Welcome To Lickabeef’s Lair

Huge slut for Eddie Munson, Soldier Boy and Aegon II Targaryen

[lickabeefslair]

What Remains of Heroes

Masterlist

Soldier Boy and his USO Girl were once Vought’s greatest love story: war heroes, propaganda icons, and America’s sweethearts. Now, decades after their disappearance to find a world that no longer resembles the one they left behind.

Soundtrack

Headcanons

The Early Years

Introduction to Soldier Boy and his USO Girl

Victory Bonds & Hero Hearts - A pairing destined to last decades

Cotton Candy Kisses - Lines between work and real blur at a carnival

Connecting Doors - Fireworks and a traumatized eagle plush. Part 2 of Cotton Candy Kisses - SMUT

Cherry filling, Lipstick smiles. - Home interview

American Fury - The fight after the premiere of their new movie

American Mythology- A celebration of America’s hero

Role Model - A heroic act worthy of the papers

Tensions - Tensions run high on and off camera

Explosive Arguments - Exhausted of each other.

Broken Wings - Sorry guys this one is sad

Nicaragua 1984 - Payback’s betrayal

40 Years Later

Escape from Russia - Start of main story

Reunion - A Payback for a crimson betrayal

Motel - Team up with The Boys

Motel Confession - A heartfelt moment in a motel room

Motel Confession II - A conversation between USO Girl, Soldier Boy and Hughie in the motel

Roadtrip - The road so far…

Herogasm - Do we even need a description for this? 😂

The Legend - The Man, The Myth, The Legend

Close Companions - Mindstorm, you suck

Heart to Heart with Hughie - A conversation with Hughie

Family Fights - Family huh?

Sleeping Beauty’s Awake - The two heroes wake up

Coke with a straw please! -Welcome to The Seven

The Internet and a Virus - USO Girl discovers the internet

Perfect Symbol - USO Girl is pissed during press

You Owe Me - USO Girl gets demanding

Vintage Kitchen - Finally her dream kitchen

Milk Bath - Soldier Boy and USO Girl are Summoned, let’s just say neither were prepared for what lies in store.

Best Girl - Soldier Boy comes home smelling of trouble

Office- Sunmoned to Sister Sage’s office

Fort Harmony - A trip to find V1 can’t be that bad?

Morning After - Mornings with Soldier Boy can be very difficult - smut

Meeting - Probably the most ridiculous meeting of The Seven

Cell Block Visit - Visiting Stan Edgar in his cell

Meeting Mister Marathon - Our heroes meet the ex speedster, he’s certainly a fan of the vintage heroes - smut

Marathon’s Mansion - Part 2 of Meeting Mister Marathon - smut

Call Sheets & Cookies - De-stressing with USO Girl after disagreements

Complicated Love - The road to finding Bombsight takes a detour

Eternity - Seeing Bombsight for the first time in years

Victory Roll Victory Lap -She’s had it up to here with Homelander

Back to the Freezer - Soldier Boy is missing for too long

Vought Shenanigans

These are fun, silly, or alternate scenarios that do NOT affect the main storyline

Backyard BBQ - Father’s Day with Soldier Boy and The Seven

Independence Day Bash - Celebrating the 4th with The Seven (ft. Special guest stars Mister Marathon and Malchemical)

The Secret Life of Scout - a POV chapter of one very opinionated stuffed eagle

Taglist

@mornixgstar18 @ladysparkles78 @nightlark100 @mirwors @rubyverone @dianaforever @omgbrianab @lmillsy97

[lickabeefslair]

Back to the Freezer

Summary: USO Girl spends a quiet day in the penthouse before realizing Soldier Boy has been gone too long. It’s up to her to discover where he is.

Betty pushed the last bites of breakfast around her plate as Ben headed for the door. He was going to talk to Homelander. She didn’t love the idea, but she trusted him to handle it. She’d kissed him goodbye, told him not to do anything too stupid, and watched him go.

Once the door shut, she let the morning unwind at her own pace. Rollers came out slowly, hair falling in those signature curls. She changed into one of Ben’s worn shirts over soft leggings comfortable, human. No need for makeup or the costume uniform today.

Popcorn went into the microwave. The buttery smell filled the penthouse while she gathered her crew: Scout the Eagle, Roosevelt the teddy bear, Kennedy the bunny, and Sergeant, Scout’s little eagle brother. She arranged them on the big couch, Scout tucked right against her chest like always, and settled in. If Ben was here he’d tuck her in the blanket too.

The movie she picked was an old favorite from the late ‘50s. She had seen it a million times. It was reminiscent of one of those lazy afternoons they’d spent tangled up in a safehouse, pretending the outside world didn’t exist. Ben had actually stayed put for once, no wandering off, no ego trips. Just them. The memory brought a quiet smile as she munched popcorn and let the film play. Hours slipped by easy. She dozed a little, woke up, flipped through channels, snacked more. Scout’s soft plush stayed warm against her. This was nice. Normal, in her own fucked-up way.

She wasn’t worried when lunchtime came and went. Ben got distracted sometimes a pretty face, a chance to run his mouth, the thrill of feeling important. It was just how he was. They’d had that understanding for decades: fuck whoever you want, just come home to me. And never on their bed. Simple. She’d done the same on occasion. As long as he came back, they were good. She had no reason to worry yet.

The afternoon turned into evening. She made a real lunch, watched another movie, straightened up the penthouse a bit. Still no Ben. The sky outside the windows had gone deep orange, then dark blue. Dinner time passed.

Betty now was worried, she finally stood, stretching. The quiet felt heavier now. “Alright, soldier… where the fuck are you?” She grabbed a jacket and put on her green slip on shoes she remembered The Deep calling them Crocodiles… no Crocs. That’s what they are.

She wandered with purpose through the halls of Seven Tower, keeping it casual at first. Asked a few staff and supes. Most shrugged. One finally gave her something: last seen heading toward Homelander’s level.

Her stomach sank. “Of course.”

She’d been in Homelander’s penthouse before. Knew the layout, knew the security quirks. A subtle push of her power that gift for shifting moods made the few staff, she passed feel suddenly bored and distracted when she went into Homelander territory. No alarms. No drama. She slipped inside.

The place still reeked of ego and insecurity. Betty moved fast, following the chill in the air until she reached the walk-in freezer. There dead in the center

Soldier Boy.

Frozen solid again. The sight hit like old trauma Russia, the betrayal, the years apart but she shoved it down. She cut the power, wrestled the heavy door open, and dragged his massive, ice-cold body out. It took effort, but she got him across the floor and heaved him onto Homelander’s ridiculous poster bed. Soldier Boy sprawled across those pristine sheets. the pettiness of it almost made her smirk.

Betty climbed up beside him, pulling blankets over his frozen form. She sat close kissed him gently, one hand on his chest, waiting for the slow thaw.

To kill time, she turned on the massive TV. Homelander’s big televised address was already in full swing.

She half-watched, glancing at Ben every few seconds. Color was creeping back into his face. Good. The tv had Homelander in the presidents chair giving some bullshit address to the United States. He spewed the same totally crazy story about how an angel visited him told him he was god. Or whatever the propaganda story was. Betty could not give a shit, what the story was. All she wanted to do was get her man out.

Then chaos erupted on screen. Butcher made his move. Homelander went down hard, live for the whole nation.

Betty stared. “Holy shit.”

A low groan came from the bed. Ben’s eyes fluttered open, hazy at first, then sharpening as he registered the TV. A slow, savage grin spread across his face.

“Well,” Betty said, voice dry with relief, “Good riddance, I guess.”

Ben coughed out a rough laugh, sitting up and cracking his neck like he’d just woken from a nap. “That fuck up is finally fucking dead? Jesus Christ, what a way to thaw out. I told that useless prick I wasn’t playing his little god game, neither were you.” He glanced at the TV, where the news was still in meltdown mode, and grinned wider. “Looks like the universe handled the rest. Butcher did us a favor.” Betty says with amusement

“Bogota sounded better than sucking his dick for the rest of eternity. Christ, kid couldn’t let me go, he had to knock me out, to keep me around.” He looked around at Homelander’s gaudy bedroom and barked a laugh. “Glad you came, Honey. I knew you would.”

Betty smirked, brushing his hair with her fingers. “Gave you the whole damn day to come back.” Figured some pretty little thing finally caught your eye and you lost track of time.”

He chuckled, the sound still raspy from the thaw. “Wouldn’t be the first time you had to drag my ass out of trouble. Or the last, probably.” His free hand brushed a strand of hair from her face, thumb lingering on her cheek.

He grinned, crooked and filthy. “I wouldn’t mind christening this prick’s sheets real quick, just to spit on his grave. What do you say, sweetheart? A quick fuck in honor of our late lord and savior?” He teases.

She laughed despite herself, swatting his chest. “Focus, Ben. You almost got yourself put on ice for good because of that confrontation. I sat here all day thinking about Russia again, wondering if I’d have to drag your frozen ass out a second time.”

“Hey, hey, none of that sad girl shit right now.” He cupped her face, thumb rough but gentle. “This wasn’t on you. I went in there, told that cunt exactly where he could shove his ‘we’re family’ bullshit. I’m done being anyone’s attack dog. You, me, and those fucking eagles of yours? We’re ghosting this whole fucking circus. Bogota. Some beach where nobody knows my name and I can drink and fuck you without capes breathing down my neck.”

Betty softened, leaning into him. “Bogota sounds good. Or anywhere. I’m done with the weird atmosphere of the tower. Damn… I’m gonna miss that kitchen, though.”

“Fuck Vought. Fuck all of it. We’re out. You, me, those damn plushies of yours… we disappear. Somewhere warm. No capes, no cameras, no psychotic man-children telling me I’m their daddy.” Just you coming home to me preferably naked.” He kissed her hard, all teeth and hunger and decades of messy love, then pulled back with that signature smirk. “Now let’s get the fuck out of this hellhole before I decide to burn it down for fun.”

Betty smiled against his mouth. “Fine. But you’re carrying Scout and Sergeant on the plane.”

Ben groaned theatrically. “Christ, the damn birds too? Fine. They can come too, but Roosevelt and Kennedy stay in the luggage.”

They both laughed in a raw, relieved, a little unhinged way while the news kept screaming in the background. For the first time in years, the future felt like it belonged to them.

Epilogue

Six months later. Somewhere warm, quiet, and far from Vought Tower.

The beach house was small by Vought standards low, white-washed walls, a wide porch that bled right into the sand. Two lounge chairs sat side by side under a faded umbrella. Soldier Boy was stretched out in one of them, shirtless, sunglasses on, doing a neat line off the glass table between them. Betty sat in the other, legs crossed, joint pinched between her fingers, a sweating glass of something cold in her other hand. Scout and Sergeant were propped up on a third chair like tiny security.

She took a slow pull, exhaled, and watched the waves. “You’re getting that shit all over the table again.”

Ben snorted, rubbed his nose, and leaned back. “It’s a fucking beach, baby. Sand’s already everywhere. What’s a little more?” He glanced over at her with that lazy, satisfied grin. “You look good like this. All soft and high and not trying to set anyone on fire. Almost makes me want to keep you.”

“Almost,” she said, amused, and flicked ash into the tray.

Footsteps on the wooden steps. Both of them turned.

Stan Edgar stood there in a perfectly pressed linen shirt and jacket, looking like he’d just stepped out of a boardroom that somehow followed him to the tropics. He didn’t smile. He never really did.

“Soldier Boy. USO Girl.” His voice was calm, measured. “You’ve been difficult to find.”

Ben sat up a little, still grinning. “That’s the fucking point, Stan. We’re retired. Or at least pretending to be.” He gestured at the table.

Stan ignored the offer. “Fuck off we’re done, too old for this shit.” She says. His eyes moved to Betty. “I took Vought back. The board is mine again. This is what remains of our heroes.”

Betty raised an eyebrow, joint still between her fingers. “And you tracked us down for a social call?”

“No.” Stan stepped closer, hands folded neatly. “I have a proposal. The public is exhausted. They want something familiar. Something safe. Something that doesn’t laser children or monologue about being a god.” His gaze stayed on her. “You never claimed Homelander as your son. Your brand is still clean. Warm. The USO Girl who sang for the troops and made people feel better. You’re the last piece of the old golden age that doesn’t reek of blood. In simple terms your brand is clean, reliable. Hell, both brands are still profitable.”

Ben barked a laugh. “You want us to be the new face of the company. The good old-fashioned American power couple. Is that it?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Stan said. “Controlled appearances. Charity. Public reassurance. You live however you want in private. No more teams. Just the image when we need it.”

Betty took another drag, held it, then let it out slow. She looked at Ben. He looked back at her, eyebrows raised, he shakes his head in disbelief. Then she takes a deep breath, turned back to Stan, calm and completely unimpressed.

“Triple salary. Four months of vacation time every year. And I want my kitchen back.”

Stan’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes flickered. “Your… kitchen.”

“The one in the penthouse,” Betty said, voice even. “The big one. Marble counters, good range, the whole setup. I want it back. I’m not living without it again.” She took a sip of her drink. “Those are the terms. Non-negotiable.”

Ben grinned wider, all teeth. “You heard the lady, Stan. Triple the cash, four months off, and the damn kitchen. Take it or leave it. We’re already happy out here.”

Stan Edgar was quiet for a long moment, the waves filling the silence. Finally he gave a single, slow nod.

“I’ll have the contracts drawn up.”

Betty flicked the rest of the joint into the sand and leaned back in her chair, staring at the horizon. Scout’s plush head sat silent beside them.

“I’m not making any stupid fucking public statements.”

She let out a long, exhausted breath.

“Fuck,” she muttered. “We can’t ever catch a break, can we?”

Ben reached over, still grinning, and squeezed her knee. “Here we go again, doll.”

“As long as I got you by my side, we’ll be okay.” She says with all her heart. “This cycle ain’t gonna ever end.”

“Honey, we’ve survived crazier, We’ll be fine.”

—

Final chapter of the main story! Don’t worry more Soldier Boy and USO Girl coming soon. (I’m too attached to the characters to stop writing them now.)

Masterlist

@mornixgstar18 @ladysparkles78 @nightlark100

@mirwors @rubyverone @dianaforever @omgbrianab @lmillsy97

[toosweetforcandy]

soldier boy will be returning in avengers doomsday because i said so

[cillasvilla]

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋: 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫.

[lickabeefslair]

The Secret Life of Scout

Summary: A cozy day-in-the-life chapter from Soldier Boy and USO Girl’s opinionated plush eagle Scout’s POV: the grumpy stuffed eagle reflects on his chaotic but loving family after decades of ups and downs.

The penthouse smelled like tomato soup and grilled cheese. USO Girl’s special “I need nostalgia right now” lunch. Scout the eagle sat propped on the kitchen island like the tiny king he was, faded wings flopped just so.

This is the life. Momma cooking, me supervising. An absolute perfect afternoon.

Betty stirred the pot, talking to him like she always did when the weight of everything got heavy. She treated him like the kid she could never have, and Scout took the responsibility seriously. He was their eagle. Their constant.

It’s been a long damn road. That day at the carnival… Dad swaggering up like he owned the place, winning me from the ring toss just to get in her pants. Then later in the tent, I thought they were the weirdest horny bastards I’d ever seen. Never figured I’d end up the plush therapist for their entire chaotic saga.

The old Tom & Jerry cartoon played on the TV. Scout watched intently while Betty narrated every step like she was back on one of her old cooking shows.

“Now we’ll let the soup simmer just a few more minutes…”

Momma, I’ve watched you make tomato soup and grilled cheese about ten thousand times. Since Truman was president, pretty sure I’ve got the recipe memorized.

She always did this she talked to him like he was a real little boy sitting on the counter. Maybe she knew he was listening. Maybe she just needed someone safe to talk to. Either way, Scout never minded.

This… this is my favorite part of the day.

The apartment was quiet except for the bubbling soup and Tom getting his ass kicked by Jerry on screen. Life didn’t get much better than this.

Then the front door opened.

Shit. Dad’s home.

…Well. Spoke too soon.

Betty lit up. Ben crossed the room in a few strides, kissed her like he’d been gone a week instead of a few hours, then grabbed the remote and flipped the channel to some sports game.

Scout’s entire plush body vibrated with betrayal. DADDY NO! I was watching that, you son of a bitch. Let me finish the episode.

Ugh. Typical Soldier Boy. Marches in, kisses Momma, commits television war crimes. I’m shitting on your pillow tonight.

But fine. The man still made Momma light up like an idiot. Damn him.

Betty glanced over with an amused shake of her head. “Ben, he was watching that.”

Ben snorted, eyes glued to the screen. “He’s a stuffed eagle, sweetheart.”

Rude. I’m your son. Your favorite son, as far as I’m concerned. Fuck the other guy — that milk-sucking prick gives me the creeps. If I ever get the chance, I’d peck his smug face off.

Lunch was served exactly how Ben liked it: bowl of tomato soup, grilled cheese cut in half. Betty set the plate in front of him on the coffee table with the biggest, sappiest smile he’d ever seen.

Honestly… she’s ridiculous. Eighty damn years together and she still looks at him like he hung the moon.

Ben caught her wrist before she could walk away and tugged her into his lap for one quick kiss. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome.”

Scout watched with a theatrical internal groan. Jesus Christ. Get a room.

…Actually, scratch that. Don’t.

After lunch, while the dishes still sat on the counter, Ben turned the TV off and pulled Betty into the living room. Old swing-era music crackled from the radio.the kind that always made Scout nostalgic. Ben’s hand settled on her waist, hers on his shoulder, and they started swaying right there in the middle of the room. Nothing fancy. Just the two of them, foreheads almost touching, moving like the world outside didn’t exist.

Scout watched from the island, button eyes fixed on them.

Look at these two idiots. Dancing like they’re still young and stupid. I’ve seen them scream at each other, fuck like the world was ending, break each other’s hearts for decades… and then they do shit like this. Still in love after all the bullshit. It’s disgusting. It’s perfect. It’s just my parents, I suppose.

Betty laughed softly at something Ben murmured. He spun her gently, then pulled her back in close. For a moment the whole penthouse felt warmer.

Yeah, yeah. Keep dancing, old man. Just don’t drop her. I’ve got enough trauma in my stuffing already.

Betty glanced at the clock. “We’ve gotta leave in an hour, Ben. Ashley’s gonna have our asses if we’re late for the photoshoot.”

Ben groaned dramatically. “Thought I was done smiling for cameras this week.”

Photoshoot day.

Momma gets all dolled up. Dad complains the entire time. Whoever’s in charge loses their mind. Every. Single. Time.

At the vanity, Betty did her hair and makeup while Scout watched.

You still doll up like you’re going to war. I’ve seen you broken, powers uncontrollable, crying into my stuffing after the worst nights. But you keep shining. You’re still a star, Momma. Don’t let anyone — including Daddy snuff your light out.

She sang along to the radio that was playing now playing some Beatles tune she knew all the words to.

Dad says The Beatles got weird after ‘67. Honestly… he’s got a point. Don’t tell Momma… but I’m with Dad on this one. I’ve always been more of a Rolling Stones guy. …Still. I could listen to her sing forever.

She tucked Scout into her purse before they left, just like always.

Momma’s been doing this for years. Says I’m good luck. I don’t think it’s luck. I think having a little piece of home with her makes the hard days easier.

Back at the penthouse later, Betty kicked off her heels with a sigh and reached into her purse.

“Home again, Scout.”

She set him in his usual spot on the nightstand before disappearing into the bathroom.

Ah. Home sweet home. Front-row seats to whatever fresh nonsense these two have planned.

Ben wandered in a minute later, peeling off the last of his gear. He leaned against the bedroom doorway, looking at her. She looked back.

Uh-oh. I know that look. Momma’s gonna say something to get him going. Dad gets that stupid grin, Momma bites her lip… yep. They’re gonna get busy in about thirty seconds.

Ben caught her wrist, murmured something low, and Betty laughed, cheeks pink as she let him pull her toward the bed.

Fantastic. Guess it’s another thrilling episode of Scout Learns Too Much.

Scout stared at the ceiling.

Maybe if I pretend I’m a not here, this’ll all go away.

A loud smack echoed through the apartment.

Jesus Christ. Another one.

For fuck’s sake. I’ve been listening to these two weirdos make up after fights since Eisenhower was president. Ew! The loud, sweaty, bent-over-the-lap nonsense. I’ve seen enough of their kinky sessions over the decades to last a lifetime. Back in the carnival days I never guessed Soldier Boy would turn out to be such a controlling prick in the bedroom… but she loves it. Good for her, I guess? As long as he treats her right, who am I to judge love, even if it’s weird.

Afterward, Ben pulled Betty into his chest. She immediately grabbed Scout, tucking him tight against her heart. Ben’s arm wrapped around both of them, his big hand stroking her hair.

“You good, baby?” he murmured.

Betty held Scout closer. The pressure triggered the old memory again. that day in the remodeled penthouse after forty fucking years. Homelander playing fairy godmother, dragging out all the old crap from the archives. When she saw Scout she dropped right to the floor, squeezing him so tight he thought his seams would split, happy tears soaking everything. Soldier Boy dropped down too, arms around both of them like he finally got it.

Momma’s a little bit of a crybaby. That’s okay, though. After everything she’s lived through… I’ll take tears over silence any day.

I spent forty years in storage, wondering if they’d forgotten about me or something worse had happened to them both. Traumatizing. But they got me back. My idiots. My family.

Ben’s voice dropped. “You did good today, buddy. Kept an eye on our girl.” He spoke to the plush eagle.

Yeah, yeah. I always do, you oversized ego with a shield. You’re still too quick to flip channels, too stubborn, too damn impulsive… but you come home to her. You hold her when she needs it. You love her in your fucked-up way. That’s why I put up with your shit, old man.

The three of them stayed tangled. Scout settled into the warmth, grumpy but content.

Home. Loud, messy, traumatizing… but ours. Finally. Love ya mom and dad even if I can’t tell you out loud.

—

Finally the long anticipated chapter from Scout’s POV! Hehe he’s a funny little guy.

Masterlist

Taglist

@mornixgstar18 @ladysparkles78 @nightlark100

@mirwors @rubyverone @dianaforever @omgbrianab @Imillsy97

[brotherfucker69]

I want soldier boy to fuck me in a chokehold

[uglybrunette5]

omg daddy daddy daddy

[sugardeery]

Praying my future husband looks like Jensen Ackles or im gonna lose my shit

[lickabeefslair]

Victory Roll Victory Lap

Summary: After receiving her schedule, USO Girl leaves in a fit of anger to lash out on Homelander.

The morning light filtered through the Vought Tower penthouse, casting a golden haze over Soldier Boy and USO Girl’s penthouse. It still smelled faintly of last night’s victory whiskey, gun oil, and the metallic tang of Compound V lingering in the air like cheap cologne. Betty stirred first, her body curled against Ben’s broad chest, one leg thrown over his like she was afraid he’d vanish if she let go.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand, expecting the usual post-mission fluff from Vought’s PR team. Instead, the screen lit up with the new performance schedule. Her eyes narrowed as she scrolled.

Homelander’s Democratic Church of America Presence – Special Sunday Service

Performer: USO Girl

Setlist: “America the Beautiful” (extended patriotic remix), “God Bless the Homeland,” and a new hymn: “Mother of God’s Eternal Light.”

Costume: Vintage USO whites with added halo prop and blue sash reading “Blessed by the One True Son.”

Betty sat bolt upright, the silk sheets pooling around her waist. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Ben grunted beside her, one heavy arm draping over her lap as he cracked one eye open. “Mornin’ to you too, doll. What’s got your garters in a twist already?”

She shoved the phone in his face. “Look at this bullshit. Another goddamn church gig for Homelander’s ego circus. ‘Mother of God’s Eternal Light’? I’m not singing hymns to that narcissistic milk freak! I’m the USO Girl, not his personal choir nun. I performed for actual troops in actual wars, not this… this cult bullshit!”

Her voice rose with every word. The air in the room grew thick. Ben sat up slowly, the sheets sliding down his muscular torso. He placed a firm hand on her thigh, squeezing. “Easy, Betty. Breathe. You’re leaking again. Whole damn tower’s probably feeling that static right now. Last thing we need is Sage poking her nose in or Deep trying to ‘aquatic therapy’ the situation.”

Betty huffed, but the pressure in the air eased a fraction. Still, she was fuming, cheeks flushed with that signature 1940s indignation mixed with modern rage. “I’m so over this. He gets the V from you last night like it’s some holy anointing, and now I’m supposed to prance around in a halo singing about his divine mommy issues? Fuck that. I’m done playing nice.”

She swung her legs out of bed, not bothering with the silk robe. Her hair was still up in rollers from yesterday’s set, wrapped in a colorful scarf tied like she was ready for a victory roll victory lap. She was wearing one of Ben’s oversized tees that hit mid-thigh and a pair of his boxers rolled at the waist. No makeup. Bare feet. Pure, unfiltered Betty.

Ben watched her, a slow smirk tugging at his lips even as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re really goin’ down there like that?”

“Damn right I am,” she shot back, already storming toward the elevator. “It’s still me and you forever, right? Then watch me remind that cape-wearing psycho who actually built this country’s image.”

The elevator dinged on Homelander’s private floor. Betty marched out like she owned the place, scarf fluttering behind her like a battle flag, rollers bouncing with each furious step. A few Vought staffers froze in the hallway, eyes wide at the sight of the usually polished USO Girl looking like she’d just rolled out of a 1950s housewife bender and straight into war mode.

She didn’t knock. She shoved the doors to Homelander’s opulent chambers open with a burst of strength that made the hinges groan.

Homelander was there, of course lounging in his red-white-and-blue uniform, staring at a massive portrait of himself with laser-focused intensity. He turned at the intrusion, that perfect smile freezing into something sharper.

“Mother,” he drawled, voice dripping false warmth. “To what do I owe this… delightful early morning visit? Love the look. Very… authentic.”

Betty planted her hands on her hips, scarf slipping slightly over one roller. “Cut the shit, Homelander. I saw the schedule. I’m not doing it. Not the hymns, not the halo, not another second of propping up your ‘Mother of God’ wet dream. You want a choir boy? Get Deep in a dress. I’m done.”

The air crackled again. A vase on a side table cracked clean down the middle.

Homelander’s eyes flickered red for a split second before he reined it in, stepping closer with that predatory grace. “Oh, Betty. Sweet, vintage Betty. You’ve been so helpful lately. Soldier Boy’s little pet project. But let’s not forget who runs this tower. Who keeps the lights on. Who made sure your precious Soldier Boy got to play hero again last night.”

Betty didn’t back down. If anything, she leaned in, voice rising to that unhinged, out-of-pocket level only a woman who’d survived the 40s, Russia, and Vought could reach. “Helpful? I’ve been biting my tongue while you turn everything into your mommy fetish sideshow! Newsflash, blondie you’re not divine. You’re just another supe with daddy issues and a milk dependency. You would do well with a dominatrix. Hell, you need one to keep you on short leash. This ridiculous god thing is bullshit. I sang for soldiers who actually bled for this country. Not for some flying asshole who needs a stadium full of cultists clapping for him!”

She jabbed a finger at his chest. “Cancel the gig. Or I swear on every stage I ever stood on, I’ll make sure the whole audience sees exactly how human their ‘Mother of God’ really is when I’m through.”

Betty didn’t flinch when Homelander stepped closer, that fake smile cracking at the edges. The scarf in her hair was slipping, one roller threatening to pop loose, but she didn’t give a single damn. She was done. Completely, unapologetically done.

“You know what? No. I’m not biting my tongue anymore,” she snapped, voice echoing off the sleek walls of his ridiculous throne room. “This whole ‘Mother of God’ agenda? It stops. Right now. I am not your mom. I don’t have a single maternal instinct for you, Homelander. Not one. You keep trying to slot me into this creepy little family fantasy like I’m supposed to coo over you and pat your head while you play house with me and Ben? It’s not happening. It will never happen.”

Homelander’s jaw tightened, that perfect all-American grin twisting. “Betty… you wound me. We’re supposed to be a family. You’re the mother I never had.”

She laughed, sharp and bitter. “I survived wars, experiments, and decades of this supe bullshit before you were even a wet dream in Vogelbaum’s lab. I’m not here to play mommy in your fucked-up domestic fantasy. Soldier Boy and I? We’re solid. We’re us. You don’t get to insert yourself into that like some third wheel with laser eyes and abandonment issues. Stop pushing it. Stop using me as your emotional support mommy. It’s pathetic.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Homelander’s eyes flashed literally. Those glowing red lasers hummed to life, boring straight into her with enough heat to melt steel. The tension in the room thickened, her powers subtly shifting the atmosphere pushing waves of raw frustration and disdain straight toward him, heavy enough to make the air feel suffocating. Homelander’s eyes flashed literally. Those glowing red lasers hummed to life, boring straight into her with enough heat to melt steel. For a split second, Betty felt the air sizzle around her face.

He hovered there, fists clenched, chest rising and falling like he was one heartbeat away from carving her in half. The red glow intensified… then stuttered. He forced it back, blinking hard, the lasers dying down to nothing but a faint ember in his eyes.

“You… you ungrateful little—” His voice cracked, that high-pitched whine slipping through the god complex for just a moment. He straightened his cape with a sharp tug, forcing the smile back on like armor. “You have no idea what I could do to you. To both of you.”

Betty lifted her chin, rollers and all, refusing to step back even an inch. “Then do it. Or don’t. But I’m not singing your hymns. I’m not wearing your halo. And I’m sure as hell not playing house in whatever twisted fucked up Brady Bunch scenario you’ve cooked up. Find another nostalgia act.” She opened the door and turned to look at him. Betty held her ground. “Try it. But the ‘Divine Family’ bullshit dies today.” She turned on her heel and marched out, leaving Homelander standing there seething, cape twitching.

Betty burst back into the penthouse, chest heaving, scarf half-falling off her rollers. The confrontation still burned in her veins Homelander’s smug face, the way he’d casually announced he’d already been pushing the “divine family” narrative through PR, calling her the mother figure they all needed. It made her skin crawl.

She kicked the door shut behind her and headed straight for the kitchen without thinking. Ben was already there, dressed and waiting for her, but she barely registered him at first.

Without a word, she pulled out a cast-iron skillet, eggs, bacon, and whatever fresh ingredients were stocked in the fridge. Her hands moved on autopilot cracking eggs, whisking them with a little milk and herbs the way she used to for the troops back in the day. The sizzle of bacon hitting the hot pan filled the air. She flipped on the coffee maker, started chopping vegetables for an omelet, all while muttering under her breath.

“Fucking divine family… mother figure… I’ll show him a mother figure…”

She didn’t even realize she was cooking until the smell of breakfast hit her. It was her thing always had been. When the world got too heavy, when the rage or the memories or the Vought bullshit, she cooked. Baked. Fed people. It grounded her, reminded her of who she was before all this supe insanity.

Ben watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, a soft smirk tugging at his mouth despite the storm in his eyes. “You’re stress-cooking again, doll.”

Betty blinked down at the pan like it had appeared out of nowhere. “Huh. Yeah… guess I am.” She let out a shaky laugh, flipping the bacon. “Didn’t even notice. That prick told me he’s already planning his bullshit fantasy. Wants me on stage between you two like some holy mommy stand-in. Said I could be the mother he never had. I told him exactly where he could shove that fantasy.”

Ben stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, right above the collar of his own tee she was still wearing. “Good. You said your peace. I’m glad you stood your ground, it’s a brave thing of you. I’m proud!”

“Honey…” she said, voice cracking with exhaustion as she leaned back into his chest, still flipping the bacon. “I’m so tired of this bullshit. All the mind games, the church gigs, the ‘divine family’ circus he’s trying to force on us. I just want a real break. A relaxing vacation somewhere far from Vought Tower and that psycho. Maybe Bogotá. Only sun, no schedules, no cameras. Just you, me, a good j and zero talk about gods or mothers or any of this nonsense. We deserve that. After everything… I just want us.”

Ben pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, squeezing her tighter. “You’re right, doll. We do deserve it. And we’re gonna get it. But first I gotta shut this shit down at the source.”

He turned her gently to face him, searching her eyes. The smell of breakfast continued to fill the penthouse comforting, normal, theirs.

“I’m going down there,” he said, voice low and final. “This ends today. He doesn’t get to drag you into his fucked-up head games. Not anymore.”

Betty leaned into him for a moment, letting the warmth of his chest and the sizzle of the pan calm her the rest of the way. “Be careful, Ben. He almost lasered me when I told him I’d never be his mom.”

He feels protection wave over him. “He did WHAT? That little shit is gonna get it.” Ben chuckled, grabbing a piece of bacon straight from the pan and popping it in his mouth. “I gave him the V. I can take it back if I have to, fuck this place.” He kissed her again, deeper this time. “Finish your breakfast. I’ll be back.”

He headed for the elevator, leaving Betty alone with the comforting smells of home and the quiet hum of her powers finally settling.

—

Finally made it back to the main story, after side quest chapters. 😂 I don’t want this story to end (I will still be posting fuck off chapters, I like these characters too much to stop writing them.)

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[lickabeefslair]

American Fury

Summary: A public blowout at the American Fury premiere turns violently ugly in their hotel suite. Powers flare, and a fragile promise is made. (Warning this one gets violent Hurt/Comfort)

1968 — Hollywood

The flashbulbs were relentless. USO Girl stood in her green-and-gold uniform, military cap tilted just so over her victory rolls, gold accents catching every burst of light. She looked sharp. Controlled. She walked the carpet at the premiere looking glamorous as ever for her co-staring role in American Fury, she plays the pretty damsel who gets rescued by the big strong hero. She played the part with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Beside her, Soldier Boy was every inch the star they’d built him to be uniform gleaming, shield slung across his back, that cocky grin already in place for the cameras. His arm was around her waist, heavy and possessive, but his attention kept drifting to the crowd, the lights, the validation.

A reporter leaned in with a microphone, voice bright.

“Soldier Boy! USO Girl! After all these years together the war, the tours, everything the country’s dying to know: any wedding bells for America’s golden couple?”

Ben’s laugh was loud and easy, the one that made crowds cheer. “A hero’s work never stops. Can’t tie myself down when there’s still a country to save.”

A few reporters chuckled. Some cameras clicked faster.

“Real funny, Soldier Boy. I thought the ‘work’ included not treating the woman who’s stood beside you since 1945 like she’s optional equipment. But what do I know? I’m just the girl in the cute little uniform.” She teased.

The air around them went tight.

Ben’s fingers dug into her side hard enough to bruise through the fabric. His smile never wavered for the cameras, but his voice dropped low, meant only for her.

“Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” she whispered back, still smiling for the flashbulbs. “You’ll remind me who made me somebody? In front of all these nice people?”

Another reporter leaned in. “Soldier Boy! The film has USO Girl’s character captured and dramatically tied up before you save her. Any truth to the rumors that kind of on-screen chemistry is… very real off-screen too?” The reporter asks implying something.

Ben’s grin was wide and cruel.

“She looked real good all tied up on that screen. Maybe the writers know something the rest of us don’t.” He gave her waist a squeeze that looked affectionate and felt like a warning. “Some broads just need a strong hand to remind ’em who’s in charge. Right, doll?”

A few reporters laughed. Cameras clicked faster.

USO Girl’s smile stayed picture-perfect, but her voice came out sweet and vicious.

“Funny. On screen I at least got rescued. Off screen I’m still waiting for the hero part to show up.”

Ben’s fingers dug in hard enough to bruise.

They made it inside the afterparty before the next wave hit. The afterparty was worse.

The ballroom glittered crystal, cigarette smoke, the low thrum of a band playing something swinging and oblivious. Ben had a drink in his hand within minutes and another two after that. Betty stayed close at first, playing the part, until the comments started piling up. Every time someone congratulated him on the film, on how “real” the hero looked, he’d glance at her and add something cutting.

“She’s great at the damsel part, isn’t she? Always has been. Knows her place on screen and off.”

Ben was five drinks deep within twenty minutes and did who knows what substances in the bathroom he got meaner with every one. He held court near the bar, voice carrying.

“USO’s a hell of a prop,” he told a group of studio heads loud enough for nearby tables to hear. “Stands there looking pretty while I do the real work. Vought should give her a goddamn medal just for not tripping over her own feet.”

Later, when someone complimented how “loyal” she’d been since the war, he laughed.

“Loyal’s one word for it. She knows which side her bread’s buttered on. Where else is a washed-up USO girl gonna go, huh?”

Betty had been swallowing it all night. She lasted until he said it in front of the director and two Vought execs.

She pulled him toward a quieter corner, voice low but shaking.

“You don’t get to talk about me like I’m furniture you’re tired of. Not in front of them. Not after everything I’ve covered for you. Your ego has gone to your head. We’re in this together, I’m not your fucking accessory on your arm.”

Ben yanked his arm free, eyes glassy and dangerous.

“Then stop acting like you’re hot shit, doll. You’re the girl in the green uniform who smiles when I tell her to, sing, dance or just shut up and look pretty when I say so. That’s your fucking job. Don’t forget it just because the cameras are off.”

Her chin lifted. Victory rolls perfect.

“Fuck you, Benjamin.”

His smile was cold.

“We’ll see about that when we get back to the suite, sweetheart.”

The hotel door slammed so hard the wall shook.

Ben was on her instantly one hand fisting the front of her green uniform, the other shoving her back against the wall with bruising force. The military cap flew off her head and skittered across the carpet.

“You think you can embarrass me like that in front of Vought, you ungrateful bitch?” he snarled, voice low and ugly. “In front of the people who actually matter?”

Betty shoved back, powers already prickling hot under her skin.

“You embarrassed yourself. I just stopped pretending it didn’t hurt.”

He slammed her against the wall again, harder. Pain bloomed across her shoulder blades. One of his hands pinned both of hers above her head, the other tore at the gold sash until it ripped free. He backhanded her across the face. Her head snapped sideways, lip splitting wider, fresh blood flooding her mouth.

“Gonna remind you exactly where you stand,” he growled, hips grinding in roughly. “You wanna act like a mouthy little brat in public? Fine. I’ll fuck that attitude right out of you till you remember who the hell you belong to.”

Betty bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He cursed and hit her again open palm this time, catching her cheek and the bridge of her nose. Blood trickled from her nose now too, mixing with the mess on her chin.

The air in the suite thickened with her leaking powers heavy, oppressive atmosphere pressing in, flooding Ben with waves of her raw humiliation and rage. His grip faltered for a second as the mood bleed hit him, eyes flashing with disoriented anger.

It only made him meaner.

He threw her sideways into the dresser. She crashed against it, hip taking the worst of it, a sharp pain shooting through her side. He was on her again before she could recover, pinning her down, one knee between her thighs, fist tangled in her uniform as he tried to yank it higher.

“Stay the fuck down,” he snarled.

Betty twisted and fought like hell, knee to the ribs, elbow to the jaw but he was stronger, drunker, meaner. He backhanded her once more, splitting her lip further. Blood smeared across both of them as they grappled. The atmosphere grew heavier, her powers leaking pure emotional chaos into the room, making Ben’s rage spike and stutter in unpredictable waves.

In a desperate surge she used the mood bleed against him flooding him with a heavy wave of her own exhaustion and fear and shoved with everything she had. He staggered. She grabbed the front of his uniform and threw him back into the bathroom doorway. Before he could recover she slammed the heavy door, threw the lock, and wedged the vanity chair under the handle.

Inside, Ben roared and slammed into the wood. The door cracked but held.

Betty slid down the other side, back against the door, blood dripping from her nose and split lip onto her torn uniform. The atmosphere was still thick with her leaking emotions. She reached for that old stuffed eagle in her suitcase, pulled him into her lap, and held it tight while she forced slow, deliberate breaths until her powers settled and the oppressive feeling in the air finally eased.

When she felt steady enough, she moved the chair and unlocked the door.

It opened slowly.

Ben stood there, uniform torn, cut on his jaw and lip still bleeding. He looked wrecked.

For a long moment they just stared at each other.

Then Ben’s shoulders sagged. “Shit… I’m sorry, Betty. I went way too fucking far tonight. Hitting you like that… saying all that shit… I lost my temper. You didn’t deserve any of it. I know you didn’t.”

He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, one big hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapping firmly around her waist. He held her tight against his chest, rocking them gently, the kind of solid hold he knew she craved after nights like this.

“You’re still my girl,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Even when you’re a pain in the ass who makes me bleed. Nobody else stands up to me like that. Nobody else could. You’re tougher than half the supes I know, doll. I’m lucky you still put up with my shit after all these years.”

Betty melted into the hold, blood smearing across both their uniforms. Her voice came out small and shaky against his chest.

“I got so scared, Ben. When the powers started leaking like that… flooding the air, hitting your mood… I couldn’t stop it at first. I was terrified I was going to hurt you worse. Or lose control completely. And when you were hitting me and pinning me down… I was scared of you. Really scared. I hate that I was scared of you.”

His arms tightened around her. One hand stroked slowly up and down her back in long, soothing passes while he kept his voice low and steady, trying to make the whole wrecked suite feel safer for her.

“Hey… I know. I know, doll. I’m right here. I ain’t gonna hurt you again tonight. You’re safe with me now. Breathe. Just breathe. Your powers are part of you messy as hell sometimes, but you pulled ’em back. You got me in there and you calmed yourself down. That’s my tough girl. Strongest damn woman I’ve ever known.”

He held her like that for a long while, rocking her gently, letting the heavy atmosphere her powers had left behind fully dissipate. Then he guided her toward the bed, pausing at the bathroom sink first. With careful hands he wet a clean washcloth with warm water and wiped the blood from her split lip, her nose, and her chin, murmuring soft curses at himself under his breath the whole time.

Next he reached up and slowly un-pinned her victory rolls, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders in soft waves. His fingers worked gently through the strands, massaging her scalp. “Lift your arms for me, sweetheart.”

He helped her out of the torn, bloody uniform, peeling the ruined fabric away as gently as his big hands could manage careful around her bruised hip and the fresh marks on her face and arms. Once she was bare he grabbed one of his own oversized tees from the dresser, soft and well-worn and smelling like him, and slipped it over her head, guiding her arms through the sleeves. He smoothed it down over her body, the hem falling almost to her thighs, then pulled her close again for another long, grounding hug.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

She nodded.

They finally sank down onto the big canopy bed together. Ben pulled her against his chest, one arm locked around her waist, the other hand gently stroking her now-loose hair. He grabbed the plush eagle from the nightstand and tucked him in her arms as a gesture of comfort and said softly to the eagle “Sorry, you had to witness that, kid. Your mother didn’t deserve none of it.” He pressed a kiss to the toy’s head then to her temple, feeling all kinds of regret.

They were still a mess.

But tonight, wrapped in his shirt and his arms, she felt held. Safe. And for a little while, that was enough.

Sunlight filtered through the heavy hotel curtains the next morning, cutting across the wrecked suite like a spotlight on last night’s damage. Shattered glass still glittered on the carpet. The cracked bathroom door hung slightly off its hinges. The air smelled faintly of blood and whiskey.

Betty woke slowly, sore everywhere. Her face throbbed, her hip ached where it had slammed into the dresser, and her wrists were ringed with fresh bruises from where he’d pinned her. She was still wearing Ben’s oversized tee, the soft fabric a small mercy against her skin. His arm was heavy around her waist, his breathing deep and even beside her.

She slipped out from under his arm as carefully as she could, wincing with every movement, and padded barefoot to the bathroom. The door creaked loudly when she pushed it open.

The mirror didn’t lie.

Her reflection stared back — split lip swollen and scabbed with dried blood, nose bruised, a darkening shiner forming under one eye, fingerprint bruises on her throat and wrists. Her loose hair was tangled, victory rolls long gone. She looked exactly like what she was: a woman who had gone ten rounds with Soldier Boy and barely walked away.

She gripped the edge of the sink, breathing through the wave of nausea and shame and leftover fear. Scout the eagle sat on the counter where Ben must have moved him at some point. She touched its bent wing gently, grounding herself.

Behind her, the bed creaked. Ben was awake, watching her from the doorway in just his boxers, his own bruises and split lip visible in the mirror.

“Betty…” His voice was rough with sleep and the remnants of last night. “C’mere, doll. You look like hell.”

She met his eyes in the reflection. Her voice came out quiet but steady.

“We need to talk.”

He stepped into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. He didn’t look defensive yet just tired and wary. “Yeah. Figured that was coming. Go on then. Say it.”

Betty turned to face him directly, arms wrapped around herself.

“What happened last night can’t happen again, Ben. Not the hitting. Not the way you threw me around like I was one of your stunt grunts. Not pinning me down and telling me I’m nothing but a washed-up performer, who’s lucky you keep her around. I love you. We’ve been through everything together. I’ve loved you for decades. But I can’t be waking up like this looking like I lost a fight with a goddamn tank because you got pissed off in public and decided to take it out on me in private.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. He looked away for a second, then back at her bruised face. “I was a real son of a bitch last night. The booze, the cameras, you calling me out in front of those Vought pricks… I let it get away from me. I shouldn’t have put my hands on you like that. You ain’t nothing. You’re the only goddamn person who’s ever stuck with me through all this shit.”

Betty’s eyes stung but she held his gaze.

“I got so scared, Ben. When my powers started leaking into the air like that flooding you with all my fear and rage I couldn’t stop it at first. I was terrified I was going to hurt you worse. Or lose control completely and break something I couldn’t fix. And when you were hitting me… when you had me pinned and I couldn’t get up… I was scared of you. Really scared. I hate that I was scared of you. That’s not us. Or at least it shouldn’t be.”

He exhaled heavily and stepped closer, reaching out slowly to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was surprisingly gentle.

“I know. Fuck, I know. I saw it in your eyes last night and it made me even madder at myself. You’re my girl, Betty. The real deal. Not some damsel I get to knock around when I’m pissed. I don’t want you scared of me. That ain’t right.” He cupped the uninjured side of her face carefully. “You’re tougher than half the supes I know. Strongest damn woman I’ve ever met. I mean that. I’ll do better. No more nights like that. You push me, we yell, we get mean fine. But beating each other up stops. You got my word.”

Betty searched his face, then leaned into his hand just a little.

“Promise me, Ben. Really promise me. Because if it happens again… I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

“I promise,” he said, voice low and rough. He pulled her carefully into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “No more. I ain’t losing you over my shitty temper. You’re the only one who’s ever been able to call me on my bullshit and stick around anyway. I’m lucky as hell you still do.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, swaying gently in the bathroom doorway. Then Ben guided her back toward the big canopy bed. They sank down together. He pulled her against his chest, one arm locked around her waist, the other hand gently stroking her now-loose hair. They were still a mess.

But this morning, wrapped in his shirt and his arms, with promises hanging fragile in the air, it felt like they might have a chance to do better.

They stayed wrapped up in each other for a while longer, the quiet broken only by the occasional creak of the bed and the distant sound of LA traffic outside. Eventually Ben sighed and pressed one last kiss to her temple.

“Gotta check out soon,” he muttered.

Betty nodded against his chest. “This place is wrecked.”

They got up slowly. Betty winced as she moved, but together they surveyed the suite. Shattered glass on the floor. Cracked bathroom door. Blood smears on the carpet and walls. The ripped green-and-gold uniform still lying where it had been dropped. Ben let out a low whistle.

“Jesus. We really did a number on the place.”

Betty managed a weak smile. “At least Vought’s footing the bill. Again.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Lucky us.”

They changed into civilian clothes together. Betty in a simple sundress and light cardigan that hid the worst of the bruises on her arms, Ben in slacks and a polo that made him look more like a regular (if ridiculously built) guy than America’s supe. She carefully applied a heavy layer of makeup to conceal the split lip, shiner, and bruises on her cheek and throat, finishing with oversized sunglasses. Ben did the same: dark shades and a jacket to cover any visible marks. They looked almost normal. Almost.

Betty carried Scout tucked carefully in her purse. (He’s precious cargo, he gets purse privileges.) Ben carried their bags.

The front desk didn’t bat an eye when they checked out. Vought money smoothed over everything, as always. The valet brought the car around and they slid into the back seat together.

The ride home was quiet.

Betty leaned her head against the window, sunglasses still on, watching the palm trees and billboards slide by. Ben’s hand rested on her thigh for a moment, then slid down to lace his fingers with hers. He gave a gentle squeeze.

“You okay, doll?” he asked quietly.

Betty turned her head just enough to look at him through the dark lenses. “I will be. As long as we meant what we said this morning.”

“Yeah,” he answered, thumb stroking over her knuckles. “We did. I meant it.”

The rest of the ride passed in comfortable quiet, hands still linked, the city rolling past them. Both of them nursing their bruises and the tentative hope that this time they might actually do better.

When they finally stepped into their penthouse, Ben dropped their bags near the entryway with a heavy thud. Betty pulled Scout out of her purse and set the old stuffed eagle gently on the kitchen island, patting his head once.

“There you go, Scout. Home again.”

Ben watched her from the doorway, regret heavy in his eyes. He crossed the room in a few strides and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist from the back. His chin rested on her shoulder, careful not to press on any bruises. “You want me to make breakfast?” he asked, voice low and rough. “I can try not to burn the place down.” She shakes her head no, as she has very minimal energy.

He took chorded phone and dialed one of Vought’s chefs to bring up waffles. Ben came up behind her immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “You sit. I’ll handle the rest.”

The Vought chefs sent up two big orders of fluffy waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, extra syrup, and coffee. Ben didn’t let her lift a finger. He pulled her onto a stool at the island, then stood right beside her, cutting pieces of waffle and feeding her bites from his own fork slow, careful, almost reverent. Every time syrup dripped onto her lip he’d lean in and kiss it away gently, mindful of the split.

“You’re spoiling me,” Betty murmured around a strawberry, smiling despite everything. “I could get used to this side of you, you know.”

“You deserve it after last night,” he replied, voice low. He fed her another bite, then brushed a thumb over her cheek. “My tough girl. Let me take care of you today. You’ve earned it.”

After the plates were empty, Ben didn’t even ask. He simply scooped her up into his arms one under her knees, the other supporting her back and carried her bridal-style down the hall to their bedroom. Betty wrapped her arms around his neck and let him, too tired and sore to protest.

“Grab Scout on the way, please?” she asked softly.

Ben paused, reached back to the island with one arm while still holding her securely, and tucked the stuffed eagle into her arms. “Here you go, doll. Scout’s got you too.” Once they were in bed he made the eagle give her kisses gently bumping the soft beak against her cheek and forehead a few times with a gruff little chuckle. “See? Even Scout says you’re the best damn thing in this penthouse.”

Betty laughed quietly, hugging the eagle to her chest as Ben settled in beside her and pulled her close. He kept one arm locked around her waist, the other hand gently stroking her loose hair and rubbing slow circles on her back.

“Rest, doll,” he murmured against her hair, pressing soft kisses to her temple and the uninjured side of her jaw. “I’ve got you. No more fighting today. Just me taking care of my girl the way I should’ve been doing all along. You and Scout can just lay here and be spoiled.”

Betty nestled deeper into his chest, Scout tucked securely between them. “I love you, even when you’re an idiot,” she whispered. “Just… keep doing this part. The soft part. I need it after nights like last night.”

“Always,” he promised, voice rough but sincere. His hand never stopped its gentle stroking. “You’re my girl.” But wrapped in his arms, with Scout’s eyes watching them and Ben babying her like she was the most precious thing in his world, it felt like a real start.

“You know I thought Forever, My Hero was a better film. Our story together was better” Betty teases

“That’s because you’re the lead in that one, Honey.” He jokes

She giggles then responds in a silly tone. “We were robbed of an Oscar, Scout agrees.”

—

Oof this one was kinda crazy but I wanted a good ending for this flashback. We’re gonna get back to the main story, the next chapter.

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Taglist

@mornixgstar18 @ladysparkles78 @nightlark100

@mirwors @rubyverone @dianaforever

@omgbrianab @lmillsy97

[sainteangel]

“Something ain’t right with those winchester boys..”

Supernatural x southern gothic aesthetic..

[dollislvt]

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ jensen in a hoodie>>>>

[reallyunluckyrunaway]

You're goddamn right

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles as Soldier Boy THE BOYS (2022) | 3.06 – “Herogasm”

[rylandsgrace]

Superman (2025) // The Boys (2019 - )

[ali-xw435]

I need to be his controversially young girlfriend while I sit on his lap and he smokes a cigarette while playing with my hair telling me what a pretty girl I am >⩊<.ᐟ

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles as Soldier Boy THE BOYS (2026) | 5.03 – “Every One of You Sons of Bitches”