Summary: Black Noir wasn't the only unusual supe in the Seven anymore and he wanted your attention.
(The reader is gender-neutral. The ethnicity/race is preferably Black/POC. )
The long droning sound of Homelander was something that the mute supe had accustomed himself to a long time ago. Fussing at the team over miniscule things, him and Maeve making snide remarks to each other, and bullying the Deep. This was a normal everyday thing that Black Noir was used to hearing. What he wasn't used to was you.
"(Y/N)!" Homelander's voice rang loudly in the room, bringing everyone's attention towards you. "What the fuck are you doing? Did you hear anything I said?"
"Yes, sir," you responded, nodding your head, while keeping your eyes focused on the picture you were coloring in your coloring book.
"Really?" Homelander asked, his eyebrows raised and his face sporting a sardonic smile towards you that you missed. "What did I say? Just now?"
Homelander, The Deep, Black Noir, Queen Maeve, A-Train, and Starlight all sat in silent surprise as you recounted word for word what Homelander said in the meeting, while not lifting your eyes up from your book once. While the others watched in surprise and wondered if Homelander was going to snap at you for your inability to fully focus on him, Black Noir watched you with fascination. You were weird, he realized. Another stranger among the Supe's...like me. He had forgotten what your power was long ago, only knowing that the relaxation of coloring helped you control it, and he began wondering how to get to know you better.
"Is that all, sir," you asked Homelander, finally lifting your eyes up from your book.
The supe was silent for a few seconds as he didn't know what to say, not expecting you to actually recite everything. Finally with a stammer, he spoke again, "I,uh,...yes, it is. Keep...paying attention." He awkwardly looked around at the others before continuing to speak, turning back to the windows with his hands held behind his back, his heroic stance and persona was back on display for all to see.
Would a date work? Noir wondered, his hand was still moving on the paper, while his gaze remained on you. No, they're like me. That wouldn't work. Or a specific type of date. Maybe I'll ask them to go to the movies with me. That would be good. Everyone loves movies. I need to do something to get their attention, first. Noir had been so deep in his thoughts that he didn't even realize the meeting had ended, and before he knew it, he saw you, along with the others, standing up from your seat, pack of markers and coloring book protectively held to your chest, as you left the room and immediately he knew what he should do to get your attention.
~
The next day as everyone, including you, entered the meeting room, it wasn't a surprise to see Black Noir already there. He was sitting in his usual seat with a sketchbook and pen laid out on the table.
Being polite, you waved at him like you usually do whenever you see him. "Hi Noir," you greeted him, smiling.
Like he always does, he waved back to you, but instead of going back to his sketchbook like he usually does, he then pointed to your end of the table, where you usually sat.
Looking there, you let out a small gasp and hurried your way to the seat, and when you looked down at the table, an even brighter smile came upon your face.
You didn't know how he knew, but you were almost done with your current coloring book, and was going to get a new one, but Noir had been nice enough to get one for you. Laid out on the table was a large coloring book with a new pack of markers next to it. "Is this for me?" You asked him, wanting to be sure as you dropped your old one onto the table and picked up the new book.
Nodding wordlessly, he gestured for you to inspect the book as much as you wanted and you hurriedly opened the book, flipping the pages quickly in awe. It was a fantasy creature themed book and every page had a different creature for you to color in, from griffins and dragons to fairies and mermaids. It was something you would definitely be having fun coloring.
"Okay team, sit down and listen up," Homelander yelled entering the room.
Usually his orders and obnoxious personality would immediately make you irritated but Noir's gift had your heart soaring, and placing the book back down on the table, you looked at him again. Even though his face was covered, you had the suspicion that he was (hopefully) smiling as brightly as you were. "Thank you, Noir."
"(Y/N), sit down," Homelander commanded.
Immediately you sat down in your seat, and began opening your new pack of markers. Just as Homelander began speaking, you looked back to Noir and saw that he was holding up a small piece of paper with writing on it.
Squinting your eyes, you read it as best as you could:
'Do you wanna go to the movies with me?'
Nodding your head, you gave him another smile that made his heart feel lighter than it had in years.
questiom question how do u think black noir ii would react to a jealous reader regarding his past relationship???(if u can it even call it that considering how one sides it was😭😭😭😭) with sage???
also thank you for being of the few people who write for black noir!!!!
bad idea
a/n: you’re very welcome anon!! i absolutely love writing for both noirs and plus i experienced this first hand…
info: gender-neutral reader, noir ll being an idiot about emotions (of course), reader implied to apart of the seven, reader being rightfully selfish in a way, small mention of og noir because i miss him…
ᯓ✦ justin is very much oblivious to your emotions at the start so you unfortunately have to give him hints you actually do want something more.
ᯓ✦ what makes it worse is how you were basically hit like a train with the revolution that he very much likes someone else, that someone being the new member of the seven, sister sage.
ᯓ✦ you don’t even know how you got yourself into this self proclaimed love triangle (if it can even be called that) but you thought it was absolutely bullshit.
ᯓ✦ hearing him blabber about sage but you dare don’t say a word since you are friends with him and apart of you is quote unquote “happy”.
ᯓ✦ he’s having a blast talking about her like some dang puppy happy to see their owners.
ᯓ✦ but sometimes you rather have that attention that was towards her to be more toward you instead because you know you can give him what he wants, or at least you’d think you can, but for now you’d just take the way he sometimes insults you by calling you dumb for the things you do that he labels as “stupid”, its no biggie.
ᯓ✦ there was sometimes a small thought on the back of your mind wondering if the original noir would’ve treated you like this, he was pretty friendly to you before he died, but now you can only think of the present, and it’s mediocre as hell.
ᯓ✦ the only way you’ve told justin is if you didn’t tell him yourself, you muttered out accidentally to the deep you liked him and basically begged him to not say thing but to your demise, he gone and told him anyways like the huge dick he is thinking it would be funny to do so.
ᯓ✦ and when justin finds out about this, he’s appalled, what the hell do you mean you liked him and never told him a thing yet told the deep? and to his frustration he corned you when no-one was around and turned this into an argument you didn’t want to have at all, ESPECIALLY inside the work place, anything but this for gods sake.
ᯓ✦ this breaks out in a huge argument between you both, you weren’t sure why he was making it such a big deal especially with his proclaimed love for sage, now this just pissed you off more than it should have, you should be angry at him not the other way around, hell you should’ve been more angry at the deep for getting yelled at.
ᯓ✦ but yet in the heat of the moment, tears starting to pour from your eyes your hands can’t help but pull his lips onto your own, so he knew you were serious about this but as quick you pulled in you quickly pulled back whilst backing away, you never regretted something so much until now, and now all you wanted was for him to stab you straight in the heart to end your misery forever.
ᯓ✦ but he didn’t, justin stood there for a moment, stunned, but hands soon told a different story. his hands glossing over your tear stained cheeks before pulling your face toward his and kissing you, probably more intense than he anticipated.
ᯓ✦ before you both knew it, hands were immediately grabbing onto the cloth of each others costumes, gasping for air here and there in the slightest of hopes no one will walk in but that thought was over when you and justin finally separated while his thumb swiped away a tear that still streamed from your eyelid.
ᯓ “i think i love you more then sage…”
ᯓ “the fuck do you mean you think? we just made out!!”
ᯓ✦ and since then justin made a complete 360, following you around like some sort of lost puppy, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it at all, who the hell wouldnt?
ᯓ✦ but one thing justin doesn’t change completely is making you feel jealous here and there, in his own humble opinion him seeing you get all fuzzy and whiney over him giving someone else attention is a little endearing (and a little cute), especially with how you nuzzle into his chest when he says he’s sorry and hugs you, 10/10 will most likely do it again.
ᯓ✦ he’s sorta an asshole but he won’t take it too far, seeing you cry once was far enough.
Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin
Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.
I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).
"your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin”
Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.
Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.
If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.
↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.
I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default
Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!
AU in which Noir isn’t actually dead he just let everyone in The Seven think he died and left Vought to live a happy domestic life with reader because that’s what he DESERVES.
black noir 1 hcs : cuz i totally don’t miss earving or anything … (◞‸◟,)
2 sfw , 2 nsfw
earving likes to pay for everything. and i mean everythinggg. your new set of nails? that new two piece you wanted? he’ll tap his card without even thinking! he’s a sucker for his pretty girl, that’s for sure.
earving is very very touchy. whether it be a hand on your waist while you two are at a premiere or his hand on your head as he pulls you closer into a hug. he wants to keep his baby close, that’s all.
earving loves oral. doesn’t matter if its him receiving or giving, it’s his favorite. partially (completely) because he likes seeing how you react. your body, your facial expressions, all of it. his sensitive little bun is just so cute!
earving’s all time favorite position is mating press. or missionary. or- he just can’t make up his mind! anything that involves you two being reaaal close is fine by him.
Black Noir communicates mostly through body language, head tilts, staring, nodding, and somehow everyone around him learns what he means.
He remembers tiny details people don’t expect him to notice:
your favorite snack
which side of the couch you sit on
when you said you were tired three weeks ago
He walks so silently that people stop reacting and just accept he appears places like a haunted house ghost.
Despite looking intimidating, he secretly likes routines. Same breakfast. Same training times. Same places.
If he trusts someone, he’ll start sitting closer to them without saying anything. That’s basically his version of affection.
He doesn’t interrupt. If you rant for an hour, he’ll just sit there listening and occasionally nod.
If you hand him something small you thought he’d like, he keeps it way longer than expected.
His room is surprisingly organized. Everything has a place.
He’s protective in quiet ways:
standing between you and crowds
opening doors
noticing when people make you uncomfortable
He gives off scary energy but has oddly polite habits.
If someone insults him, there’s like a 50/50 chance he either ignores it completely or remembers it forever.
He likes being included even if he doesn’t talk much.
He’d absolutely sit next to someone doing their own thing and consider that quality time.
If he laughs, it’s rare enough that people stop what they’re doing.
He doesn’t ask for help easily and would rather disappear for a while than admit something bothered him.
If he trusts his lover enough to remove the mask around them, that’s huge for him — not dramatic, just quiet trust.
Relationship vibe with him:
🖤 silent company
🖤 protective presence
🖤 noticing details
🖤 emotional support through existing nearby
authors note: i pulled this out my ass because I'm going on vacation
both black noirs x reader (slightly nsfw) [long post]
thinking about that scenario where the reader finds out Noir is dead from Noir II and you're forced to be around Justin while you're still grieving (because you still live in yours and Earving's shared apartment in The Tower and Justin has moved in with you, and maybe because your relationship with Noir was public and you have to keep up appearances) and you eventually develop feelings for Justin even tho you feel guilty about it for a long time, but you do end up together.
but then what if the reader (or Justin, who tells the reader) finds out Earving isn't actually dead and he's been with The Boys this whole time and you're so happy he's alive (you're mad that he didn't tell you that he wasn't dead, but he was doing it for your safety) and you're of course still in love with Earving but you tell him (while feeling so guilty) that you started seeing someone else (and Justin is there when the two of you reunite because he flew you over to meet with him).
Earving is so sad but he does understand even tho he doesn't want to, he takes one look at Justin and he gets it... Justin is everything Earving isn't, he has no scars, he can actually talk, he can probably better protect you, and he doesn't seem to have any of Earving's "weird" quirks (also the fact that Justin is closer in age to you. Earving was never insecure about your age difference but seeing you with someone that's closer in age to you makes him wonder). Earving just wants you to be happy even tho he hates that out of all people it's his replacement that started dating you (he hated when he found out Homelander replaced him in the first place). He either signs or writes on his notepad to tell you that it's okay, besides he doesn't want to get you wrapped up in what he's been doing anyways. You want to be with Earving again so badly, but at the same time your feelings for Justin are real and that would be so unfair to him. You don't know what to do.
And this whole time Justin has been looking at the two of you, the way you embraced each other, the way you look at each other, and thinking the same way Earving was thinking. He doesn't see the fact that Earving has scars and can't talk as bad things (he actually thinks Earving looks good even with the scars), because he's heard the way you talk about him with so much love in your eyes and he feels like he's gotten to know not just you but also Earving on a deep level. Justin has been working so hard to embody the original Noir even since he got this job, he feels like he really knows not just the character, but also the man behind the mask and it's all because of you.
And then Justin tells you that he thinks you should stay with Earving, that you should go with him instead of going back to the Tower. But then Earving is waving his hands and he writes on his notepad (so Justin can understand) that it's safer for you to be with Justin. Justin says that he wouldn't feel right, that you are Earving's partner and have been for years, so it'd feel wrong (even tho he's super in love with you and hasn't built up the courage to tell you that). Earving just shakes his head and points back at his notepad.
You feel so overwhelmed and maybe you don't mean to say this out loud but you do, you say, "I wish I could just have you both." And both Noirs look at you like you have two heads, but then they look at each other and it's almost like they're communicating telepathically even tho that's definitely not either one of them's power. Earving is the first one to say something, writing on his notepad just the word "Maybe." And Justin hesitates and then says that that could work. You're confused until it clicks that those two just agreed to both be your boyfriends at the same time.
They agree that you're still going to live in The Tower with Justin until further notice but you now have Earving's new phone number so you can text him all you want, and you can also meet up with Earving, whether it be at an abandoned building like the one you're in now or if you're able to get a hotel without being recognized. The three of you also agree that if this doesn't work out, if one of the Noirs can't handle this or if you change your mind, then you are going to have to choose but you hope it never comes to that.
Your relationship with them is working out greatly, you can tell when one of them gets jealous, able to smell the other man on you, but it's only been a benefit to you. You realize you like when they get jealous of each other, the way they get possessive when you're back in the other's arms. Neither of them had seen each other since that day, occasionally they'll ask about each other but that was it, but then one day Justin asks you if he can visit Earving with you next time and you're confused, but then he tells you he wants to get his opinion on something specific about the character of Black Noir. So you agree and you text Earving about it and he takes a while to answer but he agrees also. When the three of you meet up in a hotel, Justin asks if he can talk to Earving privately and that it would just take a minute, which confuses you but you say sure and you go off and wait in the bathroom. It takes more than a minute, but then Justin calls you back into the bedroom portion of the suite and you immediately discover that he did not want to talk about Black Noir with Earving, he wanted to ask him if the three of you could do something together, as a surprise to you. You've never been happier about something in your life.
This happens many more times, much to your delight. You could tell the first time that the two were almost competing with each other, you could feel the possessiveness radiating off of them. But they've gotten better about it, not that you were complaining. In the beginning, it seemed like the two of them were avoiding even looking at each other at all costs, but they've gotten more comfortable with each other as time went on. There was a time, the last time, where Earving laid a hand on the back of Justin's neck to bring him down towards a certain part of you and Justin had grabbed onto Earving's leg, maybe for support. Although it was just for your benefit, it still drove you crazy just seeing them interact like that, even if it wasn't something that big. You're also pretty sure when the three of you were snuggled up afterwards that Earving laid an arm across you to lay a hand on Justin's waist. When you glanced up at Earving from where you were laying your head against his chest, you're pretty sure you could see him looking over at Justin and you wondered if Justin was looking back at him.
Things start getting crazy with the whole Homelander stuff (including Soldier boy being back, which scares you because you know what he did to Earving). Thankfully no one ever tells Soldier Boy that you were (are) Earving's partner and he doesn't say anything about Justin, tho he does throw him dirty looks every time he sees him. You hear about the internment camps, the virus, something called V1, and you don't know what's going on and you're so afraid for both of your boyfriends, but Earving assures you that he's okay and The Boys are trying to fix everything.
Justin is also fine, though getting more and more displeased with this job to the point where he's been secretly auditioning for a play, which he tells you about. And then he comes to you crying one day and he tells you that the Deep killed the director of the play just because Justin got the part and now the whole play is off. It reminds you so much of what Earving went through with Soldier Boy and you tell Justin to go talk to him.
You don't expect Justin to call you one day and tell you to pack a bag for the two of you and to meet him and Earving some place (his voice sounds so serious and you know this isn't one of your normal meetups). You do as he says and when you get there, you realize that Earving has convinced Justin to join him and The Boys. They're not sure about Justin at first (which is how you imagine they felt about Earving too) but then Justin and Starlight bond over their hatred of the Deep. Justin wants revenge for what he did, but both Earving and Annie calm him down and tell him that the time will come. The group is also not sure about you either, but then they realize you're just a regular person. You were also afraid that they'd judge you for your relationship with both Noirs, but then the one they call Frenchie says that he was in a relationship like that one time and he starts to describe all the benefits of poly relationships with very flowery language and then he starts getting into too much intimate detail and the others stop him. No one brings it up again.
You're not much help to the team besides being moral support, but that's enough for the others and it's more than enough for the Noirs. The others do teach you have to defend yourself, how to shoot a gun, though. Things start going down, Homelander getting the V1, Sage joining the group, Frenchie recreating Soldier Boy's anti-V blast with Kimiko, and then Homelander shows up at the base and you and the two other women there are shoved into a zinc vent, and you're so scared for the Noirs and Frenchie but then when you three get out, you discover that they were able to get away and cause a distraction that diverted Homelander away from you three.
And after Kimiko's blast is perfected, The Boys and the Noirs decide to storm the White House to get to Homelander. They tried to tell you to stay back, but there was no way you'd just let them go on this suicide mission by themselves. And so, you all go. When you infiltrate the White House, you end up split into groups. You guys come across the Deep, and Starlight and Justin take one look at each other and both fly straight at him, taking him far away to fight (and kill) him. The rest of you, minus Butcher and Kimiko, end up with Oh-Father. You, Hughie, and MM shooting at him did nothing, except for when Hughie fogged up the room, and Earving fights Oh-Father, killing him.
There's a blast in the distance and your group gets to the Oval Office, just in time to see Butcher beating a de-powered Homelander. Homelander sees Earving and begs for him to help but Earving just flips him off. Starlight and Justin get back just in time to see Butcher kill Homelander.
When that's all over, everyone settles, finally able to rest and relax. Everyone moves on with their lives. And you, Earving, and Justin move into an apartment together. Earving and Justin have really warmed up to each other. You three have a talk one day and you all decide that it won't be that the two supes are dating you, but that the three of you would be all dating each other. You grin so wide that your cheeks hurt when you finally get to see the two of them kiss, especially seeing the way the two of them melt into it. You were so nervous when you initially brought it up that they wouldn't be into it, but they most definitely are.
Justin gets back into acting, Earving gets a job in pet grooming (he can finally use those cutting skills for something other than killing) while also being Justin's manager, and you...you're just happy to be leading a semi-regular life with your boyfriends.
Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff.
Series Summary
Three years ago you were normal, the only demons you had to fight were your own, and you the most you knew of Vought and the Boys were what you saw on TV. But then you met Homelander at a stupid party, and woke up the next morning in a cell.
After almost two and a half years of you being Homelander's little project, Soldier Boy was woken up only go rouge and be put back under. Somewhere in there, you escaped. And before Queen Maeve went underground, she told William Butcher about the Anomaly, a powerful supe who recently escaped Vought captivity and may have an agenda against Homelander.
One month later, the Boys found you.
You spend the next five months helping them best you can, though your control over your powers is weak and your fear of Homelander makes you useless in combat. But you get an idea. A stupid, dangerous idea that turns you into Soldier Boy's keeper, giving him a second chance to take down Homelander, you hanging over his shoulder, a threat should he want to go nuclear again. It's exhausting and frustrating, and you might kill him and yourself as soon as this is over, but you said whatever it takes.
And this is what it takes.
Author's Note
This story is non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being;
1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so.
2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad.
Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask!
Navigation Key
❤️🔥 = Smut
🚩 = Additional Warnings
Chapter List
"Season 1"
Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing
Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension
Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress 🚩
Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me
Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go
Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense
Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence 🚩
Chapter 8 - I Just Find My Way Back ❤️🔥🚩
Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up ❤️🔥
Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark ❤️🔥
Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks
Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing
Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing
Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun
Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr ❤️🔥
Chapter 16 - Let It Flood ❤️🔥 🚩
"Season 2"
Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir
Chapter 18 - Something In The Static ❤️🔥
Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back 🚩
Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down
Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About ❤️🔥 🚩
Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You
Chapter 23 - Wherever You're Going ❤️🔥
Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone ❤️🔥
Chapter 25 - All I Know ❤️🔥
Chapter 26 - I’ve Loved Everything About You That Hurts ❤️🔥
Chapter 27 - Just A Shot Away 🚩
Chapter 28 - Something That I'm Supposed to Be ❤️🔥
Chapter 29 - All My Bets On You
Chapter 30 - Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh 🚩
Chapter 31 - I'd Do It All Again ❤️🔥
More Than You Could Ever Know - A No Love Lost Christmas Special
Part 1 - The Boys start Secret Santa, Ben pretends to do his job. ❤️🔥
Part 2 - Ben and Ryan go shopping, and you all try to find a tree.
Part 3 - You and Ben have a Christmas Eve date. Many gifts are opened.
Bonus Footage (Standalone Chapters)
Dying’s Up to Me - A Prologue. Takes place 6ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩
They're Never Gonna Find You A Home - Request! Everyone adjusts to your life with the Boys. Takes place 5ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩
Back to Here - Request! They get horny at the dining table, and Butcher takes it personally. Takes place in Chapter 14.
It's So Simple - You make Ben do icebreakers. He's a little bitch about it. Takes place in Chapter 14.
Just Your Time - You give Ben internet lessons. Takes place in Chapter 14.
As Much As I Do - Request! Ben finds you dancing, is immediately very normal about it. Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15.
Calling Your Name - Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. ❤️🔥
I Skip My Pride - You share some music with Ben over text. Takes place in Chapter 22.
The Only Place That I Call Home - It's team game night, and everyone is sick of you and Ben's shit. Takes place in Chapter 24. ❤️🔥
Can't Help Myself - Request! Ben has a breeding kink, and you're incredibly horny, so it works. Takes place in around Chapter 24 and Chapter 25. ❤️🔥
Anywhere Else Is Hollow - A halloween special episode! Takes place in Chapter 25.
It Was Smiling Down - A Ryan pov Chapter. Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27.
A Call To Motion - Request! There's a lot of things you're good at. Sex with Ben is one of them. Takes places in Chapter 28.❤️🔥
I Want You Only - You and Ben go shopping. Takes place in Chapter 28 ❤️🔥
I’ll Hold Your Hand - Request! You get your period, and Ben has to do his job and take care of that. Takes place post series.
Found Footage (Post-Series Chapters)
Just Too Important - You and Ben head to Costco. Takes place about two months post-series.
Dreams of Love - Request! You and Ben have to babysit. Takes place ten months post-series.
Setting In A Honeymoon - You and Ben finally get a honeymoon. Takes place about a year post-series.❤️🔥
The Best Thing - Request! You, Ben, and Ryan get a cat.
You Can Feel It - Ben has a birthday. Takes place on May 19th, post-series.❤️🔥
Never Saw the Sun - You and Ben have a baby!❤️🔥
Wilder and Lighter - Your daughter learns a new word, and you go to a baseball game.
All I Need - Request! You're pregnant, and Ben has some misconceptions about said pregnancy❤️🔥
The Shave - Request! Ben Shaves his beard.
Everlasting - Request! You and Ben's daughter has a birthday party
Clip Show (Drabbles and Headcanons)
Coming On - Request! Someone very foolish flirts with you in front of Ben. Takes place a while post-series.
Compare and Contrast - Request! Ben gets introduced to modern vibrators. You pay the price.❤️🔥
Stuff By You Guys!!! (Art, Memes, and Anything more)
Early Chapters Moodboard by @deans-yn
Ben and Sunshine Inspired Art by @castielsfootBen and Baby Rhia Art by @youdontknoweBen and Sunshine Poster Art by @youdontknoweBen Camera Roll by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersSunshine's Camera Roll by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersBen in a Maid Dress by @youdontknoweBenshine Memes by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersPlaylist by @deansbbyx
Benshine piccrew, and another by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersSunshine piccrew by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersFamily Portrait by @youdontknoweSunshine Edit by @thebitchandjerkwinchesters
I can know officially say that I have completely read the 2 seasons of this story! Truly phenomenal from start to finish!! That tantalizing slow burn for each stepping stone of the characters’ relationship was glorious, teared up on quite a few of dem chapters cuz the angst was just HITTING, laughed at the added humor, and was absolutely locked in for the entirety of the storyline. And so beautifully written too! Every character shown was captured so well and you could truly feel the connections between all of them and you as the reader!! I’m so frigging glad I found this gem and stuck around for it all!!!
All love to this author and their enormous mind!!! I hope to tap in to more of your work for Jensen’s characters whenever I get the chance!!! 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽🩷🩷🩷
Author's Note: This feels like a good time to tell you guys we’re only halfway done and that I pinky promise there’s a happy ending. Chapter Title from Foundations of Decay by My Chemical Romance
Word Count: 22k
Chapter Summary/Warnings: It's time. Usual Warnings, with big smut and bigger angst.
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, heavy angst, smut, pining
Read on A03!
Chapter 15 - Chapter 17
“What about Paris?”
She leaned around the bathroom door to frown at Ben, toothbrush muffling her words. “What about Paris?”
“For where they ship us off to after this shit.” Ben glanced down at his phone, displaying a generically fucking boring postcard picture of the Eiffel tower. “It’s full of fucking art and shit.” She loved stupid fucking art and shit.
“I don’t think they’re going to let us choose where we go, Ben.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “And you’d hate Paris. You hate France.”
Ben scowled. “It’s a stupid, useless, cowardly country full of-“
“Fucking pussies,” She smiled at him—so bright and happy—and Ben couldn’t bring himself to do more than roll his eyes at her dogshit impression of him. “I don’t think you’d make it a week in Paris. Someone would offer you food and you’d try to kill them.”
“What about,” Ben glanced at the next recommendation on the Ten Best Romantic Vacation Cities list he’d found online. It wasn’t total fucking shit, even if the website kept trying to tell him the Ten Best Ways to Use a Vibrator with a Partner. He’d save that tab for later. “Havana?”
“Cuba has a strained relationship with the CIA.” She shrugged. “I don’t think they’d agree to take us in.”
“Hawaii?”
“Well, I’d be fine with Hawaii, but I don’t think you would.” She retreated back into the bathroom, and Ben frowned.
“I’d fucking love Hawaii. It would be full of damn beaches to fuck on-”
“No,” She reappeared, walking over to stand between Ben’s legs. Looking so fucking perfect there—wearing his shirt and hair still messy from his hands and holding his face between her palms—that Ben almost missed what she was saying. “They wouldn’t put us in a resort, they’d put us in a town. Probably away from the beach, definitely without the infrastructure it should have. Just a real bummer of human rights. You’d hate it.”
She said those last words so simply that all the fancy, brainy shit she’d been telling Ben felt pointless. She thought he’d hate it, and she was always fucking right, and was smiling down at him with so much adoration on Her face that—even if she was somehow wrong—Ben was now certain he’d hate it.
“Fine,” he grunted, dropping his phone to his lap and tugging Her further forward with hands on the back of her thighs. “Where the hell would you want to go, if you’re so fucking smart.”
She was so fucking smart. And She knew it, because she was grinning when she said, “Rome.”
“Rome?”
“It has a bunch of art and history and culture for me, and some very good fucking food for you. Plus, everyone there is stupid hot.”
Ben winked at Her. “You’re stupid hot enough to power a country, beautiful. I don’t need anyone else.”
“Thanks,” She mumbled, looking very firmly away from Ben as her face flushed that pretty fucking color. “But I was talking about for our escort business.”
“And that’s why you’re the damn brains.” Ben rubbed circles on Her skin, and she fell a little further into him, hands tightening on his face. “Always fucking planning. We’re going to need to find some people half as damn hot as we are, because we’re only fucking each other.”
She scoffed, and Ben thought Her heart might beat right out of her chest. “How sweet of you, to keep your dick in your pants at even the prospect of money.”
“We’ll earn plenty of goddamn money. My dick is yours, Sunshine.”
She hummed, and her hands started to play with Ben’s hair in a way that made him feel like a goddamn puppy. What was worse was that it felt fucking good. Her perfect fucking hands, touching him because she wanted to, because she liked touching him. “Even if someone offered ten million dollars?”
“Yours.”
“That’s financially irresponsible.” She mumbled, still incredibly fucking determined to not meet his eyes. “We could buy a house with that money.”
“If I was offering my dick for money,” Ben drawled. “We could buy a fucking island. But it’s yours,” he said Her name firmly, and she glanced at him with wide eyes. “So get damn used to chasing customers off.”
“Chasing customers off?”
“I’m going to have to do it for you,” he grinned at Her. “Fucking pussies who think they can fuck you the way I will.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, but Ben didn’t miss the smile she was failing to fight. “Horny fucking cunt.”
That was enough. Just that was a good enough reason for Ben to pull Her all the way into his lap, let her straddle his thigh, and silence her small sound of surprise with his mouth. For Ben to tug and touch Her skin in time with all the ways he’d learned to play her mouth until she was limp and moaning against him. Until he could bite Her lower lip and trace his hand along her spine and she’d throw back her head and arch against his hand. Until Ben could suck that spot on her throat and trace a hand across her ribs as she’d start grinding down onto him.
“Ben-“
“Horny fucking cunt,” he echoed Her words against Her skin. “Your horny fucking cunt goddamn wants my dick, doesn’t it? Brat.”
“Fuck you,” Her words were said through gasps, hands clawed and scraping at Ben’s scalp, and he chuckled.
“Afraid that’s not on the table right now, beautiful.” He pulled back to grin at Her. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything about how fucking wet you are.”
She whined something that might have been a plea, might have been a curse or vulgar phrase aimed at Ben, or might have been just one of the many pretty fucking sounds she made, but it all would’ve achieved this same effect. She was needy, She wanted Ben, and she was trying to fuck his thigh. Rolling her hips on it desperately, trying to chase relief against him. Making smaller, more desperate noises every time Ben’s hands brushed against her tits, every time his teeth or tongue found a new place to worship her skin.
This was all they could do right now, and fuck it was torture. It was so goddamn painful to have Her grabbing at him and moaning and saying his name in that perfect fucking way—pleading and adoring in Her breathless voice—and not just be able to fuck Her. To know he had to goddamn wait another day, to feel his pants become tight like they had before and force himself to hold off when She wanted him to fuck Her. She wanted him. He had been given the image of Her slight drool when she’d jerked him off and knew she would look at him like that again. Look at him with more fucking care and want, because Ben would fuck Her until she wouldn’t ever think another weak fucking asshole could fuck her like she deserved. He’d fucking ruin Her. He’d have Her bounce on his cock like she was bouncing on his leg, and he would make her feel so fucking good. Make him worth something to Her, one fucking thing that nobody else would be able to give her.
Ben pulled back for a second, needing to just fucking see Her. See how fucking beautiful she was, wanting him, get a goddamn glimpse of how it would look when she rode his dick instead of his thigh. He’d never seen anything better. He’d seen mountains and waterfalls and the goddamn Northern Lights and they might as well have been fucking dumpster fires and car crashes compared to this. If anything, the car crash would be the only half-worthy comparison. Because She was destroying herself against Ben, staring at him with dazed, pretty fucking eyes, and all the bliss and pleasure on her face was from Ben. He was doing this to Her.
And he couldn’t look away if he tried.
She’d made a small whine when Ben had pulled away from her throat—pushing down on him harder and hand scraping along the nape of his neck—but he pressed his head against hers and She moaned.
“Ben, please-“
“So fucking good,” he growled, and She moaned again. “You want to cum, beautiful?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Beg.”
“Fucking ass-“ She leaned forward, trying to capture Ben’s lips against hers. “Ben.”
“I need you to fucking beg,” he kissed all across Her face, everywhere he could without bringing her any closer to the edge. “You want your horny fucking cunt to cum, then beg.”
“Please,” She was smoking. Her skin wasn’t growing warmer, but a glowing smoke was clouding the room as she tried to pull Ben closer. “Fucking please, Ben-“
He kissed Her, and she screamed into his mouth, clawing at his hair and skin. Bucking off his leg so that Ben had to grab Her hips and keep her still, had keep her from continuing to bump against him because he’d cum in his fucking pants. He had to pull himself the fuck together, he wasn’t a goddamn virgin pussy, but fuck She was so perfect. Ben might have almost cum just when She’d smiled at him, standing between his legs and touching him so easily.
As Ben looked at Her come down—beautiful and perfect and torn apart all over him—and she looked at Ben like he’d seen her look at the city skyline from the window, with the face she had when she listened to a song she loved. The Thing became painful. It had been trying to tell him something. Since the night before it had stopped trying to remind Ben how perfect She was, stopped trying to push him into her. Ben was well fucking aware how perfect She was. And since he’d crashed into Her there wasn’t a goddamn chance he was going to pull away.
So now the Thing was trying to tell him something. On repeat over twelve hours it had been rioting in Ben, trying to tell him something so fucking important. Something critical, that he needed to know so She could know as well.
And when She started to slide off of Ben—falling to her knees before him—the Thing felt like it might tear him apart.
“Hi,” She smiled at him, face so fucking bright and happy. Looking at Ben like he was everything.
He was. To Her, he was fucking everything. And weaker men than Ben would’ve cum just from Her saying that. Weaker men wouldn’t fucking survive Her. She’d look at them with sharp, infinite amusement on her beautiful face and fight with them over nothing and they’d simply goddamn die because fuck she was perfect. But She wouldn’t look at them like this. Like they were everything. That was—by some fucking grace of a god Ben was starting to be indebted to—a look She reserved for him. With adoration and care and something that was alive and powerful sitting deep in Her perfect eyes. Thank fuck Ben wasn’t a weaker man. He’d have never earned Her, on her knees before him with her hands on his thighs. He still hadn’t earned Her, but fuck him if he wasn’t going to dedicated the rest of his goddamn life to trying to. To showing Her that he was worthy of her looking at him like that, that he could keep up with her and protect her and-
Ben grunted Her name, because her hand was starting to trail up his leg and any and all thoughts were becoming just Her. “What are you doing.”
“Being an altruist,” She hummed, palm resting over Ben’s fully hard cock, still fucking smiling. “Giving back.”
“Sunshine-“ Ben cut himself off with a hiss, because she just fucking squeezed him. Her heart was stuttering around inside her, but Ben couldn’t tell if it was from desire. He didn’t need, didn’t want, Her to do this because she thought she had to. It had to be from desire. He wasn’t fucking Homelander. If She touched him, he needed her to need it. To want him. It wouldn’t mean a goddamn thing if she didn’t. If She touched Ben without looking at him like he was everything. “If you don’t want to-“
“I want to,” Her answer was fast, a little too fast, and Ben smirked. There it was.
“You want to?” He drawled, leaning over her, tilting her chin between his fingers. “How bad do you want to suck my dick, beautiful?”
“Bad,” She whispered. “But less and less by the second.”
Ben snorted. “Smartass.”
“Do you want me to suck your dick?” She blinked up at him, voice a little softer. “It’s just an offer, you don’t have to take it-“
Ben pulled Her face up between his hands, kissing her until her words name needy sounds and she was grabbing at his arms. When he was satisfied with the way she was moaning, Ben lowered her back down between his legs and grunted her name. “If I ever tell you not to suck my dick, fucking shoot me.”
“Yeah,” She nodded, glancing down at the outline of Ben’s cock, pushing against his pants that were still fucking on for some reason. “Okay.”
He muttered Her name, and she looked back up at him. “How much work do you want to do?”
She didn’t answer. She just started moving, pulling Ben’s pants down and taking him in her hand so quickly Ben would’ve thought she’d practiced. Stroking him once, twice, a third time, looking at his cock with pretty, lust-clouded eyes. Ben twitched in Her hand, and had to force himself not to rut into her, to just groan as Her thumb ran over the angry, red head of his cock. His job was just to watch Her—how she was so fully entranced in fucking torturing him—and let her do what she wanted. But it wasn’t fucking easy, not when she was so fucking beautiful, not when Her mouth was hanging slightly open and Ben didn’t think he could wait another second not being at least somewhat inside of Her.
Thank fucking hell and heaven and everything between that She didn’t go slow. Thank goddamn Christ that She took all on him at once, in a long movement that bumped him against the back of her throat, and set a brutal, torturous fucking pace. Found a beat, fast and rhythmic, where She’d pull up, up, almost all the way off with her hand trailing behind her, and lick the very tip of his cock before dropping back down. Down until Ben could feel the tightness of Her throat, squeezing his balls once before repeating it all again. Over and over, sucking with her teeth grazing him and her moans—loud and needy fucking moans—making Ben wonder if this was heaven. That was the only way that this—that She—was real, if he’d died and somehow managed his way into fucking heaven.
But Ben’s hand in Her hair that he’d tangled between his fingers to just touch her, was real. The small jerks of his hips into Her mouth—when her moans would vibrate around him and echo in his ears so he couldn’t help himself—were real. Her warmth and beauty and the feeling of Her was real. And fuck She was so fucking beautiful and perfect and-
Ben said Her name through strained teeth. “Where-“
She went faster. Moaned louder with a whine, her hand in time with the beat of her heart. Leaned into him, the wettest and most fucking sinful sounds Ben had ever heard escaping her. She was grinding down on air, so fucking pretty and focused, but looking up at him under eyelashes with want. Managing to take him deeper.
What did Ben in was Her. Fucking Her, groaning his name around his cock, looking up at him like he was everything.
He tried to pull away. He’d fucking swear he tried to pull away. He’d tried to paint her face or tits or any other perfect part of Her she’d allow, but she held him. She kept a firm grip on Ben’s leg for just a second—only long enough to tell him what she wanted—and he’d given in. He’d fucked Her face through his orgasm, and She hadn’t flinched as he came down her throat. Swallowing and letting Her tongue brush him all the way until he was done, then pulling off of him with a popping sound, and giving him a soft smile.
The amount of self-control Ben was capable of needed to be fucking studied. Every part of him needed to fuck Her. Anyone with half a fucking mind would need to fuck her if they were allowed to see her like this. Flushed and breathing heavy, eyes slightly unfocused with a want, cum dribbling out of her mouth. Allowed to see Her wipe it off with her fingers and suck them dry. Without hesitation, like it was something she didn’t even have to think about doing. But only Ben was allowed to see this, and that made it a million times more impressive that he was able to not throw Her onto the bed and fuck her until some stupid mission was the last thing she cared about.
The mission. The stupid fucking mission they had been supposed to be getting ready for. When it was over, he’d have all the time in the world to fuck Her like she deserved. But they’d have to actually do the mission first.
“What time is it?” She was looking around the room, still kneeling in front of Ben. “MM said we had to be in the dining hall at noon.”
Ben couldn’t be fucked to stop staring at Her, let alone know the fucking time. “Check your damn phone, Sunshine, I’m not a fucking clock.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. Her tongue that had just been wrapped around his cock. That had just been tasting his cum and she was still on Her knees-
“Mine’s dead, and like,” She waved vaguely past him. “Way over there. Give me yours.”
That snapped Ben out of it. Her palm was extended, she was looking at him expectantly, and he could not give her his phone. “You’ve got legs,” he grunted Her name, trying to look at her and remain completely fucking unaffected her flat glare. “Fucking use them.”
She scoffed. “When have you ever been in favor of me using my legs.”
“I’m always in favor of you using your legs. They make excellent fucking handles.” Ben winked at Her, and her heart fluttered slightly. “And you’re always on my ass about letting you walk yourself. Here’s your fucking chance.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Her voice was bored, unwavering. “Phone.”
“No. Get your own damn phone.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you being so weird.”
“I’m not being fucking weird-“
“Yes, you are. What’s wrong with you.”
“Nothing, it’s my phone-“
“Benjamin.” She snapped, and he was in trouble. He knew that voice, that was Her I’m fucking onto your shit, Pretty Boy, voice. “Is it porn? Because I won’t give a flying fuck-“
“It’s not fucking porn,” he scowled. “I wouldn’t hide porn from you, that’s fucking stupid.”
“So you are hiding something.”
Shit. “Shut the fuck up.”
She dove forward, hand jamming into Ben’s pocket. Where She knew he kept his phone, because she knew fucking everything. Insufferable, brilliant, perfect fucking woman. Thankfully, Ben was just faster than she was, and slammed his hand down to trap Her hand against him.
“Ben-“
“I’m not fucking hiding anything,” Ben said Her name firmly. It was incredibly fucking important she didn’t think he was keeping secrets from Her, because he wasn’t. This was worse than that. “I just value my goddamn privacy-“
“Oh, shove it up your ass, Pretty Boy.” She tried to tug her hand—now wrapped around Ben’s phone—from his grip. “I leave the door open when I shit and you spent an hour last week telling me about what Baseball games made you hard. I just sucked your dick. There’s literally nothing on your phone that could shock me.”
He doubted that. Ben almost wanted to just let Her have his phone, to prove her fucking wrong. His pride managed to win for now, but if She kept talking about how she’d sucked his dick his will might dissolve real damn fast. “I told you about the baseball in fucking confidence-“
“I didn’t tell anyone.” She wrinkled her nose. “How would that have even come up? Hey, Annie. You know how you’re not Ben’s biggest fan? Wait until you hear about how he got a boner when the Phillies won the 1980 World Series, I’m sure it’ll completely reverse your opinion of him.”
“Brat-“
“Can I please just check the time?” She had stopped trying to pull away from Ben, only frowning up at him with her pretty fucking eyes watching him carefully. “I won’t look in your phone, I just need to see the clock. Please.”
Ben didn’t love how well that worked. How Her saying please and somehow trusting that he really wasn’t hiding anything from her made Ben crumble completely in only a second. Worse, he didn’t hate himself for it. He couldn’t call himself a fucking pussy because goddammit, anyone would’ve given into Her. Anyone with eyes and a brain would be willing to give Her anything.
“Fine,” he grunted, loosening his hand from pinning Her’s in his pocket. “But I don’t want to hear a fucking word out your mouth, got it?”
She blinked at him, but nodded. “Uh, sure.”
His whole body was tense as She pulled out his phone, tapping the screen on, still on her fucking knees. She needed to stand up, needed to stop being so fucking perfect that Ben couldn’t look away, because now he had to watch Her look at his lockscreen as his teeth ground enough to break. Ben had to watch Her eyes widen, hear her heart skip a beat, and soft lips fall open in surprise.
She looked up at Ben, and he couldn’t avoid her gaze if he wanted to. “Ben-“
“Shut up,” he grumbled. “You promised. Not a fucking word.”
“I did not promise,” She pushed. “I agreed. You should’ve made me promise, because I-“
“Fucking promise then. Not a word.”
“Well, that ship kind of sailed, Benjamin.” Her voice was dry, and Ben couldn’t figure out what that face meant. How She was looking at him—still like he was everything—but with something pushing up behind her eyes. That powerful thing, the one Ben couldn’t name. “So now we’re going to have several words about it.”
Ben scowled, remaining silent as he realized there wasn’t a way out of this. She was sitting straight, one hand planted on Ben’s knee to balance herself, and had placed her body right where Ben would knock her backwards and onto the floor if he tried to move away. He could try and kiss and fuck his way through it, but She had the sharp look in her eyes that told him she’d either bite him, burn him, or let him fuck her before immediately getting on his ass again after.
She sighed, and turned Ben’s screen so he could see it. “That’s me.”
It was Her. She didn’t need to be fucking showing it him, he well knew that it was her. It was his favorite picture of her, the first one he’d taken that wasn’t a blurry piece of shit. It showed her downstairs, watching the TV with a focus Ben could only describe as violent. He remembered what they were watching, that she’d been tapping Ben’s arm along with the soundtrack, and that it had been close to midnight, because he could recite every detail of the photo—in picture and out—backwards with his damn eyes closed. She was wearing Ben’s shirt and shorts that had been small enough for the shirt to completely cover. It gave the impression that she was only wearing Ben’s shirt. She was frowning at the TV—perfect face cast in a green light from its glow—and leaning against Ben’s shoulder with his hand on her thigh. She had been half asleep, and the drawn frustration on her face and intensity in her eyes had been because she was fighting to make it through the movie. The fucking Muppet Movie, that she’d used a favor for Ben to watch with Her. He hadn’t watched it, he’d watched Her watch it, but there was no reason she had to know that. She’d seemed thrilled he was just there, and he’d been satisfied watching Her struggle to stay awake, feeling her fall further and further into his side, and listening to her mumble about the Muppet’s fucking cultural importance right up until the credits rolled and she immediately passed out.
Ben fucking loved that photo. How She could’ve just watched it alone but used a whole favor just for Ben to sit with her. How She’d been so determined to stay awake she’d been trying to inch away from him, but Ben would pull her back gently and she’d just sigh as her eyes drooped further. How at one point She’d started singing along with all the damn puppets, and the room had filled with a colorful, misting light. How She looked so much like his, how anyone glancing at the photo would see that she was choosing him and know that he had chosen her. How fucking beautiful she looked, even in the dark from the higher angle. So fucking perfect.
He didn’t have any justification for it. The photo or why it was his lockscreen. It had taken Ben a whole hour while She was with Annie and Hughie to figure out how to set it. She’d told him, and he’d listened, but phones were a goddamn terrible, dogshit technology. But he’d done it. By himself. And fought the urge to brag to Her after. Because She didn’t need to know that it was his lockscreen, and Ben didn’t really know to explain why it was. It made him fucking happy. He liked seeing Her pretty face every time he used his phone.
And he wasn’t sure how to tell Her that without sounding like a fucking idiot pussy.
So he just glared at Her and grunted, “Obviously.”
“Ben,” Her words were slow, and she wasn’t looking away from him. “Why is that a picture of me.”
“Because the camera was pointed at your damn face.”
“Benjamin.”
“It’s a good fucking photo, okay?” Ben snapped. “You look hot.”
She glanced at the photo. “I do not look hot.”
He scoffed. “Get your fucking eyes checked, Sunshine. You look hot. Every photo of you looks hot.”
Her eyes somehow grew wider, her heart picking up speed, and Ben was going to chop off his tongue. “Every photo of me?”
“That’s enough,” Ben lunged forward, but She swatted his hand with just enough heat for him to pull back with a hiss of Her name. “Give me my fucking phone.“
“Tell me what you mean by every. Every photo of me.”
“No.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Fine, you stubborn, grumpy ass. Have it your way.”
Before Ben could stop Her, she was swiping his phone open and entering his password. Hunching down so Ben could see her face, covering the phone protectively with her body.
“This is violation of my fucking privacy.” He grumbled. “I’m going to report you to HR.”
She shot him a flat look from under her lashes. “You didn’t even know what HR was until Mallory made us all sit in on that seminar because I called Butcher a hussy fucking cuntwad bitch and one of the regular agents overheard. And I could report you to HR for taking photos of me without my knowledge.”
“They’re not damn pervert creep photos-“
“Ben,” She looked up at him, thumb hovering over the Photo Library app icon. “As your closest thing to unqualified legal counsel, I’d advise you shut the fuck up.”
Ben scowled at Her, but snapped his jaw shut, watching her wearily as she opened his photos.
They were all of Her. The only ones that weren’t of her were something called—according to his very thorough internet research—screenshots, that Ben didn’t know how he was taking, let alone how to stop taking. But the rest was Her. There wasn’t another fucking thing worth taking photos of in this stupid damn compound. In the whole fucking world. She was scrolling through them way too fucking slow, heart stuttering against her ribs, and Ben thought he might be fucking blushing. He didn’t fucking blush, he wasn’t a ditzy fucking schoolgirl or embarrassed pussy asshole who blushed-
She surged upwards, yanking Ben down by his shirt to kiss him. Gently, sweetly, and so fucking soft, humming into Ben’s mouth with a smile. Leaning against his chest until She was hanging off him with her arms around his neck. When she pulled back Her eyes were burning with that strange fucking look, and she was chewing her lip and she studied him. Looking for something Ben didn’t know how to show Her. Mouth opening and closing, heart beating fast, and the Thing needed to tell Her something-
“You’ve been playing Candy Crush,” She said with a small, smug grin. “I saw the screenshots. They go back like, three weeks.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, and She just shook her head.
“No, I’m going to rub this in your fucking face so hard-“
It was his turn. To kiss Her and hold her and hope that was enough for the Thing to just stop screaming at him. It wasn’t—it made everything worse when She relaxed against him with a happy sound—and the Thing grew impossible to ignore. Drowning everything out with Her, Her, Her, Ben had something she needed to have too, She needed to understand. The only thing to keep it at bay, from bursting out of Ben and into Her, was touching her. Setting his mouth deeper against Hers, hauling her over him as he lay flat on the mattress, letting her whines and breathless sounds run right through him. Let them satiate his undying need and hunger for Her.
She pulled back first, and Ben let himself be slightly cocky about how her thighs were squeezing around his chest. About the fact that She just rested her head on his shoulder as she caught her breath. Warm breath fanning over his neck, heartbeat slowing right until Ben started to sit up and She mindlessly ground against him at the movement.
The Thing had to tell Her about this indescribable, unending fucking something. But the Thing didn’t have words. It was a part of Ben, and Ben couldn’t get a goddamn fucking clue what was so apparently fucking crucial for Her to know. But She had to know, whatever it was she had to know, she needed to get it, get him, get why, Ben needed to tell Her-
“It’s almost noon,” She whispered against Ben’s skin. “We need to go.”
Ben nodded, and picked Her up against him, turning them so she was resting on the bed as he stood. “I’m wearing my fucking suit.”
“Okay,” Ben could see her watching him in the mirror, still only wearing a shirt and underwear. He tossed her some pants and bra over his shoulder, and didn’t move until She started pulling them on. “You should bring your shield as well.”
He frowned at Her. “What about you.”
“What about me?”
“You need a fucking weapon. I still have that pussy agent’s gun-“
She rose from the bed, padding over to Ben side with a small smile. “I’m the weapon, Pretty Boy. And I have you.”
Any protests Ben might have had about how She might be a walking, breathing weapon of mass destruction but Homelander always made her freeze were killed by those words. She did have him. She’d always have him. She didn’t need a weapon because she had him. She was brilliant and quick and made of fire, but if all that managed to fail, she had Ben. She was standing here, with him as he changed—stealing looks that he wasn’t fucking missing at his bare chest—and She had Him.
“What wrong,” he grumbled, and She shook her head, hands roaming through one of the top drawers.
“Socks.”
Ben rolled his eyes, and grabbed out a simple black pair from the top. “I want my fucking phone back.”
“Why, to play Candy Crush?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ben muttered. “I’m fucking winning. I’ll delete it when I fucking win.”
She snorted. “You can’t win Candy Crush, Benjamin.”
“What the hell are you talking about.”
“There’s like a million levels. And they’re always adding new ones. It’s not a winnable game.”
“Well I’ll make it fucking winnable.”
She snorted. “How.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ben frowned, watching Her as she continued to search the drawer. “And I just gave you perfectly good fucking socks-“
“I need underwear,” She mumbled, face flushing. “Mine are, uh, I can’t wear them.”
Ben grinned—wide and smug—at Her reflection, “Why not?”
“Fuck you.”
“Ah,” Ben winked at Her when she finally met his eyes. “You’re welcome for that.”
“Shut up,” She chucked a stray bra at Ben, glaring back down. “Go get your stupid fucking phone, you cunt.”
Ben ran his hand up Her back, into her hair, and gently turned her head to look at him. He kissed Her one last time because she was so fucking perfect and no one could damn stop him. Long and wet, until She said his name in that perfect fucking way. “Brat,” he whispered against Her mouth, and she shoved his chest lightly.
Ben took a steady step back, chuckling at Her glare, at the way her sharp eyes were still full of want for him. At the way Her dramatic pout was just a little bigger because he’d made her lips swollen. At Her. Just Her. So fucking simply Her.
As She changed, Ben ducked under the bed and frowned at where he’d stashed the gun. Carefully between the mattress and frame, unloaded with the rounds beside it. He wouldn’t need it. The plan would work, and he wouldn’t need it. There was no need to bring it—to show the team he had it—and not need it.
But it couldn’t hurt. He could stash it in his suit, hide it from Butcher and Mallory and Annie, and nobody would have to know unless he needed it. And then they wouldn’t try to take it away, because Ben would’ve just fucking saved their asses-
“Just bring the gun, Ben.”
His head bumped against the metal frame of the bed as he pulled out from under it and found Her standing above him with her arms crossed. “What-“
“You should bring it,” She shrugged. “I mean, it won’t hurt Homelander, but guns don’t weigh nothing. You could throw it at his face, if you needed to. Catch him off guard.”
Fucking Christ, She was perfect. Ben didn’t need to be told twice, and as he returned under the bed to retrieve the gun he heard her steps move away from beside him. When he stood back up, Ben saw that She had moved to her side of the bed, and was placing her sunglasses up on her forehead before turning to Ben with a grin.
“Ready?”
Ben shoved his gun into his pants, hauled up his shield, and gave Her a rough nod as he tossed his arm over her shoulder. “Fucking born ready.”
For once, She and Ben weren’t the last people to arrive at one of these stupid fucking meetings. Butcher and Mallory were there—Ben didn’t think they had lives outside of fucking up everyone else’s—huddled along with MM at the head of the table. The French Prick and Kimiko were in a silent conversation on one of the benches, but Hughie and Annie were late. Ben tried not to feel too smug about it, but next time Annie tried to berate him about keeping his dick in his pants and his mouth to himself because he was making Her late, he’d shove this in her fucking face.
Seeing them, Mallory gave a curt nod and ushered Butcher and MM through the steel kitchen door as She guided Ben to drop down at the bench. Kimiko smiled at them both, the usual, toothy and broad smile for Her, and a small one with a nod for Ben. As She and Kimiko launched into an exchange of gestures, the French Prick gave Ben a nervous nod.
“Good morning, Soldier Boy,” the French Prick was watching Ben carefully.
“It fucking isn’t,” Ben grunted, and She kicked his shin under the table.
Play nice, She shot him a quick glare before returning her attention to Kimiko, and Ben rolled his eyes. He was saved from the French Prick trying to continue engaging with him by Annie and Hughie’s arrival, Annie walking over to join the group of conniving dickheads in the back and Hughie halting at the bench, glancing nervously at Ben.
“Just sit your pussy ass down, Kid.” Ben snapped, and braced for another hit to his leg. It didn’t come, and when he looked over at Her—expecting a glare or scowl—the only sign she’d heard him was her knee, pressing into his.
Hughie sat, fidgeting at Ben’s side and trying to look at the doors without anyone noticing. With quick, weak glances and jerked head movements. Ben was about to tell him to just stand the fuck up and join them when he felt Her nudge his shoulder, and looked over to see her blinking at him.
Kimiko said they were arguing about splitting us up.
Ben scowled at Her. The fuck do you mean splitting us up.
Mallory wanted you to go to the tower. MM didn’t.
That was, genuinely, a fucking shock. MM hated him, there wasn’t a world where he’d stick up for Ben fucking staying with Her. It must have shown across Ben’s face, because She shrugged.
He apparently thought this wouldn’t work if they separated us. Said you’d just be a giant fucking whiny manchild without me.
Did they decide? Ben decided to ignore MM’s manchild jab, because She’d just find a way to turn it on him with a joke and that fucker seemed to be the only one with a damn working brain. Because there’s not a fucking chance in hell you’re meeting Homelander without me.
They’re still arguing. Butcher hadn’t voted yet, and they were waiting for Annie.
Ben rolled his eyes. Who damn died and put those four pussies in charge of us. This is fucking democracy, Sunshine, we deserve a vote.
Well, we’re both technically dead, Kimiko and Frenchie aren’t citizens, and I think Hughie just doesn’t want to deal with them.
They’re talking about our fucking lives. We should get a goddamn say.
Take it up with Mallory, Pretty Boy.
I’m not taking shit up with Mallory. She can suck my dick if she tries to separate us.
She pouted at him. I thought your dick was mine to suck alone.
Ben snorted, pulling Her closer towards him and kissing the top of her head. Before he could growl something in her ear that would make her fucking horny enough to ditch this whole stupid goddamn plan and take off to Rome with him, the doors were swung open and MM stalked back into the room with Annie close behind him. Butcher and Mallory followed after a few seconds—Mallory having pulled a huge fucking poster out of her damn ass at some point—and they stopped at the head of the table as Annie dropped next to Hughie and MM sat beside the French Prick. She hadn’t tried to pull out from under Ben’s arm, and until she did she’d stay right fucking there.
“Look alive, cunts.” Butcher glared around the table. “We’re moving out as soon as all our bloody ducks are in a row. Grace?”
Mallory nodded, spreading the poster across the table. It was a blueprint. Ben recognized it immediately. He’d seen it far too many fucking times. It was a Vought Tower blueprint.
“Butcher, Marvin, Frenchie, and Kimiko will take this door,” she tapped the blueprint, and something around Ben’s throat loosened when he realized he wasn’t going to the tower. He was staying with Her. “Into the building. It’s used for the Seven’s housekeepers and more illicit guests.”
Hughie frowned. “Illicit?”
“Hookers, lad.” Butcher winked. “It’s the hooker door.”
“Oh. Uh, good for them.”
“And we have access to it?” Annie leaned forward. “MM, you said A-Train-“
“He’s leaving it unlocked for us.” MM tapped the map, near where Mallory had just done the same. “And making sure someone conveniently loses their badge.”
“Someone?”
“Don’t worry your pure little bleedin heart, Starlight.” Butcher drawled. “We’ll be keepin the lady on lockdown. Best fuckin witness protection package the CIA’s got.”
Hughie frowned at MM. “What about A-Train? Are we, are we just going to trust him?“
“He’s got his own ass on the line as well now.” MM’s voice was firm. Not leaving room for argument. “And after the Diner, he and Ashley both got skin in the game. I trust him.”
“And he’s just leaving the door unlocked? Giving us an opening?”
“He said he’d try and keep The Deep and New Noir distracted. Can’t account for Sage though.” MM looked away from Hughie, back to Mallory. “As long as there hasn’t been any leaks, it shouldn’t fucking matter that Sage is in the tower though. If she doesn’t get the drop on us, she’s a non-issue.”
Mallory nodded tightly. “Agreed. And none of my men are stupid enough to say shit to anyone, so we’re in the clear. Team Butcher will take the elevator up, find Ryan Butcher on 99, and extract him. Butcher has the Becca and Anomaly files on his phone, and hopefully that will be more than enough to make Ryan go willingly.”
Ben tensed, and when She spoke her fingers were tapping against his arm. “And if it’s not?”
“Then Frenchie creates the diversion, and we leave empty handed.”
She nodded slowly, examining the blueprints. “Frenchie?”
“Oui?”
“What exactly is your diversion?”
“I have detested the billboard of Firecracker in the Times Square for several months. She is dead, she will not miss it.” The French Prick beamed with pride, and She glanced up with a frown.
“Times Square?”
“It will be controlled, Madame.” The French Prick assured Her, shooting Ben quick pussy glances. “Only just enough.”
She nodded, narrowing her eyes back on the blueprint. “We’re taking two separate cars, right?” When nobody answered, She looked up. “Mallory?”
“You’ll all be transported in the van.” Mallory frowned. “It’s more effective-“
“No,” She shook her head, attention returning down once more. “It’s more dangerous. We’re already risking a lot by Annie coming with Ben and I. We can’t also have one group unable to make a quick getaway.”
“I suppose,” Mallory’s lips drew in a thin line. “Butcher could take his car-“
“We’ll take Butcher’s car.” She tapped the blueprint, near the door. “There’s cameras. If they see Butcher’s car, they’ll know something’s up. You have,” She looked up, scanning the table with sharp eyes. “You’ve taken care of the cameras in the building. Right?”
“We’ll shoot them as we go,” Butcher grunted, and She gaped at him.
“As you fucking go?”
“They won’t be entering the tower until after Homelander leaves it.” Annie leaned across Ben and Hughie to look at Her. “And they won’t be wandering. It’ll be fine.”
“Speaking of Homelander,” Mallory crossed her arms. “Starlight, Campbell, Soldier Boy, and the Anomaly will,” she sighed. “Take Butcher’s car to the Starlight Fund. From there, Soldier Boy will call Homelander with Campbell’s phone. Once Homelander arrives, Starlight will alert Team Butcher, and they’ll begin. Do not-“ Butcher received a withering look. “Proceed with the extraction until Team Starlight has given the green light. Understood?”
Butcher shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“Butcher-“
“We’re playin real bloody fast and loose with a lot of this, Grace.” Butcher snapped. “I’d be more fuckin worried about what we’ll do if Homelander doesn’t take his bait.”
Everyone looked at Her, still frowning at the blueprints. Ben squeezed her thigh lightly, and she glanced up at him a frown. “What-“
“What’s your plan, Love,” Butcher drawled. “For if Homelander don’t fall into your trap that easy.”
She swallowed, and Ben could hear the rapid beat of her heart. “He will.”
Her voice was steady, every part of her controlled, but under the table her leg pressed into Ben’s, and her hand drummed against his leg. Ben grabbed it, stilling her movement, and She glanced at him.
You’re going to be fine, he glared at Her. This is going to fucking work, and you’ll be fine.
She smiled at him with sad fucking eyes that carved something open in Ben’s chest. I know. She tilted her head at him. And I thought you hated this plan.
I do. Ben scowled. I fucking loathe this stupid goddamn plan. But it will work, and tonight I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll stop making such fucking idiotic plans.
She pouted at him. But making idiotic plans is one of my best qualities.
Ben rolled his eyes. I’m well fucking aware of your best qualities. That’s not one of them.
Really, She gave him a flat look. Because I think it’s in the top three. It’s stupid plans, my tits, and my ability to put up with your shit.
Smartass, Ben bumped his knee with hers, grinning down at Her. You’re not even fucking close.
Not even the tits?
Your pussy is better, Ben winked at Her. Trust me, Sunshine. You’ve got the best pussy I’ve ever fucking seen.
She flushed, wrinkling her nose at him. Have you been ranking all the pussies you’ve seen?
Had to pass the damn time somehow.
I feel like there had to be other options.
Maybe, Ben shrugged. But I don’t really give a shit. And now I can be fucking certain when I say your pussy is my favorite.
What are my best qualities, if you’re such an expert? She was watching Ben carefully, and he almost scoffed at how nervous she looked. Like he might not be able to give an answer. Ben could list Her best qualities for fucking years, if someone let him.
You’re a goddamn genius. You’re fucking kind, kinder than you should be. And you’ve got the best fucking pussy of all time.
I don’t think I’m kind, She frowned, and that definitely made Ben scoff.
You’re the kindest person I know. It’s fucking annoying. Ben studied Her soft, tight features. She didn’t believe him. You’re not nice, Sunshine. You’ve got a smart fucking mouth and a damn attitude. But you’re kind.
She nodded slowly. And you don’t hate that?
Ben blinked at Her. Why the fuck would I hate that.
Kind people are pussies, Ben.
Nice people are pussies, He glared Her name at her perfect face, watching him intently. They’re weak, lying, insufferable fucking holier-than-thou assholes. You’re not any of that.
She smiled at him, without teeth but real. That was her real, comfortable smile that made the Thing so fucking loud. You’re not a pussy either.
I fucking know that. He was trying to glare at her, but it wasn’t damn working. Not when She was smiling at him like that, and that deep, infinite thing in her eyes was so clear. Aimed at him. And the Thing had to fucking tell Her something-
Butcher coughed, and Ben realized the whole fucking Pussy Brigade was staring at them. “You twats paying attention?”
“Does it fucking matter if we are?” Ben drawled. “It’s her damn plan, and I know everything I’ve got to do. Not our fucking fault you dumbasses need a whole meeting.”
“Then could you please repeat your instructions, Soldier Boy?” Mallory glared at him. “For our own peace of mind?”
Ben held Mallory’s glare with his own. This was a fucking waste of time. “Go to the Starlight Fund, call Homelander, distract the pussy, then leave.” Protect Her. Don’t let her out of your sight, or Homelander within a fucking arms reach of her. Keep Her safe, at any fucking cost.
“With whose phone, Gov?” Butcher sneered, and Ben rolled his eyes.
“Mine, you fucking-“
Butcher made a loud buzzer sound. “Afraid that ain’t the right answer. Would you like to try again for double Jeopardy?”
“That’s not how fucking Jeopardy works.” MM frowned, and Butcher shot him a glare.
“That ain’t the fuckin point, MM. The cunt got it wrong-“
“Whose fucking phone should I damn use then?” Ben snapped. There would be time for Butcher’s fucking bitching later, right now Ben’s patience was about to fucking snap. This needed to be done. “Mine works fucking fine-“
“Your phone is a registered CIA number,” Hughie looked at Ben nervously as he explained. “Mine isn’t. Vought won’t take a CIA call, it’ll get screened on the first ring. And they probably won’t take a call from Annie, either. If we call the tower with my number we’ll get past the first checkpoint, and then you speaking will get us to Homelander.”
This shit wasn’t worth arguing about. It was barely worth fucking talking about. “Fine. Are we actually going to do this, or just goddamn sit here like a bunch of assholes.”
“We were just waiting on you and the missus to rejoin us, Gov.” Butcher sneered. “Everyone’s been clear for a hot fucking minute while you twats were eye-fucking.”
Ben glowered at him, clenching his fist under the table. When this was over, Ben was going to kill him. It was going to be so fucking satisfying, and then he’d run away with Her to goddamn Rome. But this had to be finished first.
As everyone started to filter out—tight nods and wishes of good luck being exchanged—Ben stayed at Her side. She was still looking at the blueprints, frowning as her eyes scanned slowly over the paper right until Mallory pulled it away. She started to stand, and Ben wrapped an arm around Her waist. Keeping her steady and at his side.
“Team Starlight will leave first,” Mallory's voice was curt as she nodded at Annie. “Butcher-“
Hughie let out a high yelp as Butcher chucked the keys at him. Somehow, the pussy managed to catch them.
“Lad, if you wreck my car, you’re buyin me a new one.”
“Um, yeah. Okay.” Hughie nodded nervously. “Do I have to drive-“
“Yes, and any of those cunts bloody touch the wheel-“
“Your car will be fine Butcher.” Annie cut him off with a glare. “It’s just a car.”
Butcher looked like he might kill her, but MM cut off any violence—fucking unfortunate, because Annie probably would’ve killed Butcher and then Ben wouldn’t have to—with a snap of, “We don’t got time to waste on this shit. The kid will drive, Butcher, and your car will live. Let’s fucking move.”
Ben held Her against him out of the building, helping her into the backseat of Butcher’s car and pulling her back into his chest when he sat at her side. She let him, leaning against his body and burying Her face in his shoulder as her heart became uneven. Not fast, but arhythmic. Her breathing was controlled, steady against Ben’s skin, but her heart betrayed the fear in her. Ben fucking hated this. He hated that she was doing this to herself. He hated that the only thing he could really do about it was hold her, at least until it was over and he could kiss and fuck all the worries out of Her perfect brain.
He could try to distract Her. He wasn’t sure it would work, not when she was hugging him so tight and so fucking afraid, but goddamnit he had to do something. He couldn’t just fucking sit here, in the back of Butcher stupid car, and do fucking nothing like a fucking weak goddamn pussy.
Ben squeezed her against him once, and She hummed into his body. Not looking up at him, or speaking. So Ben turned forward, attempting a different strategy.
“What the fuck were you pussies talking about in the kitchen?” Ben grunted, and Annie sighed in the shotgun seat.
“It’s not that important.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “So you weren’t trying to goddamn separate us?”
Annie shot Hughie a glare, the kid’s knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Hughie, did you-“
“Kimiko told us,” She turned slightly in Ben’s hold, voice soft. “And they didn’t separate us, Ben. Don’t be an ass.”
He glared at Her. “I’m not being a fucking ass-“
“Benjamin.” She wrinkled her nose at him, and Ben felt a little lighter. She was pushing back at him, she was less afraid, and that’s all he could fucking ask for. “Shut up.”
“Uh,” Hughie glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Are you, is he-“
“He’s fine.” She slapped Ben arm, and he scoffed. “Just grumpy.”
“I’m not goddamn grumpy.“ Ben muttered. “I’m just trying to get some fucking answers. Figure out what shit they were saying about us behind our fucking backs.”
“It’s really not that interesting,” Annie shrugged. “Mallory said it would be better to take you with Butcher. MM said it would be worse. Butcher and I voted with MM, and that was it.”
She frowned, twisting around fully to look at Annie. “Butcher voted with MM?”
Annie nodded, and She looked up at Ben. That’s weird right? I’m not insane?
No, it’s fucking weird. Ben glared at Annie, and said aloud, “The fuck did he do that for.”
“I don’t know,” Annie turned to look back at them. “I mean, would you rather he hadn’t?”
“It’s just, it’s surprising.” She shrugged. “He hates us.”
“I don’t think he hates you,” Hughie said slowly. “Butcher doesn’t like being wrong. Or challenged. You,” he said Her name, nodding to Her in the mirror. “Specifically, do both. I think when we found you he thought you’d be like either Annie or Maeve, and you weren’t.”
“Annie or Maeve?” She gave Ben a confused look, and he shrugged. He didn’t have a fucking clue what Hughie was talking about, or how anyone could possibly be annoyed by Her not being Annie or Maeve. She was fucking perfect, and Butcher was lucky to be damn graced with her presence.
“Like, completely against everything he does or completely for it.” Hughie looked to Annie for help. “Right?”
“I mean,” Annie frowned, nodding. “I guess. None of us were sure what we were looking for with you. Maeve said you were powerful, and hated Homelander. We all kind of took that as you’d been burned by Vought or something, not what, what actually happened.”
“And Butcher kind of got an idea that you’d be just, easy to work with. And after we did find you, I think he was sure you’d just be willing to do whatever he wanted to kill Homelander. And you weren’t.” Hughie shook his head, hands tapping on the wheel. “So I don’t think he hates you. I think he just doesn’t like that you’re um, not what he expected.”
That was completely fucking insane to Ben. She wasn’t what anyone expected, that was one of the best damn things about Her. She was too damn forgiving and kind, but still a clever, vindictive woman who never fucking backed down. She didn’t ride any sort of fucking high horse, but also cared about people. It would be fucking annoying and insufferable if She wasn’t so fucking genuine about it. If her money didn’t live in her pretty fucking mouth when she said she’d do whatever it takes and understood what that meant for Her. She wasn’t easy to work with, not by a fucking long shot, but that was because she was goddamn resolved, so certain of what She thought had to be done and what She deemed unnecessary. She was always fucking right, she never fully broke, she never fucking faltered, and the whole goddamn world was better for it.
“So he, he voted in our favor?” She was still looking at Annie, head tilted. “No conditions?”
Annie shook her head. “I voted with MM, and he followed. Told Mallory he was with us.”
She nodded, and gave a small sound of agreement. Even as he wanted a fucking reason—for Butcher’s goddamn attitude and cruelty to her, for why’d this was where he backed them up—Ben decided he would drop it for now, no how much this all made him want to pummel Butcher into the curb. There would be time for that later, now was about keeping Her here. With him.
Ben kissed Her shoulder, because he fucking wanted to, he could, and she was starting to look damn sad again. She leaned her head back into Ben, and smiled up at him. Hi.
How fucking far is this place. Ben met Her gaze, fighting his mouth tugging upwards to return her smile. This was serious. Fucking serious. He had to glare so She knew that. We’ve been driving for a million damn years.
It’s been twenty minutes, Benjamin. We’ll be there soon. She gave him a teasing grin. You fucking toddler.
Ben rolled his eyes. I am not a fucking toddler. I’m a fucking grown man, who’s doesn’t have the goddamn time for this shit.
Really. She raised her brows, still grinning. It was getting a lot fucking harder to not grin back at Her. We have the same schedule, and I’ve got time for it.
No you don’t. He winked at Her, and knew she figured out where he was headed when her finger dug into his arm and her face flushed. I’ve set aside our whole night to fuck you. And I’d like to get started as soon as goddamn possible.
She stuck her tongue out at him, and Ben stopped trying to fight his smile. Cunt.
Brat. He kissed her, pulling her fully into his lap and leaning over her body. She smiled against Ben’s lips, making a small sound from her throat, and the Thing was going to fucking explode and kill him. The only way out was to tell Her. Ben still wasn’t sure what the fuck the Thing thought he needed to say, but he was positive it was something for Her. Absolutely fucking certain that She needed to know that Ben-
The car halted, the rumble of the engine going dead, and She pulled away from Ben to look around.
“We’re here?”
Hughie nodded, shoving the keys in his pocket. “Is everyone, uh, I guess ready?”
“As we can be,” Annie unbuckled herself, taking a deep breath. “We should go inside. Fast.”
She nodded, Her hands on Ben’s arm growing heated. Searing into his skin, smoke curling up into the air.
Ben said Her name lowly, because this needed to be aloud. She needed to hear him.
She looked up at him, her small smile not reaching her eyes. “Ben.”
“You’re going to be fucking fine.” Ben hissed, turning Her body in his arms so she faced him fully. “I’m not going to leave your side. I’m not going to let him fucking near you. And then we’ll go home.”
“I know,” She leaned forward, kissing him so fucking sweetly, pressing Her forehead to his. “I trust you.”
As She started to slide out of the car, every part of Ben was telling him to grab her. To pull her back against him, commender a plane from any shitty fucking cargo airport, and leave. Get the fuck out now. The only thing that kept him from giving in was the knowledge that she’d hate him. She’d never fucking forgive him for making her leave, she’d never damn speak to him again, and Ben didn’t think he could live with that. He didn’t think that he could live without Her. He honestly wasn’t sure how he had lived without her before. He’d never needed someone like this, he’d never needed fucking anything before. He’d never cared so much what someone else thought, been so willing to do anything for just one person. One perfect fucking person. Ben had lived a whole lifetime, and then some, alone. And he’d been content. Not happy, but content. Now he was happy. Now he had Her, and she was perfect, and he never wanted to go back to just content.
So he followed Her out of the car, shield in his hand. He’d follow her anywhere. Out of a car was barely anything when he’d move mountains and burn cities to follow her. Actually, he’d clear the cities first, then burn them. Ben was pretty certain She’d be pissed about him burning a city with people in it. Looking down at Her—beautiful and pulling his arm over her before he was at full height—Ben decided he’d probably follow her even if she was pissed. She’d probably be justified anyways, as she was rarely genuinely pissed at Ben anymore, so he’d always fix whatever he did and keep following Her. Right into hellfire, where he’d still be happy, because She’d be with him.
The Starlight Fund was a completely desecrated fucking shithole. There was a truly fucking terrible amount of pro-Homelander graffiti—one even depicting every member of the Seven shitting on a group of Starlighters—and Ben was pretty goddamn sure the scraping he was hearing was rats.
“This is gross,” She muttered at his side, and he snorted.
“Lot of fucking doodles on the walls,” Ben pulled Her closer into him, speaking into her ear. “That one,” he pointed to a drawing of Fish-Boy ripping his shirt off to display disgustingly ripped gills. “Is my favorite.”
She hummed. “Because of the gills, or the muscles?”
“Because he looks like he just shat his damn pants.”
She gave a small laugh, and Ben wished this could be it. That they had come here to make fun of something stupid and now they were leaving. But Hughie turned around, offering Ben his phone with a shaking hand, and Ben had to set his shield down and take it. Had to feel Her tense again, and hear her chew her lip as Ben frowned at the screen.
“I already entered the number,” Hughie rubbed the back of his next, words soft and nervous. Part of Ben wanted to hit the idiot, because it wasn’t fucking Hughie who was in danger. If She could hold herself together, this fucking pussy should be able to as well. But Ben just grunted—hitting Hughie wouldn’t really help anything, and She’d probably just get more tense—and let him continue. “You just have to call it. Say you’re, uh, you, and ask to speak to Homelander.”
“And no fighting, once he gets here.” Annie added. “We’re just distracting him. We can’t fight him, not now.”
“Why the fuck not,” Ben scowled. “We’d be doing the world a damn favor, killing him-“
“He might leave,” She said, finger’s tapping against Ben’s own. “He might just blast into the air and go find Ryan and this would’ve been for nothing. Ben,” She looked up at him, eyes desperate. “Don’t fight him. Promise you won’t fight him.”
“Fine.”
“Ben-“
“I swear I won’t kill Homelander right now, as much as he fucking deserves it.” Ben grunted, still looking at Her. “This is fucking stupid.”
“I know,” She gave him a tight smile. “Thank you for doing it anyway.”
“If shit starts to even look like it’s headed south-“
“Then we can leave and you can tell me about how you were right for a whole decade.”
Ben nodded, still holding Her gaze. In Rome?
In Rome, She squeezed his hand over her body. And you can fuck me every day for that decade as well. And the one after it.
Ben kissed Her, long and slow, not giving a fuck that Hughie and Annie were watching, or that they were surrounded by rats, or that the awful graffiti and awareness of Homelander arriving soon was hanging over their heads. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world.
“I’m ready,” She whispered against him. “I’ll be okay.”
He didn’t move for a second, just sharing Her breath. But she pulled back first with a deep sigh and buried Her face into Ben’s chest, arms wrapped around him. Waiting.
Ben called the number, and it picked up on the third ring.
An overly sweet woman’s voice echoed through the room. “Thank you for calling Vought International’s Crime Tip Line! All of our operators are currently busy, please stay on the line until one becomes available! You are seventh in line.”
The voice was sounded fucking robotic when it had said seventh, and Ben wasn’t sure that the lady had been real either. “What the fuck was that.”
Annie sighed. “We’re on hold.”
“The tip line?” She twisted around, still leaning against Ben, to give Hughie an exasperated look. “Really?”
“I couldn’t find Ashely’s phone number,” Hughie muttered. “Apparently she kept getting protest calls from Starlighters, and it overwhelmed their servers.”
“Mallory couldn’t get it?”
“It’s being kept secret. We’d have to do a freedom of information request, and that would’ve tipped them off.”
“Please stay on the line, your call is very important to us. You are sixth in line.” The voice disappeared again, returning so sort of too-happy fucking elevator music. She sighed, slumping slightly against Ben.
“I guess we’re waiting.”
It took fifteen fucking minutes. Ben’s shield was still on the floor, and he’d pick it up when he had to but right now was about holding Her properly. At some point Butcher called to yell about where the bloody hell the signal was, and Annie had to explain what was happening. Butcher called them fucking cunt idiots, and hung up. She stayed against Ben the whole time, tapping against his arm over Her stomach, staring into the distance. When that goddamn music finally came to an abrupt halt the whole room froze, Hughie and Annie looking up from where they’d been sitting against the wall.
“Thank you for calling Vought’s crime tip line, my name is Gavin. How can I be of service.”
“I’m Soldier Boy,” Ben said bluntly, ignoring Her flat look of Really, Ben? “I want to speak with Homelander.”
“Sir, this line is not a joke. Our policy requires me to report prank calls as crimes themselves-“
“This isn’t a goddamn prank.” Ben hissed. “I am Soldier Boy. I need to fucking speak to Homelander now, and if you report me as a crime I will find you and fucking kill you.”
“Sir, may I please have your location-“
She had turned to stand in front of Ben, tugging his arm, pointing a finger to herself. Me. She gave him an urgent look. Say you have me. Use my supe name. And my real name.
“I have the Anomaly.” This was fucking annoying, they shouldn’t be doubting him. He grunted Her full name, and she nodded at him. “She’s with me. And I want to fucking talk to Homelander. Now.”
The line was silent. Ben glared at Her. That didn’t fucking work.
She shook Her head. Wait for it.
The line clicked, and a new voice—less bored and uninterested and a lot more fearful—spoke through the speaker. “This is Ashley Barrett, CEO of Vought International. I understand you’re claiming to be Soldier Boy?”
“I fucking am Soldier Boy. Let me fucking speak to Homelander now.”
The line was quiet again. “And you have her?”
“Christ on a cross, fucking yes.” Ben scowled at Her. This is goddamn stupid.
She shrugged. I’m just impressed you haven’t totally crushed the phone yet.
Ben looked back to his hand, and found that his grip on Hughie’s phone was starting to cause cracks to form in the screen. He glared at Her. Shut up.
The line clicked again, and everyone froze. Her heart was going to push out of her chest, and when the static sounded again Ben wasn’t sure it was even beating anymore.
“Soldier Boy.” Homelander’s voice was so fucking weak. Even crackling through the phone and making Her freeze, he was a fucking pathetic pussy. “Is she really there? With you?”
Ben looked at Her, face full of goddamn fear. He could stop this. Ben could hang up and Homelander would never have to step foot near Her again. She wouldn’t have to be afraid ever again, because Ben would take her as far away as he fucking could, and She’d be safe.
He’d never hated anything more than having to say, “Yes.”
“I want to talk to her.” Homelander snapped. “Give me to her. Now.”
She extended her hand, and blinked at Ben once. I’ll be fine.
It was a bold faced fucking lie. Her heart was going a goddamn mile a minute, and her face was blank, eyes glazed slightly.
Ben glowered at Her. If anything goes wrong, if he say one fucking thing out of damn line, we’re leaving.
Her smile didn’t meet her eyes. It was barely a smile, closer to a sad, anxious grimace with upturned lips. I know. Then her face grew gentle, with adoration painting her every feature. For him. Something unending and almost dangerous crossed Her eyes, and Ben couldn’t look away from her. I trust you.
Ben nodded. You burn, I burn. It wasn’t what the Thing wanted Ben to tell her, but it was close. Better than telling Her nothing.
You burn, I burn. She wrapped her hand around the phone, taking it from Ben as he picked up his shield. Let’s fucking do this.
“If someone doesn’t say something-“
“Homelander,” Her voice was stronger than Ben expected. Her face was painfully empty—every piece of light in her gone as she became hollow—but her voice was even and controlled. “It’s me.”
Homelander breathed Her name, and Ben’s blood went cold. He shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Not fucking ever, not like that. “Where the fuck are you. What have they done to you? Why have you been hiding-“
“I’m okay.” She wouldn’t look at Ben, gaze fixed on the floor. Fucking empty. “They haven’t hurt me. Just, I wasn’t allowed to see you. Or talk to you. They said just this once.”
“Tell me where the fuck they’re keeping you,” Homelander hissed Her name. Ben was pretty sure she was going to throw up. “I’ll come find you, you can come home, and we’ll be together.”
“I can’t,” She whispered, fingers starting to curl with smoke. “They’ll get mad-“
“So I’ll fucking kill them! I can do whatever I want, and it’s not like people will miss them! Just tell me where you are and I’ll come save you.”
They needed to leave, right now. Her face was bloodless, Her breaths were mechanical, and Ben knew they needed to leave. She shouldn’t be doing this, she shouldn’t have to do anything for these fucking pussies, they should just fucking leave-
Homelander said Her name again, and his voice had gone cold. “If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll find your pretty little sister and have her tell me. I know they’ve been making you hide. I know they’ve been hurting you. And if your sister loves you half as much as I do, she’ll want you to come back to me. Where you’re safe.”
Her eyes snapped up to Ben’s. She wasn’t trying to tell him anything, just looking at him. Her brain was turning, spinning, moving faster and faster with Her heart. Trying to find something, somewhere, that Ben didn’t understand. A way out, a way forward, some sort of fucking plan to get through this. He’d promised he’d let Her do this. No matter how much he hated it, Ben had swore. She’d do what she needed to do, and—as long as Homelander never fucking touched Her again—he’d stand with her as she did.
Ben’s jaw clenched, and he held her gaze. I’m here. I’m right fucking here.
There was more he needed to say. There was so much fucking more Ben needed to tell Her. But that was enough, because She nodded. I know.
“They took me to the Starlight Fund-“ The words had barely left Her mouth when the line clicked dead. The room was silent, so painfully fucking silent, and She was staring at Ben. He needed to tell Her now, the Thing needed to get its fucking shit together and be damn clear about what it fucking was Ben needed to tell Her, so he could tell Her now-
The roof crashed open, and Homelander dropped into the middle of the room. Cape and suit and so fucking weak.
He breathed Her name, not even looking around the rest of the fucking room. “I fucking found you.”
Ben almost scoffed. Homelander hadn’t fucking found Her. She’d goddamn called him. Told him where she was. He must have made some sort of sound, because cold blue eyes shot to him.
“Soldier Boy. Thank you for bringing Her back to me.”
Never in his fucking life had Ben hated someone more. She wouldn’t look at him, staring at Homelander and taking shallow breaths. Not touching Ben. Her back was too straight, all the smoke was gone from Her body, and Ben couldn’t hear Her heart. Like it has just fucking stopped.
“Homelander,” Annie stood up from the wall, a truly violent glare on Her face. It almost made Ben respect her, the contempt with which she spoke and the loathing in her eyes. “You’re not taking her. You can talk. That’s it.”
“Oh, shut up, you boring fucking Girl Scout.” Homelander dismissed Annie with a hand, still not looking away from Her and Ben. “This is a family matter, you and Campbell can go fuck in a closet for all I care.”
“We’re not going anywhere-“
“I don’t care,” Homelander finally shot Annie a bored glare. “But if you even try and interfere with this, I’ll laser Campbell’s dick off. Now,” he looked back to Her. “Let’s go.”
She shook her head. She wasn’t fucking breathing. “I- I cant-“
“Yes you fucking can,” Homelander hissed. “You’re not mortal anymore, you’re a god like me. None of these weaklings could stop us. Soldier Boy,” he jerked his head at Ben. “Could even come with us. We could be a family.”
“I’m not going fucking anywhere with you,” Ben could hear the drums. Distant, in his control, but building in time with his heart. “And we are not a fucking family.”
“But you’re my father,” Homelander shook his head—as if he thought Ben could forget—and whined like a pathetic fucking child. “Don’t you want to meet your grandson? Be there for the birth of our,” he gestured to Her, and Ben was going to rip his fucking hand off. ”Next child? You’d never have to miss anything again. We’d be together.”
“Homelander,” She was whispering, she was afraid, and Ben couldn’t do more than press his foot into Hers. Show Her he was there. He wasn’t going fucking anywhere. Slowly, her breathing became audible again—even if she remained frozen—and Ben didn’t take his eyes off Homelander. “Please. I just want to talk.”
“We can talk at home.” Homelander took a step forward, and She flinched.
“No. Please, I don’t-“
“What have they been telling you,” Homelander whirled on Annie and Hughie. “Have you been turning her against me? Poisoning her damn brain against me?”
“They haven’t,” She pleaded, and that was it. Ben took a long step forward, until he was right at Her side. Homelander was too close, she was fucking breaking, and he’d stay right here until this was over. Then he’d hold Her until she smiled again, even if it took a hundred fucking years. But Homelander wasn’t going to make Her weak. Nobody was allowed to make Her weak, not as long as Ben was fucking alive. “Homelander, I just want to talk-“
“Fine,” he turned back to Her, face tight and furious. Glancing once at Ben, now right at Her side, before continuing. “Let’s talk. You’ve been hiding. I’ve been looking for you, and you’ve been hiding from me. They-“ a gloved hand pointed to Annie and Hughie. “Have been hiding you from me. It’s time to be a big girl and stop hiding. Time to come home so I don’t have to keep fucking cleaning up bodies while I look for you.”
She swallowed. “Bodies?"
“None of the workers at Tek Knight’s stupid fucking sex club would tell me where you went, so they all had to die. A bunch of fucking Firecracker supporters were demanding justice, so I had to kill them too.”
“No-“
“Please,” Homelander rolled his eyes, taking another step. “It was for you. To protect you. They wanted to fucking draw and quarter you and I stopped them! I saved you, again.”
“You didn’t save me,” She whispered, taking an unsteady step back. “You hurt me. You-“ She was shaking her head, voice growing louder. “You hurt me. You hurt me.” She was screaming, and Ben had never heard a worse sound. It was shrill, and unsure, and fucking terrified. “You hurt me-“
“Oh, grow the fuck up,” Homelander sneered. “You were nothing. You had no one. You’re lucky I even fucking looked at you, let alone saw something of worth! I made you everything you deserved to be, I fucking trusted you with my heart, and you just pulled it out and stomped all over it!”
“No-“
Homelander raised his hand, and She fell silent. She was never fucking silent. “But I forgive you. I’m going to be the bigger person, and forgive you. We both made mistakes, I’m not blameless here, and I forgive you. We’ll get through this,” Homelander lowered his hand for her to take, saying Her name. “We’ll get through this together.”
“No.” She breathed out. “You hurt me. I’m not going anywhere with you. Ever.”
Homelander scoffed. “Stop being a fucking whining child,” he said Her name again, and moved forward, She moved back, and Ben blocked Homelander in his path.
Homelander blinked, but the shock on his face barely lasted a second. “You could come with us, Soldier Boy. You don’t have to keep working with those fucking idiots,” he jerked his head to Annie and Hughie in the corner. “Working for William Butcher. He betrayed you before, and he’d do it again. I’d never betray you. I’d make you fucking proud. We just have to leave together.”
“I will never,” Ben spat, fist clenching at his side. “Be fucking proud of a pussy like you. A weak, spineless, pathetic fucking excuse for a man.”
Something like hurt flashed across Homelander’s face. He’d thought Ben would agree. He’d thought Ben would fucking hand Her over. Homelander had truly fucking believed that Ben would ever let him fucking near Her again.
“Fine. Have it your way.” Homelander looked past Ben, and said Her name. “Let’s fucking go. Now.”
She must have shaken her head—Ben couldn’t turn and look, he couldn’t take his eyes off Homelander for a fucking second—because Homelander’s jaw ticked.
“Now.”
“Never.” She hissed. “I’m never fucking going anywhere with you again.”
“This is your last chance to do this easy.” Homelander snapped. “We can be civilized about this. It doesn’t have to go this way.”
“You fucking heard the woman,” Ben sneered, and Homelander looked back to him. “No.”
Homelander sighed. “I didn’t want to do this. I told Sage it wouldn’t be necessary.”
“Sage?” Her voice shaking. Ben hated not touching her, he hated that Her heart still was weak in her chest, he hated all of this stupid fucking shit plan.
“I’m going to have to tell her she was right,” Homelander continued, frowning into the air. “She’s such an annoying fucking bitch when she’s right. But if you’re not going to chose the easy way, then let’s do the fucking hard way.”
Annie was moving slowly from the corner, keeping Hughie behind her. “What the hell are you talking about.”
“In January, after we found out you,” he gestured at Her. “Were alive, Sage said we’d need a way to eliminate Soldier Boy. I told her that was dumb, that when it came time you’d come back to the right side, to me, your son, but she was a real fucking pest until I agreed to her stupid idea.” The pussy was fucking monologuing, glaring around the room with his hands on his hips and sharp, exasperated movements. “She scheduled the meeting, said it didn’t fucking matter what actually happened as long as she got what she needed. I said you wouldn’t be that stupid, but you were. You told her exactly what that French asshole was using to stop you from going all boom without your leash there with you, and she locked herself in a lab for a whole month. It was unbelievably inconvenient. When she finally came out, she gave me this.” Homelander reached back somewhere, pulling out a small, seemingly empty vial. “And said to use it first chance. I don’t want to use it, but,” he sighed, shaking his head. “If you won’t listen to reason, I have to.”
“Homelander,” Annie hissed. “What’s in there. What the fuck are you going to do-“
“Gas. It’s fucking gas. I was getting there.” Homelander rolled his eyes at Ben. “Women. Always so pushy.”
The drums were louder. Homelander was only a half step from Ben. Holding gas. His head was pounding, hitting only a half-beat out of time with Ben’s heart. Over the rush of blood in his ears—vision stark and violent and red—Ben could barely hear Her speak. It was under her breath, and barely audible regardless.
“No.”
Homelander ignored Her, giving Ben a toothy, awful fucking smile. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in,” he paused, glancing back down at the vial. “Three days? I honestly just couldn't pay attention to Sage’s fucking lecture.”
Time moved slow. Homelander’s hand went to the vial, the drums were a fraction away from taking over but still too far, and She screamed. A high, loud, raw scream that tore through the world. It might have been a word, or Ben’s name, but it didn’t matter because it was Her. Screaming, fucking breaking.
The world broke with Her, and something exploded. A bone-rattling sound of destruction echoed through Ben, through Homelander, through everything as the room was almost blindingly lit. The vial cracked open, glass melting in Homelander’s hand, but Ben didn’t pass out. A small wisp of steam pushed into the air, Ben felt faint, and then it was gone. For a split second he could see all of Homelander’s face, with slight wrinkles and lines and wide eyes. Afraid. Homelander was afraid. Frozen, with a parted mouth and a slack face of terror, his gaze fixated just beyond Ben.
At Her.
Homelander was blasted backwards—fire arcing through the air and into his chest—and right through the dust-covered, paint-peeling wall. The building rumbled, the air was waving around Ben, and the whole world was electric. He didn’t have to turn to know it was Her. She was burning, and the whole world was singing for Her. It was alive, the air crackling and everything illuminated for Her.
Ben had never seen anything like Her. All these fucking heroes pranced around like dancing fucking monkey’s, bragging about god-like power and being chosen. Homelander called himself a god. Said nobody was like him, nobody was as powerful as he was. Moaned about how nobody was his equal, how even Ben only just matched his power. Ben could wipe out Homelander’s powers, Homelander could knock out Ben, Ben could punch him and make him bleed and Homelander could leave a temporary cut on Ben’s skin. They could keep trading blows, measuring their dicks, and stand around all fucking day to argue like pussies about who was more powerful.
Or they could just look at Her.
Because She was a fucking god.
Bathed in white flames tinted purple, floating off the ground, and burning. This wasn’t the bomb in Ben’s chest, running through her body like electricity in a wire. This wasn’t heat that lived in Homelander’s eyes, focused and hot but limited. This fire, bright and hot like a hurricane, ripping through the world and everything between it, was Her. Only Her. It wasn’t nuclear, or artificial, or confined. It was wild and feral and pure fucking power. Her.
Ben had to fucking move.
“Go!” He shouted the order to Annie and Hughie, still pressed against the wall. “Fucking move! Go!”
Annie nodded, grabbing Hughie arm and pulling him with her to the exit. They’d start the car, but they wouldn’t leave Her. They might leave Ben, but they wouldn’t leave Her. Nobody with a heart would leave Her. Not ever, not here. Not with Homelander.
And Ben had to fucking get Her out. Fast.
Homelander was staggering to his feet—a few yards from the building in the broad daylight—and She had hurt him. She’d fucking marred him. Blond hair was tinted black with ash, one blue eye was milky, and his cruel face was half-melted. Twisted with scars and fucking hideous.
And She wasn’t done.
She had landed on the ground and shrugged off her jacket—whole body still alight as the world bent and burned around her—before vaulting past Ben, out into the street. He roared Her name after her, but she didn’t look back. Homelander was almost fully stable, touching a hand to where She’d hit him, and Ben had to fucking go.
He followed Her in long, sprinting bounds, and reached them just before Her fist landed. Right on Homelander’s burns, blasting him back another twenty fucking feet.
Christ, She was fucking perfect.
Ben reached Her, grabbing her arms and ignoring the pain of the fire against his skin. He healed fast—faster than Homelander—and in the adrenaline he wasn’t able to be certain, but the flames felt duller than usual on his hands. Not meant to hurt him.
He hissed Her name, trying to pull her with him. Back to the car. “We’ve got to go, right fucking now.”
She yanked Her arm from his grip. “Ryan’s not out.”
“Ryan?” Ben gaped at Her. “What the fuck-“
“The signal didn’t go off. Everyone’s still in the tower. If we leave he goes back to the tower, and we’re assfucked.”
“I don’t give a shit-“
“Ben,” She grabbed his face between Her burning hands, and Ben was goddamn sure it should’ve hurt. But it didn’t, it just felt warm. “This is it. This is what I need to do. And I’m fucking doing it.”
He couldn’t stop Her. She wasn’t breaking anymore, she wasn’t in danger now—not like She had been before—and Ben was never going to fucking leave Her. “You burn, I burn.”
She nodded. “Let’s fucking burn.”
Ben needed to tell Her. She was dropping her arms, turning away, and he needed to tell Her. He was so fucking close to knowing, to being able to recognize that-
Homelander blasted forward, landing only a few feet from Her and Ben. His words were low, cold. Angry. “You fucking bitch. We’re going to have a very long conversation later about trust-“
“Shut the fuck up.” Ben pulled out his gun and shot Homelander right in the fucking mouth.
It didn’t kill him—they weren’t that lucky—but it worked goddamn wonders in making his words die in his throat. In giving Ben a chance to punch him in the throat, making him cough the bullet out and giving Her a chance to kick him square in the chest. It was a smooth hit, not strong but wrapped in fire that seared right through Homelander’s stupid fucking suit. Ben slammed the blunt end of his shield right into the exposed skin and revered in the sickly crunch of its contact.
Homelander roared as his eyes began to grow red, aimed at Her, and Ben’s fist was just fucking fast enough to clock Homelander’s jaw. Hard enough to turn his head, to make the laser cut through the air into a glass building.
She realized it at the same time Ben did, exchanging a simultaneous look of Fuck. We’re outside.
No casualties, She narrowed her eyes at him. I back Homelander up. You blast him.
Ben frowned, ducking under a weak punch, thrown by Homelander at what he imagined was supposed to be Ben’s face. You said not now. He didn’t know why the fuck he was arguing with Her. This wasn’t something at all damn worth it. But Ben still waited for Her answer, and the moment She gave the clear, he was going to fucking kill this pussy.
We’re improvising, Benjamin. Her face was set, determined. Ready?
Ben nodded, and turning to see Homelander right in his fucking face. Up close, even as the lasers built in Homelander’s eyes, the state of his wound was fucking disgusting.
“I fucking-“
There was no chance to find out exactly what Homelander was fucking, because She dove at him—face wrathful, a fucking inferno—and they went flying through the air. Over the street, away from the gathered pedestrians, onto the manicured lawn of Vought Tower. People were screaming, scrambling away, and those already on the sidelines were watching through phones, flinching as Ben stalked past them. She could hold Her own, but he needed to get there. Get to Her.
The grass of the lawn was smoking, and Ben felt like he was walking through a goddamn swamp as he approached them. She had twisted around—onto Homelander’s back with Her arms locked around his throat—and was growing brighter and brighter as his bellows turned strangled and choked. The pussy still had to fucking breathe like anyone else, but smoke was curling into his lungs as Her arms burned through his throat.
Good.
The drums were back, building and building, and light was starting to shine in Ben’s chest. He had a shot. A clear fucking shot. He’d hit Her, but she’d be fine, and then she’d be safe forever.
Any hesitation—weak and fearful for Her at the top of Ben’s chest—was killed when She looked at him.
Do it.
The drums fell into time, and Ben’s vision went white. Homelander’s roar sounded through the air, and the world became something far away as the bomb went off. Ripping through Ben’s chest with a vengeance, through the air with an atomic boom.
When the world became clear, Homelander wasn’t ash or a mortal body on the floor. He was gone. They were both gone.
Ben screamed Her name. It wasn’t a roar, or a bellow, or a growl, or anything other than a scream. Where the fuck did She go. Why wasn’t She here, with him. Ben had failed Her, he had fucking failed her, and he couldn’t hear Her heart or see her beautiful face and where the goddamn fucking hell was She-
He could hear his name. Her voice, carried on the wind, was yelling his name. Ben looked up, just in time to see Her falling from the sky, a quickly dying comet, just a few feet to his left.
Ben caught Her, shield clattering to the ground. He’d always fucking catch Her. And when their bodies collided, Ben could feel Her. Afraid. Every fiber and cell of Her body and mind, made of pure, unbridled fucking fear. Frozen fear, hollow and frigid in Her body.
When She spoke, Her voice wasn’t full and furious anymore. “He took off, took me with him. I burned his dick and he dropped me, but he’ll be back-“
“Let’s fucking go,” Ben didn’t release Her, turning back to the Starlight Fund. If he was fast, fucking ran, they could get the fuck out now because Ben wasn’t going to survive another goddamn second of there being a chance he could lose Her. Not when he was certain this was Her fear in him.
But She tugged at his arms, trying to get out of his hold. “Ryan, we need to make sure Ryan’s out-“
“No-“
“Ben, please.” She squeezed his bicep, and Ben looked down at Her. Safe, unharmed in his arms. He couldn’t fucking lose Her- “We just need to keep him occupied. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re out of fire-“
“It’ll come back,” She didn’t sound sure. “I’m fine, he didn’t get me-“
“That was too fucking close-“
“Ben,” She was pleading, tugging at his shirt. “We have to. You promised-“
He snapped Her name. “You’re in danger-“
“I’ll go. I’ll go find them in the tower, and you keep Homelander here. Please. We don’t have time to argue-“
He wanted to tell Her no. Ben wanted to tell her that’s fucking insane, stay here, or don’t goddamn leave, don’t fucking go where I can’t follow you. But she was so fucking stubborn. It was one of the infinite things he loved about Her, but fuck it was pissing him off. She wouldn’t leave—be useless as She’d call it—and Ben couldn’t let Her fight Homelander. Not when he could feel her painful fear, and there wasn’t even smoke in the air. So he grunted, lowering Her onto the sidewalk.
“Thank you,” She whispered, and that deep thing in Her eyes was back. It was in Ben, now, and it was peaceful and eternal in his brain. It was so strong, and wrapped around Ben’s every sense, making the world clear and everything alive.
“Wait,” Ben grabbed Her arm, stopping her just a second. “Take this.”
She blinked at Ben’s gun, shoved into Her hand, before looking back to him with a nod. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Stay safe.” He muttered, and She gave him a small smile.
“I always do, Ben.”
The thing he couldn’t understand inside of Her was bigger than the world. A world that, for a second, was just them. Her, fucking perfect, and Ben. With Her. When She started to walk away, into the tower, the whole world was going with Her.
She looked back at him once, and Ben realized that the Thing had said it. Somewhere, when She had been in his arms, the Thing had found words and he couldn’t fucking remember what they were. He had to focus, to grab them back to him so he yell them after Her, so she could hear-
Homelander dropped with a crack on the pavement, and the Thing’s moment of clarity was gone.
Now Ben had a fucking job to do.
He was brutal. This wasn’t the fucking time to pull punches, to feel anything outside of hatred or a thirst for blood. Ben had to keep Homelander here, and he would. He would beat him fucking bloody until he was just a pathetic, whimpering fucking pile of bones and skin. People were filming, and he’d let them. Everyone should see Ben paint Homelander’s brain across the street with his shield—back in his hand—and there should be evidence of Ben peeling Homelander's burnt face off his skull. Everyone should witness how fucking weak Homelander really was, how fucking useless and desperate and evil. Homelander tried to jab at him—tried to mock him or ask where She’d gone—but all of Ben’s already thin patience was gone. He wanted Homelander to hurt, hurt the way Ben had felt Her hurt. He couldn’t take Her pain and put it into Homelander, so bashing his head open was the second best option.
And Ben was winning. Homelander landed a few weak blows and Ben got scorched with one or two lasers he wasn’t able to dodge, but Ben was fucking winning. He’d have to thank Her, later, for how thoroughly she’d ruined Homelander’s face. Ben was pretty sure the fucker was—at least temporarily—blind in one eye. He was slower to block, turning his head more than he should, and it gave Ben a few extra hits right into his ugly fucking face. Homelander kept trying to grab something, scramble for a gun or some shit, but it wouldn’t matter. Ben was fucking winning. He’d knock the pussy unconscious and go home. Maybe even fucking kill him-
Homelander’s mauled face shot up, and he was gone. Fucking blasting into the sky, fleeing like a goddamn coward, and Ben let him. He could’ve grabbed Homelander’s cape, pulled him back down, but the job was done. People were scattering away with screams at the remaining rumbles of an explosion Ben could only assume was the French Prick’s signal echoed through the city. He’d heard it go off, only a minute ago, but hadn’t fucking cared. Not when he could just keep hurting Homelander. And now Ben was left in the crowded street with a bunch of fucking idiots filming him. Flinching and scrambling away when he turned back to the Fund as part of his brain still looked for Her. In the crowd, somewhere off to the side, or in the remains of the Starlight Fund. He was searching for Her smile, her sharp eyes, just some sign she was there.
Ben saw Her sunglasses. That was the only evidence that She had been here. There was smoldering wreckage and burnt grass, small fires clustered around the ruins and on the street, but this was evidence of Her. Of the perfect woman who laughed with him and never fucking faltered.
They were broken. Tinted blue glass on the floor and bent frames. She was going to be really fucking pissed about that. For reasons Ben didn’t understand, She loved those stupid sunglasses.
He’d buy Her new ones. He’d make sure Mallory finally started paying them, and Ben would buy her a million fucking off-brand Soldier Boy sunglasses.
Annie and Hughie were in the car. Nobody had followed Ben into the ally—one very stupid kid had tried, but scrambled away at Ben’s glare—so Ben dropped into the backseat of the car. Alone.
Hughie looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Uh, where-“
“She went after Butcher.” Ben snapped. “She’ll meet us there. Fucking go.”
Annie and Hughie exchanged looks, and Annie pulled out her phone. Swiping through it, glancing up around Ben nervously until she found whatever the fuck she was looking for.
“Butcher says they’re out with Ryan, and everyone’s heading back.” She showed the screen to Hughie, and he nodded. “We should go.”
“That’s what I fucking said.” Ben muttered, and tried not to look at the place beside him. Where She’d usually be, rolling Her eyes or calling him a grump.
The car ride back was long. Fucking longer than the car ride there. Time was stretching, fucking crawling so slow without Her there. Ben had been away from Her for less than a damn hour, and he missed Her. He missed Her so fucking much. A year ago, he’d have called himself a pussy. He’d have scoffed, sneered that he was fucking Soldier Boy. He shouldn’t miss anyone. People should miss him, and be thankful he ever looked at them in the first place. But Ben a year ago hadn’t met Her. He didn’t get it. That She was beautiful, and brilliant, and had the smartest fucking mouth he’d ever heard. That She felt like heaven and hell and Ben didn’t want to exist without Her. If being a pussy for this one perfect woman was the price Ben had to pay to have Her, he’d pay it. He’d pay anything.
She wasn’t answering Ben’s texts. He’d messaged Her, asked her if everyone was in one piece or giving her shit for going off book, and She hadn’t answered. But that didn’t mean a fucking thing, because She kept her phone in Her jacket, which was currently smoldering ash in the remains of the Starlight Fund. He’d buy Her a new phone as well. And fucking punch Mallory in her wrinkled, sour face if they got any shit about Her destroying another phone.
Annie and Hughie weren’t trying to talk to him. At some point Annie had put on Billy Joel, and Ben let her. He hadn’t hated his music, in the 80s, and knew that She just liked music. Any music. So it made it a little easier to pretend She was here. To pretend something wasn’t growing sick inside of Ben.
Even as it started to rot. As everything started to feel wrong.
Ben didn’t wait for the car to fully stop before opening the door. He didn’t even bother to grab his shield. Nobody else could pick it up anyway. Hughie gave a weak protest as he stepped out, but Ben saw Annie shake her head in his periphery and Hughie’s mouth snapped shut. It was a smart fucking choice.
She’d had the keycard. The door was locked and She had taken the keycard. So Ben had to wait—glowering at the parked Pussy Mobile a few spots down from Butcher’s car—for Annie and Hughie to let him in. Stand behind them stiffly in the elevator with his arms crossed, and just fucking wait.
“Butcher said we’d debrief in the dining hall,” Hughie mumbled. “I don't think he's happy with us. With the whole, uh, fighting Homelander thing.”
Butcher could fucking suck Ben’s dick.
The doors opened, and Ben shoved his way out of the elevator, not waiting for Hughie or Annie to keep up. His steps were long, stomping, and fast—almost a full run—but there was no fucking time. He needed to see Her. He needed to see Her right fucking now-
He shoved the doors open, marched into the dining hall, and froze.
Butcher and the Kid were at the table, MM and Mallory sitting across from them, their backs to Ben. Kimiko and the French Prick were at the other end of the table, in a silent conversation. There were four empty seats between them and the larger group. Two for Annie and Hughie. Two for Ben and Her.
But She wasn’t fucking there.
And Ben couldn’t hear Her heart.
“Where is she,” Ben growled, and Butcher looked up at him.
“Good work to you too, you dumb fucking cunt-“
“Shut the fuck up,” Ben hissed. There wasn’t fucking time for this. “Where the fuck is she.”
MM turned, frowning at Ben. “Who the hell-“
Ben roared Her name as Hughie and Annie pushed into the room, their hearts faltering behind him. Seeing what Ben saw. “Where the goddamn fucking hell is she!”
Mallory was looking at him now, lips in a thin line, words clipped. “She was supposed to be with you-“
“I fucking know that!” Ben’s voice might be shaking the building. “She went inside the Tower, to find you fucking pussies. Where the hell is she?”
“We,” MM blinked at him. “We haven’t seen her. She was supposed to be with you.”
“Oh, shit.” Hughie whispered, and the room fell silent.
The world was fucking ending. This was the judgement day, or apocalypse, or end of days or fucking something, because She was gone. She was gone. She’d disappeared into the fucking Tower, and she was in danger. Ben had let Her go into the tower, Ben had fucking failed Her. He should’ve gone with Her, he should’ve kept Her there and trusted her to fight, he should never have let Her go alone. She’d told him not to leave her alone, Ben had promised to keep Her safe, and now She was fucking gone. He’d failed. And nothing fucking mattered expect getting Her back.
Ben turned roughly around to Hughie, extending an arm. “Give me the fucking keys.”
Hughie blinked at him. “Uh, why?”
“To drive the damn car.” Ben snapped. He didn’t have the goddamn time for this shit. She was in fucking danger. “I’m going to get her. Fucking keys. Now.”
Hughie was fumbling in his pocket—apparently not a complete fucking dumbass—but froze at Mallory’s cold words. “You’re going to stay here, Soldier Boy, until you receive further orders.”
Ben didn’t bother to turn around. “Shove it up your ass, you fucking bitch. Keys.”
“We don’t know where She is,” Annie said carefully. “She could’ve left the tower, could be coming back here-“
“Or she could be in fucking danger.” Ben’s voice was rising to a shout. “Give me the fucking keys-“
“Lad, if you give Soldier Boy my fuckin keys, I’ll shoot you.”
Ben whirled to Butcher. “Shut the fuck up, you useless fucking pussy. Does fucking nobody,” he scowled around the room. “Give fuck about her but me? Do none of you care that you just fucking abandoned her?”
You abandoned Her. It echoed in his brain, twisting around his throat. You failed Her. You left Her.
“Of course we care,” MM snapped. “But I have to be with Butcher on this. She could be anywhere-“
“So fucking find her!” Ben bellowed. How could none of them fucking get it, fucking understand that She was lost, gone, alone, afraid. In fucking danger. “If you care, get off your asses and fucking find her!”
“Frenchie,” Butcher stood, glaring at Ben. “Take Ryan to his room.”
Ben looked away from Butcher just long enough to see the Kid watching him with wide, fearful eyes as the French Prick herded him past Ben, out the door. He glanced at Kimiko—still sat at the end of the table—and she was frowning at him. Signing something Ben didn’t fucking understand. She’d have understood.
He looked back to Butcher, and spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m finding her. Good luck trying to fucking stop me.”
“We will bloody find her,” Butcher snapped. “But we ain’t going to do it in a day. She’s probably fuckin fine-“
“She was in the fucking Tower. Are you that fucking stupid-“
“I ain’t stupid. I’m a realist.” Butcher held Ben’s murderous glare. “Like she is. We’ll find her, now sit the fuck down.”
“Don’t pretend like you fucking know her. Like you’re fucking buddies and you know what she’d want-“ Kimiko was waving at Ben, trying to get his attention as he roared, and he shot her a withering glower. “What fuck is wrong with you?”
She pointed to her phone, and reached it out for Ben to take. He snatched it from her hands—slightly thrown by the seemingly genuine sympathy and worry across her face—and looked at the screen.
BREAKING NEWS: Vought Announces that the Homelander’s girlfriend has been recovered from Soldier Boy’s captivity.
He’d failed Her. In the worst possibly way, Ben had compelety fucking failed Her.
The glass cracked in Ben’s grip, and he chucked the phone at Butcher. “Is that fucking enough to get you to move your pathetic fucking pussy asses, and fucking save her?”
MM leaned over Butcher’s shoulder, reading the screen. “Fuck.”
“What’s-“
Hughie’s confused words were cut off as Annie shuffled behind Ben, “I’ll check-“ Ben heard her swallow. “Oh, shit.”
“Jesus,” Hughie whispered, and Ben’s skin crawled. Why the fuck were they just standing here. Why weren’t they moving. Fucking saving Her.
Butcher only stared at the screen with a scowl, and Mallory stood to read the headline as well.
“Butcher,” she said slowly. “This is-“
“Changes nothing.” Butcher tossed the phone back to Kimiko. “We keep on the fuckin track.”
Ben’s whole world froze with wrath. Locking him in place. Spinning him around, stabbing into his chest, making the world painful.
“Are you fucking insane?” Annie shouted from behind Ben. “She’s-“
“Nothing.” Butcher snapped. “We’ll get her back when Homelander’s in the bloody ground.”
“Butcher, even for you-“
“This ain’t about me.” Butcher hissed over MM. “It’s about her.”
“She’s not going to be our man on the inside, you psychopath!” Annie shouted. “She a fucking victim-“
“If we go now, Starlight, the bloody hell you think will happen?” Butcher leered at Annie, over Ben. Still unmoving, unable to move as the drums echoed in his head. “We’ll storm the fuckin castle and Homelander will just hand her over?”
“We could,” Hughie protested, voice weak. “I mean, that’s kind of how we just got Ryan-“
“Homelander ain’t stupid, he’s not fallin for that trick two times in a row.” Butcher turned back to Ben. “If you’re that much of a whipped fucking idiot, Gov, we can go right now. I’ll even bloody drop you off. But they’ll see us comin, and Homelander will blast her far, far away. You wouldn’t ever even fuckin see her again.”
“Butcher-“
“Let the man answer Grace.” Butcher held Ben’s gaze. “We ain’t going to stop him if he leaves, or goes after her. It’ll be her bloody funeral. Not ours.”
He could. Ben could leave right fucking now, and find her, and then they’d leave together. He’d keep Her safe forever, do fucking anything to make her forgive him for failing her.
But a voice that sounded like Hers echoed through his brain.
Don’t be a dumbass, Benjamin. Butcher’s right, which is annoying because now he’s going to be a cunt about it. But he’s right.
You’ll find me. You’ll always find me, I trust you.
I’ll see you soon.
Butcher read Ben’s answer on his face, and nodded. “Right choice, Gov.” Something passed over Butcher’s feature, something a lot more human than Ben had ever seen. Almost understanding, almost pained. “She’s a clever lady. She’ll get through this.”
She’ll get back to you.
And Ben would be here. He’d get Her back, and be here to hold her and burn with her when she returned to him.
He’d kill Homelander, and never fail Her again.
——————
Something is wrong.
Something is very, very wrong.
Your eyes are closed, but nothing around you is warm. Everything is freezing, the blankets are silk instead of cotton, there’s a strange smell of factory-made coconut in the air, and you’re alone. Ben isn’t here.
That’s what’s wrong.
Ben isn’t here.
You’re suddenly afraid to open your eyes. You don’t remember what happened, you don’t know where you are, and Ben isn’t here. Your mind is moving slower than you need it to, trying to pull back bits and pieces to figure out what happened. Rolling a loop of where are you, why isn't Ben here.
Why does everything feel so wrong.
You ran into the Tower. You know that much, Ben had given you his gun and you’d ran into the Tower before Homelander could return. You’d almost said it, he’d looked at you like you were his whole world and you almost let yourself say Ben. Ben, I love you. But that had felt final. You didn’t want final, you wanted Ben. So you’d just left.
You’d told Ben you’d find Butcher. You’d meant to find Butcher. You swear, now, in this strange cold place, that you’d really meant to just find Butcher. But you hadn’t. The blueprints of Vought tower had flashed in your head, along with a small, persistent voice asking you Where was Sage? In all of this, with you and Ben destroying the front lawn, where was Sage?
There was a security room on the first floor. Actually, there were two security rooms on the first floor. One was labeled such, with faded notes about electrical wiring scratched onto the copy Mallory had shown everyone. The other was identical, with no notes but the same design, labeled office 2.
You hadn’t been able to find an office 1. Only an office 2.
So you’d headed there first.
The door was locked, and your fire wasn’t coming. Homelander had taken you into the sky, higher and higher and away with hands gripping your arm around him, and everything had frozen. It wasn’t the chill of the high wind, it was your blood, your skin, your head. Everything became cold and the fire had started to flicker, all your control over it waning. You’d told Ben you’d hit Homelander’s dick, but he’d just dropped you. He’d made a surprised sound from his throat you’d never heard, and his arms had grown slack around you. You’d pushed off of him and fallen, any fire left dying as you’d dropped through the air. And now it was asleep. Not gone. Still under your skin, still running through your body in the way you’d come to trust, but dormant. Unwilling to come out, even when you’d desperately needed it.
So you’d shot the handle off.
You remember that clearly. You’d looked around the hallway, empty as people either hid from Ben and Homelander or went to watch them, thought fuck it, and shot Ben’s gun.
The door had swung open, and Sage had been right where you expected her.
She hadn’t turned from the monitors, and said your name in a bored tone. “You’re early.”
“I’m early,” you’d repeated, raising the gun to a mediocre aim at Sage’s head. You remember wondering if Ben would cum on the spot if you asked him to teach you how to properly use a gun. “There’s no possible way you planned this.”
Sage had shrugged. “It was more of an outline. A hypothetical. One of many. I honestly didn’t think you’d go with this option, but here we are.”
“Which one did you think we’d go with?” You’d been unable to help yourself from asking. You’d had to know just how predictable your plans were, so you could adjust. Be more erratic. Maybe you’d put Butcher in a dress, really have fun with it.
She’d turned, spun in her chair to look at you with a small, cold smile. “My money was on you sacrificing yourself, trading yourself in. Didn’t anticipate Soldier Boy stopping you, but I’ve adapted. And now we’re here.”
“What the fuck are you talking about.” Your hands had been shaking, and you’d looked behind Sage at the monitors. You could see Ben and Homelander on the lawn, and—running through a polished hallway—your team. With Ryan Butcher, failing to shoot at a single camera. You'd yell at Butcher about that later, when this was done. This was almost done.
“In January, when we met for the first time, you confused me.” Sage had tilted her head at you. “That’s impressive. Nobody confuses me. Once I’d found out who exactly you were, Homelander selectively filling in pieces as I figured out the rest myself, I still didn’t fully understand. Once again, impressive.”
“Oh, gee, thanks.” You’d kept your eyes on Sage, but clocked every movement on the monitors. So close. “You really know how to make a girl blush.”
“I’m serious. I couldn’t figure you out. You should’ve run when you got out. You’re a smart woman, you should’ve run. But you didn’t, which displays remarkable stupidity. You’d aligned with William Butcher, but seemed to hold qualms with his methods. And your deal with Soldier Boy, the cherry on top. In January you were,” She’d paused, frowned at you before continuing. “Strange. Not friends, not quite, but not simply hateful. Certainly not apathetic. Enough for me to worry about Soldier Boy truly being a problem. And then, by the end of the same month, he seemed to truly care for you. If anything, you managed to baffle me more.”
“If you say impressive again,” you’d snapped at her. “I’ll fucking shot you.”
“And you’re much more violent than I anticipated. Yet another thing that threw me, because all signs would point to you being a pacifist. But I figured it out. I found the thing I’d been missing. The club-“ She sighed at your shocked expression. “Please don’t get caught on that. I was separated from Vought for over a decade, I am well aware of the Renegade Room. I haven’t told Homelander about it, I won’t, but I’m aware. Of the club, and your plan with Butcher. That helped me figure it out. You care. About humans, about everyone. No matter how they treat you, how they collectively wrong you and fail you, you care.”
You’d shrugged. “Kant said never to treat people as means to an end.”
“Kant also said man must be disciplined.” Sage had shot back. “But you’re not interested in that. You’re forgiving. You tried to discipline Soldier Boy, but then you let him stop you. I didn’t think anything would stop you. I’m still trying to piece that part together fully, but I know how to adapt to an empty picture. I know, for all your care, something with Soldier Boy is different. And you can stop looking at the monitors.”
You’d blinked at her. “The monitors-“
“I know Butcher has Homelander’s son. I’ve sent people to collect them. Right now this is about you. You, Homelander, and Soldier Boy. See,” she’d looked at the monitors with narrowed eyes. “Sometimes I outdo even myself. When I developed the gas for Soldier Boy, I didn’t think it would be this important. But, fuck, those months in the lab around about to pay off. Because-“
Hindsight coming to you now, you probably should’ve let Sage finish her speech. Figured out how this was going to pay off for her, and how it probably wasn’t in your favor. But you remember hearing people to collect them and gas for Soldier Boy and a ringing sound starting in your ears. So you’d shot Sage in the face.
This part was harder to remember. This part felt painful.
You think you’d sat in the chair. Pushed Sage’s body to the floor and sat. Or maybe you’d just stood at her side. Or behind the chair.
No matter what, you’d looked at the monitors. You’d seen Noir and The Deep. Not being distracted by A-Train, but running through a hall that looked far too similar to the one your team was in. You’d stopped them. Somehow you’d stopped them because you remember the relief when they turned around. It might have been a phone call, maybe there was a walkie talkie, but it didn’t matter because you’d stopped them. And Ryan had gotten out.
Then you’d seen Ben and Homelander, still fighting. Ben throwing steady, powerful punches and slamming his shield into Homelander’s body. Then you’d see Homelander reach for something.
The gas.
Homelander had been reaching for more gas. And Ben hadn’t been seeing it.
You’d screamed. You’d grabbed Sage’s phone, or walkie talkie, or just screamed louder. Loud enough to be heard.
You were in the Vought building. Alone. Homelander could come find you.
And then Sage had stood up, and you’d been confused. You’d definitely just shot her.
She’d pulled out a vial.
And now you were here.
In Vought Tower. Or a warehouse. Or a lab. Or underground.
Cold.
Alone.
You aren’t chained to anything. Your mouth has a gag around it, so you can’t speak, but you can move. You’re dressed. No shoes, but a shirt, loose pants. Underwear. You can’t hear anyone, only the hum of a fan. A lot of fans. It’s really, really cold.
If Sage sent you here, she should know better. She should know cold doesn't matter. Your fire came from you, not the air around you. You could, if you tried, burn all of the arctic circle while standing at the north pole. But it was still so cold.
And bright. When you peel your eyes open, blinking and wiping at them—your hands are cuffed and wrapped in big red mittens, so you can’t really accomplish much with them—the room is almost blinding. It might be because of how long you were out, how your head was pounding and aching when you’d woken, but it was so bright.
You don’t recognize the room. Your eyes adjust quickly, the pounding is already gone and your exhaustion is leaving fast, but you can’t figure out where you are. It wasn’t the white room, or a new lab, but an apartment. A truly awfully decorated apartment, where everything was glossy marble and silk and sleek furniture that didn’t look usable in any way. The bed you’re on is low, the frame made of iron and the mattress feeling like it’s sinking into the floor. It’s not bright anymore, not as the effects of Sage’s gas—what you were assuming was Sage’s gas—were dissipating by the second. It’s low lit, too low lit. Everything is cast in a yellow glow, and the lamps and ceiling lights feel like they’re more for pure decoration than actual practical use. Another part of this hideous, unnerving picture. There’s a lot of red. A lot of white. A lot of blue.
Your heart drops. Deep into your stomach where it churns around with bile and fear. You know where you are. You know exactly where you are. Everything is too clean, too modern, and too impractical. Like it’s been designed to be gaudy, high-brow, and ostentatious. There’s a white marble statue of a bald eagle, and a painting of George Washington on the Delaware that you hope isn’t an original.
But it could be. Because this is Homelander’s room.
You need to run. Your hands are confined and your fire is asleep, but your feet aren’t chained. So you can run. Or jump out a window. Homelander’s room is on 99—you remember from the blueprints: floor 99, south facing quadrant, next to Maeve’s old room and Noirs’ current one—but you’d survive the fall. You’d survive anything. But you have to go. You have to push through the sick and crippling feeling that’s growing like mold in your body, through the sheer cold in your blood that’s trying to root you in place, and run.
Rolling off the bed is easy. Getting your legs to stop shaking is harder, and taking steps without collapsing is near impossible. But you have to run. You can break when you’re home, when you’re safe and Homelander can’t find you again.
You can fucking do this. You steady your body, and take a long breath. You’re strong. You’ve escaped him once before. And done a lot of other, crazier shit. At this point it’s just another Tuesday.
It’s a Friday. A small voice—bored and petulant—reminds you. And you were in a lab upstate. This is Vought Tower. You’ve never escaped Vought Tower.
Shut the fuck up. This voice isn’t yours. It’s deep, and always a little gruff, even as it encourages you. You’re strong, Sunshine. You’re a spiteful, brilliant, angry pain in the ass. You can fucking do this.
You’re strong. You can fucking do this.
You’re going to jump out the window.
Getting out of the room is simple but difficult, and getting down the stairs is fast. You fall, tumbling down the steps and landing on the floor with a crunch, but the adrenaline makes it painless and whatever broke is already healed. You half-crawl, half stumble to the windows. Wide, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the New York skyline. You can’t really see the street below you.
This is going to really fucking hurt.
Two steps back. Actually, four steps back. Enough to get a running start. Breathe in, out. You’ll be fine. And if it kills you, it kills you.
Anything would be better than this.
You’ve taken three steps when something grabs the back of your shirt, halting you. You scream into the gag, and a red gloved hand covers your mouth.
“It’s just me,” Homelander hisses in your ear, and you stop fighting. Your whole body shuts down into the cold, and you can’t scream, or sob, or do anything but let Homelander drag you back and throw you onto the long, stiff couch.
You can’t look at him. Looking at him makes this real.
He notices, and jerks your chin to force your eyes to meet his. Colder than the room, full of malice and something that might be his version of hurt. Blue. You fucking hate blue.
“You weren’t going to try and jump?” Homelander’s voice sounds genuinely disbelieving. “I mean,” he laughs your name, and you want to throw up. “Even for you that’s drastic.”
He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know what’s drastic for you and what’s not. But you can’t even glare at him, because all your energy is starting to fade, weighing you down like stones filling up your lungs.
Homelander sighs. “I mean, you’ve already hurt my feelings enough for today.” His grip on your face might crack bone. “Stealing my son,” he gestures to his face, still bubbling with burn scars. “Doing fucking this to me. I mean, what did they do to you? To make you do this to me?”
He sounds like he’s going to cry. You don’t care.
“Well,” he stands up, releasing your face and frowning down at you with his hands on his hips. “It doesn’t matter now. We’ll fix it. It’s fine your little plan worked, because it brought you back to me. And we’ll get Ryan back, together, once you’re less,” he sighs, waving a hand. “Fucking broken. This time will be different, I won’t keep you two apart. That was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
You just look at him, and his face twists into a sneer.
“I said I’m sorry. It’s your turn.”
You have a fucking gag over your mouth. And, even with the fear making everything too loud and bright and blurry, you’d never apologize to Homelander. He’ll have to kill you first.
His glower fades in a second when he remembers the gag. “Oh, well, I’m going to pretend you apologized, because I can’t really take your gag off. Not while you’re still,” he spins a finger around near his head with a whistle. “Cuckoo. You get it, it’s just a precaution. I mean,” he laughs. “We can’t have you doing your little reality warping trick when you’re still loosing your fucking mind!”
It’s not reality warping. It’s sensory manipulation. And for some reason that starts to set steel in your body. You’re not losing your mind. You’re not unstable or drastic. It’s fucking sensory manipulation, and your plan worked. Homelander had said Ryan was gone, and you’d done that—ruined Homelander’s picture perfect, all-American face—because you hated him. The fear wasn’t leaving, but it wasn’t growing anymore. And you could glare at Homelander. Let all your hatred, your hatred, not anyone else’s but yours, show across your face.
“Oh, don’t give me that look!” Homelander huffs with an eye roll. “It’s temporary. Just until I can trust you again! We’re going to do this right this time, we’re going to do us right this time, and once we’ve rebuilt our trust I won’t have to take these kind of precautions. They’re fucking annoying for me, too. This isn’t just about you.”
You just glare.
“I mean, you can’t be that mad. You’d do the same thing, if you were in my shoes.” Homelander leans over you, studying your face. “I’m not letting you go this time. Everyone’s going to know you fucking belong to me. I mean, we’re made for each other.” He laughs again, and it’s horrible. It’s joyless and mocking and scraping around your insides painfully. “I mean, you were a good option for me before the V. Smart, pretty, good genetics, more compliant than Becca Butcher, less annoying and weird than Stormfront. You’d never be as mean to me as they were. For Christ’s sake, Stormfront killed herself on my fucking birthday! Did I tell you that? How fucking mean!”
He’d told you that. Homelander had visited you that day, and asked you if you’d ever do that him. You’d said you would, because you had to and part of you had hoped he’d just leave. He hadn’t.
“But you’d never do that to me. And after the V?” He grins at you, and it makes the scars look uglier. “You’re almost as strong as me! All those fucking nerds said one shot was going to kill you, but you survived four!” He leans over you, making you crane your neck with a rough hand. “Did I ever tell you that? One V shot should’ve killed you, and you definitely shouldn’t have lived through two. One of those scientists kept trying to tell me that you were growing more powerful and unstable each time, that we should fucking quit while we’re ahead, but I believed in you. And now look at you. My equal.” He shrugs. “Or at least fucking close to it. Closer than Maeve, closer than Stormfront, closer than anyone. Which is why I forgive you, and now I’m going to do this right.”
He keeps saying that. Keeps saying he’s going to do this right. You don’t know what that means.
“Sage already announced you’ve come home. I would’ve done it, but,” he gestures to his face, and some sort of twisted satisfaction runs through you. “I could just wait it out, but you’re up before we thought you’d be, so you can fix it.” He grabs one of your hands and starts to undo the cuff, but pauses. “If you need an incentive to behave, let me just remind you that you won’t make it out the door. You’re strong, but I’m fucking stronger. You can run, but I’ll knock you down. You’re staying with me. All the fucking worms who tried to keep you away from me won’t be able to this time. Butcher can try and come get you, but I’ll just kill him and his whole merry band of idiots. They send Soldier Boy, and we’ll knock him out. Sage has wired the whole building for it, just in case. You don’t have to worry about that, but you should know. Trust.” Homelander pulls off the wrapping on one hand, raising to his face. “You’re never fucking getting away from me again. Now fix what you did.”
The fire is back. It’s woken up—not at full power but more than enough—coursing through your whole body as Homelander words rattled around your head. They’ll knock Ben out. They’ll kill your team.
You could run. Homelander’s moving your hand against his skin, and you could burn him and run.
But you touch him, your skin on his, and suddenly you’re afraid.
It’s not your fear. Your fear is freezing, made of panic and memories. This fear is foreign, hostile in your body, made of something vile and strange. This fear is buried deep, deep down, and strong. This fear is parasitic. This is Homelander’s fear.
Homelander’s afraid.
Of you.
And in a split second, you make a choice.
You had a plan for this. In the back of your head, you’d buried a plan. You’d never wanted to use it, you’d never told anyone you had it, you’d even pretended it wasn’t there so you could sleep at night.
You could run. You could leave and go back to Ben and warn him that they had more gas, warn Butcher that Sage was planning something, because you were certain she was. But you didn’t know what.
And you had a plan.
Ben was going to kill you. You were going to kill you. As Homelander’s face healed under your hands and your own face grew raw and painful, you hated yourself. You wanted to leave. You wanted to go home, back to Ben, and just leave. But the fire was settling quietly back into your body, silent and cold once more as your choice became set.
Homelander was right. This wasn’t about you. This was about the world, and making it safe. This was about trusting that Butcher wouldn’t let Ben come find you, as much as you wanted him to. Every part of your heart wanted Ben to burst through the door, pick you up, and take you away. Anywhere that wasn’t here, and you’d tell him you loved him and he wouldn’t leave. But you’d promised to keep him awake, and if he came to save you he’d go under. He wasn’t going under. And, as much of a prick as Butcher was, he’d know to keep Ben away. And you’d get back to Ben. Soon. But right now this wasn’t about you.
Here were the cards you’d been dealt. Here was your shot at the devil.
You weren’t going to miss.
End Note: I know y’all hate me now, but please let me cook. I swear I'm not a sadist and this is going somewhere. Remember the agreement we made that you didn’t know about; you GOTTA trust.
Please, please, please leave a comment if you want to! Never be afraid it’s too long or too short and think I won’t read it. Every single one means the whole world to me, whether it’s a thought on an older chapter or a predication about the next one. No matter what you’re telling me, feedback or jokes or opinions, you will ALWAYS make my day. Cuss me out for this chapter, ask my why the hell I hate love, tell me about your day, no matter what I want to hear it <3. See you in Angst-town USA, population us, for chapter 17.
If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
OOOO THAT WAS A GOOD CLIFF HANGER RIGHT THERE! THIS WHOLE 1ST SEASON HAS BEEN SO FRIGGIN AWESOME! IT WAS SO MUCH FUN SEEING EACH EVENT PLAYED OUT IN MY MIND! ISTG IT WAS LIKE WATCHING THE DAMN SHOW IN MY BRAIN! PEAK FANFICTION!! 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽🔥🔥🔥
(Onto to season 2 now, stakes looking might high and can’t wait to see homelander get what he damn deserves too, I’m ready!!)
Author's Note: Oh geez, my loves, we're really in it now. Chapter Title from Help I'm Alive By Metric.
Word Count: 18.8k
Chapter Summary/Warnings: Ben has a plan. Usual warnings.
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst, pining
Read on A03!
Chapter 11 - Chapter 13
He hadn’t let you go. In the van, when he’d been snapping at your team in low words your brain didn’t have the energy to fully process, Ben had kept you tucked into his chest. When you’d returned to the safe house he’d picked you up in a smooth and effortless movement and carried you across the threshold, up the stairs, and into your room. You waited, in a world of dread, for the fury to hit him. For Ben to pull back, dropping you on the stairs or couch or floor of the bedroom and demand answers. Tell he wasn’t forgiving you this time. But all he seemed to feel—pushing through you where your arms were wrapped around his neck—was stoned resolve and something that was itching against his ribs and running into his fingers. And he didn’t drop you, and he didn’t leave. Ben lowered you both onto the edge of the mattress and let you cling to the firm warmth of his body until you were able to pull your head back and meet his eyes.
“It’s late,” Ben spoke first, voice gravelly and low. “You need sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” you whisper. It was the truth, every part of your body was wired and alert. You kept your eyes locked to Ben’s because if you looked away you’d start searching for Homelander in shadows and corners. You kept your hand gripped to his shirt because if you let go, they’d start to smoke and turn over every surface to make sure it was only you and Ben in the house.
Ben only grunts, still watching you. It’s silent for another moment, only your breaths filling the space in an even time with each other. He’s just watching you, barely even blinking, and you can only feel him. Safe and strong and right there. Still right there. He’s not gone yet, yet, and there’s still no hot fury. No questions. There wasn’t apathy either, and you’re grateful because that might have destroyed you. The idea that he just didn’t care enough to fight anymore and was just going to let it go until you wouldn’t break down, then he’d leave forever. There was only the resolve and itch and a third thing. So deep down, you couldn’t feel it in passing. Constricting against him, pushing into his jaw and making everything almost fuzzy.
It might be betrayal, that third thing. The final straw, the last lie, breaking whatever this strange thing you’d managed to build together was. You might never have to say all those explanations you’d been putting together in your head, about why you’d hidden the sensory manipulation when you’d had every opportunity to tell him. About how you couldn’t control what happened, and had been so terrified that Homelander would use that against you. About how you didn’t want to talk about the performance because Ben would either touch you and not mean it or just not touch you at all, and you didn’t know which was worse. This wasn’t much better, though. Sitting against him in the dark, him being the only thing keeping you from imploding, and having to wait for it to be over forever.
He wouldn’t look away from you. You wished he would. You never wanted him to leave, you needed to stay right here—in this moment where he didn’t hate you—forever, but the longer he looked at you, the larger the dread grew. Because when time passed, as it always cruelly did, and the anger found its way from him into you, it would be worse if he just kept looking at you. You were searching his eyes for a hint, a sign of an oncoming storm, but all you saw was a look you didn’t understand. You knew all of his looks, and that introduced a new thread of fear into you. You dropped your head forward, back into his chest, trying to hide the tears falling from all of it—the night and the performance and Homelander and your team and the knowledge that Ben was going to hate you so soon—and trying hopelessly to pull Ben closer. Keep him tangible against you, maybe make him a part of you before it was over.
But he still didn’t leave.
Your hands start to fidget with the collar of his shirt. It was white earlier in the afternoon—crisp and pressed when Frenchie had brought it from the van—but you could see stains of blood and filth spread across the fabric, small tears in the seams, and charred holes where you’d been pressed against him as you burned. That breaks you more.
“I’m sor-“
“Shut the fuck up,” Ben cuts off your mumbled apology, following your gaze down to one of the scorch marks. “Stop apologizing.”
“But your shirt,” you look back up at him, hand flattening against his chest. “And the mission, and my powers, and Homelander, and you had to carry me-“
You choke on your own words as one of Ben’s hands moves from your hips to your cheeks, cupping it gently and keeping your eyes on his. “Stop.”
“But-“
He says your name, grip tightening slightly as his thumb brushes a tear from your eyes. “Fucking stop. I don’t want your apologies, so fucking stop.”
“Okay,” you whisper, and it’s painful. You don’t look away, because he doesn’t want you, and once you do that becomes real.
Ben’s eyes narrow, scanning your face closely, and you can feel the itch turn into almost a burn. His mouth opens—just slightly—and closes a few times, and your body begins to brace against your will. This is it, and you’ll find a way to be fine with that. You’ve survived a lot worse, and this will not break you. This will not break you. You’ll figure out what to do with yourself, alone once more, when this is all over. When you’re immortal, incapable of being around the world, and Ben is millions of miles away with no one to blame for that but yourself, you will be fine because you have to be. You’re a lot fucking stronger than being broken by something like this-
“I’m not mad at you, Sunshine.”
You blink, Ben’s words almost jolting through you. You can feel them, coming deep from his chest, and everything is suddenly very big and blurry.
“What?”
“You think I’m mad at you.” He says it flatly, still holding your face so lightly. “You’re doing the thing with your face. Your heart beats faster every time I talk. I’m not mad at you, so calm the fuck down.”
“Why?” You don’t believe him. You want to believe him, but you’d be mad at you. You’d hate you, and so you don’t believe him. “You should be, I hid something from you again, and I blew our cover, and my powers-“ The words die in your throat, because you don’t want to talk about that. You’re not ready to have that conversation, where the whole world will end because he’ll say the thing you know. The thing you don’t even want to think.
“I know.” Ben’s voice doesn’t waver as he speaks, even though he frowns. “But I’m not.”
“Why?” You’re repeating yourself, trapped in a loop. You won’t leave it until you understand, until the dread is gone. You need it to be concrete, that he’s staying, and you’ll be stuck right here until he either leaves or makes you understand. “Why? Ben, why-“
“Because.” He swallows heavily, and you watch the bob of his throat, waiting for him to continue. “I’m just not.”
“Please, just tell me why-“
“I fucking can’t.” He snaps your names. “But stop being so goddamn afraid that I am. I’m not, so just please fucking stop.”
“But you will be-“
“No, I won’t.” His voice raises, but you don’t flinch. Your hand flies to where his own rests on your face, holding it there so he won’t pull away. Ben tenses at the movement, but only takes a heavy breath. “I won’t be mad. I’m not now, I won’t be later, and that’s fucking it. Stop being afraid of me.”
You feel the odd, implacable feeling pulse and grow just so slightly stronger.
“I’m not afraid of you, Ben. I’m just,” you hold his hand tighter as his eyes stay on yours. He doesn’t believe you, you can feel it. See it painted across his face. “I just, I don’t-“
“I know,” he mutters, moving his hand from your face to fold it into yours. “Me neither.”
You know what you mean. That you aren’t—couldn’t—be afraid of him, because he’s Ben. He’s safe and you, for some godforsaken reason, trust him more than anyone. With every part of you, all you have for him is faith and-
You know what you mean. And though you feel it—that strange thing deep in him that you’re afraid to try and name—you still don’t know what he means. You still need it to be solid, though. Even if you don’t have a clue what it is.
“Promise?”
“Fucking swear it.”
You nod, and words begin to push out of you.
“It’s him.” You say it so quietly, because you’re almost afraid that it’ll be heard, somehow, by anyone but Ben. That all the way in Vought Tower, cruel and twisted ears will pick up your voice and find you. But Ben needs to know. He can’t think that you’re afraid of him, because that might be worse. “I didn’t tell you because of him, not because of you, not because I don’t trust you or I’m afraid of you or am trying to lie-“
He says your name, but you barrel forward.
“Please, please believe me. I trust you, I do, I promise, and I’m all out of lies. That was it, and nobody knew. Not him, not Butcher, not Annie or Hughie or Kimiko or Mallory-“
Ben’s hand in yours tugs you forward, and you fall right into his chest. You feel your eyes start to sting, tears falling into your mouth, clinging to your tongue as your words turn muffled and choked.
“I couldn’t tell anybody, I can’t control it, he would’ve used it, hurt me, hurt people I love, I couldn’t, nobody could know, please-“
“Breathe,” is all Ben says, and his voice moves from his chest into yours. He starts to rub small circles against where he’s holding you, and your words fall into strangled sobs. “You’re okay. You’re here, and I’m not mad. You trust me?” You make another weak sound of affirmation, and he hums. “Then fucking believe me when I say I’m not mad, and I won’t be."
You nod into him, the heat of his body spreading through you. Your heart and brain slow as Ben just holds you. Still not moving, just waiting, still tracing soft, firm patterns against your skin until your breathing slows. You pull back, reaching up to wipe the lingering tears away from your eyes, but he catches your face before you can. Cupping your jaw with one hand, the other leaves your waist, crossing your cheeks with warm, calloused fingers.
He’s lingering. There are no tears left, no new ones falling, but Ben’s still holding your face. Watching you. Not moving—not leaving—as your breaths fall back in time. One hand has tangled in your hair, and his thumb has moved to your chin. Brushing slightly against your lips, and your mouth falls open against your will.
You look at him. Really, fully look at him for the first time since the mission. You’d been right to want to see him in a suit. Even with his tie loosened and cock-eyed, with the dried blood and dirt marking his shirt and his jacket hanging by threads, he’s everything. Safe and warm and firm and Ben. His own mouth is in a slight pout, his eyes are so pretty, and he smells almost impossibly good. It’s surrounding you, wrapping around you with the strength of his arms. Every time he breathes you can feel the muscles move under his shirt, and there’s a strand of hair falling across his eyes. He’s not letting go of you to move it, leaving it loose and taunting you. Right now, between the feel of him everywhere and the way that he’s everything, you’re not strong enough to fight yourself from brushing it away. You reach up through Ben’s arms, moving it back into place slowly, carefully, in case he wants to stop you. He doesn’t, only glancing at your hand before looking back at you, unblinking and silent. Your hand drops to his arm, and even though it tenses under your hold, he doesn’t shrug it away. He just watches you. And stays.
The feeling you couldn’t understand is gone—flickered out completely—and the burn in his chest doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s bigger, stronger, consuming and so powerful it’s carving into you. It’s hungry, so hungry you’re shocked it’s not painful, but it isn't at all. It’s in your blood and through your spine and sitting heavy in your gut and it feels good.
It’s the lust, but stronger. It’s more than the club, where it felt like it could be cured. This is insatiable, and infinite, and nothing in Ben seems to be frustrated by it. All you feel is the hunger and it’s making everything inside you hot and aching. It’s amplifying your own need for him, for Ben to stay here with you forever and drown you in everything and want you. Really, really want you.
And it’s so easy to pretend he does. When his eyes drop to your lips for a fraction of a second. When his arms don’t leave their place around you and his hands are so gentle against your face. Not touching you like you’re delicate or breakable, but as if you’re something more than just you. Something important and holy and irreplaceable. Something like him.
It’s such a perfect world to exist in, where that’s just the truth, and not an easy and comfortable illusion. If Ben were to move—to finally close the space between you and touch you—there’s not a universe where you’re strong enough to stop him. You want him, you need him, and when he’s making it so easy to stay here forever you can’t prevent yourself from giving everything to him. Even if he doesn’t need you, even if it’s fleeting and might leave you shattered later.
For one of the first times in your life, your mind is almost blank. It’s just the same harmony of Ben, Ben, Ben and everything else is only need. Electric and burning need. The world is only you in Ben’s lap, and Ben’s hands on your face, and the breaths you seem to be trading. It’s only his eyes, watching you like he’s trying to dissect you. It’s different this time, not like the beginning. He’s trying to find something specific, and you can’t say what it is. What he’s looking for.
You do know you’d give it to him. Whatever he’s looking for, you’d find a way to give it to him. Right now, if he asked for the moon, you’d pull it from the sky. If he asked for your heart, you’d tear it out of your chest. That should terrify you, how that idea seems so easy and natural. How it’s the truth, and there’s no way around it. But it doesn’t. Because it’s Ben. And he’s not mad, and he’s still here, and he’s everything, and if your heart in his hands is the thing that would make him keep holding you like this forever then so be it. You’d grow a new one anyways, and he could have that one too, and the next one, and the one after that.
“What did you mean?” When Ben finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. “When you said you wouldn’t need saving?”
You blink, caught off guard by the question when you can still feel his hunger. “What?”
“After my meeting. After our fight. The next morning, you said if I wasn’t immortal, you wouldn’t need saving.”
“Oh,” you’d forgotten about that entirely. You remembered seeing Ben sleep peacefully for the first time, feeling him content and secure above you. You remember having to wake him up, because you’d been able to feel your bladder, but still felt real guilty about it. You remember trying to push him out the door unsuccessfully, and him throwing you onto the bed and storming out, and having to force yourself not to chase after him. You remember how sturdy his body had felt against yours and how stupidly handsome he’d somehow looked in the early morning, but everything else was just a blur of how it had made you thirsty. You’re shocked Ben remembered, because you’d dismissed your own comment after you’d decided it wasn’t worth explaining.
But Ben was frowning, and you could feel the severity of his question through where he touched you. This, for some reason, mattered to him. And he was waiting for you to answer, brows knit and gaze urgent. The lust isn’t gone, but the undecipherable feeling has blossomed back in you, in Ben. You can even see it on his face, because it’s tight and grave in the same way.
You chose your words carefully, because this feels much more vital than it reasonably should.
“Do you, do you know what the butterfly effect is?” You ask, and Ben’s frown deepens.
“No.”
At his grumbled words, the strange feeling twitches, and for a second it’s sour. You make yourself keep speaking, because you can’t stop to read into every bit and scrap you get from him. You’ve already driven yourself mad just having to feel them, trying to find a pattern or meaning would lock you in a cycle of confusion and desperation forever.
“It’s this idea in Chaos Theory, that every small action could balloon to cause larger consequences. A butterfly flaps its wings in Asia, and a hurricane occurs in the Caribbean. What about the domino effect, do you know about that?”
“Yeah, one thing happens so all the other things do too, why-“
“You get injected with the V in the 1940s, and something about how it interacts with your DNA makes you develop immortality. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s experimental, a form a V they haven’t used since. But other volunteers combust, and something about you makes it work. You help build Vought for over forty years, now you’re sixty, and you still look twenty. Dr. Jonah Vogalbaum asks you to jerk off into a cup so he can study your un-aging DNA, and you don’t think twice because why would you? You’re immortal, nobody can hurt you, and so you don’t think twice. A little more time passes, and you’re impossible and a liability and nobody likes you.” At the flash of that odd feeling, in perfect synchronization with the look of what might be hurt on his face, you pause to squeeze your hand against his bicep. “They were right to, you’re an asshole,” you offer him a soft smile. “You’re guarded and unbelievably masculine to the point of detriment. But people can change. And I, for some stupid fucking reason, still care about you. And I trust you and I give a shit about you, even though you’re a dick and a cunt.”
“I know,” Ben grunts, and despite the indifferent annoyance of his tone, you can feel the odd feeling grow into a static hum once more. “Keep talking.”
“Okay,” you take a deep breath. “Vought used that DNA you handed to them to make-“ you swallow, pushing the name out into the air from where it catches in your throat. “Homelander, and he’s strong enough that they feel comfortable replacing you. They cut the a deal with the Russians to get you out of the picture, and Homelander is the new big thing. But he’s so strong nobody will say ‘no’ to him, not if they want to keep their life, and he becomes an entitled, psychotic monster. He just wants a family, but doesn’t care enough or know how to build one like a normal, non-sociopathic person. So he decides to force it, and I’m the person he chooses. That’s not your fault, it’s just what happened, but um-“ You feel guilty, because none of this is really Ben’s fault, not really. He didn’t lock you up, he wouldn’t, and he didn’t force Homelander to do anything. But he asked, and you’re done lying to him. Forever. “When you come back, because the Russians couldn’t kill you, nothing can, Homelander’s angry. You’re immortal and it’s unfair that he’s not. He deserves to be, he should be, but when he asks a bunch of Vought scientists about it, they all say the same thing. Soldier Boy’s V hasn’t been made since he was created, and they destroyed the formula a long time ago. If we tried to duplicate it, we would need to test it before injecting it into you. Test it on a human. And that wouldn’t be legal. Lucky Homelander, lucky scientists, they have a human that nobody gives a shit about just lying around. And they inject her with V and even though the first shot did it, she’s immortal, they still want to make sure it’s stable and that it won’t hurt Homelander. So they do it, again, and again, and again until she explodes because that last shot proved too much. But I didn’t explode. I got out, and made a bunch of insane choices that led to me living here, and led to you saving me, all the time. That’s the domino effect, the butterfly effect. You get injected with V in the 1940s and I explode a warehouse in the 2020s. That’s it.”
Ben’s silent. You hate it. You need him to say something, anything, because what if that was the final straw. What if he thinks you’re blaming him and hates you for it. You don’t feel hatred or anger—just that strange tension—but you need him to say it. That he still doesn’t hate you, that he’s staying-
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m really fucking sorry.”
He might as well have punched you, the way the world stills and the air is knocked from your lungs. He’s apologized before, once, and the words had been strained. This isn’t strained, this sounds like it’s falling out of him. And the feeling is moving around inside of him, twisting his guts with the drums. They’re so loud and sudden and furious. But he doesn’t hate you. He’s sorry.
“Ben-“
“Jesus fucking Christ, how didn’t you kill me the first day we met?”
“I mean, I couldn’t-“
“You should’ve fucking tried harder!” His voice is rising, words rolling into rambles, and he’s still holding you. “I would’ve fucking killed me! I wouldn’t have rested until I was dead! Fuck, I tracked down every pussy headed asshole who turned me over to Russia, and you just fucking lived with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
That makes you frown. “Nothing’s wrong with me-“
“Fucking damn it, that’s not what I meant. I just-“ Ben’s pulling you up slightly, like he’s trying to look for a different angle of you, to find a button he can push to understand something. “Fuck, you- I don’t get it. You’re so-“ He trails off, eyes finding your face once more. He looks angry, but it’s only a lining along that confusing thing.
“I’m what?” You ask softly, and he shakes his head.
“You don’t make fucking sense.” He says your name like a plea. “You should hate me.”
“Probably,” you breathe. “Logically, on paper, yeah. I should. But I don’t. Hate you, or blame you, or want to kill you.”
“Fucking why.”
You smile weakly. “Because. I just don’t.”
It’s amusing, how you can see the exact moment the words click in Ben’s head. You don’t have to feel the indignant disbelief spark in his chest to see the way his frown becomes more annoyed than angry, or hear his huff of exasperation.
“Brat.” He mutters, and your smile becomes just a little easier.
“What’s wrong, Pretty Boy? Is that not a satisfying answer?”
He rolls his eyes, and the drums begin to fade into the background. “You’re fucking impossible.”
“And yet, you manage to put up with me.”
“Yeah,” Ben’s lips tug upwards ever so slightly, and the world feels lighter. “I’m a real hero.”
Your grin is real, toothless but full. “Well, that’s what the Soldier Boy Voughtland show says, so it must be true.”
He snorts, but there’s still something straining inside him. “You really don’t blame me, do you.”
You wish he would stop doing that thing—where he says something that should be a question in a way that makes it sound like fact—because every time he’s right and you can’t stop yourself from proving so.
“I blame Homelander. I blame Vogelbaum and Vought and Edgar and everyone who made the choice to put me there and not try and get me out. But I don’t blame you.”
“And you don’t hate me?”
You shake your head. “Couldn’t if I tried. And I have.”
A shadow passes over Ben’s face as the odd feeling leaves, and it’s replaced in a violent rush by something that’s forceful and pushing against his ribs and up his throat.
“Fucking promise?”
“Swear it.” You feel the force become bloody and warm in your body, Ben’s body. “You burn, I burn.”
“You burn, I burn.” He echoes, and this time when you smile at him, Ben smiles back. It’s not as unrestrained as yours, but it’s real. He’s real. And that’s enough.
Your exhaustion hits you like a bomb. You can almost feel the last bit of adrenaline leave your body, and here—where you still exist in a reality where Ben is warm and real and safe—the heavy, free-falling and airy feeling that makes your head feel faded and the world blur in and out is easy to give into.
Ben picks up on it quickly, and you see his smirk cross his dizzily attractive face the second before he speaks. “We finally tired, beautiful?”
He can’t keep calling you that, not when your tongue is growing loose from sleep and you were being literal when you called his face “dizzying”. You don’t know if it’s the sleep deprivation or just Ben, but you’re pretty sure he’s hypnotized you. All you can manage to say is, “You’re tired.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I fucking am. So can we please get your ass to bed so I can sleep?”
You hum, and he apparently takes that as a yes. Dropping his hands from where they’ve been glued to your face, he picks you up bridal style, carrying you to your side of the bed.
“Clothes,” you mumble into his shirt, because the smell of grime and bodily fluids is just managing to push through the smell of him. “Ben, clothes.”
“What about them.”
“Gross.”
“We’ll change the sheets in the morning.”
“You’ll change the sheets in the morning.”
He chuckles, and you feel it everywhere. “Fine, Sunshine. I’ll change the damn sheets in the morning.”
You give a hum of content that turns into a very embarrassing sound from your throat when Ben pulls away. Your eyes have already fallen closed, so you grope the air around you aimlessly to try and pull him back.
Ben’s hand catches your wrist, and his smug amusement takes root through your body. “I’m taking a piss, I’ll be one fucking minute. Think you can survive?”
His words are taunting. Not malicious, but taunting all the same, so you only give him disgruntled, “cunt,” and burrow yourself under the covers.
You hear him snort, and then he’s gone. You’re half aware of him shuffling around, the bathroom closing behind him, but it feels far away. You’re so tired, yet your consciousness is clinging to your head, keeping you in its hold as the toilet flushes, and the door creaks back open.
You wish you were more surprised when the moment Ben’s weight hits the bed—heat radiating from his body as it dips his side of the mattress—sleep grabs you.
You’re on your knees. You were dancing in the kitchen to a pop song Ben said he would hate, and you said he was wrong. You know it by heart, so you started singing because at this point, really, what’s the worst that could happen. Pink, glittery clouds were all that filled the room after a handful of seconds, so you’d just spun around—singing and dancing—right up until Ben kissed you. He’d caught you, pulled you right into him, and kissed you so powerfully you were almost afraid you’d conjured Fake Ben again. But you could feel him, feel that hunger for you, just for you, and knew it was Real Ben. Kissing the air out of your lungs, wrapping his arms around you, groaning into your mouth as your hands pulled slightly at his hair. It was the best sound you’d ever heard, so you did it again, just to hear that sound of pleasure leave Ben’s mouth and feel it move into yours. Deciding to try something, you dropped one hand between your bodies, pressing it flat against his bulge, and this time he fucking growled.
So you’re on your knees.
He’s not wearing jeans, but the slacks from his disguise at Tek Knight’s club. When you look up at him, you realize he’s in a clean version of that suit, the tie askew from you pulling at it and his hair messy from your hands. Looking up proves to be, overall, a mistake though, because now you’re looking at Ben’s face. His mouth is hanging open and his face is reverent as he watches you. It’s everything, he’s everything, and he’s looking at you like that.
It’s impressive how fast you get his pants off, more impressive that you don’t moan yourself when you see all of him, pressing against his boxers and big. You’ll never be thirsty again, because you’re salivating enough to flood a desert. When you touch him to pull his cock out, hands bordering on frantic, he leans back with another amazing groan. One hand fists in your hair, angling your face to look at him once more.
Ben says your name, and you press your legs together because just that makes you ache. “Are you-“
“Yes,” you breathe. “If you-"
“Fuck yes.”
You smile softly. “Okay then.”
So you set to work.
When your mouth covers Ben, taking all of his cock into your mouth in one swift movement that bumps him against the back of his throat, he moans. And it’s the best one yet, it’s like a drug, so you pull almost all the way off of him and do it again. Sloppier, faster, wetter, over and over until his moans turn into your name and you’re grinding against air. One hand is steadying you, digging into Ben’s thighs, and the other is cupping and squeezing his balls, making him louder. The ache is becoming painful, but if you let go of Ben’s leg, you’ll fall, and if you let go of his balls, he won’t say your name like that. So you push through, because the sounds he's making are worth it. You might get off on them alone, moving hopelessly against the air.
Ben tenses above you, and you hear him choke out your name. “Where-"
You suck, long and firm, and the coil in his gut springs forward into you. The sounds he keeps making are musical, and you let him buck into your throat through his orgasm, swallowing every last drop of his cum.
You’ve hardly pulled off of his softening cock, when he’s yanking you up, kissing you long and rough. You whine into his mouth, and he pulls back with a cocky wink.
“I think you might have a problem I can fix, beautiful.” His eyes drop to where you’re still moving desperately against nothing. “Would you like me to?”
The dream is ripped from you with sleep, and when your eyes tear open you can see Ben on the other side of the bed, back to you as he thrashes in the dark. His chest is glowing, casting long shadows around the bedroom and building—brighter and brighter—by the second.
“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, reaching over Ben’s body, trying to twist him onto his back.
You lurch back when you touch him, because he’s in pain. Whatever is setting the bomb off is hurting him, prying his brain apart and making his lungs like lead in his chest.
“Ben,” you raise your voice, grabbing the discarded sheets from the end of the mattress. “Ben! Wake the fuck up!”
It’s not enough—you knew it wouldn’t be—so you wrap the blankets around your fists like gloves, still yelling one last time. “Benjamin, wake up!” Nothing still, and you take a deep breath. “Sorry,” you mumble to nothing, and punch Ben in the face.
Your form is significantly better than the last time you did this, and Ben’s eyes shoot open with a bellowing, unintelligible sound. There’s a borderline feral look on his face, and he grabs you and flips you onto your back. One hand is pinning yours down, the other is squeezing your jaw, and the bomb is still building. You see the recognition flash in his eyes the very second before the drums fall into time, and you don’t get a warning before he’s throwing you off the bed. Ben detonates, light and heat flashing through the room, and falls back into the bed, panting.
Standing, you walk carefully back to the bed and scoot into his side. “Better?” You ask softly, and the face Ben makes when he looks at you is haunting.
He grunts, watching you with a clenched jaw and heavy gaze. “Did I hurt-”
“No,” your voice is firm. “But you didn’t need to throw me. I can survive that.” You poke his chest gently, and feel a rush of that impossible and tight feeling.
“I know,” Ben mutters. “Just fucking instinct.”
You thank the dark of the room for covering the flush of your face. “I get it. Do you-“ you fidget with the sheets tangled around you nervously, dropping your eyes to Ben’s chest. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
“No.” He snaps, and even though you didn’t expect a yes, it still hurts.
“Okay.” You shrug. “I’m here if you do.”
Ben sighs loudly, leaning forward until you’re right against each other, and when you look up, he’s watching you with an apprehensive look. “You’re here?” He asks lowly, and you nod.
“Obviously.” You mumble, unsure what he’s aiming for. “And I’m not really going anywhere.”
“Hm,” he’s picking you apart again, and you don’t mind in the slightest. Because his knee is pressed into yours, and even as you can feel that tense pull, you can also feel something soft and aching. You’d stay here forever if it never went away, if he kept looking at you like a painting he can’t figure out, but doesn’t really want to. “You’re sure?”
You blink, having gotten lost in him. “Sure?”
“That you’re not going anywhere.”
“Are you? Going anywhere?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then me neither.”
You feel the soft thing roll around in Ben’s chest. “Good,” he mutters. “Do you…” he trails off, swallowing roughly, and it’s unbelievably confusing how hot it is when you’re still washed with concern. “The performance."
“Oh.” You stumble over words, having sort of hoped he’d just forget about that in the grand scheme of the night. “I, um, it’s- I, you-“
Ben catches your shaking head between his hands, and that doesn’t help anything at all. Because you don’t feel any disgust or apprehension, only the rumble of piercing heat in his chest. “Calm the fuck down.” He tells you, and it’s not great how fast your body responds, following the order until you've stilled in his arms. “You don’t owe me shit, but I-“ His hand trace your cheekbones lightly. “Tell me. Eventually. When we’re not trying to keep you safe or get that stupid fucking kid away from Homelander, tell me.”
He makes it sound easy, like you can just say well, Ben, against all odds you’ve become the most important person in my life, and annoyingly I don’t think that’s going to change. I want to fuck you so bad it’s becoming a problem, but I also really want to just keep you with me whenever I can, so if all you want from me is to fuck me then it might kill me. Because it’s a little more than that for me, and I’m so sorry about that. I’m sorry about a lot of this. But I’m not sorry for wanting you, for-
“It’s complicated,” you breathe. “I don’t-“
“Later,” he says, voice low and rough. “We’ll talk about it later.”
You don’t really want to talk about it later. You certainly don’t have any interest in talking about it now, but later feels worse. “Ben-“
“It’s too early to get up,” he cuts you off, still touching you carefully. So carefully, like you're almost holy. “Too early to deal with any of this fucking shit, so sleep. Don’t get in your own damn head, Sunshine, and sleep.”
He lays you down on your back, and no part of you protests. Not as he buries his head in your collarbone, warmer than any blanket, and his hands—tracing circles against your skin—lull you back into a peaceful, empty daze. You thread your fingers mindlessly through Ben’s hair, his breaths fan against your neck. It’s safe, and easy, and Ben.
You fall back into sleep quickly, your heart in rhythm with his. The last emotion you feel is a gentle, strong, scratch of your heart against your ribs, singing the same song over and over. It doesn’t have words, but you know what it wants.
This, forever.
————
Ben knew what they had to do. He, for once, had a fucking plan. A solid, good, and impenetrable plan. Tek Knight had said there was cam footage, and it had been deleted by Sage. But there was one sticky-handed asshole who had fingers and eyes everywhere at Vought. One conniving fucking pussy who would have something. Some sort of evidence or proof that they could use.
Last night—in the van as She’d been curled into Ben’s lap—he’d told the Pussy Brigade exactly what they had to do, and made it clear as the goddamn day that he wasn’t asking.
“I want to meet with Edgar,” Ben’s words had been rough, not aimed at anyone in particular. She was awake against him, but her heart was still rapid, and Ben would bet a good amount of money she wasn’t listening. He'd tell Her later, when she wasn't picking up pieces of herself in his arms.
“The fuck are you talking about?” MM had glowered at Ben in the dark of the van.
“Stan Edgar. I want to meet with him. Make it happen.”
Starlight had given him a confused look. “Why?”
“He’ll have something for us.” Ben had said coldly, glaring around the van. “Something for her.”
Starlight had glanced down at Her, still holding tightly to Ben. “He’s told us he didn’t have any clue about what Homelander was doing-“
“And the motherfucker’s in jail,” MM had snapped, and Starlight had nodded.
“And that.”
“He’s lying,” Ben had growled. “He knew fucking everything when I was at Vought. The bastard didn’t let anything slip past him. There’s not a fucking chance he’d have missed this.”
“You were able to get him out for Maine,” Cocksucker had said nervously, looking around the van. “A meeting wouldn’t be hard-“
“No.” MM had crossed his arms, words harsh and firm. “He’s got a fucking angle, Kid, there’s not a chance in hell we’re doing that.”
“I don’t have an angle,” Ben’s hiss, cold and furious, had been pair with a dirty look around the van at these high-and-mighty fuckers who were too weak to actually do something and help Her. “Edgar will have something, she won’t kill herself for you pathetic fucking pussies, and Butcher will get his damn brat back.”
“Careful, you twat-“
Ben had cut off Butcher useless fucking threat with another sneer. “Get me the meeting with Edgar. Bring a barrel of that fucking knockout gas with us if you want to, but get me the fucking meeting.”
Starlight had nodded slowly. “We’ll, we’ll see what we can do-“
“Don’t see what you can do. Fucking do it. Not for me, for her. If you have even a fucking sliver of the mortality you’re all always bitching about, fucking do it.”
He didn’t fucking get Her, or how she put up with these pussies. She was too fucking good for them, too fucking good for most anyone. Ben had known that, it had grown so goddamn obvious to him the longer he knew her, really knew Her. That she was too good, too kind and beautiful and insane and impossible. Ben hadn’t understood it, decided he wasn’t supposed to because She didn’t need him to, and then he’d made the mistake. He’d asked Her what she’d meant by it, those words that had been rattling around in his head since she’d said them. That the Thing had been trying to pick apart for weeks.
And now he knew that She really was too good for anyone. She was the first fucking person in history that was too perfect, and nobody fucking deserved Her. No one. Not even Ben.
He felt terrible. Like a fucking pussy asshole that had hurt Her. Ben didn’t have a fucking clue how people just existed like this, it was going to kill him. She shouldn’t forgive him, and it was awe-inspiring that She ever even let him yell at her or treat her like he had in the beginning when Ben had done that to her. When he’d been the stupid fucking butterfly in her weird analogy that led to Her curled in his arms, shaking and sobbing and screaming and tearing the Thing apart inside him. She was fucking impossible, this perfect and insane woman who deserved the fucking world but was still putting up with Ben. That kept promising to burn with him when nothing should ever be allowed to burn Her, and when that included Ben. That kept smiling and apologizing when She should be allowed to raze every single fucking bastard in her path.
When Ben had climbed into bed that night, he hadn’t let himself touch Her. For the first time in his long life, he didn’t feel like he deserved it. She’d said she didn’t blame him, promised that she didn’t hate him, and he really did fucking believe Her. But that didn’t make any of this shit better.
The Thing hated not touching Her—whining pathetically in Ben’s chest as he had turned his back to her—but right now Ben was stronger than the Thing. Right now it, Ben, shouldn’t be allowed to touch Her. She should stay peaceful and safe forever, be able to go wherever the fucking hell she wanted without fear of being hurt. And Ben had hurt Her, made her look at him with dread that he’d be mad at Her for the most stupid bullshit in the world, so he should be on the list of things not allowed to touch Her. It had been a lot harder to fall asleep—hearing Her breaths across the bed and the small sounds she kept making in her sleep—but he’d fucking manage. Ben had slept thousands of nights without Her. He’d survive one fucking more.
Ben followed Her heartbeat to the performance storage room. But this time he couldn’t open the door. No matter how hard he pushed, pulled, punched or kicked, it stayed locked between them. And it was transparent. Ben could see Her, on the other side, knocked out on the floor. Tek Knight wasn’t strangely frozen against her, but leering above her body with a cold smirk. She wasn’t opening her eyes, the only sign of life was Her unsteady heart, and Ben couldn’t fucking get to Her.
Homelander stepped out from the shadows, watching Her with a wide, toothy, empty grin. Walking over to her body. And Ben still couldn’t fucking open the goddamn door.
“Good work, Robert. I mean, you got her.” Homelander laughed, and it was a terrible, bone-chilling sound. “I can’t believe you, of all fucking people, got her.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tek Knight took in the praise with a puffed chest. “What, uh, what do you want me to do with her?”
“That’s not your problem. Go jerk off to a robot.” When Tek Knight didn’t move, Homelander shot him a cold glare. “Fucking now.”
Tek Knight seemed to disappear into thin air, and it was just Her and Homelander and Ben. Still locked out, trying, trying so fucking hard to get in the room.
Homelander said Her name, and Ben hated the way it sounded in his mouth. Nobody should be allowed to say it like that, in a way that made it sound small and weak. So unsuited to Her. “I found you,” Homelander reached down, pulling her roughly off the ground. “I fucking told you I would.”
Ben was roaring, even if he couldn’t hear it himself. He had to get to Her, had to fucking help her, but this fucking door wouldn’t open.
“Don’t think I’m letting you go this time,” Homelander yanked Her face up to his. “I know you’re awake, stop playing pretend.”
Her eyes opened slowly, and they were glazed and afraid, smoke rising off her body. But Homelander only laughed.
“You see that?” Ben froze as Homelander turned Her face to the door, as Her eyes widened. She could see him. “Soldier Boy won’t fucking save you, won’t help you. He doesn’t give a shit about you, not like I do.”
She shook her head, but still didn’t speak. The fear was growing, Ben needed to help her, but he couldn’t get in the fucking room-
“I care about you,” Homelander hissed to Her, and she was still watching Ben. “I’m perfect for you. We’re fucking gods together, and you’re never getting away from me again.”
A choked sob left Her, and Ben watch—fucking helpless—as she scraped at Homelander. Flames still wouldn’t come, Ben still couldn’t get to her, and Homelander’s laugh was echoing all around.
“I love you.” He said her name again. “Like no one ever has. Like no one ever will. And I’d rather you fucking burn than live without you.”
She screamed Ben’s name, and he roared hers back. The door wouldn’t budge, and She was screaming, and nothing was okay. Not as Homelander pulled Her against him and Ben could stop it. Not as Homelander shot up into the sky, and they were both gone, but the sounds of Her pleas for Ben were still ringing around him. He hadn’t kept her safe, She was gone, she was in danger, she’d hate him forever, and she was fucking gone and he hadn’t kept her safe. The one thing he’d promised and meant in his whole fucking life, and he’d failed-
She had woken Ben up, and he’d had to hear Her say it. That she wasn’t going anywhere. Not because he wouldn’t let Her leave if she wanted to—Ben didn’t think he’d survive it, but he’d promised to keep Her safe, and being away from him was safe he’d let Her go and let it kill him—but because he needed to know she was there. That he wasn’t still dreaming and She was real. Still there, with him.
And he’d made himself ask about the performance, because his control was pathetically fucking weak in that moment and he couldn’t stop himself. He needed a fucking hint, what She wanted from him. What she needed him to give her. What he needed to do for Her to keep forgiving him. Even if he was willing to let Her go, if that’s what it came to, he was going to fight tooth and nail and bullets and blood to keep her real and at his side.
The Thing had wanted to fall asleep with Her. Ben had obliged, because fuck him if he was ever depriving himself of her again. He might lose Her one day, the very idea made the Thing ache and roll, so every single chance Ben had he’d sleep against Her. Touch Her in whatever way she asks him to, whatever way she lets him.
She fit against him like he’d been made for it. Like his face had been designed to rest on Her neck, and his legs had been carved to tangle in hers. She was perfect, too fucking perfect, and sleep was so easy against Her that Ben didn’t realize it had even caught him until he blinked and there was light through the curtains.
He’d been torn, because the Thing wanted to stay there, with Her peaceful and perfect against Ben’s body. But Ben wanted to do something. For Her.
Like a fucking pussy.
Ben decided that, between two impossibly pathetic and whipped options, the doing something one was just a tiny bit less fucking awful. He could pretend it wasn’t about Her a lot easier, say it to himself over and over until—when She asked—he would be able to convince Her that this wasn’t about her.
It took Ben almost twenty minutes—after slowly leaving the bedroom and putting on the coffee—to find a good recipe. The breakfast section of their cookbook was goddamn abysmal, filled with recipes that either sounded like healthy fucking dogshit or just looked straight up impossible to actually make. Ben would rather drink gasoline than make Her a frittata, and he was pretty sure a lemon scone was outside of his skill range, so he settled on pancakes. Easy, simple, classic fucking pancakes with syrup and butter.
He'd burnt the first batch. The second tasted like shit. The third exploded—Ben wasn’t entirely sure how he’d even managed that—and he used salt where he should've used sugar on the fourth, but the fifth was fucking phenomenal. He was a goddamn genius. A cooking savant. They should give him one of those stupid shows She’d put on in the background when she was reading. Because fuck, these pancakes were good. The kitchen was filled with smoke and covered in baking powder and egg shells, but he’d fucking done it. Right on time, as well, because She entered the room with puffy lips and sleepy eyes that widened as she took in the kitchen around her.
“What the hell happened in here?”
“Breakfast,” Ben grunted, pushing the plate across the counter for Her to see.
She blinked, looking between him and the pancakes. “You made those? For me?”
“I made some for me as well.” He grumbled, nodding roughly to his own helping. But Her eyes were bright as she looked at him, and she looked so fucking perfect, Ben couldn’t stop himself saying, “But yeah. For you.”
Goddamnit, Her smile was so fucking happy and easy and wide it was going to eat him alive. The Thing was going to overtake him, and he didn’t know what he could fucking do to stop it. He didn’t really care to know, or fucking want to.
“Thank you,” She walked around the counter, dropping into her place at his side. She gave a soft hum as she poked at them with her fork, and Ben frowned.
“What-“
“How many tries?” She looked up at him with a teasing smile, and he scowled. When he didn’t answer, she started to guess.
“Three? Four? Five?”
“Fuck you.”
She giggled, and the Thing made a satisfied sound. “It’s five, isn’t it.”
“Pancakes are fucking hard to make, Sunshine, and these are goddamn delicious, you’d know if you’d actually fucking eat-“
She took a large bite, raising her brows at Ben as he fell silent, watching her chew and swallow. He was fucking entranced, he needed to know what She thought, if she liked them or hated them or just wasn’t a pancake person. Fuck, what if she just wasn’t a pancake person-
“Jesus, Ben.” She took another bite, covering her mouth with a hand as she spoke through the food. “These are actually good.”
“You’re fucking welcome,” he muttered, trying to push down the wave of relief in his body.
“Are you sure you made these? Because they’re really good-“
“Shut the fuck up,” he nudged Her leg with his, rolling his eyes. “Can’t just let me have a compliment, can you.”
“Nope,” She laughed. “That’d be too easy, Pretty Boy.”
He snorted, and started to inhale his own plate. She always ate a little slower than Ben did, but he’d gotten used to it. He’d even started—at first unconsciously—to time when he began eating his food so that they’d finish together. When he’d first noticed, Ben had cursed himself for how he’d allowed it become a habit. But then he’d noticed how she’d stopped glancing at him, nervously asking if he wanted to go do something while she finished, and the Thing had damn loved it. It was comfortable and nice and now he couldn’t fucking stop. He’d gotten good at it, too. Proven by his last wolfing bite being in perfect sync with Her final swallow.
She was tapping on the counter, not looking at Ben, and he could practically hear Her the gears turning in her head. He open his mouth to tell her to just fucking spit it out, but just before he could-
“Now what?” She finally met Ben’s eyes, and hers were clouded and glossy. “Tek Knight was a dead end, and that was all we had. What, where, just-“ She sighed shakily, and Ben pressed his knee against hers, waiting for her heart to slow. “What do we do?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Ben said gruffly, pushing on as She shook her head. “Yes, we fucking will.”
“But-“
“I am not trading you,” Ben said Her name firmly, because she somehow still didn’t understand. That there was one thing in the world he would never, ever fucking let her do. One promise he was never going to go back on or break, let alone let Her go back on it for him. He had a fucking plan, so he wasn’t letting Her break his promise. “You matter just a much as that kid, and I’m not letting climb on the bullshit sacrifice train your pussy fucking team keeps trying to board. It never works, and it’s not like Homelander’s torturing Butcher’s brat. The sooner you get that through your pretty head, the sooner we can go on with a plan that isn’t fucking stupid.”
Her heart fluttered slightly, but she still whispered. “I could try and fight him, this time. I’d be fine-“
Ben scoffed. “No. You freeze and panic at the very damn thought of him.”
“I’ve gotten better-“
“No,” he snapped. “You fucking haven’t. You didn’t even explode last time. You’re the most powerful supe in the world, and that pussy makes you fucking useless.”
“But we need to get Ryan out,” She protested. “He’s just a kid, Ben. He doesn’t deserve this-“
“I know. I’d-“ Ben sighed. “I’d tell the Pussy Brigade I won’t hit the little fucker, but they wouldn’t believe me. But you are not fucking turning yourself over-“
“You’d do that?” She said softly over Ben, grabbing onto the wrong damn part of the sentence. “You’d work to not hit Ryan?”
“If it’d stop you going through with the dumbest plan I’ve heard in my goddamn life, sure.”
“Ben-“
“You’re not doing it. Tell me you’ve fucking got that, that you’re not doing that bullshit.”
“I’ve got it,” she gave him a smile, and the Thing pushed against Ben, trying to get to Her, touch her.
“Good.”
Her smile became smug, and the infinite amusement returned to her voice. “Most powerful supe, huh?”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Fuck off.”
“You said it, not me,” She leaned forward, further into him. Ben might not be able to stop himself from throwing her on the table and fucking her stupid is she kept look at him like that. Her face so open and perfect, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered to her.
“Don’t make me fucking regret it.” He muttered, and her smile only grew.
“But you meant it, didn’t you.”
“Yeah, I’m not a fucking pussy liar-“ Ben frowned at Her as she said the last words with him, her voice dropped into that overly-deep impression of him. “Shut-“
“The fuck up, brat?” She finished his sentence, wrinkling her nose at him. “Be careful, Benjamin. I’m the most powerful supe in the world, I’ll kick your ass.”
“No you won’t. You like my ass.”
Her perfect face flushed. “Doesn’t mean I won’t kick it,” she mumbled. “Could if I wanted to.”
Ben winked at Her. “I know, that’s why I’m so nice to you.”
“Oh, blow me,” She snorted.
“If you want.” Ben lowered him to Her eye level, and the flush grew stronger as her heartbeat sped up. He’d made similar offers before—almost in those exact words—but this was different. This time she wasn’t looking away, and Her mouth was parted with heavy breaths. This time she was still leaning into him, looking at him with pretty, slightly glazed eyes, and they were so fucking close-
The door of the safe house swung open with a bang, and She pulled back from Ben—knees still together but breaths no longer shared—to look up as Starlight, Cocksucker, and Butcher bustled into the kitchen. All three of them looked like shit, eyes hung with bags and faces sallowed, and they weren’t smelling much fucking better either.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Ben snapped, and sort of wanted to kill them for cutting whatever that had been short. The Thing was whining inside him, and he felt so goddamn starved now, and it was all their fucking fault.
Butcher looked between, and mocking smirk playing on his lips. “We ain’t interrupting anything, are we?”
“Fuck you-“
She spoke over Ben’s sneer, brows furrowing as she looked between Butcher, Starlight, and Cocksucker cautiously. “What’s going on? It’s like, 10am, and last night was a disaster, you should be re-grouping.”
“We’re here to collect Soldier Boy, take him off your hands for a day.” Butcher winked at Her, and she frowned.
“Take him off my hands? Take him where?” She glanced at Ben, and the Thing stuttered in him that she might think he’d lied to Her again. He’d forgotten—so caught up in making sure She knew that they would have a plan that didn’t involve giving her to Homelander—to mention that they did have a plan. And now she was going to fucking hate him-
Butcher answered lazily before Ben could even open his mouth. “We’re goin upstate, payin the haughty twat Stan Edgar a visit. Soldier Boy thinks he might have something for us.”
“He’ll know something.” Ben said shortly, giving a quick glower to Butcher before turning back to Her. “About you, about Homelander.”
“Edgar told me he didn’t know anything.” Her words were careful, and she was squinting slightly around the room, as if trying to find reason on the walls or her team's faces.
“You believed him?” Ben asked, and Her eyes fell to him.
“Not at all.”
“Then let’s go get the fucking truth.”
“Yeah well,” She looked at her team apprehensively. “Sounds like this is another you meeting.”
“You’re fucking coming with us,” Ben said Her name with a frown. “This isn’t in the city, we’re not just leaving you-“
“Actually, uh.” Starlight’s entire face was guilty and drawn with anxiety. “It is just you, Soldier Boy.”
The Thing pressed against Ben’s lungs. “There’s no fucking way I’m going without her. We could be gone for the whole fucking day.”
“Edgar wants just you. Was very insistent about it. Said we could drop by anytime this weekend.” Butcher drawled.
“So we should fucking bring her, we don’t know what kind of two-faced shit that bastard is plotting-“
“It’s Monday.” She said softly, and Ben stopped his rant to give Her a confused frown. “He said this weekend, and it’s Monday.” She looked at Butcher, who was smirking widely. “You want to get the jump on him, before he can pull anything.”
“Right on the money, Love.” Butcher said appreciatively. “Now call off your bloody guard dog.”
Ben pushed further, trying to make Her see fucking reason. “He won’t be able to pull anything, jump or not, if you just fucking come with us-“
“He won’t see us both. If he was insistent, he won’t take the meeting if we’re both there.”
“Well then he also won’t take the damn meeting if we go today,” Ben snapped.
“No,” She shook her head. “If Edgar agreed to this, he’ll see it through. He’ll probably want something, but that’s why he’ll see it through. So if you show up and say this is his only chance, he’ll grab it. He’s not stupid, and you won’t be bluffing. But if I’m there he can call foul, say you’re not meeting his demands.”
Ben said Her name, hating how fucking desperate he sounded. But he wasn’t fucking leaving Her alone, not for a whole day, not when they knew Homelander had started looking for her. “You’re coming with us. Or I’m not going.”
“Oh my God,” Starlight rolled her eyes. “I did not get up at 4am to get you this meeting just for you to throw a temper tantrum about it. Can we please just go.”
“Annie,” She raised her palm, giving Starlight a small shake of Her head. “Just, give us one second.”
Starlight sighed with a frown, but nodded, and Butcher scoffed.
“If you cunts are going to get all fucking cheesy and fuck on the table, can you just tell us to I call Frenchie for the eye bleach?”
She ignored Butcher’s mocking words, locking eyes with Ben, words firm as she spoke. “Ben, I will be fine. And if Edgar has the information, as you clearly think he does, we need it. So please just go get it.”
And in the slight widening of Her eyes, Ben heard the rest of Her words. I’ll be right here when you get back. Now stop being an ass and play nice for one day.
Ben scowled at Her. Fine, but you owe me.
Her face looked a little lighter as she sighed. Thank you. Then, aloud, She said. “You should go now. Before Neuman has time to find out.”
Cocksucker shook his head. “We’re in the clear on that, MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko are keeping eyes on her.”
“Why would the Head-Popper give a shit about this?”
Butcher chuckled like Ben’s question was fucking insane, “Head-Popper’s Edgars kid. She keeps tabs on dear ol’ dad’s prison activity, especially after our last visit.”
“Edgar had a kid?”
“Adopted,” Cocksucker said sheepishly. “But yeah.”
“Neuman did kind of shadow work for Edgar,” She explained to Ben with a shrug. “Made sure the feds stayed off his back. Eventually Homelander flipped her, gave her V to protect her daughter. Edgar seems to still love her though, her and Zoe.”
“Who the fuck-“
“Neuman’s daughter.”
“She also a supe?”
“Uh…” She looked over at Cocksucker, who had a pouting, sad little frown on his face.
“Vicki injected Zoe with the V last year,” he supplied nervously. “Little after the whole, um, tower thing.”
“Gave the kid gross fucking face tentacles,” Butcher shook his head with a grimace. “Hideous. She ain’t gettin bloody asked to the prom ever with those fuckers.”
“Edgar was pretty mad about it in November,” She added thoughtfully, but narrowed Her eyes at him. Stop stalling, Pretty Boy.
Ben glared at Her. Brat. "Head-popped doesn't know?"
"Um, not yet," Cocksucker answered, and Ben stood from the counter.
“Then let's get a fucking move on.”
“That’s it?” Cocksucker looked between them, annoyingly fucking bewildered. “You’re just going?”
“You got a fucking problem with it?” Ben gave Cocksucker a cold death glare as he walked to the doorframe, and the pussy shook his head frantically.
“No, I’m good.”
“Then let’s fucking go.”
“You heard him, Lad, go start the van.” Butcher tossed Cocksucker the key, and for a second it looked like he was about to clap Ben on the back, but wisely thought better of it.
Ben looked back once, and saw Her watching him. He could hear the chewing of Her lip, and tapping of her fingers, so he gave her a small, tight nod. I’ll see you soon.
She blinked at him. Be careful. Don’t do anything stupid.
Ben allowed himself to smile slightly, giving Her a wink. No promises. And followed Butcher out the door.
Every single time Ben stepped foot in this shitty fucking van, he found another damn reason to hate it. This time, it was the way its engine screeched and grinded like chalk in his ears. There weren’t any gas canisters—maybe the Pussies had forgotten, or just finally grown some damn balls—but Starlight flinched every time Ben shifted in his seat, and Butcher had a rocket launcher lying on the passenger's side. Their heart were all so fucking unsteady, and in an off-rhythm pound with that horrible fucking engine.
“Are you sure this shit-Mobile will get us upstate?” Ben grumbled after an hour of tuning out Starlight and Cocksucker’s whispers and Butcher shooting him dirty looks in the mirror.
“Yes.”
“As long as we don’t take highways,” Cocksucker's mumbled addition to Butcher’s words was met with an eye roll from the latter.
“Lucky for us, we ain’t. All backroads to get where we’re going.”
Ben grunted, and Starlight asked, “How long is the drive?”
“Three hours,” Cocksucker answered for Butcher. “But there’s probably no traffic.”
“Awesome,” Starlight sighed, again, and Ben was getting really fucking sick of that sound. “Three hours stuck between Racist Uncle Sam and Evil Robin Hood.”
“Oi!” Butcher snapped, at the same time Ben said, “Fuck you.”
“Oh shit,” Cocksucker muttered, and Butcher kept going as Ben glared daggers at Starlight.
“I ain’t Evil Robin Hood, and you wouldn’t catch me bloody dead in tights.”
“And I’m not Racist Uncle Sam,” Ben grunted.
Starlight scoffed. “Sure.”
“Can we please not do this-“
Starlight spoke over Cocksucker, still glaring at Ben as she said Her name. “Might have been pulled into your shit, but we’re not convinced.” Starlight leaned forward. “I don’t trust you, and whatever game you're trying to play here-“
“You don’t fucking know me at all, bitch.” Ben growled. “My game is doing all your goddamn jobs for you. My game is being the only person here, despite all your perfect moral compasses, who’s not willing to turn Homelander’s victim back over to him in exchange for anything “
“We didn’t let her and Butcher go through with that,” Cocksucker frowned. “She’s our friend, our teammate-“
“Really?” Ben sneered. “What about last night? When she was fucking begging you to trust her and you decided exploiting her was easier.”
“And she turned out to be lying,” Butcher said coldly from the front as Cocksucker’s eyes fell to the floor. “So we were fucking right-“
“In all you shit for brains infinite goddamn wisdom, did it never occur to you that she might have had a damn good reason not to tell you the truth? That maybe when you treat her like a fucking shiny weapon, she’s not going to be jumping for joy at the first chance to sing goddamn Kumbaya with you pussies?”
“That’s not fair-“
Ben laughed mockingly at Starlight’s words. “Fair doesn’t have anything to do with this fucking shit. Thinking that it does is your first mistake.” Ben’s jaw clenched, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m a lot more ready than any of you pussies to do whatever it takes to get to Homelander, but I’m not throwing the only person who doesn’t deserve any of this goddamn mess you assholes made in the line of fire.”
“Aren’t you a fucking hypocrite, Gov.” Butcher’s tone was mocking and bored, but Ben could hear to pound of his heart. “Pretty lady gives you a smile and suddenly she’s worth more than a fucking kid.”
She's not just pretty, the Thing screamed inside of him. She’s perfect.
Ben shut the Thing deep down inside of him as he said, “I’d rather be a hypocrite than a pathetic, weak fucking excuse for a man who’s willing to let Homelander have everything he wants for my bottom line.”
Butcher’s grip tensed on the wheel, but he didn’t respond. Starlight fell silent as well, Cocksucker still watching Ben wearily, and the remainder of the ride was lined in frigid, tense silence. When it became clear to Ben that he had successfully shut their mouth from bitching and whining, he began to run through his plan. He hadn’t really exactly had a shit ton of time to figure out what he actually needed to say to Edgar. Ben had, although he would never say it out loud, expected Her help with that part. The stupid song and dance around each other that was fucking pointless in most any scenario, but required in this one. Ben really wished She was here to help him, or at least just here. She’d wrinkle her stupid, perfect nose at Ben and tell him it’s actually really simple, dumb-dumb. People don’t respond to threats or torture, because they’ll say or do anything to make it stop.
That’s fucking idiotic. He’d tell her. Torture works wonders.
Yeah, I mean, I don’t know about you but after my personal experience with it I was really compliant and chill about everything-
Fuck you.
Just offer him something he wants, Ben. And if he’s an ass, one or two threats won’t hurt. Maybe cut off his dick, that one’s a classic.
It was incredibly annoying that, even as a voice in Ben’s head, She was always right. He didn’t know what Edgar would want, but he’d find it in the moment. He’d figure it out. He had to.
When the godawful fucking engine finally shut off, Butcher’s words were tight.
“He don’t know we’re coming, so the guard might fire on Soldier Boy. We aren’t in the business of drawing attention to ourselves, so me and Hughie will go ahead first and text you to follow.”
Ben did not want to be left alone with Starlight. He didn’t want her judgmental fucking looks, or whining about morality. But Butcher was right, and once he and Cocksucker left the van, Ben stared blankly at the wall and tried to ignore the scratch of Starlight’s breath and heart against his brain.
“You really care about her, huh?” Ben’s eyes shot to Starlight, whose face was contorted in confusion as she continued. “It’s not just sex.”
“We haven’t fucked,” Ben grunted, ignoring how bitter the Thing felt about that.
“But you care about her.”
Yes, the Thing howled. She’s perfect, how could you not fucking care about Her?
Ben just huffed, looking back at the wall. He had no interest in talking about his fucking feelings with goddamn Starlight.
“I don’t like doing those things to her, just so you know.” Starlight said carefully, still watching Ben. “It’s just complicated-“
“No, it’s not,” Ben snapped, still staring ahead.
“Well-“
“You can whine and bitch about moral gray areas and complex situations, but this one’s real fucking simple,” Ben looked at Starlight, allowing the unbridled fury he carried for Her—because she wouldn’t fucking let herself do it—to show on his face. “You’ve been part of the Vought machine your whole fucking life, Butcher’s an asshole dick-face who’s just as revenge fueled as I am, as all of you pussies are.”
Ben could hear Her voice in his head. Wow, look who’s feeling reflective. Dare I say, self-aware.
“Not Hughie,” Starlight protested. “He’s a good person. He doesn’t compromise his morals-“
“And how would you feel,” Ben hissed. “If Hughie volunteered to trade himself to Homelander for Butcher’s damn kid. Volunteered to torture himself for the sake of a plan.”
“I’d, I mean I’d hate it. But that’s not the same-“
“You’re right. Because Hughie still made choices to be here.” Ben said Her name, holding Starlight’s gaze as his fists clenched at his side. “Well, she’s only here because of you and your stupid fucking team. Because after Homelander kidnapped and raped and experimented on her, all she got for it was you. She’d do anything, just like the rest of you, but it’s not for her. It’s never for her. Nothing’s ever for her. So fuck me for being the first person ever to do something about that.”
Starlight was staring at Ben, stunned into silence, and the phone buzzed in her hands.
“It’s Hughie,” she mumbled, glancing at the van door. “He says we’re good to go. That the guards have been told to turn a blind eye, so we can just walk in.”
Ben snorted to himself. “Yeah, you fuckers are real beacons of righteousness, bribing fucking prison guards.”
Starlight frowned, but followed Ben out the van and into the prison, not saying a word.
Starlight directed them down several halls and around way too many fucking corners, and after what felt like a damn hour of tightly spoken directions and grunts they finally found Butcher and Cocksucker. Standing in front of a steel door, with Grace Mallory.
“Soldier Boy,” she greeted him coldly. “I had to get up at 5am to drive here for your plan. It better be well damn worth it.”
“I didn’t make you fucking do that shit,” Ben snapped, and Cocksucker jumped to explain.
“She needs to be here if you make any official deals.”
“It’s all bureaucratic horse-shit,” Butcher drawled. “Don’t waste what little brain power you have on it, Gov, not when Edgar’s waiting for you.”
Giving them all one last hateful glare—Starlight was still looking at him like he’d sprouted a damn second head—Ben opened the door they had gathered around.
Stan Edgar was, in fact, waiting for him. Handcuffed to a table and statue-like, humming to himself. The man didn’t look up, or even fucking acknowledge Ben until they were seated across from each other.
“You look old.” Ben said by way of greeting, and Edgar laughed dryly.
“And you have not aged a day. As lovely as it is to see you, I wasn’t expecting Butcher and company until Friday at least.”
“I’d apologize, but I don’t give a fuck about what you expecting.”
“I wasn’t trying to trick anyone. I simply had the weekend open. My crochet class got canceled, and our movie night is a screening of something horrible called Penguins of Madagascar.”
“Still don’t give a fuck. Stop being a fucking bastard and talk.”
“It’s been forty years, and I’m seeing my friend for the first time since he left America. Do not blame me for small talk.”
“We weren’t friends-”
“Yes, friends is a tad unprofessional. Amicable colleagues, perhaps? Forgive me for asking, but how was Russia? I’ve never been, and I hear the potato-based meals are to die for.”
The drums sounded, but they were distant, and Ben pushed them away. “Shut the fuck up, you fucking backstabbing dick.”
“I do apologize for that, but you were a tad unstable-“
“You can apologize,” Ben snapped. “By not being a two-faced, scheming ass for once and giving me what I came here for.”
Edgar sighed. “I guess we’re getting right into business then. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you want my help with the Anomaly problem.”
Ben scowled. “Don’t call her that.”
“Hm,” Edgar blinked. “I’ve been told you two have become quite… attached.”
“By who, Butcher?” Ben scoffed.
“No, Grace Mallory. According to her, one Marvin Milk has been trying to stop this little operation since it began, and has begun to worry that she’s not going to let go of you easily once this is over.”
The Thing rolled at that, because Ben wasn’t about to let go of Her easily either, not if she wanted to fucking stay with him for some damn reason. “That bastard doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”
“I must say, this is not exactly what I expected when I spoke to her in November. I thought she might actually fight Homelander, not outsource to you.”
“Yeah, well she’s unpredictable and doesn’t like being told what to do,” Ben muttered. “They’re two of her more annoying qualities.”
“I am rarely surprised anymore, Benjamin. It is impressive you both have managed to completely render me befuddled at your… Situation.”
The Thing twinged at that. Ben’s full name. He hated the way it sounded from Edgar now more than the 80s, because now he knew what it sounded like when She said it. Perfect.
“Are you going to give me some fucking answers, or just talk like a damn bridge troll all day.”
Edgar huffed a laugh at Ben’s question. “I am unsure how I can help in this scenario. As I have previously told Butcher, Mallory, Starlight, and the Anomaly- my apologies,” Edgar said Her name at Ben’s deep, angry scowl. “I was not privy to Homelander’s little pursuit for a family, let alone his less than ideal methods.”
“I’ve heard,” Ben leaned across the table. “And I don’t fucking believe you. So I’m here to make you an offer, sweeten your damn pot.”
Edgar’s brows raised slightly. “Though it will not change my answer, because as much as I’d like to I cannot turn back time and learn about it sooner, you have my attention.”
Ben smirked. “I heard you’ve got a kid.”
“If you are about to attempt to blackmail me with my daughter, it will not go the way you anticipate.”
“Because she’s a supe, right? Head-Popper.”
Edgar blinked slowly. “Did you learn this from Butcher?”
“Don’t fucking bother yourself with that shit. Do you want to know what else I heard?”
“I have a feeling you will just tell me regardless-“
“That Head-Popper has a kid. You’ve got a damn granddaughter.” Edgar's face remained stone-like, but his heart stuttered. Ben smirked, and continued. “Who recently got injected with V.”
“As I’m sure you’re aware, I know all of this.” Edgar said curtly. “What, exactly, is your offer?”
“You don’t want the girl to have V, and I can get rid of V.” Ben said, not bothering to fake warmth in his grin. “You get me solid fucking proof of what Homelander did, and I’ll do you a favor and turn the kid from a tentacle-face back to your sweet little granddaughter. And, just because I’m feeing real fucking generous, I’ll back you to Vought when the time comes. Get your dogshit, slimy fucking job back. If you get me the proof.”
Ben waited for Edgars response, but the longer the room was silent, Edgar remaining unreadable, the thinner Ben’s patience wore. He didn’t have any fucking time for this, for Edgar to try and twist and play with Ben’s head. He just wanted to fucking go home, back to-
“If, hypothetically, this was a viable deal, what type of evidence would you wish to be shown? Is the word of the victim not enough?”
The Thing roared in Ben, but he kept his face cool and unbroken. “Fucking files, photos, record, whatever shit you have stashed away.” He wouldn’t even fucking acknowledge Edgar’s jab at her word. It was enough, and that was the fucking problem. It couldn’t be, not if Ben wanted to keep Her from Homelander. Not if she was going to be safe.
“Tragically, I don’t have anything stashed away,” Edgar sighed, and Ben had to physically stop himself slamming the table. People don’t respond to threats, Benjamin. Stop being a baby.
“That’s fucking bullshit-“
“But,” Edgar continued. “I have a lot of houses. Some with several attics, and all of them are filled with memorabilia from my time at Vought. I could have missed something, and I’d be willing to look again, if,” Edgar sat—somehow—straighter in his chair. “You were to cure Victoria as well.”
“Neuman?”
Edgar nodded. “Cleanse Zoe and Victoria, and I will see what I can do. You can keep your offer about Vought, however. I have no interest in returning, and if I did I would be aided by the word of an American traitor.”
“That’s fucking it?”
“Essentially, yes.”
“Deal,” Ben grunted. “But if you don’t have anything for me, if you’re trying to fucking use me or trick me, I’ll cut out your eyes and replace them with your castrated fucking balls.”
It was an effective threat. Edgar’s heartbeat grew a little faster, and he even fucking blinked at Ben’s words. For that bastard, he might as well have screamed. Of course it was effective though. It was one of Ben’s favorites from the assortments She’d shouted at him during their first month together.
The door swung open, and Mallory walked with clipped steps into the room, looking between Ben and Edgar. “I wish you had run this past me first, Soldier Boy, considering that Victoria is currently the Vice President of the United States.”
“I don’t give a fuck.” Ben snapped. Neuman could be the fucking Queen of the whole damn world and his offer to Edgar would be the same.
“Grace,” as Edgar addressed Mallory, his gaze remained on Ben. “If you wish for my help, these are my demands. And I recommend you thank that there aren’t more, because you seem to be at quite the dead end.”
Mallory’s lips became a thin line. “We hit Neuman after you come through.”
“You hit Victoria before, as well as Zoe, and can add twenty years to my sentence if I fail to deliver. Do not underestimate the advantaged my demands give you. Ridding Homelander of an ally, keeping President Singer safe, likely undermine whatever Ms. Jessica Bradley is planning-“
“Who the hell-“
“Sister Sage,” Mallory snapped at Ben, watching Edgar closely. “Twenty-three years.”
“Make it a cleaner twenty-five.”
“You’d sign on it?”
“If I must.”
“Campbell!” Mallory called over her shoulder, and Cocksucker poked his head into the room. “Go get the paperwork.”
“Oh, ok,” Cocksucker vanished for a second, only to immediately re-appear. “Um, I don’t know where it is?”
“Ask Butcher.”
“Butcher-“
“How the bloody hell would I know?” Butcher’s voice echoed into the room, and his head appeared next to Cocksuckers. “Do it your fucking self, Grace, the man’s chained to a table. He ain’t going anywhere.”
Mallory gave a labored sigh, and turned around to leave Ben and Edgar alone once more.
After a beat, when they could no longer hear voices and shuffling outside the door, Edgar coughed lightly. He was still fucking watching Ben.
“The fuck do you want.”
“Me?” Edgar said with awful, fake innocence. “Officially, I have everything I want.”
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
Ben scowled. If he met one more fucker that didn’t just speak plainly and fucking truthfully with him, he was going to loose his goddamn mind.
“Unofficially, though,” Edgar continued. “There is one thing.”
“Then fucking spit it out.”
“You care about her,” Edgar said slowly, adding Her name at Ben’s glare. It wasn’t one of confusion—there was no one else Edgar could possibly be referring to—but Ben didn’t fucking love where this was going.
“Shut the hell up.”
“You seem to be willing to do quite a lot to help her. Keep her away from Homelander.”
“I’m fucking warning you, Edgar.” Ben leaned across the table. “Be very fucking careful with what you’re saying.”
Edgar hummed. “If I were to say, with certainty, I could make certain documents, pay stubs, and maybe even footage appear, but only with one last thing, what would you do, Benjamin?”
“Say what you fucking mean, before I rip your arms off.” Playing nice, Ben decided, was no longer fucking worth it.
“I would like you to give me an IOU.”
“An IOU,” Ben repeated through gritted teeth.
A small, snake-like smile crossed Edgar’s face. “Just one. From you. Off the books, of course, but shaken on. Just one IOU, for whatever I want, to be implemented whenever I want. You give me this, and I can say with absolute certainty I’ll find what you want.”
“You’ll get twenty-five extra years if you fucking don’t find what I want,” Ben clenched his fists under the table. “Why the fuck should I-“
“Twenty-five years is nothing. I quite like it here, murderers and thieves make easy company after my career. You should do this, because otherwise I might fail and you’ll both be dead in the water. One IOU. That’s all.”
He could just fucking lie. Ben could shake on it, cross his finger in his head, and that would be that. He might break through his damn jaw, with how he was grinding his teeth, trying to figure out what the fuck Edgar was trying to do. He didn’t trust it, didn’t like it, and it was shit, suspicious, underhanded idea. “You’d swear on your family's fucking life you could find the evidence?”
“If you would swear on hers that, when the time came, you’d come through.”
“She can’t die.”
“As you know, there are things worse than death.”
“I could just fucking kill you after-“
“I promise, that would not go well for you. Mallory will return soon,” Edgar angled his hand in an awkward motion. “Do we have a second deal?”
He was right, Ben could hear footsteps and heartbeats approaching. “You better fucking swear-“
“The swear is implied in my handshake,” Edgar said smoothly, and Ben didn’t miss the silent implication. As is yours.
They’d be dead in the water, Edgar wasn’t fucking wrong. They didn’t have any other ideas, any other leads, and Homelander was looking for her, with an ally in the White House. With Sage planning something and this needed to be over-
Ben shook Edgar’s hand—harsh and curt in his movements with the hope he’d break the bastard’s hand—just before Mallory returned with an unfathomable amount of loose-leaf papers in her boney hands.
Edgar frowned as it was slammed down before him. “If you don’t mind, Grace, I’d like to have my legal counsel take a look before I sign.”
“Of course you fucking do,” Mallory muttered. “I tell the guards to give them a call, try and get them here today.”
Mallory and Edgar devolved into to speaking in a bunch of legal, boring jargon Ben couldn’t be fucked to pay attention to, so he stood and stalked into the hall. Butcher, Cocksucker, and Starlight were grouped outside the door, all looking at Ben like he’d risen from the dead a third time.
“The fuck are you pussies looking at.”
“Nothing-“
“Soldier Boy,“ Mallory exited the room—cutting off Cocksucker’s words—with Her eyes on Ben. “I’d like a word before you return to the city.”
Ben didn’t give a shit what words Mallory had for him. He was done here. “If you’re asking, the answer is a big fucking no-“
“I’ll rephrase-“ Mallory snapped. “We’re going to have a word, and you will not be returning until we do. As you may have noticed, you were separated from the Anomaly without any gas.”
“Did you finally figure out that it wouldn’t do a damn fucking thing-“
“No. We’ve decided that there are better, easier approaches to ensure your cooperation.”
“Say what you fucking mean.”
It was Butcher that drawled Her name. “You two have become peas in a damn fucking pod. Risking your necks for each other, always touching,” Butcher’s lips were in a crude, leering smile. “You get on Starlight’s ass about how we been treating her, and even if you claim you ain’t fucked her, she still seems to really want to fuck you.”
“Fucking watch it-“
“We don’t trust you,” Mallory said coldly. “But she doesn’t seem to be compromised, even with her odd affection towards you boar of a man.”
“If you fucking hurt-“
“We won’t,” Starlight spoke, voice urgent for the first time. “They’re not being as diplomatic,” she scowled at Butcher. “As they should be.”
“The bastard don’t deserve diplomacy-“
It was Cocksucker who cut Butcher off this time. “We’re not threatening her, Butcher. We agreed on that, you promised.” Butcher rolled his eyes, and Cocksucker continued, attention turning to Ben. “We, um, we don’t trust you. That’s true. They’re just trying to tell you that, as long as you don’t go nuclear, we’ll keep her safe. Stop throwing her in places that put her in danger.”
“But,” Mallory added coldly. “Only if you stay in line. If you don’t, we’ll put you right back under. Regardless of her plan, or our deal. Understood?”
Ben’s fists clenched as the Thing roared and the drums sounded, “you fucking bitch-“
“Understood?” Mallory repeated, not flinching.
“Fuck you.” Ben growled, and Mallory rolled her eyes.
“If you want to return to the city anytime today, say you understand.”
The city. Her. Fucking alone with Homelander looking for her. The drums, though distant, grew strong as Ben made himself speak. The words were forced, hateful, and tasted like shit on Ben’s tongue. “Understood.”
Mallory nodded, and returned through the door to Edgar. Ben didn’t fucking bother to address the Pussy Brigade before he turned and walked in long, controlled and loud steps back to the van. He could hear them fucking following anyway.
The awful engine started, and Ben’s mind was twisting around in time with the Thing.
Her safety wasn’t a bargaining chip, She wasn’t a bargaining chip, and Ben wasn’t a fucking dog or toy for them to just use. But Ben wasn’t going back under, and She wasn’t going back to Homelander. And there was no fucking doubt that if She failed him, Butcher wouldn’t hesitate to bring her back to their dogshit, horrid fucking plan.
And She wouldn’t fail him. That was the most insufferable fucking part. She was too fucking good. She was too easily self-sacrificing, too tunnel visioned with no goddamn regard for Herself or how her steamroller-like need to tear herself apart for an ungrateful world still destroyed everything in her path. How it would fucking destroy Ben if She managed to kill herself for the most pathetic collection of people in the world. And it was—apparently—fucking noticeable. How She made him weak, how easily she was weaponized against him.
What was worse, though, was that Ben didn’t fucking care. The time to destroy the Thing had long passed, and now it was just Her. Making him weak and fucking happy. And he couldn’t bring himself to care. Because She would smile at him and it was perfect. Because She trusted him, and promised that she wasn’t going anywhere, and didn’t hate him. He’d hit a strange point with the Thing. Where it felt vital and more powerful and indestructible than any other part of Ben. Where it needed Her. Where Ben needed Her. To sleep, to be safe, to keep fucking smiling forever. And he fucking hated himself for it, but he couldn’t hate Her. He couldn’t. And She said she couldn’t hate him. And Ben trusted Her, with fucking everything he had.
She needed to fucking know that. She needed to know he wasn’t going anywhere. She didn’t need to know she made him weak, or how he couldn’t hate her. That would make it all just so much goddamn worse and difficult. But she needed to know that Ben wasn’t going to fail her. That there was one person She could trust and never, ever need to fear.
She needed to understand that, no matter what, Ben would burn with Her.
————
The first two hours, alone in the house, was mind-numbingly boring. You’d read all the books, didn’t really want to watch TV without Ben—he’d probably kill you if you did—and didn’t have your phone. Maybe all those dumb articles about technology dependance being dangerous were right, because you were antsy and tense and so bored. You did laundry, changed the sheets—easier now that it was just one set, or you’d still make Ben do it when he got back—organized the fridge, and deep cleaned the whole house. You were now able to say with complete certainty that the battered cookbook in the kitchen was the only one you had, that Ben went through a horrendous amount of toilet paper—your now-shared bathroom was already down to one roll—and that you were bored.
You missed Ben. It was easier to admit this time around. The house was really quiet, and way too big, and you missed Ben. It was making you restless, making you irritable at nothing, your skin crawling and head spinning because usually, over the past few months, you’d yell at Ben about this. How you didn’t trust this Edgar thing, and were still being clawed at by the thoughts of Homelander looking for you, and you missed him, so could he please hurry up because this was annoying.
You wanted to talk to him, to tell him you’d seen six-year-olds use less toilet paper for their mummy costumes. You wanted to tell him about how the CIA had apparently given you all four Twilight books, hidden in the guest bedroom. You think that the plot of them might break his brain, and you really wanted to see that. You wanted to make tacos with him and throw guacamole at his stupidly handsome face when he pronounced tortilla tort-il-ah. Then wipe it off his beard while he grumbled. But you made tacos alone, sitting at the counter and trying not to stare at the empty chair where Ben usually was.
You were going to lose your mind. You were going to kill Ben when he got back, and then you were going to lose your mind. The walls were closing in on you a little, because it wasn’t just the lack of Ben that was rattling around inside you. Homelander was looking for you. You kept pushing the thought away, and it kept crawling back up. Homelander is looking for you. He knows about your sensory manipulation. He’s invincible and he’s going to see you soon.
He’d told you, a long time ago, that you weren’t leaving him. And in nightmares and moments or haunting and lonely silence like this, you’d still hear his voice.
Homelander pulled on his gloves as he spoke. “He doesn’t know about you, of course. He wouldn’t get it, not yet.”
Ryan. He was talking about Ryan. He did that a lot, and though it was mostly about how annoying his mother had been or how cruel someone named William was being, keeping Ryan from him, sometimes it was this. Sometimes he’d tell you about how—when you finally did your job—he was excited for Ryan to meet you. Excited for the family you were going to give him.
“I think we’ll do homeschooling. You’re smart, you’ve got that PhD in sociology.”
Anthropology. You can’t correct him, you never can because then he’ll-
You can’t think about that, because then you start breaking and Homelander doesn’t get to see that.
But it was anthropology.
Homelander continued. “You’ll be a great teacher. Great mother.” He laughed, and it hurt your ears. “What can’t you do?”
You don’t answer him, not really thinking it was a question. Mistake.
“I asked,” he gripped your jaw, making you look at him. “What can’t you do?”
“Leave you,” your tone was flat and empty as you parroted back the script you’d given yourself. What you knew he wanted to hear. “I can’t leave you, I would rather die.”
“Thank you,” he smiled, and released your face. “That makes me feel a lot better.”
That was the biggest reason you hated Ben being gone. It was quiet so those memories grew into you, and you felt alone. It was easy to stare at the door or the ceiling and fear Homelander crashing through them. You felt safe with Ben. You weren’t alone with Ben, and it certainly wasn’t quiet with Ben. If he was here you could touch him, just his arm, and everything would feel certain and steady. You wouldn’t remember the cold of the white room because Ben was so warm.
And you missed him.
The groceries were dropped off around noon. The groceries, and a small box with a note taped to the top.
The note was written in curvy, thin letters.
Don’t lose this one. And please write down the passcode for Soldier Boy’s - Grace Mallory.
You frowned at it for a second before opening the box, and stared in wide-eyed surprise at its contents.
Phones. Two identical phones. One for you, and one—if Mallory’s note was any indicator—for Ben.
So now you were here, on the couch, distracting yourself with setting up Ben’s phone.
The passcode was 696969, because he’d remember it and it made you giggle, but you didn’t write it down. The CIA had likely bugged it anyway, and what was he going to do with it, look at porn? Watch cat videos and get into pointless online debates? He was dangerous enough as just Ben, so monitoring a phone—that he didn’t really even know how to use—was not something you found to be a top priority.
Mallory had included another note with everyone’s numbers, so after you’d put them in your own phone you started entering them into Ben’s. Butcher was labeled William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible. Annie was Annie January; Starlight, don’t be a dick. Hughie was Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt. Frenchie; French Prick don’t ask for drugs, and Kimiko; Emergencies only. You left MM out for reasons that felt pretty obvious, and entered your own name with no extra instructions. You didn’t want to do that to yourself, try and figure out what you would need to put there for him. You’d spend the rest of your life trying to figure out what would make Ben snort or glare or smile at, if it was about you. So you just moved on, and started to look for wallpapers.
You absorb yourself in setting up the phones entirely. You manage to tune out the thoughts of Homelander, you manage to miss Ben a little less, and the hours pass just a little faster.
It’s dark when the door finally opens, and Ben calls your name as he returns.
“In the living room!” You call back.
You hear his grunt, and glance up as he enters the room. Something’s wrong. His jaw is clenched, he’s standing too-tall, and his fists are in balls at his side. “Did you-“
“What happened?” You say, voice low but tone insistent, because he looks like he’s about to erupt. “Did Edgar not have anything?”
“No, he did.” Ben’s voice is tight, and he’s staring at you. “We made a deal.”
“A deal?”
“I’m blasting Head-Popper and her kid.”
You blink. “Neuman and Zoe? That’s all Edgar wanted?”
“No.”
“What else?” You ask nervously. Ben is frowning, fists flexing like he’s fighting himself, and he won’t move from the doorway. You drop the phones on the couch and stand, raising your voice. “Ben-“
Each word of Ben’s answer is clipped, and sounds pushed through teeth. “An IOU. From me. Off the books.”
You swallow, because something painful feels stuck in your throat. “What.”
“He wanted a favor,” Ben’s still staring at you. “One favor, for anything."
“And you said no,” you narrow your eyes at him. “You fucking said no, right?”
“We shook on it.”
Your mouth falls open, and the walls start to close in again. “Are you insane?”
Ben says your name in a tense grunt, but you keep going.
“You gave Stan Edgar an IOU? For anything he wants? What if he wants you to kill the president? Or rejoin Vought? Or take the fall for a crime or join one of his schemes?”
“I don’t give a shit-“
“I do! I give a shit!” You’re almost screaming. “There’s no way to know what he wants that IOU for, what he’ll make you do or do to you! You stopped me from selling myself to Homelander for a ’stupid plan’, only to turn around and make a stupider fucking plan where you sell yourself to Stan Edgar!”
“That’s not the fucking same!” Ben roars, finally moving from the door, stalking around the couch to stand above you. “I can fucking handle Edgar, he’s just another fucking pussy Vought asshole. Homelander wants to-“
“I am plenty fucking aware of what Homelander wants to do to me,” you hiss. “And it is not your job to protect me from it, Ben.”
“Someone fucking has to!”
“No!” You’re definitely screaming now, pushing at his chest as smoke fills the room. “No they don’t! I can take care of myself, I don’t need anyone else to, I never asked anyone else to! I never asked you!”
“Yes, you fucking did.” Ben doesn’t budge, glowering down at you. “You told me not to let you go back there. Not be locked up again. And I won’t. You can fucking hate me for it, but I’d trade my fucking soul to Stan Edgar if I had to.”
“Why?!” You’re almost sobbing now, the world blurry and your words choked. “I didn’t ask you to do that! I’m not fucking worth that!”
He’s still letting you push him, steady in front of you. “Yes, you are.” He says your name, and it makes you break.
“No I’m not!” You scream as fire starts to spread through the room. “I’m fucking not! My plan would’ve worked, Ben! And then you made me stop, and told me you wouldn’t let me do this to myself, just to pull this fucking shit!” Tears are evaporating on your face. “You can’t do this to me! You can’t promise that we’ll burn together and that you’re not going anywhere, just to do this!”
Ben catches your hand, and everything is sharp again. The fire starts to turn to smoke as the world becomes sharp and bloody and clear. His words come out in a rough growl, “I”m not fucking going anywhere.”
You shake your head, still breaking. “You can’t promise that anymore, Ben. Not when you owe Stan Edgar.”
“Sunshine, there is no place that Edgar could make me go where I wouldn’t get back to you,” Ben’s grip on your hand is iron.
“But you’d still leave me alone. I don’t want you to leave me alone-“
Your words find an easy death in your throat, because Ben kisses you. He used his grip on your hand to pull you right against him, and kisses you. Hard and long and desperate, smashing his mouth against you like he’s to trying to leave an imprint on you. You’re frozen in place, unable to think anything outside Ben, and he pulls back.
“I am not fucking leav-“
“Shut up,” you breathe out, and—with all the strength in your body—yank Ben back to you.
You’ve never been struck by lightning, but you imagine this is what it feels like. Hot and electric and everything is just Ben. This time you don’t freeze. This time you kiss him with everything you have, dragging your hand through his hair as his arms wrap around you, pulling you up to meet him. He’s violent with his mouth, pushing with his tongue into yours with his and biting at your lips with a fervor. But his hands are touching you so carefully, tracing circles on your skin as they wander everywhere. Up to rest on the back of your neck, around every dip and curve of your back. Holding you firmly against him, as if you’re a cloud he’s trying to keep in his hands. He’s leaving fire on the path he’s drawing across you, and he’s big and warm and Ben. Through him, through his reverent touch against your skin, you can feel something wrathful and powerful consuming you, running through your blood and making you feel alive.
Your mouth grows slack, open fully into his, and it spurs him on. He’s dragging you down to the couch—mouth never leaving yours because breathing doesn’t really feel that important right now—and sits you right on his lap. You’re leaning forward, hands still in Ben’s hair, trying to get him closer and make him a part of you. Trying to touch and kiss him enough to pull just a little piece of him into you, that’s yours an no one else's.
“Ben,” you moan into his mouth, and he makes a sound from deep in his chest.
He growls your name back into you, tugging just a little forward until you can feel him. Feel his cock, pressed right against one of your thighs. It’s big, and hard, and he’s everything.
You actually whine. “Please, I- fuck.” He’s pulling back from your mouth, kissing aggressively along your jaw and neck. “Ben-“
“I’m right here,” he grunts, slightly muffled because he won’t stop sucking and nipping at your skin. You only moan again in response, pulling at his hair as you grind down on him, trying to tell him what you need like that, because words are too much right now. It’s just Ben, you just need him.
“Ben-“
You make a high, breathy noise as he flips you, caging you between his body and the couch. His mouth is back on yours, and you’re leaning up to try and be somehow closer. His hair is soft under your fingers, and he tastes like maple syrup and salt, and you feel him moving above you everywhere. His weight is braced by his arms above you, but they’re still pressed to your sides and you can feel them flex every time he re-angles his mouth. His nose keeps bumping yours and his beard scratched against your skin, but it reminds you he’s real. He’s real and there and you can feel the strength of his desire that’s for you. This is all for you.
He groans your name, and you whine as he pulls back. “How far?”
“How far?” You manage to repeat his words through the daze his face—lust-blown eyes and puffy lips and messy hair—is putting you in.
“Do you want to go.”
You blink, and what you want to say is all the way. Every way. Whatever way you’ll give me, just don’t stop. Never stop and never leave me and if you want I’ll go wherever you want.
But that’s too much. Too far.
So you make yourself say, “I think just here for now.”
Disappointment stabs you somewhere around your ribs, quick and painful. Because he wanted to go further.
But not everywhere, a cruel and small voice reminds you. Not everywhere.
You’ll be ok with here then. Hopefully he’ll never stop giving you here.
Ben nods slowly. “Are you going to listen to me now, then?”
You can’t stop your snort. “Benjamin, did you kiss me just so I’d listen to you?”
“No,” he snaps. “I kissed you because I wanted to, and because you needed to fucking listen.”
“You wanted to?” You tease. “How bad did you want to kiss me?”
“Fuck off, you kissed me the second time.”
You hum. “You can’t prove that.”
“Brat,” Ben mutters, and you feel something spark through him because this time when he calls you that he can feel you squeeze your legs under him.
His face curves into a smirk, and you roll your eyes as your face flushes. “Don’t start, not when I can feel how hard you are.”
“I knew you fucking liked me calling you that,” Ben grins at you, wide and easy, and you have to fight letting that make the ache worse as well. “Didn’t know you liked it that much though.”
“Shut up,” you grumble, and his laugh rolls through you.
“Brat.”
“I hate you.”
“I can fucking tell.”
“Are you going to make me listen or just keep being a dick?”
Ben leans a little further into you, only a breath apart, and you can feel him again. He said your name, and his voice is low and moves into your bones. “I’m not going fucking anywhere. Nobody’s taking me away, not if I have a goddamn breath in my body. You got that, Sunshine?”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.” And it’s the truth. It might be how he’s looking at you, or touching you, or saying your name, but you’ve never believed anyone more in your life.
“Good,” he grunts, but doesn’t move away. His eyes fall slightly to your lips, and you feel your breath become ragged again. It’s an effort to speak, and not just let him fall back onto you.
“Ben,” you say softly. “The performance-“
“I don’t think we need to talk about that shit anymore,” he says dryly, and you scoff.
“It’s your turn to listen, Pretty Boy.” You take a deep breath, “I don’t, I can’t do more than this right now. Not because I don’t-“
“Want me?” He interrupts with a cocky grin, and you knee his thigh.
“Shut up. But uh, yeah. It’s just, it’s complicated.”
He examines you for a second “Do you want this?”
“Wha-“
Ben leans forward, kissing you so softly, running his tongue along your teeth before pulling back. “That.”
“Yeah,” you nod, feeling a little lightheaded. “Yes please.”
“Good. Bed?”
You frown. “I just said-“
“To sleep, you fucking pervert.”
“Fuck yo-“
He winks, pulling you up with him as he stands. “Whenever you’re fucking ready, I’ll be fucking there.”
You just huff, pouting as Ben holds you in his arms, carrying you up the stairs. “I have fucking feet, Ben. I can walk by myself.”
“No. And if you ask again I’ll fucking drop you.”
“What a gentleman.”
“You seem to like it.”
He’s better at this than you are—shutting you up while making you both embarrassed and horny—and you both hate it and hope it keeps happening forever.
Ben pauses at the door to your room, scanning it with a frown. “Did you fucking clean?”
“You don’t have to sound so shocked,” you mumble against his chest, and his chuckle makes your face warmer. “It’s fucking rude.”
“You’re not exactly a book on manners either,” He sits down on the bed. “You throw shit at me every fucking day.”
“You deserve shit thrown at you, because you’re fucking rude-“
Ben kisses you as he lays you fully onto your back, looking a little too smug when he pulls back and you chase his mouth until your neck can’t go further. “Goodnight, Sunshine.”
He starts to move to his side of the bed, but you catch him by his shirt first. “I’m still mad at you.”
“Of course you fucking are,” Ben grunts, but there’s only some sort of rough affection running through him.
“And if Edgar ends up screwing us over-“
“He won’t.”
“But if he does-“
“He fucking won’t-“
“Ben-“
He kisses you again and it’s only feeling better each time. Your whole body relaxes against your will, and your hand grows slack on his shirt.
You still manage to glare at him. “Don’t think you can just shut me up like that now. I’ll bite your tongue off.”
“I know,” Ben moves to gently, softly kiss the top of your head as he wraps an arm around your waist. “I’m fucking counting on it, beautiful.”
He’s too good at this, because you can’t remember any other words or sounds that aren’t Ben calling you beautiful with the same mouth he’d just been kissing you with.
Ben pulls you onto his chest as he falls onto his back, and within what must be only minutes his snores are filling the room, echoing into your chest. Making you so safe and relaxed, and slowing the race of your mind against him.
And you know you’ve made a mistake.
There’s no going back now. You’ve touched Ben, really touched him, and now you’ll never be able to not touch him. Not as long as he’s near you and makes you feel safe. You’ve made a mistake because you’d been fine with the deep need and want for Ben sitting under skin with the fire. But now you’d released it and it couldn’t be pulled back in. You’d made a mistake, because if you lost Ben he wouldn’t just take security and ease and warmth. He’d take the rest of your mind. But there was no going back.
And honesty, you wouldn’t if you could. Not as long as you were here, with Ben holding you, knowing what he tasted like.
You’d be fine. As long as Ben stayed right here, you’d be really, truly and completely, fine.
End Note: Hehehehe.
If you haven’t yet, please vote in my poll about what aspect of the internet would blow Ben’s mind the most. Thank you for reading, always leave a comment if you want to, with any and all your thoughts or feedback! They feed me, and y’all are funnier than I am <3
AAAAH THE BUILD UP FOR THIS WAS SO WORTH IT!! EARNED MY FOLLOW WITH THIS ONE!! IM OBSESSED!! PHENOMENAL STORY TELLING AND WRITING SO FAR!! YOUR MIND JFC 😍😍😍
Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff.
Series Summary
Three years ago you were normal, the only demons you had to fight were your own, and you the most you knew of Vought and the Boys were what you saw on TV. But then you met Homelander at a stupid party, and woke up the next morning in a cell.
After almost two and a half years of you being Homelander's little project, Soldier Boy was woken up only go rouge and be put back under. Somewhere in there, you escaped. And before Queen Maeve went underground, she told William Butcher about the Anomaly, a powerful supe who recently escaped Vought captivity and may have an agenda against Homelander.
One month later, the Boys found you.
You spend the next five months helping them best you can, though your control over your powers is weak and your fear of Homelander makes you useless in combat. But you get an idea. A stupid, dangerous idea that turns you into Soldier Boy's keeper, giving him a second chance to take down Homelander, you hanging over his shoulder, a threat should he want to go nuclear again. It's exhausting and frustrating, and you might kill him and yourself as soon as this is over, but you said whatever it takes.
And this is what it takes.
Author's Note
This story is non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being;
1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so.
2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad.
Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask!
Navigation Key
❤️🔥 = Smut
🚩 = Additional Warnings
Chapter List
"Season 1"
Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing
Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension
Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress 🚩
Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me
Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go
Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense
Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence 🚩
Chapter 8 - I Just Find My Way Back ❤️🔥🚩
Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up ❤️🔥
Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark ❤️🔥
Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks
Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing
Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing
Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun
Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr ❤️🔥
Chapter 16 - Let It Flood ❤️🔥 🚩
"Season 2"
Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir
Chapter 18 - Something In The Static ❤️🔥
Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back 🚩
Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down
Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About ❤️🔥 🚩
Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You
Chapter 23 - Wherever You're Going ❤️🔥
Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone ❤️🔥
Chapter 25 - All I Know ❤️🔥
Chapter 26 - I’ve Loved Everything About You That Hurts ❤️🔥
Chapter 27 - Just A Shot Away 🚩
Chapter 28 - Something That I'm Supposed to Be ❤️🔥
Chapter 29 - All My Bets On You
Chapter 30 - Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh 🚩
Chapter 31 - I'd Do It All Again ❤️🔥
More Than You Could Ever Know - A No Love Lost Christmas Special
Part 1 - The Boys start Secret Santa, Ben pretends to do his job. ❤️🔥
Part 2 - Ben and Ryan go shopping, and you all try to find a tree.
Part 3 - You and Ben have a Christmas Eve date. Many gifts are opened.
Bonus Footage (Standalone Chapters)
Dying’s Up to Me - A Prologue. Takes place 6ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩
They're Never Gonna Find You A Home - Request! Everyone adjusts to your life with the Boys. Takes place 5ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩
Back to Here - Request! They get horny at the dining table, and Butcher takes it personally. Takes place in Chapter 14.
It's So Simple - You make Ben do icebreakers. He's a little bitch about it. Takes place in Chapter 14.
Just Your Time - You give Ben internet lessons. Takes place in Chapter 14.
As Much As I Do - Request! Ben finds you dancing, is immediately very normal about it. Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15.
Calling Your Name - Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. ❤️🔥
I Skip My Pride - You share some music with Ben over text. Takes place in Chapter 22.
The Only Place That I Call Home - It's team game night, and everyone is sick of you and Ben's shit. Takes place in Chapter 24. ❤️🔥
Can't Help Myself - Request! Ben has a breeding kink, and you're incredibly horny, so it works. Takes place in around Chapter 24 and Chapter 25. ❤️🔥
Anywhere Else Is Hollow - A halloween special episode! Takes place in Chapter 25.
It Was Smiling Down - A Ryan pov Chapter. Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27.
A Call To Motion - Request! There's a lot of things you're good at. Sex with Ben is one of them. Takes places in Chapter 28.❤️🔥
I Want You Only - You and Ben go shopping. Takes place in Chapter 28 ❤️🔥
I’ll Hold Your Hand - Request! You get your period, and Ben has to do his job and take care of that. Takes place post series.
Found Footage (Post-Series Chapters)
Just Too Important - You and Ben head to Costco. Takes place about two months post-series.
Dreams of Love - Request! You and Ben have to babysit. Takes place ten months post-series.
Setting In A Honeymoon - You and Ben finally get a honeymoon. Takes place about a year post-series.❤️🔥
The Best Thing - Request! You, Ben, and Ryan get a cat.
You Can Feel It - Ben has a birthday. Takes place on May 19th, post-series.❤️🔥
Never Saw the Sun - You and Ben have a baby!❤️🔥
Wilder and Lighter - Your daughter learns a new word, and you go to a baseball game.
All I Need - Request! You're pregnant, and Ben has some misconceptions about said pregnancy❤️🔥
The Shave - Request! Ben Shaves his beard.
Everlasting - Request! You and Ben's daughter has a birthday party
Clip Show (Drabbles and Headcanons)
Coming On - Request! Someone very foolish flirts with you in front of Ben. Takes place a while post-series.
Compare and Contrast - Request! Ben gets introduced to modern vibrators. You pay the price.❤️🔥
Stuff By You Guys!!! (Art, Memes, and Anything more)
Early Chapters Moodboard by @deans-yn
Ben and Sunshine Inspired Art by @castielsfootBen and Baby Rhia Art by @youdontknoweBen and Sunshine Poster Art by @youdontknoweBen Camera Roll by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersSunshine's Camera Roll by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersBen in a Maid Dress by @youdontknoweBenshine Memes by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersPlaylist by @deansbbyx
Benshine piccrew, and another by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersSunshine piccrew by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersFamily Portrait by @youdontknoweSunshine Edit by @thebitchandjerkwinchesters
Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff.
Series Summary
Three years ago you were normal, the only demons you had to fight were your own, and you the most you knew of Vought and the Boys were what you saw on TV. But then you met Homelander at a stupid party, and woke up the next morning in a cell.
After almost two and a half years of you being Homelander's little project, Soldier Boy was woken up only go rouge and be put back under. Somewhere in there, you escaped. And before Queen Maeve went underground, she told William Butcher about the Anomaly, a powerful supe who recently escaped Vought captivity and may have an agenda against Homelander.
One month later, the Boys found you.
You spend the next five months helping them best you can, though your control over your powers is weak and your fear of Homelander makes you useless in combat. But you get an idea. A stupid, dangerous idea that turns you into Soldier Boy's keeper, giving him a second chance to take down Homelander, you hanging over his shoulder, a threat should he want to go nuclear again. It's exhausting and frustrating, and you might kill him and yourself as soon as this is over, but you said whatever it takes.
And this is what it takes.
Author's Note
This story is non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being;
1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so.
2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad.
Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask!
Navigation Key
❤️🔥 = Smut
🚩 = Additional Warnings
Chapter List
"Season 1"
Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing
Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension
Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress 🚩
Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me
Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go
Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense
Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence 🚩
Chapter 8 - I Just Find My Way Back ❤️🔥🚩
Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up ❤️🔥
Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark ❤️🔥
Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks
Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing
Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing
Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun
Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr ❤️🔥
Chapter 16 - Let It Flood ❤️🔥 🚩
"Season 2"
Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir
Chapter 18 - Something In The Static ❤️🔥
Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back 🚩
Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down
Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About ❤️🔥 🚩
Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You
Chapter 23 - Wherever You're Going ❤️🔥
Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone ❤️🔥
Chapter 25 - All I Know ❤️🔥
Chapter 26 - I’ve Loved Everything About You That Hurts ❤️🔥
Chapter 27 - Just A Shot Away 🚩
Chapter 28 - Something That I'm Supposed to Be ❤️🔥
Chapter 29 - All My Bets On You
Chapter 30 - Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh 🚩
Chapter 31 - I'd Do It All Again ❤️🔥
More Than You Could Ever Know - A No Love Lost Christmas Special
Part 1 - The Boys start Secret Santa, Ben pretends to do his job. ❤️🔥
Part 2 - Ben and Ryan go shopping, and you all try to find a tree.
Part 3 - You and Ben have a Christmas Eve date. Many gifts are opened.
Bonus Footage (Standalone Chapters)
Dying’s Up to Me - A Prologue. Takes place 6ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩
They're Never Gonna Find You A Home - Request! Everyone adjusts to your life with the Boys. Takes place 5ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩
Back to Here - Request! They get horny at the dining table, and Butcher takes it personally. Takes place in Chapter 14.
It's So Simple - You make Ben do icebreakers. He's a little bitch about it. Takes place in Chapter 14.
Just Your Time - You give Ben internet lessons. Takes place in Chapter 14.
As Much As I Do - Request! Ben finds you dancing, is immediately very normal about it. Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15.
Calling Your Name - Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. ❤️🔥
I Skip My Pride - You share some music with Ben over text. Takes place in Chapter 22.
The Only Place That I Call Home - It's team game night, and everyone is sick of you and Ben's shit. Takes place in Chapter 24. ❤️🔥
Can't Help Myself - Request! Ben has a breeding kink, and you're incredibly horny, so it works. Takes place in around Chapter 24 and Chapter 25. ❤️🔥
Anywhere Else Is Hollow - A halloween special episode! Takes place in Chapter 25.
It Was Smiling Down - A Ryan pov Chapter. Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27.
A Call To Motion - Request! There's a lot of things you're good at. Sex with Ben is one of them. Takes places in Chapter 28.❤️🔥
I Want You Only - You and Ben go shopping. Takes place in Chapter 28 ❤️🔥
I’ll Hold Your Hand - Request! You get your period, and Ben has to do his job and take care of that. Takes place post series.
Found Footage (Post-Series Chapters)
Just Too Important - You and Ben head to Costco. Takes place about two months post-series.
Dreams of Love - Request! You and Ben have to babysit. Takes place ten months post-series.
Setting In A Honeymoon - You and Ben finally get a honeymoon. Takes place about a year post-series.❤️🔥
The Best Thing - Request! You, Ben, and Ryan get a cat.
You Can Feel It - Ben has a birthday. Takes place on May 19th, post-series.❤️🔥
Never Saw the Sun - You and Ben have a baby!❤️🔥
Wilder and Lighter - Your daughter learns a new word, and you go to a baseball game.
All I Need - Request! You're pregnant, and Ben has some misconceptions about said pregnancy❤️🔥
The Shave - Request! Ben Shaves his beard.
Everlasting - Request! You and Ben's daughter has a birthday party
Clip Show (Drabbles and Headcanons)
Coming On - Request! Someone very foolish flirts with you in front of Ben. Takes place a while post-series.
Compare and Contrast - Request! Ben gets introduced to modern vibrators. You pay the price.❤️🔥
Stuff By You Guys!!! (Art, Memes, and Anything more)
Early Chapters Moodboard by @deans-yn
Ben and Sunshine Inspired Art by @castielsfootBen and Baby Rhia Art by @youdontknoweBen and Sunshine Poster Art by @youdontknoweBen Camera Roll by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersSunshine's Camera Roll by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersBen in a Maid Dress by @youdontknoweBenshine Memes by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersPlaylist by @deansbbyx
Benshine piccrew, and another by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersSunshine piccrew by @thebitchandjerkwinchestersFamily Portrait by @youdontknoweSunshine Edit by @thebitchandjerkwinchesters
BLACK NOIR met his little movie star girlfriend, you, when you played— funnily enough— a love interest in one of his films. An anecdote you like to tell at interviews is how much dirty talk you had to learn in ASL, and it’s only half-true. Mostly a joke because of the lack of need to be overtly explicit, anything that could plausibly pass in a young adult’s movie. The real stuff he taught you when he fucked you between scenes. Leading him to your lavish trailer so he could talk to you with his body, with his hips, with his fat cock tunneling into your tight heat until all you could think about was watching yourself moan in his visor.
It’s not like you planned to be his “love interest” in real life, it just sort of happened. Noir has an uncanny ability to be irresistible. Whether it’s his disinterested appearance that you want to get interested, his head-to-toe uniform that makes you wanna unwrap him, you couldn’t stay away from him. You certainly couldn’t stay off of him whenever you got the chance to ride his dick like a fucking stallion behind closed doors.
There was a whole ship-tag for you and him on Instagram before you started sleeping together, and when Vought got a hold of the projected numbers of a public union, they sat you down immediately. Compensated with another movie deal, the prospect of a possible reality show, and an extra $5k a month on top of your check as a tip for every month you publicly date him, you didn’t have the heart to tell them you and Noir were already a secret thing. Besides, it’s not like you’re paid to be pretty. That extra cash’ll go straight to your beauty piggy bank. Noir likes a full set of acrylics wrapped around his dick.
