct.
“Calm your bloody shit, Gov, I ain’t tryin to fight.”
“Then what the fuck-“
“Nobody’s cleared the office. It’s the last check on our list.”
Butcher was right. Nobody had stepped foot in the maggoty, fly ridden and foul smelling office. They’d all shot it looks of repulsion, but nobody had actually set foot in the guts and innards.
“I am not fucking going in there, Butcher.” MM called from the TV.
“I ain’t askin you, but someone’s fuckin gonna have to-“
Ben didn’t wait to hear any more of their pointless arguing. He spun around and stomped into the room, ignoring how everything smelled so much goddamn worse when he had to be surrounded by it. He turned over severed legs, marred torsos, and one face still twisted in a scream, looking for fucking something. Anything. A single goddamn thing that could help them-
There’s a desk, Benjamin. Maybe check the desk.
Shut the fuck up.
I mean, it’s pretty obviously right there-
I said shut up.
Cunt.
Brat.
What would you do without me?
Fucking die. Ben would fucking die without Her. He was fucking dying without Her. Nothing fucking mattered, nothing was beautiful anymore. He was losing his mind, but it didn’t matter because She wasn’t here to lose it with him.
You’re just a voice in my head, Sunshine. I’m the one who saw the desk in real goddamn life.
Maybe. He could fucking see Her shrug. But I’m the one who pointed it out.
Ben rolled his eyes as he searched through the desk, and tried to ignore the wrath of the Thing inside him. How much he fucking missed Her. How he was dying without Her. How he was pretty fucking sure that’s why the Thing was growing so agonizing. He was simply just going to die without Her.
There, Ben. Files.
They’re covered in fucking blood.
Literally everything’s covered in fucking blood. Get the files.
It was a simple manila folder with CLASSIFIED written large black letters but no other apparent precautions to keep it classified. Ben thumbed through them, not really fucking sure what he was actually looking for.
It’s like porn, Pretty Boy. You’ll know it when you see it.
Half the files were redacted, the other half were full of a bunch of fucking science words Ben didn’t understand. But one, stained in rusting red and typed in faded, small letters, looked important. Ben squinted at the words, and he’d found it. He’d fucking found it.
He stomped out of the room, shoving the papers into Butcher’s hands.
“The bloody shit is this.”
“Read it.” Ben snapped. “Use your fucking eyes and read it.”
Butcher’s brow furrowed, scanning the page, and looked back up at Ben with a wide grin. “Well fuckin done, Gov.”
“What is it?” MM called, pushing off the wall. “The hell did you find.”
“Homelander’s fuckin recipe.” Butcher smirked back down at the paper, reading it aloud in a gleeful tone. “Due to the nature of the donor,” Butcher winked at Ben. “The boy will be immune and unaffected by the original formula of compound V. His DNA had been engineered to engage with specific elements of the drug (i.e. strength, durability, enhanced hearing and vision) and ignore others (i.e. immortality, complete healing factor) and as such additional shots will be null.” Butcher looked up at MM with a childlike grin. “Cunt ages no matter what. If we don’t get him, fuckin time will.”
“Butcher, we can’t just wait fifty fucking years for time-“
“Don’t lose your pants, mate, there’s more,” Butcher’s attention returned to the paper. “Comparatively, the compound V used in other super-abled subjects will overload the boy’s body, sending him into a temporary vegetative state. Unlike the original formula, modern V shots act as only an enhancer on the subject, and his body is designed for an exact amount, blah, blah, lot more of the same shit.” Butcher looked around the room, and Ben had never seen him look this genuinely fucking happy. “We’ve fuckin got it. We’ve finally fuckin got it.”
MM shook his head slowly. “You’re telling me, this whole goddamn time, all we’ve had to do was shoot the motherfucker up with V?”
“Occam’s fuckin Razor,” Butcher shrugged. “We’ll need to get a real bloody sharp needle, and some V, but then we’re fucking golden. Sage won’t matter if we can turn the cunt into a coma patient.”
“We could go to the Believe Expo,” the French Prick had turned away from the TV, but was still sat next to Kimiko and Dick-hole. “That is where they were previously transporting the V, it is a good start.”
“Bloody good idea, Frenchie,” Butcher nodded, a maniacal grin still plastered across his face. “Let’s head out, we’ve got some fuckin work to do.”
The French Prick started to rise, but Kimiko grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.
“Mon Coeur-“
She grabbed his head, physically turning the French Prick’s eyes back to the screen. Ben’s followed, even as MM and Butcher moved to the elevator, and he froze in place.
It was Her. In that same stupid fucking news room Homelander had been dragging Her to, wearing a fucking costume. An all red supe costume that she’d have made fun of. Called frivolous and gaudy and other pointlessly big words. It look ridiculous and out of goddamn place on Her body. On Her—too fucking perfect to be wearing so stupid—across from the Haircut, smiling.
No Homelander.
“Oi, Gov, let’s fuckin move-“
“Shut the fuck up.” Ben stomped to stand behind Kimiko and the French Prick, unable to rip his eyes from the screen as the interview began.
The Haircut spoke first. “Anomaly, thank you for joining us today.”
She smiled. No teeth, no light joy. Fucking empty. “Thank you for having me.”
Her voice was too high, too sweet, with no edge or amusement. It made Ben’s skin fucking crawl.
“Now, this is your first interview since you’ve returned from Soldier Boy’s captivity. How have you been recovering?”
“As well as I can be,” She wasn’t even blinking. Like a damn robot. “Homelander has been incredibly supportive and understanding, but it’s been hard to keep it in.”
The Haircut leaned forward. “Keep what in?”
“The truth,” Her face was a portrait of sadness and confliction. Her pout too large, her eyes too doe-like, timidness slathered on every feature. “It’s been so hard to recover, fully recover and move on, when nobody even knows.”
“What the fuckin hell is she doin?” Butcher and MM had walked up behind Ben, and Butcher’s grunt was low. Almost worried.
On the TV The Haircut, still smiling at Her, was blinking in surprise, shooting looks off the camera. “Um, that sounds very difficult-“
“I mean,” She gave a pained sigh. “I just can’t believe they’ve tricked you.”
Nobody in the lab was breathing. Ben wasn’t fucking breathing, trying to just focus on Her words over the rapid heartbeats around him.
“I’m not sure I’m following-“
“Starlight!” Her voice had gotten desperate. Turned into packaged, too loud, exaggerated desperation. “She’s been lying to all of you, working with Soldier Boy since the start! The CIA, they woke,” she gave a choked sound. “Soldier Boy, he never died, and they woke him up to use against Homelander. They’ve forgiven all his crimes against this great country and have been trying to use him to kill Homelander! And Starlight’s been helping him keep me away! They were going to use me as bait, because they knew he’d always save me, and then kill him!”
She broke down in tears as the Haircut gaped at Her. Pretty tears, with no sobs or screams or gasps. Just pretty, pouting tears.
“What the hell-“
MM’s words were cut off by the Haircut, giving Her a comforting, nervous part on the arm as he spoke. “That’s, wow. I mean, you heard it here first, folks. Soldier Boy isn’t in fact a terrorist, but a CIA plant, working with Starlight to kill our great heroes. I, uh,” the Haircut looked back to Her. “Is there anything you’d like to say? To Soldier Boy?”
She fanned Her face, wiping away one stray tear. “If he's listening, I just want him to know I’m not broken.” The Haircut pointed down the camera, and She turned to stare into it. Through the screen, right at Ben. “You tried to burn me, but I’m not broken. And I’ll see you soon.”
“For justice?”
She smiled at the Haircut weakly. “Of course.”
As the Haircut moved onto a commercial break, Ben stared at Her through the screen. In Her stupid fucking costume, giving the Haircut a fake fucking smile. And Ben’s blood felt hot.
When the TV clicked off, Butcher spoke first. “What the bloody fuckin shit was that.”
Ben turned to Butcher with a glare. They were not even going to entertain the idea that She’d flipped. Not when she was such a fucking genius. “She just fixed a lot of your fucking problems for you. Like she always fucking does.”
The French Prick frowned. “I do not see how this helps us-“
“The best lie is made of the truth,” MM watched Ben carefully, his brain clearly moving a lot goddamn faster than the rest of them. “And she just said all the right things, in the wrong way.”
“In a way that saves your fucking asses,” Ben snapped, and Butcher scoffed.
“If anything She just fuckin damned us-“
“Butcher,” MM shook his head. “He’s right. She just did us a huge favor. Nobody already aligned with Starlight will believe the whole kidnapped narrative. We can flip this easy to Soldier Boy aligned with Starlight and to protect the public, and she was just as dangerous as Homelander. We didn’t kidnap her, she was detained for crimes. Or we can let people start to look further into who she actually is. The footage of her and Soldier Boy fighting Homelander will resurface, same with Firecracker, and we’ll just tell the fucking truth. The ball is in our court now. The CIA can distance themselves, or not. That’s up to Grace. And he,” MM pointed to Ben. “Can go in public. He’s not a terrorist anymore.”
Butcher nodded, and as he and MM continued to talk about responses and how to play this, Ben could only fucking see Her.
Still Her. Playing it like Her. Planning something, fighting in Her own insane, fucking sacrificial way. With carefully chosen words and broken metaphors She’d never normally use that told Ben it was Her.
He couldn’t go get Her. He was certain now, because the crack in her voice had been real when she’d said he’d always save me. Ben would always fucking save Her, and she was telling him not to.
She was telling him She wasn’t broken. That they’d still burn together.
That She’d see him soon.
——————
It was going to take two months, three days, fourteen hours, eleven minutes, and forty-two seconds for—if everything worked—you to go home. Back to Ben.
But everything had to work.
The first week, they lock you up. You only see Homelander and Sage, asking you questions you couldn’t answer because they won’t take the gag off of your mouth.
Then Sage sits down across from you, leaning forward and speaking like you were a child.
“I am going to give you one opportunity for this, understood?”
You glare at her, and she sighs.
“I am going to proceed as if you confirmed. As you know, physical threats and acts of torture are not viable for long-term cooperation. So instead I’m offering an incentive. If you work with us, cooperate fully, then we refrain from actively targeting Butcher and his associates. We can kick the can down the road, make threats, but never actively pursue action.”
You look up at Homelander behind her, eyes narrowing, and he waves you off.
“Please, I can fucking control myself enough to not kill them, even if they deserve it for poisoning you against me.” Homelander steps forward until he’s leering over your body. “Until you say you’re ready, I won’t kill any of them. We’ll work on us. I’ll even, look I’ll pinky promise.”
You give him a flat look. Your hands are still wrapped and cuffed and you can’t pinky promise, even if you trusted him. Which you didn’t.
“We’re serious,” Sage says your name, and your attention returns to her. “Until you’ve come to terms with their treatment of you, we will ensure they remain physically unharmed.”
Sage was lying. Not about the promise, about the come to terms with their treatment part. She knows what Homelander had done. She knows you had chosen to leave. She knows about you and Ben, and even if she doesn’t fully get that you loved him she knows you’d never turn on him. Ever be ready to kill him.
She’s feeding Homelander’s delusions. She has a plan, one that even Homelander wasn’t privy to. But you need the gloves off. Your plan needed to be set in motion.
So you nod.
From there, time is long. You don’t wander through the tower, or see anyone Homelander doesn’t want you to see. They’d taken off the gag and handcuffs, but you’re still locked in Homelander’s room. You’d never actually been in Homeland’s room at Vought tower before this, because he’d kept you secret. In the white room, or the lad. You’d known he had one, just from knowing generally about the Seven from the news and media and billboards everywhere, but you’d never imagined it being real. As far as you’d been concerned, he didn’t sleep. He was mechanical, monstrous, and something as human as sleep wasn’t something he was capable of.
But he did. Homelander always, for at least an hour a night, would sleep. In the bed you were forced to use as well. He hasn’t touched you. By some miracle, Homelander hasn’t touched you. He makes you sleep in his bed and smile at him and say all the right things, but he hasn't touched you. Not like that.
Because he’s afraid. Of you. It’s the only thing that helps you hold down your vomit, allows your fire to stay under your skin. The knowledge that Homelander is afraid of you. It’s so easy to miss, how he won’t look away from you for more than two minutes at a time. How when you move he watches you far too closely. He won’t touch you with bare skin unless he has to for the camera, and even then it’s brief flashes of something like fear. The room is kept cold, and you know it’s meant to quell your fire. It doesn’t—and you still think Sage knows that—but Homelander seems to be unwilling to take you anywhere warm. TV sets are cold, ice is offered in large cups at outdoor events, and when you’re eventually allowed out of the room, the tower is almost numbingly air-conditioned.
It took another two weeks for them to let you leave the room. Two weeks to prove that you would behave, to make Homelander think you were coming around. Time spent being choked by artificial coconut, receiving PR training, and making small, careful moves. Carefully calculated smiles at Homelander off of the camera, small, fake flinches into his hand when someone else would come near you.
Play the part. Play the role you’d been given and fall apart alone. Let Homelander show you off wherever he could and ask all the right questions about his life and fame.
“Are all these people here for you?” You ask him in a too soft voice. You know they were all here for him—they were literally holding Homelander is America’s True Hero signs—but the question makes him laugh like you were a silly, stupid child, and that’s what you’d been aiming for.
“They’re here for us,” He says your name, grinning around at the crowd, and waving at the gathered people like he was the Queen of England.
Fucking pussy might think he is the Queen of England. Fucking bitches and moans like it.
That made it easier. Ben’s voice would mutter in your ears, and make this all easier. Easier to look around in awe, give Homelander one of your rare smiles, and get through this.
Then—when Homelander locks you back in his room and leaves to do who knows what—you fall over the toilet and hurl your guts of disgustingly fancy food, sobbing until it was all out. Covering your mouth with a hand so you wouldn’t scream, swallowing and drowning in your own tears. A small period, every day, where you just broke. Where you let yourself mourn and hate this and miss Ben. Wish you were anywhere but here, wish you could just go home. You just want to go home.
But you always pick yourself up, and amble through the apartment until Homelander returns.
He has food delivered to you. It’s pretty much whatever he wants—you think he’s not actually sure what food you like and can’t really be fucked to find out—and he’ll make you eat it with him, making sure you eat it, before informing you he’s going to bed.
Which means you’re going to bed.
You don’t sleep. You can’t sleep. Not when Homelander is on the other side of the mattress and everything is so cold. He hasn’t touched you, and that gets you through the night, but you’re not stupid. You know better than to try and predict what Homelander will or won’t do. To trust him to follow a pattern. Which means you lie awake at night, eyes closed and breathing controlled so Homelander thinks you’re sleeping, and try to drag your fire further up into your body.
The cold isn’t harming it. But it keeps going numb. All your fear and pain and hatred and anger keeps washing over you, feeling like it’s going to burst out of your body, and the fire grows dormant again. And when Homelander’s too close, when there are too many cameras, when you have to smile and laugh and pretend you’re not dying, the fire falls further away.
Ben would say you have performance issues. You’d try to punch him, tell him if anyone has performance issues it’s going to be the hundred-year-old man, and he’d laugh and remind you that you know he doesn’t have performance issues, and you miss him. You miss him so much. Because if you looked at him and said I miss you, and I love you, and I’m so sorry I should’ve just come home because I miss you and love you and you were right we should’ve just left and I’m so, so sorry, he’d just hold you. He’d pull you into his big, warm, safe body and let you scream until your voice was hoarse.
I was right. His voice still rumbled through you, even when he wasn’t there. Even when he was just a piece of you that was always dedicated to missing him. To loving him, all the time. I was absolutely fucking right, but if you keep trying to apologize, Sunshine, I’ll lose my damn mind. So shut up.
And you miss him more, as you became more certain you can’t let him get hurt. That your two jobs right now are to do this right, and do this careful, and never let them hurt Ben. Play your role and never let them hurt Ben.
When you were given a choice, a say in your outfit or hair or makeup, you always chose green. It made everything in your guts and lungs painful, because it always moved your brain from I have a plan to Ben. Ben, I love you, but you have to. You have to keep telling him you were fine, you have to tell him you hadn’t broken, without actually saying it. The only sign he’s seen you and understands was that he still hadn’t appeared in Vought’s lobby, demanding they return you to him with roars of your name and a lot of violence.
But you worry. You worry Ben will notice the days when you were just exhausted, when the cracks are starting to show because everything in you hurts. When a strange sort of beast that has started to wake in your blood wants to make everything hurt the way you are. Every time that happens—every time Homelander drags you somewhere and you have to smile and swallow down strangled noises and a vile taste when Homelander’s hand finds your body—you worry that Ben will come. You want him to come, you want more than anything in the world for him to just grab you and take you far away, but he can’t. Because this doesn’t work like that.
You resort to allowing him to follow you. For your love of him to walk a pace behind you, a phantom nobody can see but you.
In the first three weeks, locked in Homelander’s room and in front of cameras, it’s just you and that phantom. Nothing in Homelander’s apartment is Ben, he’d call the whole thing fucking pathetic—over-expensive bullshit, and that coffee table is too fucking ugly to even do coke off of—but he’s still there. Everywhere around you, but still just a figment of your love. In the air and thumping with your heart, and you love him.
But not real.
They keep asking you questions about your relationship with Homelander—you’re still not allowed to actually speak and Sage doesn’t think that’s sustainable—so they sit you down and run over the backstory.
“So, the story is you’re Homelander’s sweetheart,” a skinny man wearing plaid—you can’t remember his name, you’re pretty sure it starts with an S—is pitching you a life story, like you’re going to make it into an Oscar-bait coming-of-age story. “Childhood best friends to lovers, star-crossed, soulmates, made for each other.”
“But fate has other plans. Thing’s weren’t going to be so easy.” The shorter, bald one jumps in over… Sam. Sean. Steve.
It doesn’t fucking matter. Call that one Bald Pussy and that one Skinny McBrown-Nose.
You’ve been introduced to about a hundred different Vought employees’ dedicated to selling Homelander and Sage’s lie over the span of today alone. Bald Pussy and Skinny McBrown-Nose it is.
“You’re torn apart at every turn. He’s in the Seven, but you don’t want the fame.”
Bald Pussy makes a sad face, picking up again from Skinny McBrown-Nose. “You just want him.”
“You’re an independent woman, you want a career.”
“But he wants a family.”
“Fights, compromises, making up because whatever happens-“
“You’ll always find each other.”
They’re still bouncing off of each other, and your blood is trying to burst out of your body. You feel like something is killing you, ripping apart your head and heart and tongue and you miss Ben-
You think they fuck each other while they rehearse this bullshit?
The phantom is behind you. Whispering in your ear with a low, gravely, voice that—just within itself—pulls you down and holds you together.
I’d hope this doesn’t require rehearsing. They’re just saying words people vaguely associate with love. Soulmates and made for each other mean essentially the exact same thing.
I can’t believe this is what Vought has fucking come to. Paying a bunch of pussies to talk. Goddamn anyone can just say words about love.
Really.
Are you doubting me? I can be fucking romantic.
Uh huh.
Remember when I made you hot chocolate with all those weird pink marshmallows?
I had to walk you through that, and you got mad the marshmallows weren’t, and I quote, “proper fucking marshmallow color. They perfected marshmallows damn decades ago, fucking idiot pussies didn’t need to make them pink and add fucking candy canes.”
Shut the fuck up, I still did it. I’m a goddamn gentleman.
You are not a gentleman, Benjamin.
I fucking am, and I’m romantic. I can say shit about romance like those pussies, fucking watch me. Love, chocolate, flowers, orgasms-
You just said orgasms. That’s not romantic.
I can make it fucking romantic. And you fucking love the orgasms I give you. You love me.
I do. The pain is becoming softer, something that’s sitting where it shouldn’t be. A part of you that knows all of this is just plain fucking wrong, to be here—be anywhere—without Ben. I love you more than I’ll ever be able to say.
You must really fucking love me. All you ever do is talk.
Sage snaps your name. “You aren’t listening.”
Show time.
Knock them fucking dead, Sunshine.
Shut up and let me focus.
“Is it,” You give Homelander the most pathetic, nervous look you’re capable of. “Is it important for me to listen to them? I’m really tired, and I have a lot of downtime. You could give me a file, I promise I’d read it.”
“It is important,” Sage watches you carefully. “You need to understand-“
“I understand,” you sigh, and let a little bit of your genuine exhaustion show. “I’ll say whatever I need to for this to work for you. I’m just tired, I want to go home-“
That does it. You called it home, and Homelander turns to glare at Skinny McBrown-Nose and Bald Pussy. “You two have written this down.”
Skinny McBrown-Nose stutters out a response, “Uh, Seth, you said you were going to-“
“I told you I couldn’t, Evan, because I had that thing-“
“You mean your fucking dick replacement surgery?” Homelander sneers, and Seth—Bald Pussy had the S name, not Skinny McBrown-Nose—flushes and stares at the floor. “I do not care who writes it down, as long as you give it to her tomorrow.” Homelander’s sharp words make them both nod nervously, and he offers you a hand.
You take it, slow, tentative, and deliberate, and trying not to jerk it back and scream when cold leather wraps around your hands. This is working. Everything is where it needs to be right now. Not where it wants to be, not where it should be, but where it needs to be. You can scream when it’s safe to do so, when you can muffle the sound into Ben’s skin.
After that, Homelander tells Sage that you won’t be doing PR training anymore. You don’t hear the conversation—or, more likely, argument—but when Sage tells you she’s watching you through narrow eyes with a sour expression. She passes you a large stack of papers, tells you to memorize them fast.
That afternoon is spent flipping through the pages, trying to focus on the words and not rip them to shreds. Most of it is information you already know, just from the PR campaign Vought’s been pushing since January. Homelander’s secret lover. Two supes from the same small town, one stronger than any before and one who's very pretty. He loves her, because she’s sweet. She loves him, because who wouldn’t?
You have to take a five minute break after that. Five minutes of heavy breathing, thinking about happy things before you can keep reading.
As a supe, you have fire, but it’s not well controlled, and this you can only heal herself. You’re no longer immortal. Your name, Anomaly—there’s a footnote that says you’re dropping the the part of the Anomaly, to match Homelander—is because you have absolutely no control of your powers when you use them, which is why you don’t. You finished high school and never went to college, but you got experience in marketing from following Homelander around. Your parents were married for almost 30 years before a truly tragic car accident killed them both. You had them cremated, no gravestones or other possible evidence, and decided you wanted to start a family with Homelander. Then Soldier Boy kidnapped you, and your plans were put on hold.
Another five minutes. Happy things.
You—this you that’s been manufactured and designed to wear your face and not be you—aren’t a real person, with interests or hobbies or anything important to say about you except you love Homelander. The personality section calls you sweet and gentle, nice and loving. You enjoy cooking, clothing, and books. That’s it. Cooking, clothing, and books. You’re an independent woman, but you love Homelander, and you gave up everything because you love Homelander and he asked you to, and you’re smart but not smarter than he is, and you’re also a girly girl but you’re still smart, but still not too smart, not enough to be alienating or off-putting or annoying, and you’re not that funny but you’re really pretty, and you love cooking and clothing and books and Homelander-
Music. City Lights. Ben.
Music. Ben. City Lights.
Ben. Music. City Lights.
Ben.
Sitting with him. Eating with him. Laughing with him. Talking with him. At him. To him. Real and safe.
Music. City Lights. Pine trees and strawberries and malt vanilla. Movies and TV shows and music. The color green and city lights and Ben.
The tears fall, slow and silent, and your hand is itching to your throat. You still can’t breathe. This is lonely and you’re tired and you miss Ben. You’re not breaking. You won’t break. But you’re cracking. You can’t think outside of the cold, outside of your blood trying to spill into everyone else.
You're trapped. Homelander will come back and he might not touch you but you can’t be sure, you have to get on stage and pretend to be this half-person in the morning, and you don’t love Homelander, you love Ben. And he isn’t coming to save you, because you’ve been making sure he doesn’t, but you miss him. You want to go home. Not here, never here. This isn’t home, this is an execution room. Cold and dangerous and everything is wrong. Home is warm and safe and everything is yours. None of this is yours. None of this is you. You can’t break, you’re not allowed to break. You can’t go home if you break, but you can’t go home now, and all of this hurts. It just hurts, and you want to go home, and all of this hurt is trying to burst out of you and it’s so cold-
Fucking breathe. The phantom hums your name around your head, into your body. Breathe.
You can’t. You can’t breathe. You don’t know why, but this is it. This is the thing that’s going to make you collapse and not get back up. You’re going to fail because of something so pointless, that doesn’t even matter-
It fucking matters, Sunshine. All of this shit isn’t you. You’re a fucking pain, but you’re you. Not this weak fucking hussy bitch. Breathe.
Breathe. You’re you. You’re cold and alone but you’re you.
When you get home, because you will fucking get home. Don’t think for a goddamn second I’m going to leave you here, you will come the fuck home. And when you do, you can cry all you damn want.
You’ll break when you're home. You’ll go home soon, and you’ll break when you’re home. Ben was going to be angry, so fucking angry you were doing this to yourself. But he’d stay. He’d always stay.
You memorize the script, memorize the role, and play it well. Smiling. Don’t break. Say the lines they’ve given you and don’t break and spend a half hour of the Deep’s 90 minute movie throwing up in a bathroom stall. Alone.
It takes another week for them to let you roam the floor. You’re not allowed off of 99, or into actual meetings, but they unlock the doors and you’re officially introduced to the Seven. Sage knows you, and won’t stop watching you with narrow eyes. The Deep nods at you, and tells Homelander you’re smoking hot. Noir II nods in agreement, and then starts to talk before the Deep whacks him upside the head. Ashley—who is apparently a part of this—pretends she doesn’t know you, but when your hands shake you can feel her anxiety. A-Train just gives you a nod and a nice to meet you.
You have your first real conversation with him a day later, when he speeds into Homelander’s apartment in the middle of the day.
“We need to fucking talk.”
You yelp, jumping back slightly. “Please, I’m not-“
“Cut the bullshit. You’re not Homelander’s girlfriend, no matter what they’ve been telling us to say.”
You watch him carefully, not fully dropping the mask. “It’s, I don’t know. I’m confused, I’m not sure-“
“I said cut the bullshit.” A-Train snaps. “They don’t put cameras in Homelander’s room, he’s not going to find out about this. You can drop the act.”
You pause. He might be lying. He could be baiting you out, but he doesn’t seem like the type. If he didn’t trust you, he’d probably just keep yelling until you confirmed his suspicions. And, based on the way he keeps looking at the door, pacing back and forth, A-Train’s not supposed to be here. Talking to you.
“Fine.” Your face falls from nervous anxiety in exhaustion. Every fiber of your features is barely held together over the exhaustion. “What.”
“What are they planning. Your team.”
You shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve been preoccupied. You’re the one who’s allowed to leave.”
“They’ve locked us in since you and Soldier Boy’s little show outside. Sage is cracking down on our downtime, she’s still convinced there’s a leak.”
“There is a leak.” You hold A-Train’s glare. “And Ben and I’s little show got Ryan Butcher out.”
A-Train blinks at you. “Ben?”
“Soldier Boy,” you mutter. “I call him Ben. He’s my…” You trail off. He’s not your boyfriend. Or, technically, lover. But you do love him. He’s everything, and you love him. “Friend.”
“Friend?” He frowns at you. “Back at the diner-“
“It’s complicated.”
A-Train halts in front of you. “Whatever. I don’t care about your complicated relationship with Soldier Boy. I need to know what Starlight and Hughie and MM and the rest of them are planning.”
“And I told you, I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“I can’t,” you hiss. “They might be planning to kill Homelander. They might be planning to kill Sage. Maybe just focus on Vought. I’m not exactly able to talk to them, so I don’t know.”
“What about you?” A-Train glares at you, hands on his hips. “Are they not going to try and come get you?”
“No. They’re not.”
“I thought those assholes were all about teamwork and morality-“
“Morality,” your voice is softer than you want it to be. “Is relative. In this scenario, it would be immoral to focus on one person in exchange for an opportunity to kill Homelander.”
A-Train gives you a look of disbelief. “You’re not being serious.”
“I am not the priority.” Your nails are digging into your skin, and something in your throat has become like a stone, but you keep going. You have to keep going. “I am doing what I need to do. They are doing what they need to do. Right now, that’s what this is about.”
“What, you think being some kind of self-sacrificing hero is going to help anyone.” A-Train scoffs. “Grow up. This is the real world, the big leagues. You’re not going to get a parade just because you did the stupid, selfless thing.”
“I don’t want a parade.” I want to go home. “And I am well aware of the real world. The real world is expensive and tiring and lonely. I have nothing, I’m exhausted, and I’m completely fucking alone. This is hell.” The anger is trying to leave your body through your throat. “I’m not making the hard choice for glory. I’m making it for the real world.”
A-Train glares at you for another long second, and then he’s gone in a whoosh.
Three days pass. Three days of being alone and missing Ben and trying not to break. You’re in front of a camera almost all the time now. They won’t stop putting you in the ugliest dresses known to man, but you make sure they’re green. You make sure to look into the camera and give Ben signs. Something else that tells him you’re okay, that keeps him from trying to save you. That you miss him, but you’re fine. You’ll see him once this is over. Once all the pieces fall into place, once it’s safe and will be simple.
You hope they’re trying to kill Homelander. Whenever you think about it you become a little lightheaded, because what if they're not. What if they’re trying to kill Sage, or the Deep, or Noir II. What if they just haven’t come for you because they’ve spent the past month planning to get you. A lot of this relies on them finding a plan to kill Homelander. Without you they’re not strong enough to keep him anywhere, and Ben can’t just ask him to stay still and take the shot. They’re going to need to keep him down, keep him still or trapped. They need to be looking for something, because all of this will be pointless if they aren’t.
When A-Train finds you again—in another marble bathroom, and another awful gown, throwing up into the toilet—you swallow down what’s left and speak before he has the chance.
“I still don’t know what they’re planning. But you need to find out.”
You’re met with a blank stare for only a second as A-Train takes you in. Still knelt before the toilet bowl, tears falling, cracks appearing at the surface. “Holy shit, what are you-“
“I’m vomiting. You need to go to MM and tell me what they’re planning.”
He shakes his head. “I told you, I can’t risk it. They’re watching our every fucking move, they even know I’m in this bathroom.” He freezes, staring at you. “Shit, they know you’re in this bathroom-“
“No, they don’t.” Your words are fast, sharp, said just before A-Train takes off. “They couldn’t put the tracker in my body. It kept burning and short-circuiting. They don’t know we’re talking.”
A-Train nods curtly. “Fine. But I still can’t fucking risk taking a trip to talk to MM right now.”
“You need to.”
“I can’t, I have a family that they’ll hurt-“
“I’ve got a family that they’ll hurt,” you snap, standing on shaking legs. “We’ve all got families that they’ll hurt. People we care about that we have to keep safe. I’m not asking you to kill Homelander yourself, I’m asking you to find out what my team is planning.”
“Why the hell do you need to know?” A-Train rolls his eyes. “You can’t help them, and you’re obviously having some sort of mental break that’s stopping your powers-“
“I am not having a mental break,” you take a rough step forward. “I’ve just been fucking kidnapped, again, so I’m crying. And I need to know so I can adjust.”
“Adjust?”
You laugh. It’s not a real laugh, it’s cold and tired and angry, but it feels good. You’re angry, and it’s not trying to explode from you because you can show it. “I’m working on something. I need to know what they’re planning so I can change my plans to match.”
A-Train frowns at you. “Your plans… You mean you’re-“
“Not just sitting on my ass? Actually trying to help? Yeah, I am. I may not be a hero,” You jab a finger into his chest, and he flinches. “But at least I’m not a fucking pussy.”
He’s gone again. It’s getting really annoying. But you don’t let yourself dwell on whether A-Train will help you or not. Because Homelander finds you the next day, and your timeline has to move up.
“You’re going on TV again. Tomorrow.”
“Okay,” your voice is soft, and something foul and molding is rooting in your gut. “Where are we going-“
“It’s just you.”
You blink at him with a parted mouth, and most of the fear in your voice is real. “Just, just me?”
“Well, obviously I’ll be going with you.” He waves you off with a hand, rubbing his forehead. “But just you on the TV. Sage wrote you a script, you’ll read it during the meeting.”
“Meeting?”
“We’re making you a supe outfit. You fucking need it. You’re a hero, you’re my partner, putting you normal fucking human clothes give the public the wrong idea.”
You wait for him to continue. You know better than to try and interrupt, or ask questions.
“You’re not human. They can’t think just anyone can have what we have. If people keep seeing you dresses like a fucking actress they’ll think you’re just like them. That we’re just like them.”
The silence is long enough for you to nod. “Okay.”
Homelander’s look of surprise at your compliance lasts only a second before turning into satisfaction. “Good.”
You’re going on TV, alone. You have a chance to knock the first domino down. You sit through the meeting and all the pitches and don’t speak or scream or vomit. Your costume is red, because Vought employs geniuses who understand that red and fire are often associated with each other. It’s revealing, there’s a corset and lace and high leather boots that hurt your feet. The script is bland, blatant propaganda, but it doesn’t matter. You won’t really need to memorize it anyway.
Homelander’s gone again that night, and you’re not sure this will work, but you give it a shot.
“A-Train?”
Silence. He’s not an on-call angel, you’re not sure why you thought he’d respond-
“What.”
You turn to find him glaring at you. “I need your help.”
“Why.”
“I can’t tell you.”
A-Train shrugs. “Then I’m not helping you. Nice talk.”
“Wait!” He’s not gone, just glowering at you, so you sigh and push the words out of your mouth.
“I’m going on TV tomorrow. Alone.”
“Good for you.”
“A-Train, I’m going on TV. Without Homelander. To give an interview.”
“I don’t give a shit-“
“I’m going to do something.” You snap. “I need you to pull Homelander away, so I can do something.”
He narrows his eyes at you. “Do what.”
“I can’t tell you. But it’s important.”
“Is it,” he pauses, looking around the empty apartment like Homelander might jump out and laser him. You understand the instinct. “Part of your plan? For them?”
“Yes.”
“To help them.”
“Hopefully.”
“Huh.” A-Train crosses his arms. “Why should I help you.”
You scoff. You don’t have time for this. “Because if you don’t, then we’re all fucked.”
“I’m already fucked. I put my skin on the line for your team, and got put in lockdown. And they still haven’t done shit-“
“They’re working on it.” They have to be. “I’d know more if you would just do what I asked.”
“I told you I can’t-”
“And I told you need to, if you want to actually do something. But I’m not asking for that right now.”
He frowns at you. “What are you asking, exactly?”
“To pull Homelander away.” You repeat, sighing. “Just distract him from the studio.”
“Why.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m still not going to tell you. All I can say is it will help them if I do it. But I have to do it.”
A-Train is silent. Examining you before speaking slowly. “You think they’re going to win.”
You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Why.”
“Because, there’s not another option.” You swallow. “Please. All you have to do is make sure that Homelander leaves the studio. That he’s gone and busy.”
“And this,” he finally takes off that stupid visor, meeting your eyes. “This will help those idiots? Really help them?”
“It will.” You make your voice firm. It will help. It has to. “But I can’t do it with Homelander there.”
“You’re really not going to tell me what exactly you’re going to do?”
“Nope. It gives you plausible deniability.”
“Not if I’m the one who calls Homelander away, Sage already doesn’t trust me-“
“So make the Deep do it. Or Noir, or literally anyone else that deserves it.” You frown into the air. “I’d go with The Deep, though. He’s too fucking stupid for them to think he planned anything.”
A-Train takes a long breath, still glaring at you. “Fine. But if this doesn’t work-“
“It will.”
“For both our fucking sakes,” he puts the visors back on, shaking his head. “It better.”
It does. By some miracle, you get every single one of the words you’d been rehearsing for weeks out on live TV, and Homelander—pulled away for a PR crisis in which the Deep publicly admitted to fucking another octopus—doesn’t stop you. The cameras go off, the show goes to commercial, and you blink into the darkness of the studio. You have to trust they’ll understand what you said. Why you said it. That Ben or Butcher or Annie or someone will know what to do with it. That they’ll take your opening and use it, that Ben will be able to help them.
One step down. One step closer to going home.
You’d expected Homelander and Sage to be mad. You hadn’t slept last night, knowing that whether or not this worked you were going to have to think fast, act quick, and hope you’d done enough to make Homelander think you were just confused. Just a nervous, confused girl coming around to understand what he’d done for her, what his enemies had done to her. All you had to do was have convinced Homelander. When it came down to it, Sage’s opinion of you wouldn’t matter, not if you’d really, truly convinced Homelander.
At first, you thought you had. He drops into the silent studio, everyone’s hushed and nervous whispers falling dead as Homelander marches up to you and yanks you up. Your mask is still on, and some of the tears are real. A small allowance of grief, for yourself. For saying everything that was true, for having to say he would always save you and know who you were speaking about. But not be able to scream Ben. Ben, I love you, into the camera and just go home. You know Ben will understand what you were telling him. He’ll have heard your words, the one explicitly for him, and understand.
You weren’t broken. You were breaking but not broken. He hadn’t been able to burn with you, but he hadn’t failed you. Ben could never fail you. You’d see him soon. The words you've been staring into cameras since you’d been able to. You love him, and you’ll see him soon.
He won’t understand that you love him, because you’ve only ever thought that part. You’ve stared into countless lenses and thought Ben, I love you and I’ll see you soon while only letting your face say I’ll see you soon.
When Homelander drops you back into his apartment, that’s what will get you through whatever comes. One step closer. You’ll go home soon.
You put on your most meek face and soft voice, and start apologizing before Homelander can even say your name.
“I’m, I’m so sorry, I was just thinking about what they did and I couldn’t stop,” you shake your head and fall backwards onto the couch. “I didn’t mean to, please don’t hate me, I’m so sorry, please-“
It’s not Homelander that cuts you off—he looks annoyed but not angry—but Sage, stomping into the apartment.
“What did you just try to fucking pull?” She sneers, stopping above where you’ve curled into yourself. “You think you’re smart? That was insurmountably idiotic, I thought you’d know better than to try and go off script so blatantly.”
“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” you double down. You make yourself look pathetic and scared, try to push yourself into the cushions. “I swear, I just couldn’t stop, I keep thinking about what they did-“
Homelander grins, clapping his hands together. “Finally, some fucking progress.”
“This isn’t progress, you idiot,” Sage snaps. “She’s tricking you.”
“Look at her, she’s sobbing,” Homelander gestures to you, and it takes all your effort not to flinch. “So she messed up, this is still good. She’s coming around, and now people will know about what a bitch Starlight-“
“This is not good. Soldier Boy is a threat now. A real threat to your image, a threat to her,” Sage points at you, and something twists in your upper gut. “Staying where we want her. We both know that not a word of what she said was true-“
“I’m sorry-“
Homelander silences you with a raised hand. “Don’t apologize to her, she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. We can deal with Soldier Boy, and he’s got nothing to do with her.”
“Really,” Sage’s voice is dry and bored. “You’re sure about that.”
“Of course I am, he’s Butcher’s fucking lapdog right now. They haven’t come to get her back, he’s not going to do it. They don’t care about her, and she’s finally getting that-“
Sage says your name, and your blood runs cold. “Would you like to tell him, or should I?”
It’s all you can do to stutter and shake your head. “I, I don’t know what you’re-“
She gives you an annoyed look. “Fine. But I expected better from you.” She turns back to Homelander, and all your fire is gone. Replaced by something feral, that’s trying to make everything else just as afraid and dreadful as it feels. “She and Soldier Boy are fucking.”
Homelander scoffs. “Please, don’t be fucking insane-“
“They are,” Sage’s gaze snaps to you. Looking you up and down. “Or at least she wants to fuck him. But he’s the only real threat to you right now, because he’s probably going to try and get her back.”
“I, I’m not, I don’t understand-“
“Yes, you do. You can’t be trusted right now, not while you’re still Soldier Boy’s pet.” Sage shrugs. “I personally don’t think you’ll be able to pull off that leash, but we’ll see. Now,” she looks back at Homelander, whose face is blank, jaw ticking. “I have to go deal with one of your other mistakes. Find me when you decide what to do with her.”
Sage leaves, something smug flashing in her eyes. She’d been waiting. This is what she’d been waiting for. Your move, so she could retaliate.
And now Homelander is speaking your name, slow and cold. “Did you fuck Soldier Boy.” You open your mouth, and he raises a finger, grabbing your jaw and forcing your eyes onto his. “And don’t you dare fucking lie to me again.”
You didn’t. You never actually fucked Ben. But you don’t think Homelander is going to care about specifics. “Yes.”
“On purpose.”
“Yes.” You can’t breathe. All your words are forced out of your body, and the feral thing inside of you is everywhere in your body. Trying to get out.
“Do you still believe that I hurt you.”
You’re going to scream, but his grip becomes tighter. “Yes.”
His eyes flash red. “After all I’ve fucking done for you? You’d turn around and fuck my father?”
“I didn’t-“
“No more fucking lies!” Your jaw might break. “I turn you into a supe, a god, and this is how you repay me?”
“Please-“
“I love you,” he pulls you up off the couch, and your hands fly instinctively to grab at his arm. “I fucking love you. I made you. Do you think anyone would want you like this? Weak? A fucking weak, ungrateful, lying bitch?”
“No-“
“Exactly,” Homelander hisses, pulling your face closer. “Nobody else. You’re strong, I made you strong, but don’t forget your place. Mine. You belong to me, just like everything else. You don’t love Soldier Boy, you love me.”
“I don’t-“
“I chose you because you’re nice.” Homelander sneers. “I chose you because you’re sweet. You were so pretty and nice, singing on that sage, and I fell in love with you right there. You’re just pretty, nice, and sweet. I made you a supe because I was tired of women who thought that their words made them worthy of me. Don’t think your fire, that you can’t even control, makes you my equal. You’re more powerful than Soldier Boy, but you’re not more powerful than me. Don’t get caught in the taste of someone weaker, and think that’s what you need.”
You speak on instinct, the words falling from you before you can stop them. “Ben’s not weak.”
“Ben?” Homelander face twists in hatred, and you think he’s going to kill you. Or try to, or just lock you up forever again. “Did you just call Soldier Boy Ben?”
“I, I’m-“
“I thought you were getting better.” Homelander drops you back into the couch. “But you’re still too human. Too weak. Too easy for them to manipulate, make you think what those roaches want you to.” His eyes narrow. “We’re going to have to fix that.”
You don’t hear the call he makes. You can’t hear anything over the blood, pounding in your ears. You want to go home. You should’ve just ran when you could, not taken a brief moment of Homelander’s fear and taken it as a reason to stay. You should’ve just run and gone home and now you can’t. Now you’re never going to go home. You’ll never see Ben again. Never be safe again.
“Sir, you wanted to see me?”
You don’t recognize that voice. You can barely focus on it, because the fear in your body hurts. It’s stabbing and snapping everything inside you, and you’re going to shatter into a million pieces.
Homelander’s guiding someone in front of you. Noir II, the one that talks. The one Homelander didn’t kill.
“Stand right there. Don’t move or I’ll fucking laser your brains out.” He turns back to you. “Kill him.”
You make a sound from your throat, and Noir II becomes rigid.
“Uh, sir-“
“I said don’t move,” Homelander snaps, still looking at you. “You know who he is?”
“Yes,” you breathe out. “He’s Black Noir.”
“You know that he and Ben worked together? He was in on the Russia deal?”
“I, uh, I’m just playing a role,” Noir II stutters. “I don’t know who Ben is-“
Homelander whips around, eyes glowing. “Don’t move.”
You can hear Noir II’s swallow. “Yes, sir.”
Homelander says your name. “He wanted to kill Noir for that. Like he’s going to kill you, for betraying him. For staying with me.”
You can’t breathe again. Ben knows you didn’t betray him, you’d never betray him. He’d never hurt you, you trust him with your whole life to understand that you weren’t still here because you wanted to be. You’d always chose Ben, you love him.
“So you’re going to kill Noir here,” Homelander steps aside. “And stop these pathetic delusions that Soldier Boy gives a fucking shit about you.”
“I can’t,” you whisper. “Please, Homelander-“
“Yes, you can. Use your fucking fire or something. Kill him now.”
You shake your head. “I can’t-“
“Christ, stop whining and just do it.” Homelander pulls you up again, dragging you across the room. Right in front of Noir. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all move on.”
“Please-“
“Now.”
You can’t move. Every single muscle and tendon and blood vessel wants to leave your body. Everything is freezing, trying to spread like mold around you and you can’t breathe.
“If you don’t do it.” Homelander’s body is pressed against yours, shoving you forwards. “I will. But no matter what, you’re going to stop lying to me, stop trying to trick me, and understand what your role in this is. You’re not Maeve, or Stormfront, or Starlight. You’re not a hero or bitch who’s going to try and control me. I made you for me. Now kill him.”
You just choke on the air, and Homelander grabs your jaw again. “You can even do that fucking singing. Just kill him.”
He rips off Noir II’s mask, revealing a young man. He grabs your hand, pushes it onto Noir II’s face, and he’s afraid. You didn’t have to be touching Noir II to know he’s afraid. You can hear his heavy breaths, you can see the way he’s frozen, and you can’t. You can’t kill him, you won’t.
Noir II makes a sound that might be a plea, and your heart falls into your gut.
“I-“
Red flashed through the room, and Noir drops to the ground. Body sliced in two.
“You were taking too long,” Homelander moves in front of you, pulling off a glove that’s been splattered in blood. “I’ve got things to do. You’re still going to the Believe Expo next week, but you’re going to stop being a little girl and start telling the truth. Understand?”
You nod, still staring at Noir’s body.
Homelander sighs. “Don’t think I like being mad at you. But you need to stop trying to be something you’re not. You’re the first woman that hasn’t tried to fucking control me, and that’s one the reasons why I love you.” He turns your head to look at him. “I forgive you for Soldier Boy. You weren’t yourself. But never,” his hand moves lower, sitting against your throat. “Forget your place again.”
You hate him. You hate him so fucking much, but every part of your body feels far away. The whole world is just pure hatred and fear and it’s everywhere.
Homelander’s face twitches, hand tightening on your neck—your fear feels bigger, it almost makes you collapse—and he pulls his hand back as if you’d burned him. You couldn’t have, because everything is just fear and hatred and making the fire numb, but Homelander is staring at you like he’s seen a demon or a ghost. Then he’s gone. Leaving you alone again, with only a dead body for company.
You don’t have anywhere to go. You haven’t felt small like this in a while, this useless and pathetic. But you don’t have anywhere to hide, anywhere safe to just fall apart. So you sink to the floor, gripping your arms with nails and cold hands, and scream. For the first time in over a month, you just scream.
You want to go home. You can’t do this anymore, you just want to go home. You’re crawling up the stairs, away from the body to the bathroom where you can lock the door and break. Alone. Homelander wasn’t afraid of you anymore, he knew you were weak, and this might be your last time alone.
I’ll come get you. Ben’s voice is everywhere, but still not real. You just want it to be real.
“You can’t,” you whisper into the air, because it just doesn’t matter anymore. You’d lost everything already, the world is a blur, and there’s no point in trying to keep your sanity. “They’re ready for you. They’ll put you back to sleep.”
I don’t fucking care.
“But I do.”
Sunshine, I will come get you. Say the word and I’ll get you right fucking now. I’ll fucking destroy the tower and you’ll come home. Back to me.
“You don’t love me, Ben.” It hurts to say, but it’s the truth. Ben cares about you, but he doesn’t love you. Not like you love him.
Shut the fuck up. Don’t doubt for a fucking second that you’re everything to me. Homelander’s a fucking pussy, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.
“But you don’t love me.” Everything is cold. Everything hurts and Ben doesn’t love you and you’re never going to see him again. Never going to tell him that you love him. You’re shattering, breaking, falling into something monstrous that can’t be put back together. Nothing is good, you’re not safe, and you’re weak. You’re exactly what Homelander says you are, weak. You’re not smarter, or stronger, and you’re never going to feel anything but cold again.
When Ben’s voice sounds through the air again, it’s louder. Almost like he’s right in your ear. You can almost feel him. You’d recognize him anywhere, in any form, and this feels like him.
He says your name, there’s something warm and powerful in your chest. I’m waiting, because you told me to and I trust you. But it’s fucking killing me. Whatever you’re fucking doing, it better bring you back. I don’t give a shit about Butcher or Homelander or any of this but you. I’m playing nice because you’ll be home soon. But you better fucking come home.
I will. You don’t say it aloud, because all of the world suddenly feels far away. The only thing that feels real is Ben’s voice. Deep and warm.
Fucking swear it.
Promise.
Good. The voice is silent for a second. That’s never happened before. I miss you.
I miss you too.
Something around you sparks and flashes. It reminds you of Ben’s amusement in your body, rough and bright.
Don’t try and correct me, Benjamin.
I wasn’t going to say shit.
Yes, you were. I meant to say ‘too’. Statements that begin with an I are better suited to end with too.
Smartass.
I hate you.
No, you don’t.
The voice doesn’t remind you that you love him. It always reminds you that you love him. Instead it just keeps going.
If you hated me, you wouldn’t be wearing green all the time.
It’s a signal, Pretty Boy. I wear green so you pay attention.
I’m not a damn toddler, I don’t need you to flash a color in front of my eyes to pay attention.
Sure.
Shut the fuck up.
I agreed with you.
We both know you fucking didn’t.
Sure.
Brat.
Cunt.
Silence again. Then-
For the record, I’m always paying attention to you. You’re fucking impossible to ignore, even when you’re gone. It’s damn inconvenient, I’m starting to look like a goddamn mental patient. And I fucking miss you, more than I’ll ever be able to tell you.
Something rages inside your chest, something that feels bigger than the whole world and more valuable than oxygen, and then the warmth is gone. But you’re not screaming anymore, and all that’s cold is the floor of the bathroom and the air around you. Your vision clears with your head, you can feel the fire. It’s weak, not nearly enough to tear through Vought and escape, but awake.
You’ll survive this. You’d get through this. You’ll adjust, adapt, and keep moving. You will not break. You trust Ben, and you’ll feed the fire until you can make Homelander afraid again. He needs to be afraid again, to understand that he won’t fix you to what he wants, make you into anything. And when your plan works—in two weeks, two days, twenty-two hours, fifty-six minutes, and seven seconds—you’ll go home, and Ben will hold you. And you’d be safe. Soon, you’d be safe.
End Note: Big thanks to everyone who’s sticking through the rough so we can get to the happy. You’re all amazing <3
Thank you all for reading, and please leave if a comment if you are so inclined! Every single one is the highlight of my day, from your jokes to your thoughts and feedback!
If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
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SCREAM — SOLDIER BOY.
SUMMARY: In which your little soldier boy reminds you to whom you truly belong to.
FANDOM — THE BOYS.
PAIRING: BEN/SOLDIER BOY X FEM!READER + ASSUMED HOMELANDER X FEM!READER.
WARNINGS — Minors DNI. Language. Violence. Smut. Domination. Rough Sex. 18+.
Reblogs and reviews are much appreciated.
“Fuckin' take it, sweetheart. Let him fucking hear who you belong to…”
He wasn't perfect.
“Let him hear how good I make you feel.”
He was ruthless.
“Fuckin' knockoff thinks he can take what's mine…”
He was chaotic.
“I'll fuckin' show him. You're mine, you hear that? I ain't letting you go. Not now, not fuckin' ever.”
He was fucking brutal—and yet despite it all, you loved him all the same. A lingering, yet haunting voice echoed through your mind, nails digging into the firm flesh hovering above you, that you had never stopped loving him.
He was frighteningly beautiful.
“Fuckin' take it…”
You couldn't breathe—gasping for air as he took without question, wreaking havoc upon your trembling body with every snap of his hips, “Scream for him. Beg him to save you. I dare you, sweetheart.”
He wasn't the same.
Yes, he was still as arrogant as he has ever been. Yes, he was still a reckless womanizer with an appetite for chaos, and yet beneath it all, something hauntingly familiar laid beneath the surface—and it threatened to tear you apart. “Jesus,” teeth scraped across the tender flesh of your neck, his pace brutal and fast, “—how can you still be so fuckin' tight? His cock not big enough for you?”
You couldn't move—pain and pleasure ebbing together like the gentle flow of a river finally giving way to the chaotic waves of a roaring ocean, “Look at you, so drunk on my cock.” Fingers tangling in your hair, a pained gasp tore from your lips, “Like it a bit rough, don't you?”
Beard scraping against your cheeks, he places tender kisses all over your face, and something about this moment makes your heart flutter.
Possessive and dominating, your body shuddered, velvet walls contracting in a way that made him hiss, driving him deeper and deeper—a silent scream tumbled from your lips as the head of his cock finally hit a spot that made stars dance across your vision, legs trembling as you desperately sought to hold unto him. “Oh, right there?”
Slowly, deliberately, his thrusts turned into something more sensual, rolling his hips forward, driving you towards the depths of insanity, “Be a good girl and scream for me.”
You did exactly that—his hips now pistoning in and out of your moist cavern like a man drunk on ecstasy, his eyes ablaze with barely restrained rage, “Look at him and tell him who this pussy belongs to…”
You couldn't bring yourself to look at the bloodied form of your comrade, his entire body crumbling beneath the weight of his failure. Never before had you seen him look so utterly defeated, and yet you knew at that moment that there was nothing Homelander could do to save you from the absolute carnage that threatened to devour you.
Not that you needed him to save you, a haunting voice whispered, “Say my name…” He merely grunted against your neck, hoisting you against the wall as he continued to drive into you at a punishing pace, breasts rubbing painfully against his clothed chest, “—say it and I'll show you mercy.”
Nails digging into his neck as you desperately held onto him, a semblance of control washed over you as you murmured his name, his real name, “Ben…”
“What am I to you?” You could feel it coil deep within you, his hips erratic and sharp, “Look at me and tell me.”
Your lips slanted over his, moaning into his mouth as your senses heightened, hips rolling against him, his cock driving into you at such a velocity that it made you mewl, “You're my Ben. My little soldier boy….”
But he was anything but little, a fact of which he reminded you of when he easily lifted you higher, trembling legs wrapping around his waist—holding on a little longer, if only for a few minutes. “That's my girl. Cum for me.”
And without warning, you felt your entire world shatter around you as his fingers, dear God those fingers, ghosted across breasts, before slapping against your sensitive clit, rubbing it in slow circles, and then—he pinched.
“Take it. Let me fill this pretty pussy…”
And as he finally grunted against you, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck, you could barely register the absence of Homelander—too consumed with everything that was your little Soldier Boy.
“You've got another thing coming if you think I'm done with you.”
He was anything but little.
Lost & Found
Characters: Soldier Boy x Reader, Billy Butcher, Hughie
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, Minors DNI. Slight fluff, if your squint. Some angst.
A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve been able to get any writing done but have been keeping up with The Boys and am completely obsessed with Soldier Boy so… yeah, this just happened 🤷🏻♀️
📸 cred: to rightful owners
Elle’s Library/Main Masterlist
“Hey, Y/N, someone’s looking for you.”
You sigh in frustration for the thousandth time today. What should have been a routine day turned into hell when the idiots at Vought decided to rush the release of merchandise for their latest egocentrically-fueled, completely-cheesy film starring the Seven. As manager of one of the most visited shops in the city, you’re used to chaos but, for whatever reason, today the chaos just seems never ending; running out of merchandise, dealing with annoying customers, resetting all systems due to an unexplainable loss of power halfway through the biggest rush of the day. Just one thing after another, and now… now someone is asking for you. Probably another disgruntled customer losing his shit because you’re all out of Starlight posters for him to jerk off to.
Keep reading
Learning About the Perks of Feminism
Photo from @fromjjwithlove blog
Summary: Y/N wants Soldier Boy badly. But she wants him on her terms. Can he handle her modern ways?
Warnings/Explicit 18+: Pretty much all smut. Some tiny bit of plot. Soldier Boy being a grumpy asshole, Unprotected PinV sex, pull-out method of BC used, coming on tits, oral, m/f receiving, face riding. Fluff if you squint.
Pairings: Soldier Boy x Y/N
Word Count: 2,620
A/N: So, I’ve decided to do all 30 of these writing prompts. I may miss a day here and there, but I’m going to try to do one a day, and I will be completing all 30 no matter what. They won’t always be in order. This fic will be for the prompt: Write about your MC nicknames. I took some liberty with this prompt, but they do talk about what he want's Y/N to call him.
I will be putting together a Masterlist for all 30 prompts and adding it to my main Masterlist.
A/N 2: This post is the inspiration for this fic. The amazing @deanswaywardgirl deserves so much credit for spurring on my horny brain with an amazing smutty scenario. And @candy-coated-misery0731 deserves all the credit for encouraging the writing of this fic. So, you owe any smutty happiness this fic brings you, to those two lovelies! 😄😄
Both beautiful text dividers, both below and at the bottom, were created by @firefly-graphics
"We'll be back in just a few hours, love."
Butcher patted Y/N on the shoulder and then whispered in her ear. "Try to watch him, make sure he doesn't go nuclear, but if he looks ready to do some damage, you get your sweet ass the fuck outta here, yeah?"
Soldier Boy pressed a button on the remote before speaking in the driest of tones.
"You know, my hearing is super too, you limey fuck." He leveled a look at Butcher and Billy straightened to his full height.
"Fine, I'll say it plain then. Hurt one hair on her head and Supe or not, deal or not, I'll rip your fuckin' heart out."
Y/N rolled her eyes. Since the moment the Boys took her on as part of the team, Butcher had tucked her under his wing like a mama bird. He refused to accept that she'd been surviving on the streets and working within the underground network of criminals since she was thirteen years old, and more than a dozen years on, she could certainly take care of herself.
She looked over at Soldier Boy and saw a spark of humor in his eyes as he looked up at Butcher, no doubt contemplating how quickly he could crush him if he wanted to, especially given that Butcher was currently V-free.
But he merely gave Butcher a smirk and went back to the TV, frowning at a commercial for men's exfoliating body scrub.
"Jesus fuck," he mumbled, "whatever happened to a fuckin bar of soap?"
Y/N turned back to Butcher and patted his arm. "I'll be fine. You guys be careful." When he still hesitated she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Go on, Hughie's waiting."
He flushed slightly and left the room.
Y/N sat back down on the couch, and as Soldier Boy engrossed himself in the wide and varied choices offered by the modern television landscape, she took the opportunity to finally really look at him.
Hughie and Butcher had shown up at her motel room door a couple hours earlier with a nuclear superhero in tow. Y/N had been surprised to say the least, but after her first glimpse of him, she’d been avoiding looking directly at the Supe for too long at once. It felt a little like looking into the sun. From what little she knew about Soldier Boy, he seemed like an old school asshole, but god damn the devil came in a beautiful package.
Hughie had run to a Walmart nearby and grabbed him clothes he thought would fit, a plain white tank top, grey sweats, and a short-sleeved, NY Giants jersey.
They were plain, simple, clothes, but on Soldier Boy they were the hottest things Y/N had ever seen. The way the jersey pulled tight across his broad, powerful shoulders and wide, muscled chest, made Y/N feel like she might start drooling at any moment. Also, the way the round, open collar exposed the long column of his throat and his bold, defined clavicle bones, gave Y/N the desire to lick and bite at his tanned, lightly freckled skin.
The lightweight grey sweats were loose and baggy, and she was almost positive he wasn't wearing underwear. When he'd been walking around earlier, the thin material had clung to his round, plump ass like a second skin and there had been something that hung long and low in the front that made her mouth water, imagining just what it could be. Maybe it had simply been a trick of the light, but she seriously doubted that.
His body was powerful, radiating a kind of strength that was simply entrancing. But she still thought his face might be even more attractive. His hair was longish and soft, and had a tendency to fall into his eyes, which gave him a boyish air that suited his superhero name. His beard was trimmed close, soft-looking, making Y/N's fingers itch to touch it.
His eyes were usually a mossy green, but sometimes, depending on the light, they seemed to shine like emeralds. They were absolutely stunning and, Y/N felt as though it would be easy to be pulled in by them, and lose yourself.
If his eyes were angelic, his mouth was all sin. It screamed of carnal delights and promised hours of bliss. Staring at him now, she had no trouble imagining his mouth swollen and wet from licking and sucking pleasure into her skin. Her body tensed and her pussy clenched.
She was so lost in her imaginings that she jumped when Soldier Boy's deep voice pulled her back to reality. He continued to stare at the TV as he spoke.
"You know one of my other abilities is a super keen sense of my surroundings. Which means that I'm hyper aware when someone is watching me."
He finally turned to face her, pinning her down with his gaze. After a minute he gave her a smirk. "Like what you see, pretty thing?"
Y/N scoffed even as her stomach flipped. "Do lines like that usually work?"
For a second he looked like he was going to get mad, but then he just shrugged. "Yeah, they do.” He frowned. “Or they used to. Women have changed a lot from what I can tell.”
Y/N smiled. “Well, we’ve decided we like our independence. And we don’t like chauvinist assholes telling us what to do.”
Soldier Boy’s frown turned darker, and Y/N wondered if she was being incredibly stupid.
Deciding that fortune favored the bold, she got up and strode over to where he was sitting on the side of the bed, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other braced on the floor.
She quickly straddled his lap and relished the look of shock on his face. She ground her cunt down against the hard bulge that confirmed her suspicions of a huge dick and no underwear.
Soldier Boy groaned loudly and his breathing came fast and harsh. He clamped his hands hard on her hips, keeping her immobile.
"Jesus Christ! Are all women this horny and aggressive nowadays?"
Y/N shook her head. "No, not all of us. But like I said, we like our independence, and we go after what we want. And I definitely want you. In spite of the cheesy lines and the knowledge that you could crush me like a bug if you wanted to, I still want you. We've only got a couple hours on our own and who knows when this chance will be in front of me again. So," she thrust her hands into his hair and pulled his head back slightly. "Like what you see, pretty thing?" She echoed back to him.
His eyes had become hooded with desire, as he looked deep into her eyes. "I don't know, I usually like to be in charge." He said, in a voice that made a shiver run through her as she imagined letting him take over. She suspected he would be very good at being in charge.
But her defiant streak was strong and she wanted to keep in control.
"Trust me baby, Feminism has given us lots of rights and freedoms we deserve, but it's also helped us," she grabbed his cock through his thin sweats, "express our sexual freedoms."
She squeezed him gently and he threw his head back with a groan. She took the opportunity to lick up the length of his throat, and then nibble at the hinge of his jaw.
She moved her mouth to his ear and whispered to him. "Tell me, what name do you want me to scream out when I come? Soldier Boy or Ben? Or would you prefer, "Ooh, fuck me Big Daddy!"
He yanked her back from his ear so he could look at her closely. He studied her a minute and Y/N let a mischievous smile curl her lips so he'd know she was having fun. He shook his head, still a little upended by her boldness.
But eventually, he smiled too. "Just Ben, baby."
He pulled her mouth down to his in a wild and searing kiss. Just as she suspected, that wicked mouth was pure sin masquerading as paradise. His tongue was hard as it thrust into her mouth. He swallowed down her moans and wordless pleas as he ravaged her, lips sucking and biting.
Wanting some of the power back, she bit into his succulent bottom lip, dragging a ragged moan from his throat. She pulled back from the kiss and shoved his open jersey off his shoulders, leaving him in only his tank top.
She ran her hands over the thick, round, curve of his shoulders, and then pushed his undershirt up so she had access to all the smooth, flat muscles of his torso.
She tugged at his shirt. "Take this off." She ordered. Looking as though he was participating in an experiment he wasn't too sure about, he reluctantly followed her demand.
But as soon as the shirt was gone she began kissing her way down his body. She paused when she reached his nipples, twirling her finger around the left one and teasing the right one with the tip of her tongue.
"Uhn, fuck!" Ben growled, and Y/N looked up to see him with his eyes closed, biting into his bottom lip. The sight made her moan and purr against his skin.
Fuck he was hot.
She felt his cock growing harder against her stomach and she couldn't wait any longer to feel it on her tongue. Her kisses reached his waistband and she grabbed hold of it.
He lifted his hips automatically and Y/N gasped as his cock popped free and fell against his stomach. Settling herself between his legs, she licked all the way up the underside of his dick, before dragging her tongue across his slit, lapping up the pre-cum that had gathered there.
She hollowed her cheeks and sucked the sensitive head of his cock into her mouth. She bobbed slightly on the very top, sucking and flicking her tongue back and forth. Ben jerked his hips and sank one of his hands into her hair.
"Jesus! Yes, good girl. Fuck your mouth is perfect!"
Y/N moaned at his praise, letting the vibrations travel down his dick as she sank all the way to the base. She relaxed her throat so that she could fit his whole cock into her mouth. Ben gathered her hair into a ponytail in his hand. "Look at me, pretty one. I wanna see your face while you're stuffed full of my cock."
Y/N looked up at him, pulling off and letting the spit and cum dribble down her chin before she sank back down on him. After another minute or so Ben pulled her off his cock with a deep moan. Quickly he ripped off her t-shirt and bra, yanking down her jeans and underwear and tossing them to the side of the bed.
Then with complete ease, he picked her up and spun her around, so that she was facing away from him. He laid down flat beneath her and pushed her forward so that her ass was higher. Then, spreading her pussy wide with his thumbs, he licked a stripe up through her folds with his wide, hot tongue and Y/N screamed out her pleasure.
He spoke against her dripping wet heat. "This way we can both get what we need. After all what kind of man would I be if I let you do all the heavy lifting?"
Before she could respond to that, his mouth sank into her cunt, and Y/N grabbed hold of his dick, bobbing up and down on it while she writhed and shook against his face.
His beard was soft, but as he fucked her thoroughly with his mouth, even the soft hair began to leave a pleasant burn behind on the inside of her thighs. She was grateful she'd have a souvenir from him.
As she neared her climax, Ben slipped his hands around her ribcage and lifted her from a reclining position to sitting one, positioning her to sit more fully on his jaw. He licked up into her, pushing his hard tongue past her entrance before undulating it against her incredibly sensitive skin. He sucked her clit into his mouth and then nibbled on it, sending Y/N tumbling, shaking and moaning over the edge.
But he didn't stop there. He was perfectly capable of holding her in that position, over his mouth, for as long as he wanted, and he kept her there, drinking up every drop she gave him through two more orgasms.
Finally he turned her to face him, and sat her on his lower abdomen, her drenched pussy leaving a wet spot. She reached behind her to stroke his long, thick cock that was running along the crack of her ass.
"Fuck me, Ben, please fuck me."
He chuckled slightly as he moved his fingers to rub against her clit.
"This position is all you, beautiful. You started this, you finish it."
Y/N refused to back down from the challenge he was giving her even though her limbs were wobbly and tired. She climbed onto his cock and slowly slid down onto it. She rode him hard and fierce, taking energy from every one of his guttural curses.
He raised his hands to her tits, squeezing them and rolling her nipples between his fingers. Before letting them fall back into place so he could watch them bounce as she rode him.
As she began to wane, not sure how much longer she could keep up the pace, Ben rolled her onto her back and began to piston his hips into her, shaking the entire bed frame and smashing the headboard into the wall.
He pulled out abruptly. His voice was harsh and ragged. "I don't have a rubber, so where do you want me to come?" He asked.
"Come on my tits." She said breathlessly, reaching out to pump his cock that was covered with her slick.
Ben reached down and slid two thick fingers deep into her cunt, curling them just right so that she came almost immediately. Ben took over, pumping his cock fast and watching Y/N's face as she cried out, pleasure cascading across her features. Her beautiful face, lips swollen and still wet with his cum was just the image he needed to push him into the abyss.
Bucking into his hand, he shot ropes of cum across Y/N's tits, milking his cock, as he listened to the satisfied moans and sighs that were coming from her lips. He fell forward on top of her, too spent to care about the mess he was creating on both their bodies.
The two of them dozed off for the better part of half an hour before Ben woke up and immediately scooped Y/N up. Still half asleep in his arms, she let out a shout of surprise as he turned on the shower and stepped them both into the warm spray.
He cleaned them both up quickly and then again carried Y/N out of the bathroom.
She rolled her eyes. "You know, I have legs. I can just walk."
Ben looked down at her seriously. "But your muscles are tired. Mine aren't, even a little, so why wouldn't you let me carry you?"
Y/N shrugged. "Part of that whole modern, doing things for ourselves, independence thing I was mentioning earlier."
It was Ben's turn to roll his eyes, but he set her on the ground. "Well, I don't know if I'll ever understand the whole women's lib thing."
He grinned and nodded towards the messy bed.
"But it sure has its perks!"
1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.
@lyarr24
@siospins2
@impalaslytherin
@maggiegirl17
@akshi8278
@candy-coated-misery0731
3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)
@sunshineandwings86
@kazsrm67
@sexyvixen7
4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)
@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men
@awkward-and-indecisive
@maliburenee
@supernatural4life2022
@spn730015
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black velvet series masterlist
"black velvet and that little boys smile, black velvet and that soul southern style. a new religion that'll bring you to your knees; black velvet, if you please"
( * ) indicates smut
CHAPTER ONE* - sunrise and soldier boy meet for the first time when sunrise is left to babysit the man out of time. unfortunately, she may not have been the best person to keep him acting appropriately.
CHAPTER TWO* - sunrise and soldier boy make their inability to stop touching each other everyone at herogasm's problem
CHAPTER THREE* - soldier boy keeps true to his promise to sunrise, but the two of them start to realize that they're capable of human emotion other than lust and anger.
MASTERLIST
The Boys
Happy Little Family (Soldier Boy x Reader)
Summary: When Vought asks the unthinkable, you are forced to play house with certified psychopath Soldier Boy. Your life (and dignity) may be at stake, but something about him draws you in.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
ok let’s be honest here
behind that whole act that Soldier boy puts on, there is a vulnerable person in there who just wants to be taken care of.
imagine riding his dick and he is just a whimpering mess under you, withering around the bed. Clutching your thighs as he is throwing his head back.
positions
cw: nsfw, gn.reader, some size kink
includes: homelander, butcher, frenchie, black noir, hughie, solider boy, MM
Homelander - likes when you’re on top. Don’t get it wrong he still has control but, he likes watching how you pant and struggle to take him all. Besides he gets a nice view of your chest while he bounces you on his cock. Absolutely bucks up into you to see how you squeal and grip his shoulders. He also likes it because he doesn’t have to do much work, he’s a supe and works hard ya know?
Black Noir - ass man. Loves doggy style the most. Grips the fat of your ass while he just plows into you. Smoothes his hand on your hips to bring you down on him over and over. Lives to see how you flutter and clench around him. Will push your face into the sheets and leave bruises on your ass.
Butcher - reverse cowgirl all the way. Another ass man who likes to watch you take his cock. You just look so good this way, and he likes how you lean forward to grab at his thighs. Smokes while he fucks you, puffing out while he spreads you open so he can watch how you take him. Makes comments on how slutty you are.
MM - missionary. The classic choice but he loves it. Props himself on his elbows so he can watch your face while he pounds into you. He likes to tuck his face into your neck, nipping it and making you squirm from his beard on your skin. Sometimes gets so into it he’ll lift up your legs onto his shoulders to reach deeper.
Soldier boy - mating press?!? Mating press all the way. Folds you up and stuffs you full, can go for hours. Ben just pushes your legs up and gives you deep strokes that make you starry-eyed and and breathless. He gets so deep you push his chest and he just mocks you from above. Thanks to the V he’s got endless stamina and besides, he hasn’t been able to pump someone full in decades so good luck.
Frenchie - y’all already know this man likes to be dommed. He’s down for absolutely anything and everything. Doesn’t matter if you’re holding his wrists while you fuck yourself with his cock or if you’re fucking him. He practically loves every positions, but he does enjoy 69 a lot.
Hughie - sweet sweet boy likes when he’s tucked behind you. Its so nice because your thighs are clenched together and it’s makes you tighter. The fucks lazy and soft and he just tucks your underwear to the side so he can slip in. You’re clawing at the mattress while he just does slow thrusts. He’ll kiss the back of your neck while he holds you.
When I Get My Hands On You. (Soldier Boy Fic).
Soldier Boy/Ben x F!Reader 18+
Summary: Slight AU + 'Still Awake'. After everything, Vault decides it's better to keep Soldier Boy out of the way instead of putting him back under. Out of the way is a McMansion out of the city, a plot of land, a mountain and all the time in the world. He's got everything he needs, and yet there's still something missing. He figures out what it is very quickly when you show up. What a lucky man he is.
Song This Fic is Based On: Superbad Mantra - JAWNY, Christian Blue.
A/n: I'm so excited to post this fic, it was so much fun to write, and my first time writing for SB. I wrote, and rewrote this fic a couple of times, and this plot + ending just feels right. Let me know what you think. -Kash
Word Count: 3.5k
Tags & Warnings: 18+ Only, Cursing, Ben wanting you BAD, smut, drinking.
+
Never in a million fucking years would Ben admit to being tired of it all. The fighting, the anger, the planning, the business of it. But he is. Ben’s tired of fighting. He never wanted to be mixed in with Vault's new affairs. So he’s almost ecstatic when they decide to just keep him hidden in the woods instead of putting him under again. He’s their Golden God, (well he used to be) so their version of hiding him is a red brick Mcmansion 40 minutes outside the city. When he sees it for the first time he gets a wave of –I don't know– peace? Ecstasy maybe at the sight of it.
Let me paint the picture of Ben’s newfound paradise. It’s on about 15 acres of land, surrounded by woods with a little creek tucked inside. When you come down the driveway there are rows of pine trees shading the pathway. To the east there’s a mountain, about a 40 minute hike to get to the base of it and an hour to get to the top. To the west there’s a river, a quarter mile wide and too long for Ben to guess. Big enough for him to fuck off on it for hours and still not see anyone. He gets a dock, a pontoon, plus a couple of trails all to himself.
All on the promise that he stays hidden, & out of the fray.
If we’re being honest right now, even with all of this, Ben told them to fuck off. He isn’t a pet to lock away when he’s not needed, he has–had a life. He deserves a life.
“We can’t guarantee you a life outside of what we’re offering you now, Ben,” Jeremy, Vault's coordinating agent for Soldier Boy says. He’s a weasley looking man, short with neatly parted black hair & wire-framed glasses. They’re standing on the back deck of the house, looking out to the river as the sun starts to set. His suit’s a little too tight, and not at all fitting for the summer heat. He keeps pulling at his tie, and dabbing his forehead with his pocket hankie. “All we’re asking is that you remain here for now, and once we’re able to settle our affairs and guarantee you a position without ..” He trails off.
Ben already knows. “Yeah,” He’s annoyed. “ Once you can get my sperm mutant under control, I get it.” He nods, and mulls over the thought for a moment, taking a good look at the property. It’s honestly, truly, not a bad deal. He’s just pissy because—“I’m not stayin’ here without getting high, Johnny.” he says matter of factly.
Jeremy doesn’t even miss a beat, he’s nodding immediately. “Understood, Vault is very aware of your extracurricular activities and we’ve already supplied you with a month’s worth of—”
“I’m gonna need more.” Jesus let him finish.
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy wipes the sweat from the back of his neck, and pulls a phone out of his pocket. “We have a delivery guy coming once a week with groceries, as well as anything else you may need. Just text this number with your list and we’ll send him over asap.” He hands Ben the phone and motions out to the water. “This is a great offer, Ben. No other Superhero is getting a set up like this, unlimited food, wifi, a boat—”
“It’s a pontoon.”
He ignores him. “And enough weed, coke, and whateverthehell else to kill all of Manhattan if you want it.” He locks eyes with Ben, smiles, & It’s quite frankly almost eerie. “Just stay here and let us handle the rest.”
He sits on it for about 10 seconds, before nodding and turning the phone over in his hands.
“How long?”
And that’s just the least of it.
+
About a month into it, Ben starts to get a little….restless. Yeah, sure, that’s the word for it. He’s content with the land, and the food, and the drugs, and has even started a little garden. It’s not huge, but he’s already gotten a few sprouts from his potatoes, so that’s something.
However, he’s still Ben. Still Soldier Boy. Still a man of needs, and cravings like he’s always been. Only now it’s panged with something like loneliness. Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe it’s the memories of his old life, and how everyone he loved turned against him. He was a son of a bitch, so maybe he deserved it. Whatever, anyways—
It’s a tuesday night when he finally hits fuck it territory. He’s been watching porn for three hours, and is–honest to God–tired of his hand & a screen. He swipes out of PornHub, and looks up the nearest Gentleman's club outside of the city. Because that’s what he is, a gentleman.
He gets dressed and walks two hours into a small town and makes a beeline for ‘Synn’. It’s a ‘not too shabby’, but shabby, looking gentlemans club on the east side of town, right off the highway. It’s a one story concrete building with tinted windows, & nondescript except for the giant neon purple sign outside. ‘Synn Gentlemen's Club’ it reads, with the silhouette of a woman next to it. The inside does it a little more justice. It’s got dark purple walls, and an honestly very well stocked bar all on a landing, plus a few tables and chairs. The floor is scattered with stains, and the walls have a faint smell of cigarettes. The rest of the club is almost like one giant conversation pit, with stairs leading down to the main floor, & two main stages right in the middle of the room. Both stages have mirrors at the back of them, so wherever you are in the club you can get a view. God does he love the view.
Ben loves women. I don’t know if you know that, actually I know you don’t know that, but he does. The way women talk, the way they walk, move their hips, their lips, their touch, their smell, their taste. Fuck, he loves the taste. He’s a bit more partial to older women, but lately he’s bent his own rules. Twenty-four is the youngest he’ll go, and even then it’s…iffy. Maturity is a big thing for him.
Here he’s happy to bend his rule to accommodate. He sits in a darker corner, his hat pulled low, and just enjoys the show. An hour, and nine beers in, & He’s gained just enough confidence to catch eyes with one of the girls in the club. She’s pretty, not exactly his type, but pretty. Long blonde hair, and a tiny sparkly pink one piece that barely hides anything.
Believe it or not he’s shy. Tonight Ben’s shy. Only because he’s sure he’s toeing the line right now being here, but he's feeling more hands on, so when she asks if he wants a dance, he immediately says yes. It lasts all of two minutes. He wants more, but not with her, and he can’t even put his finger on why he stops her from asking if he wants to go to the VIP room, but he does. He pays her and immediately leaves.
Back to his hand. Back to missing….something.
+
A week later, right as he’s snorting enough coke to down two bull elephants off of his coffee table, the doorbell rings. He quick sniffs, and wipes whatever’s left on his nose onto his gums before standing up. “Shit,” he half groans as he wobbles. Everythings a little too turnt at the moment, so he immediately sits back down and puts his head in his hands. “Oooooh, shit.”
He’s about 40 seconds deep into an almost meditative state when the doorbell rings again plus five knocks. This time he hears a “Hellooo?” And a softer, “Fuck, it’s hot please hurry up.” from the other side of the door. He knows you don’t mean for him to hear it, he can’t help it. He wishes he didn’t. Everything is too bright, and too loud, and his jaw is starting to grind from all the coke so no, hearing you or seeing you for that matter is not on his list.
Regardless, when you start knocking again he’s up. In three seconds he’s around the couch, and swinging open the front door. The heat hits him immediately and so does the sight of you. Oh God she's gorgeous. He’s gotta lean on the doorframe a bit to keep steady, and get a good look at you.
You’re standing in the doorway with two arms full of groceries. He’d completely forgotten about …Matt? Max? The guy Vault hired to buy him groceries, toiletries, and drugs. The other day he let himself in when Ben didn’t answer the door fast enough. Ben was shitting, and didn’t hear the doorbell. Or the door open for that matter. He scared Ben when he walked into the kitchen, & Ben threw a chair at him. He–thankfully–only shattered his collarbone. Needless to say the poor bastard quit while being loaded in the ambulance. The important part of that story is you. Standing here now instead of Mr. Irrelevant.
Ben smiles at you and silently thanks God for the summer heat. Your gray T-shirt is just tight enough around your chest that he can see the outline of your nipples. I promise he’s trying not to stare, so he’s gotta work a little harder not to let his eyes drag down body.
“Excuse me,” He’s not doing a good job.You’re just so pretty, baby. Even when you frown like that. “I’m y/n,” You say it slowly and a little sarcastically. You caught him staring, he knows he deserves it. He honestly likes it. “Jeremy sent me to drop off your groceries since Jackson–” That’s his name! “–quit. I’d shake your hand, but,” You hold up the bags, & Ben immediately reaches to grab them out of your hands. You look too good to work at Vault. Long lashes, pretty lips, and the way your hips curve in those shorts. He’s gotta ignore how much he wants to-
“Let me help with those,” He cuts his own thoughts off. “Are there any more in the car?”
You nod. “Yeah there’s a lot more, let me help you at least.” You turn to walk back down the pathway.
He takes a few steps out, and too eagerly says “No, Ma’am. Let me get em’.” Ma’am.
You don’t even stop walking. You just wave him off and say “It’s alright, I want to help. Honestly if you want to relax I can get these unloa–” He’s not listening. He’s coked out & kind of dazed, but he’s still a gentleman. Sort of. He can’t help but to watch your ass as you walk away. Your shorts look perfect on you, and everytime you step your ass jiggles a little.
He just met you and he can tell you don’t like him. He stares too hard, his hair is a mess, he’s wearing stained sweatpants and a stained tank top to match (Had he realized you were coming he would’ve gotten dressed), and boy does he like you. He already knows he’d devour you if you give him the chance. Give em’ the chance.
It takes about six minutes to unload everything out of your truck, Vault’s truck as you tell him. They gave you something big enough to haul all of his things in. A shitload of food, clothes, toiletries, fishing equipment, new hiking boots, and a black duffle bag you weren’t allowed to look in. Ben helps as much as he can which helps speed the process along. Now, however, he’s just sitting at the kitchen island bouncing between small talk, and admiring you put his groceries away.
“So,” He puts his forearms on the countertop and leans in. “Are you from here or..” Ladies and gentlemen, Soldier Boy! Jeez, try a little harder.
“No actually,” You say, pulling a couple of cases of strawberries out of bags, before putting them in the fridge. “I moved to the city about a year ago when I got hired at Vaught.”
“And is this all you do?” You’re doing amazing, Ben. He cringes a little at himself for saying it like that. ‘All you do’ , it’s a little condescending.
You don’t even let it phase you. “No, actually, I’m Jeremy’s assistant and team lead.” You say before dropping down to a squat to load a few cases of beer onto the bottom shelf of the fridge. “I’m just here because I haven’t had time to hire a new personal shopper for you. I’ll have one for you by next week though, I promise.”
Oh, please don’t promise that.
He tries so hard not to watch you, but Jesus he can’t help it. He’s got his eyes locked on you. The muscles in your back move every time you pick another case up, & your ass is sitting so prettily as you sit on your haunches to balance yourself. You stand back up, languid and smooth and your legs are so fucking-
“Okay,” You say, turning back around. He’s looking straight at you, and praying you didn’t catch him staring again. Part of him hopes you did. “That’s about everything, I don’t think you need help putting your personal items away, do you?”
He fights the urge to say yes. “No, I-I’m good, but are you busy?” What is he doing?
You pause and your eyebrows raise. “Uh, well today’s my day off, but-”
“Stay for a bit,” It’s a statement he says more like a half-question. “If you’d like. I have a-uh pontoon, and I’ve wanted to take someone out on the river since I got here. It’s my thanks for you using your day off to come here.” He smiles, and tries not to be too obvious about how much he wants you to say yes.
“That’s kind of you,” You say smiling back before walking around the island towards your keys on the table. “but I have to go, I have a few errands to run.”
He’s good at hiding disappointment. He shrugs a bit, and keeps a warm smile. He can’t help but like the sound of your voice, even when it’s letting him down easily. “Okay, well can I ask you for a favor?”
You put your hands on your hips and look up at him. “Sure, what can I do for you?”
Sweetheart, so much. What he actually says is, “If you have time, would you mind coming again next week instead of someone else?” Oh he’s bold about it. “I just-” He shrugs. “I like our conversation. More than mine & Jacobs.”
You laugh, and it makes him wanna be good to you. “His name is Jackson, and I’ll see.” You look him up and down, and Ben swears you bite your lip a bit. “Let me see your phone, I’ll give you my number so you can let me know if you need anything else.” You hold your hand out, and he’s immediately passing his phone to you.
Oh he needs a lot. “Oh I need a lot.” He says before he even realizes it. Fuck.
You just chuckle and keep putting your number in. You’re cool, you’re so fucking cool, you know that? When you finish you hand it back to him, and his hand grazes yours. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t really like that.
“So if I text you tonight and say I need something, you comin’?” He says, saving your number.
“Nope,” You say matter of factly, walking to the front door. “But give me a week, if I can’t find someone for you, you’ll see me here again.”
He follows right behind you, eyes burning a hole into the back of your head. He does a little jog to grab the door before you do, and opens it for you. “Don’t look too hard then, that pontoon is just waiting for a chance at you.” And so am I. You give him a look at that statement, but say nothing.
He leans against the door as you walk out, and follows you all the way to the truck. “Can I only text you for things I need?” He says before reaching to open your car door too. Again, Ben is a gentleman through and through.
You sit in the driver's seat and ask. “Is there another reason to text me?”
He’s standing between you and the door now, and if we’re being real honest, he likes looking at you like this. The SUV is high enough that you’re eye to eye now, and he’s got a helluva’ view. He steps in a little & you’re even prettier up close. Nice cheekbones, pretty lashes, full lips. He puts one hand on the truck and keeps the other on the door, and leans into you a bit. His heart, Jesus, jumps a little when you don’t lean away from him. His breath deepens when you start looking him up and down too. Fuck, this is a moment.
Sweetheart, you’re givin’ him all sorts of ideas to hold on to, you know that?
“Absolutely, I needa’ get to know you a little better. Seeing as you know where I live and all.” He’s all eyes on you. His voice is kind of low now, and he can’t even help licking his lips. “You sure you don’t wanna stay a little bit longer? Let me cook you somethin’, show you how much I appreciate you, Y/n.” He’s practically drooling it out.
He’s–okay–he’s not even trying to hold back how much he wants you. His voice is too low, he’s too close, and looking you up and down too much for it not to be obvious. You clock it, immediately, and–against your better judgment–lean into him. So close that your noses almost touch, and you reach your hand behind him.
“I appreciate the offer but,” You say, grabbing the door. “I’m a little busy tonight.”
He wants you so bad it hurts, and he just met you. He can’t help it, he’s leaning into you, eyes closing, and–
“Ah,” You almost whisper, smiling and pulling back. This is so funny to you. “I’m not the one for that, but I appreciate the thought. Excuse me.” you look behind him to the door and he doesn't move at first.
Instead he just eyes you. He’s never had a woman play with him like that, and he’s torn between wanting more and none of it at all. You are the one for that, you’re just not there yet. You will be. He steps back, and you close the door, starting the car before rolling the window down.
“You have my number, Ben,” The way you say his name makes him want to howl. “Call me if you need me.”
“I promise I will, Y/n.” He says as you back up, turn, and pull down the driveway. He doesn’t go inside until your suv is out of his sight.
+
“Fuck, Y/n,” He moans, sitting back in his bed & jerking himself off to the thought of you. “Yes, baby, keep ridin’ it.”
He’s panting, eyes closed, imagining you on top of him. Fucking him like your life depends on it. He’s never heard you moan, but he's imagining something sweet, and addicting coming out of you. He starts bucking up into his hand, and imagines you whining at how deep he’s going.
‘Be-e-en,’ You’d moan, mouth open and drooling from how good he’s hitting it. You would grip his hair and bounce on him the way you know he likes it. ‘Ben, please baby, harder!’
He starts fucking himself harder at your imaginary requests. He’d do any–and everything you told him to, and quickly at that. “Fu-uck, y/n, you know I like that. You know I like that, baby.” He moans to no one, but the thought of you.
He imagines you swirling your hips on him, looking him in his eyes while you say, ‘Fuck baby I’m gonna cum. Ben, please,’ & he can’t hold it anymore. You are, even in his imagination, just too much. He cums all over his hand and stomach, and moans your name a couple of times for good measure.
And for a while he just lays there. Panting, eyes closed, mind full of you. Fuck ‘Synn Gentlemens Club’, you’re what he’s been missing. That thought really wakes him up. He just met you, and compared to the hundred other women he’s slept with in his lifetime, you knock him back a little. The way you talk, the way you walk, how you laugh, and even how you tell him no. You’re not taken aback by him, you don’t fear him, you toy with him a little bit and what’s worst of all is he likes it. He really likes it. He likes it so much that he wipes his hand off on his stomach and grabs his phone. Immediately finding your name and texting you a simple ‘Hello’.
+
A/n: Thank you for reading <3 If you want to be tagged in the next chapter you can DM me or reply to this post!