Summary: You were an unlikely pair, everyone could see that. But what happens when you get a glimpse into a future where your differences were too much for you to bear?
A/N: initially this fic was going to end after the the mission ended and it was going to be super fluffy but idk i just decided to do angst for some reason
Ben Tennyson was going to die.
Honestly, when he really thought about it, he'd had a pretty good run.
Twenty-two years wasn't exactly old, but he'd packed enough living into those years for several lifetimes. He'd saved Earth more times than anyone could count. Saved the galaxy. Saved the universe on more than one occasion. Kids wore little green Omnitrix watches because they wanted to be him. Entire planets celebrated holidays because he'd shown up when no one else could.
He had Grandpa Max.
He had Gwen and Kevin.
He had Rook, despite the guy constantly pretending Ben gave him migraines.
And somehow—through what Ben still considered the greatest miracle of his life—he'd met the love of his life when he was sixteen.
He supposed dying wasn't the worst thing in the world.
Dying at your hands, however was considerably more terrifying.
Assuming the interstellar tyrant currently holding him prisoner didn't beat you to it.
Pain immediately flared through his ribs, sharp enough to steal the air from his lungs. Something on his left side was definitely broken, every breath sending another stab through his chest. Dried blood clung to the side of his face where someone had split his eyebrow open hours ago, and his vision still blurred every time he moved too quickly.
His right shoulder had long since gone numb beneath the weight of his restraints, though he couldn't tell whether that was because of the device itself or because it had been dislocated sometime during the fight.
The restraints didn't help.
Each wrist had been shackled separately into the floor, forcing his arms apart just enough that he couldn't reach the Omnitrix even if it had been functional.
Not that it would have mattered.
Wrapped around the watch itself was a massive suppressor cuff, heavy enough that lifting his arm required actual effort. Strange blue circuitry crawled across its surface, humming with enough energy that Ben could feel it vibrating against his skin.
Even voice activation had been neutralized. The device emitted a constant low-frequency field that swallowed every spoken command before it ever reached the watch.
He was powerless.
Across the room Gwen sat restrained inside a containment chair, bands of glowing metal wrapped around her wrists, ankles and waist. Every few seconds the runes carved into the restraints flashed, disrupting any mana she tried to gather before it could even form.
She had stopped struggling nearly twenty minutes ago.
Kevin wasn't doing much better.
His restraints were different—thick black cuffs humming with anti-conductive energy that prevented him from using his powers.
No one had spoken in several minutes.
Mostly because there wasn't much left to say.
Ben had gotten them into this.
The mission had been simple on paper. A distress signal had come from a remote world ruled by a regime infamous for making people disappear, and every report that reached Plumber headquarters painted the same picture. Entire villages had been wiped off the map, political prisoners vanished without a trace, and civilians were begging anyone—anyone—to intervene.
To Ben, that should have been the end of the discussion.
People needed help.
He helped people.
That was how it had always worked.
Unfortunately, the universe had never been quite that simple.
The planet fell well outside Plumber jurisdiction, protected by treaties and diplomatic agreements that stretched back centuries. If Earth sent its most famous hero charging across a sovereign border without permission, it wouldn't just spark outrage. It could start a war.
You had explained that.
Repeatedly.
The argument hadn't been about whether those people deserved saving. You'd agreed with him there. It had been about how to save them.
While Ben wanted to leave immediately, you were already working every political channel available. You'd been in contact with ambassadors, sector commanders, council representatives—anyone with enough influence to fast-track emergency authorization. It would've taken time, but you were making progress.
Ben hadn't wanted to wait.
Every hour spent filling out paperwork was another hour innocent people remained trapped under a tyrant.
You'd called him reckless.
He'd called you callous.
Neither of you had backed down.
In the end, he'd done what he always did whenever his conscience got louder than common sense.
He'd gone anyway.
He'd taken Gwen and Kevin, crossed the border without authorization, and convinced himself he'd apologize once everyone was safely home. Instead, less than eight hours later, the three of them were sitting in a reinforced prison cell beneath the capital city after the mission had fallen apart in spectacular fashion.
The rescue had turned into a firefight.
The firefight had turned into an ambush.
And the ambush...
Ben closed his eyes as the memories surfaced uninvited.
There had simply been too many of them.
Too many soldiers.
Too many weapons.
He'd fought anyway, changing forms faster than he ever had before, trying to carve a path for Gwen and Kevin to escape. Somewhere in the chaos, someone had landed a lucky shot with an energy cannon that sent him crashing through two buildings. By the time he'd dragged himself back to his feet, blood running freely down his face, they were already surrounded.
He hadn't surrendered.
He'd never been particularly good at surrendering.
Which explained most of his injuries.
Now, the three of them sat chained beneath the palace of one of the most politically protected dictators in the galaxy, awaiting whatever sentence he deemed appropriate for foreign operatives caught illegally invading his world.
Life imprisonment was the optimistic outcome.
Execution was considerably more likely.
And somehow, despite all of that, the thought occupying Ben's mind wasn't the possibility of dying.
It was what you were going to do when you found out.
The sound of approaching footsteps was what woke Ben from the half-conscious daze he'd fallen into.
At first, he thought he was imagining it.
The last several hours had blurred together between pain, exhaustion, and the constant ache radiating through his entire body. He'd lost track of how many guards had passed the cell, how many times they'd checked the restraints, how many times he'd been forced to wonder whether the next person through the door would be bringing food, information, or a sentence.
Then the doors opened.
A group of armed guards entered first, their weapons already drawn, followed by several officials dressed in the formal armor of the regime. Whatever small amount of tension had remained between Ben, Gwen, and Kevin sharpened immediately into something heavier.
They weren't here to interrogate them.
They were here because the decision had already been made.
One of the officials read the charges aloud, listing every accusation with the same emotionless tone. Unauthorized entry. Assault against military personnel. Possession of restricted technology. Threatening national security. Interference with sovereign affairs.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
He'd spent his entire life breaking rules to save people, and somehow the universe had finally found a way to punish him using paperwork.
Gwen and Kevin were dragged to their feet first, their restraints removed only to be replaced with transport cuffs. Ben was slower. Much slower.
The guards had to grab him under both arms and pull him upright, and even then his knees nearly gave out beneath him. He hated that they noticed.
They were escorted through the fortress corridors with weapons trained on their backs. Ben forced himself to keep walking despite every step sending pain through his ribs. He refused to let them see him struggling.
The courtyard was already prepared when they arrived.
The crowd gathered around the platform watched in silence as the three of them were brought forward. Above them, banners displaying the tyrant's crest hung from the palace walls. Hundreds of soldiers lined the walls, weapons drawn, while the tyrant himself sat above them on a raised platform, watching with the calm satisfaction.
The guards forced them forward.
The tyrant descended the broad stone steps at an unhurried pace, his hands clasped neatly behind his back as though he were attending a diplomatic reception instead of overseeing a public execution.
"I do admire persistence, Mr. Tennyson," He said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the silent courtyard, "Most heroes eventually learn there are places they simply cannot save."
Ben laughed, though the sound dissolved into a painful cough almost immediately. "Oh yeah?" He rasped, lifting his head just enough to meet the man's gaze, "Is this where you beat that lesson into them?"
The tyrant's smile was almost imperceptible.
"No." He took another measured step forward, stopping only a few feet away, "I teach it by making certain there is no one left alive to remember they ever needed saving."
Ben opened his mouth, fully intending to deliver another sarcastic remark that would almost certainly make his impending execution significantly more unpleasant.
He never got the chance.
The enormous doors behind the gathered soldiers burst open with a deafening groan of protesting metal.
Every weapon in the courtyard swung toward the entrance in perfect synchronization.
A squad of heavily armed Plumber Security officers entered first, advancing with disciplined precision before spreading into a defensive formation several paces inside the courtyard.
Then another figure stepped through the doorway.
You.
For a second, Ben forgot about the pain.
Forgot about the restraints digging into his wrists.
Forgot about the dozens of rifles still trained on him.
For one impossible, disorienting moment, all he could do was stare.
Your uniform was immaculate, every insignia polished, every crease perfectly pressed despite the fact that you looked as though you hadn't slept in days. Your expression was incredibly composed, the very personification of professionalism. To anyone else, you looked perfectly calm.
But Ben knew better.
The faint crease between your eyebrows hadn't been there yesterday.
Your jaw was held just a fraction tighter than normal.
Your fingers tapped against the edge of the tablet in your hands before becoming completely still again. A habit you only did when you were nervous.
Tiny tells.
Almost invisible.
The kind only someone who had spent six years memorizing every version of you would ever notice.
God, you were so damn beautiful.
You stopped several paces away from the tyrant, "Governor."
The man regarded you with open curiosity, his expression betraying neither recognition nor concern.
"I wasn't informed we were expecting company."
"You weren't." Your voice was perfectly level, carrying none of the urgency Ben knew had to be simmering beneath the surface, "I'm here to retrieve my personnel."
The tyrant looked almost amused, "And who, exactly, are you to issue commands on my planet?"
"Proctor (Y/N) (L/N), Special Forces Division, Milky Way Galaxy." You met his gaze without the slightest hesitation, "And, should you refuse to release my personnel, your arresting officer."
"They entered my sovereign territory without authorization," He replied smoothly, "They attacked my military forces, interfered with governmental operations, and initiated hostilities against my administration. I fail to see why I should release criminals."
"Agent Gwen Tennyson and Agent Kevin Levin were responding under Emergency Humanitarian Intervention Protocol Seven." You explained coolly, not even the slightest bit deterred, "Their actions fall within recognized civilian protection statutes. Under Articles Eight through Fourteen of the Interstellar Humanitarian Accords, you may temporarily detain them pending investigation. However, execution would constitute a direct violation of no fewer than six treaties your government remains legally bound by."
His expression hardened almost imperceptibly.
"Perhaps."
His eyes shifted toward Ben.
"But him?"
The slight trace of the smile disappeared from your face at the sight of him. Ben tried meeting your eyes, but they were so swollen he couldn't look straight for too long. His gaze followed yours, settling on the massive inhibitor clamped around the Omnitrix.
"Benjamin Tennyson entered my territory carrying Level Twenty classified technology. He engaged my forces with overwhelming military capability and did so without authorization. By every legal definition available to me, he is an armed foreign combatant."
Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Gwen and Kevin both turn toward you but his gaze had never left you. You still looked composed, like his accusation hadn't worried you at all.
He descended the final step until only a few feet separated the two of you.
Ben's jaw tightened instinctively. He didn't like how close the man was standing. He didn't deserve to breathe the same air as you.
"According to my records," The tyrant continued, "automatic diplomatic immunity is reserved exclusively for Plumber officials holding the rank of Magister or higher."
His smile widened, "Benjamin Tennyson is neither. In fact, I'm told he isn't even an officially deputized Plumber."
The courtyard became so quiet that Ben could hear his own heartbeat.
Slowly, without a trace of urgency, you lowered your gaze to the tablet resting against your arm and tapped the screen once.
"I never said he was." You turned the display toward him, "He possesses diplomatic immunity because he is my husband."
Time stopped.
Ben felt the blood drain from his face.
His stomach lurched so violently he almost forgot about the broken ribs protesting every breath.
Beside him, Gwen's mouth had fallen completely open.
Kevin blinked once.
Then twice.
"...What?" He whispered.
And then all of a sudden, the blood rushed to his face so fast he felt a rush of heat go through him. He could hardly stop himself from letting a small smile grow on his face. He loved hearing you call him your husband.
He was such a dope.
The tyrant studied the document for a long moment before lifting his eyes back to yours, "You forged a marriage certificate?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.
"Forged implies falsified." You gently took the tablet back, "This is a legally registered document."
Without missing a beat, you opened another file, "According to Section Twelve, Clause Four of the Interstellar Diplomatic Protection Bylaws, immediate family members of deputized diplomatic personnel inherit limited diplomatic immunity during recognized emergency operations."
You looked at him with complete confidence, "Which means Ben cannot be lawfully detained without placing your government in direct violation of treaty obligations."
The tyrant read the document again.
And again.
Finally, he looked back up, a cold smile slowly spreading across his face.
"Everything appears to be in order." His eyes narrowed, "So why don't I believe you?"
You answered with the slightest shrug, "You're perfectly welcome to continue detaining him while your legal department verifies the documentation."
Then your smile appeared, "While they're doing that, however, I'll be filing formal complaints with the Intergalactic Council, petitions for unlawful detention, motions regarding treaty violations, and every additional indictment my office can justify."
You took one measured step closer, "By the time your attorneys finish proving my documentation is valid—and they will—you'll be drowning in enough sanctions, investigations, and reparations to finance my great-grandchildren's trust funds."
The smile vanished from your face.
"So," You folded your hands neatly behind your back, "Would you like to continue pretending this is your victory or would you like to release my husband?"
The journey back to Earth was unnaturally quiet.
Normally, the trip home after a mission—successful or otherwise—was anything but. If they weren't dissecting every decision they'd made in the field, they'd just be spending the time making lighthearted jokes.
Plans for celebratory chili fries were made before they even landed, bets were settled, bruises were compared, and someone always ended up laughing hard enough that their injuries started hurting again.
Ben hated silence.
Today, even he couldn't seem to chase it away.
Every few minutes someone stopped beside Ben to shine another light in his eyes or ask him to rate his pain on a scale from one to ten, only for him to answer with an increasingly creative series of numbers that earned him progressively flatter looks.
Across the cabin, Kevin had somehow managed to prop both boots onto the seat opposite him despite a medic asking him—three separate times—to keep his feet down.
Gwen sat beside him, quietly reading through the incident reports already flooding in from Plumber Headquarters, occasionally making a note in the margins before forwarding another file.
And you…
You hadn't looked up from your tablet once.
Every few minutes another report appeared across the screen. You read it, signed it, sent it back, and immediately opened the next one. Read. Sign. Forward. Rinse. Repeat.
It was almost mechanical.
Ben watched you for several long moments before clearing his throat.
"So..." You didn't react to him but he decided to continue anyway, a dopey grin spreading across his face, "When's the honeymoon, wifey?"
Kevin let out a bark of laughter, and even Gwen's lips twitched into the beginning of a smile.
Granted this definitely wasn't how Ben had imagined getting married.
After six years together, he'd always pictured an actual proposal. Something romantic. Maybe a ring. Definitely a wedding where Grandpa Max cried, Kevin complained about wearing a suit but being his best man, and Gwen as the maid of honour.
Instead, the first official document declaring the two of you husband and wife had been presented to an intergalactic dictator during his own execution.
Honestly it felt strangely on brand for the two of you.
"I'm just saying," Ben continued, glancing your way, "I always figured I'd have to ask your dad's permission first."
Silence.
"I had this whole speech planned."
Nothing.
"It was really good, too."
You signed another document.
Opened another file.
Didn't even glance in his direction.
"I mean," Kevin said with a crooked grin, "congratulations, Romeo. But since I wasn't invited, you're not getting a wedding present."
"Oh no. Whatever will we do without another Tachyon Cannon?"
Kevin looked offended, "Hey, it would've been a Mark One. That's a very tasteful antique."
Ben laughed until one of his ribs reminded him exactly why that was a terrible idea, cutting it short with a sharp wince.
Normally, that would've been enough.
Normally, you'd have looked up long enough to give him that tiny, almost imperceptible smile you always tried to hide whenever he did something stupid. You'd shake your head, pretend he was impossible, and then quietly ask the medic if he needed stronger painkillers.
Instead, you said nothing.
You simply approved another report.
The smile slowly slipped from Ben's face.
"...You're really gonna ignore me?"
Still no answer.
He leaned across the small gap between your seats and reached for your free hand.
When his fingers closed gently around yours, he lifted your knuckles to his lips, brushing a quick kiss across them.
It was a habit he'd picked up years ago.
One that almost always earned him at least an eye roll. Perhaps even a peck in return if you were feeling particularly sentimental that day. But before his lips had even fully left your skin, you slipped your hand from his grasp.
You tucked it back beneath the tablet and continued reading the next report as though nothing had happened. The silence that followed felt heavier than anything Ben had experienced on that planet.
"...Damn." Kevin said, letting out a low whistle, "Guess the honeymoon phase didn't last very long."
The last of the medical staff filtered out of the room one by one, the quiet hiss of the automatic doors sealing behind them. Since landing back on Earth, Ben had been poked, scanned, stitched, bandaged, lectured, and threatened by no fewer than five different doctors, each one taking their turn informing him that "walking it off" was not, in fact, an acceptable treatment plan for multiple broken bones.
By the time they were finally satisfied enough to leave him alone, he'd acquired twenty-seven stitches across various parts of his body, two splints wrapped around dislocated fingers, enough tape around his ribs to make breathing an active decision, and a sling for the fractured collarbone he'd somehow forgotten he'd broken.
The pain medication had dulled the sharper edges of the injuries, but it hadn't done much for the heavy ache settling into every muscle he possessed.
You hadn't left once.
You'd stood quietly near the window while doctors came and went, answering the occasional question with clipped professionalism, signing forms they slid in front of you without so much as glancing at the contents, and otherwise remaining almost unnaturally still.
Anyone else walking into the room would've assumed you were simply exhausted after everything that had happened over the last forty-eight hours.
Ben knew better.
You always got quieter when you were trying not to let your emotions make your decisions. Usually it lasted an hour, maybe two, before you finally snapped and informed him exactly how spectacularly stupid he'd been.
Six years together had taught him the warning signs well enough that, under normal circumstances, he'd already be bracing himself for the lecture.
But this..,this wasn't normal.
You hadn't looked at him since stepping into the room.
Not properly.
Not once.
For a while he simply watched you, convincing himself that you probably just needed time. The mission had gone catastrophically wrong. Gwen and Kevin had nearly died. He'd nearly died. If anyone deserved a little silence afterward, it was you.
Eventually, unable to bear it any longer, Ben reached across the small gap separating the bed from where you stood. His movements were slower than usual, stiff from the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, but eventually his fingers found your hand resting loosely against your side.
"You still mad at me?"
His voice came out softer than he'd intended.
You didn't answer.
For a brief moment, you didn't pull away either.
Encouraged, Ben smiled to himself and gently rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand, falling back on familiar habits that had gotten him out of trouble more times than he deserved.
"Look…" He began quietly, watching the city lights reflected in the hospital window rather than your face, "I know I screwed up."
Nothing.
"I should've listened to you."
Your expression never changed.
"I shouldn't have gone behind your back."
The words became increasingly difficult to say aloud. It had been easy enough to joke on the transport home, pretending everything would return to normal once everyone had been patched up. Sitting here now, with the adrenaline gone and nothing left to distract him, the weight of what he'd done felt considerably heavier.
"I almost got all of us killed."
The room remained painfully quiet.
"I've always done dumb things." He gave a small shrug before immediately regretting it as pain shot through his shoulder, "But I always come home."
For the first time since the conversation had started, you reacted. Your fingers tightened ever so slightly around his. It lasted less than a second. Just long enough for hope to bloom in his chest. And then, you slipped your hand from his grasp.
The loss of your touch settled over him with surprising force.
Something inside his chest tightened.
The knot that had been quietly growing ever since the execution courtyard suddenly became impossible to ignore.
When you finally spoke, your voice was so quiet he almost thought he'd imagined it.
"This has gone too far."
"What has?"
You didn't answer immediately.
The silence lingered long enough that Ben wondered if you hadn't heard him at all. Then you lifted your gaze from your lap.
There were no tears. No anger, or despair, or disappointment.
If anything, your face was frighteningly empty. And that scared him more than if you'd been screaming.
In six years together, the two of you had argued about everything imaginable. Missions. Bureaucracy. Ben's habit of jumping into danger without thinking. Your habit of overthinking until sunrise.
Every fight had followed the same pattern. One of you got frustrated, the other got stubborn, voices were raised, doors were slammed, and eventually one of you—usually Ben—would cave first.
You fought.
But you always made up.
When you finally spoke again, your voice remained painfully steady, "I can't do this anymore."
Ben's smile faltered, though he stubbornly forced himself to keep it there, "...Do what?"
Your eyes finally met his.
And despite Ben practically begging you to look at him since you had left that other planet, he almost wished that you hadn't.
Because behind them, there was an emotion that he had never seen before, an emotion that made his eyes prick with tears.
Exhaustion.
Indifference.
Resentment.
"We're done, Ben."
The sentence didn't make sense.
His mind heard the words, understood every individual syllable, and still somehow failed to put them together into anything meaningful.
"...Done?"
You inhaled slowly, "I'm breaking up with you."
Everything around him seemed to stop.
The steady beeping of the heart monitor faded into the background. The voices drifting through the hallway outside disappeared entirely. Even the ache in his ribs seemed distant compared to the crushing pressure suddenly settling in the center of his chest.
He simply stared at you.
Waiting.
Surely there was more.
Surely this was the part where you explained you needed time apart. Or that you were angry. Or that once he'd apologized properly everything would eventually go back to normal.
But you said nothing.
"No."
The word escaped him before he'd even realized he'd spoken. He shook his head slowly, a nervous laugh escaping him that sounded hollow even to his own ears as he searched your face for something—anything—that resembled the woman he'd fallen in love with.
"You're just angry."
It was the only explanation that made sense.
You'd been terrified.
He knew that now.
You'd arrived on a foreign planet to find him bloodied, restrained, and moments away from execution after he'd ignored everything you'd asked of him. Of course you were angry. Honestly, he would've been worried if you weren't.
"I'm not angry."
Ben frowned, refusing to accept the words for what they were. You were always calm when everyone else was panicking—that was part of your job—but not like this. Not with him.
"You are," He insisted quietly, taking comfort in the certainty of the words even as it became harder to believe them, "You're pissed off. I get it. I deserve that. I lied to you, I went behind your back, I got everyone hurt—"
"I should leave."
The sentence was so quiet it almost disappeared beneath his own voice.
For a heartbeat, he simply blinked at you.
Then his pulse lurched.
"No."
You took a step toward the door.
"No."
He reached for your hand without thinking, his fingers catching around your wrist just long enough to stop you. The sudden movement sent white-hot pain tearing through his shoulder and across the fractured ribs wrapped tightly beneath layers of bandages, but he barely noticed.
"You don't mean that."
You looked down at where he was holding you before gently easing your wrist from his grasp.
"I do."
"No, you don't."
He heard how frantic he sounded and hated it, but he couldn't seem to stop.
"You always do this." A weak, almost pleading smile found its way onto his face, "You need space, then we yell at each other for a couple hours, then Kevin gets tired of listening to us and tells us both we're idiots."
Nothing.
"Then everything's fine."
Still nothing.
"This isn't a fight, Ben."
"Then let's fight!" His voice sounded strange even to himself, too raw and too uneven, stripped of the confidence he usually carried into every impossible situation, "Please!"
"Yell at me," He continued, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to force you to react, "Seriously. Just... just yell at me."
You didn't.
You simply stood there, looking at him with an expression that somehow hurt more than anger ever could.
Ben swallowed hard, his fingers curling against the hospital sheets as he tried to ignore the growing ache in his chest. He knew exactly what he deserved. He knew he had messed up. He knew he had ignored every reason you gave him, every precaution you tried to put in place, every attempt you made to protect not only him but everyone involved.
But he also knew you.
Or at least, he thought he did.
"Tell me I'm reckless." He said quietly.
Nothing.
"Tell me I'm an idiot."
Still nothing.
"Tell me I almost got myself killed."
His breathing became uneven as he shifted forward, his injuries protesting immediately. Every movement reminded him that he had almost died because he couldn't wait, because he couldn't trust the process, because he had decided that his way was the only way.
"I know," He whispered, "I know I screwed up."
You reached for the door.
"No, wait—!" The sight of it sent panic through him so quickly that he almost forgot the pain, "I'll never do it again."
"I'll tell you before every mission," He continued quickly, desperately trying to find the right words, the magical combination that would make this make sense again, "I'll listen. I'll wait for authorization. I'll do everything the right way."
His voice grew quieter.
"I swear."
For a moment, you looked at him.
Really looked at him.
And Ben hated that he could see how much this was hurting you too.
Because a part of him had been hoping that you didn't mean it. That this was just anger. That underneath all of this you were still waiting for him to apologize enough, to promise enough, to make some grand gesture that would fix everything.
But your expression told him something he wasn't ready to accept.
You had already made your decision.
"I'm sorry."
You turned toward the door and Ben felt the world tilt beneath him.
He threw the blanket aside before he'd consciously decided to move.
The instant his feet hit the floor, agony exploded through his entire body. His fractured ribs screamed in protest, his injured shoulder threatened to give out beneath his weight, and his vision blurred so violently he nearly collapsed then and there.
He didn't care.
"No, no, no..."
He stumbled after you anyway, one unsteady step after another, refusing to let the distance between you grow any larger.
"(Y/N)!"
You didn't stop walking.
Another step.
Another bolt of pain.
This time something shifted violently inside his chest, forcing a broken cry from his throat as his knees buckled beneath him. His hand slammed against the wall to stop himself from collapsing entirely, his breathing reduced to shallow, uneven gasps that did little to dull the pain radiating through his ribs.
The sound finally reached you.
Your shoulders stiffened and your hand froze around the door handle. And for just one single second. For one short, hopeful second. Ben thought you were turning back.
But you forced yourself forward anyway.
When the door finally opened, he could barely force enough air into his lungs to speak.
"(Y/N)..." His voice broke completely, "I love you."
You stopped.
You heard him.
He knew you had.
But after several endless seconds, you stepped through the doorway anyway without ever looking back.
The door slid shut with a soft mechanical click that somehow sounded louder than anything Ben had ever heard.
He remained standing exactly where you'd left him, one trembling hand pressed against the wall to keep himself upright while the other instinctively reached toward the now-empty doorway.
It was only when his split lip started to sting from salt being rubbed into the wound had he realized he was crying.
Ben sat propped against the pillows, staring blankly at the wall opposite his bed while life continued around him as though nothing had happened. Nurses moved quietly through the corridor outside, monitors beeped in steady, reassuring rhythms, and somewhere farther down the hall another patient burst into laughter at something a doctor had said.
The world had continued.
That was the part Ben couldn't understand.
How could everything keep moving when it felt as though his entire life had stopped the moment the hospital door had closed behind you?
Gwen remained in the chair beside his bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she watched him with growing concern. She had spent nearly an hour trying to convince him that there had to be another explanation. Maybe you were overwhelmed. Maybe you needed time. Maybe once the shock of everything wore off, the two of you would sit down and talk like you always did.
At one point, frustration had gotten the better of her.
"Honestly, if she'd leave you while you're lying in a hospital bed looking like this, then maybe she doesn't deserve—"
She hadn't even managed to finish the sentence.
Ben had snapped at her so sharply the room had gone completely silent.
"Don't."
Just one word.
Cold enough that even Gwen had recoiled.
The apology had come almost immediately, but she hadn't missed the look in his eyes. Ben was always loyal to a fault, especially when it involved you.
But even she had eventually gone quiet.
Because, despite everything that had happened, neither of them believed you would do something like this on impulse.
If there was one thing they both knew about you, it was that you never made decisions emotionally. You thought them through. You weighed every consequence. You planned three steps ahead before taking the first.
If you had ended a six-year relationship, then clearly, you had already been saying goodbye long before today.
Kevin stood near the window with his arms folded across his chest, his expression unusually unreadable. Earlier, when Ben had snapped at Gwen, every instinct he'd had was to snap right back. Nobody talked to his girlfriend like that.
One look from Gwen had stopped him.
The room settled back into silence until Grandpa Max finally released a long, weary sigh, "I'm sorry, kiddo."
Ben slowly turned his head toward him.
The older man was looking down at his folded hands, his brow creased with an expression Ben rarely saw, "I should've realized this was coming."
Ben frowned, "What?"
Max remained quiet for another moment before lifting his eyes, "I knew something like this would happen eventually."
His voice was calm.
"I'm just surprised it took this long."
Ben's confusion deepened, "What are you talking about?"
Max leaned back slightly in his chair, "Listen, Ben, the Plumbers are a good organization. They protect people. They save lives. I spent most of my life serving with them because I believed in what they stood for. But the higher you climb, the less your job becomes about helping people. And the more it becomes about politics."
Ben had never liked that word.
Politics.
It was always the thing standing between him and helping someone.
"It's one of the reasons I retired."
Ben frowned, "What does any of that have to do with (Y/N)?"
Max looked at him for a long moment before answering, "(Y/N) ins't just another Proctor. She was one of the brightest officers the Plumbers have produced in decades. Every evaluation she received was exceptional. Every commanding officer she served under expected the same thing."
He smiled faintly, "Everyone believed she'd become the youngest Magistrata in history."
Gwen nodded immediately, "That was always her goal."
"It was. But despite her stellar reputation and impeccable record. There was always an obstacle in her path to becoming magistrata."
"Which is?"
Max didn't answer immediately. Instead, his eyes settled on the Omnitrix resting silently against Ben's bruised wrist. Despite how beat up Ben looked, the Omnitrix — as always — looked as pristine as the day it was created.
Ben followed his gaze, "...Me?"
Max nodded, "You're carrying the single most powerful piece of technology in the known universe."
The words settled heavily over the room, "And because of that, your relationship with (Y/N) was always going to be considered a conflict of interest."
"What?"
"If (Y/N) became Magistrata, she'd be overseeing operations affecting entire sectors of the galaxy. She'd have access to classified intelligence, diplomatic authority, military resources..." He gestured toward the Omnitrix, "And with that on your wrist, there would be simply too much power held within one family."
"So..." Ben's voice barely carried across the room, "Being with me meant..."
He couldn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
"The closer the two of you became, the harder it would have been for her to reach that position," His grandfather said quietly, "And now that she's a Tennyson, I don't see how the council could ever look past it and elect her as Magistrata."
Ben remained silent.
The words didn't feel real.
Ben had always been many things—reckless, impulsive, unconventional in almost every possible way—but when it came to you, there had never been any uncertainty. Loving you had always been the easiest thing he'd ever done.
And despite the fact that his life had never exactly followed a normal path, there had always been a small part of him that imagined something strangely ordinary. Something similar to what his parents had. A home. A family.
A life where the two of you were married, where there were children running around some impossibly advanced Plumber headquarters filled with security systems and alien technology, where your kids would grow up surrounded by stories of their parents saving the universe and somehow still embarrassingly embarrassing them at school events.
It was ridiculous.
Completely unrealistic.
But he just loved the idea of it.
He had never been entirely sure what he wanted his future to look like. His entire life had been built around reacting to things as they happened, taking one crisis at a time and figuring things out along the way.
But whenever he thought about the future, whenever he talked about the possibilities with you late at night after missions or during quiet moments when the universe wasn't actively trying to destroy itself, there had always been one thing he was certain of.
Whatever direction he ended up going, you would be there.
He thought you were walking toward the same destination.
That was enough.
And Ben knew how much your career meant to you.
That had always been one of the things he admired most.
You weren't just good at what you did—you were exceptional. Being a Proctor wasn't just a job to you. It was something you had dedicated yourself to completely.
And Ben loved that about you.
In a million years, he never would have intentionally taken that away from you. Now, he was sitting here being told that his existence alone had been enough to threaten all of that.
A heavy ache settled in his chest, far deeper than any of his injuries and despair began to close around his throat.
"I always just assumed..." Max admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now, "...that maybe somewhere along the way she stopped seeing becoming Magistrata as the most important thing in her life."
The older man looked back at Ben, "That maybe she decided that building a life with you was the future she wanted more."
The room fell silent again.
Ben looked away, his chest tightening painfully.
Because a part of him wanted to believe that.
He wanted to believe that you had chosen him freely. That after everything, after all the sacrifices and complications, he had still been worth it.
And suddenly, Max's next words felt heavier than anything else he'd said.
"Maybe there's a difference between choosing to give up a dream..." He paused, "And having that choice made for you."
The Plumber base that you had grown up in had always felt different from every other place you had been.
Most bases were loud. Full of movement. Full of officers rushing from one crisis to another, alarms sounding in the distance, reports being filed, missions being planned. There was always something happening, always another problem waiting to be solved.
But this one had always been quiet.
Maybe it was because of where it was located.
Far beyond the borders of Earth, on a small, peaceful planet that had become a second home for retired Plumbers, the base sat overlooking a vast landscape of mountains and forests untouched by the wars that consumed so much of the galaxy. It wasn't a place where battles were fought anymore.
It was a place where people rested. Where your parents had chosen to build a life after decades of service.
You sat on the terrace overlooking the valley, a warm drink resting untouched between your hands as you stared out into the endless stretch of stars above you.
You had spent your entire life looking toward those stars.
Chasing them.
Reaching for them.
And tonight, they felt impossibly far away.
The moment the hospital doors had shut behind you, leaving Ben on the other side, you had expected relief.
You expected the certainty that always came after making a difficult decision. You had spent your entire life trusting yourself because you had always been someone who knew what was necessary, even when it was painful.
But instead, all you felt was lost.
For the first time in years, you had no idea what you were doing.
You had spent your entire life moving toward something. A goal. A title. A purpose. Everything had always been leading somewhere. Every sacrifice had been justified because there was always a reason waiting at the end of it.
Become a better agent.
Earn more responsibility.
Rise through the ranks.
Become Magistrata.
It had been the one constant in your life.
Until suddenly, it wasn't.
So you went to the only people in the universe who had ever been able to tell you what to do and actually make you listen. The only people whose opinions mattered enough that you'd never questioned them.
And now, sitting beside her on the terrace of the Plumber base, beneath a sky filled with unfamiliar constellations, there was nothing left to say.
Your mother sat beside you in comfortable silence, pondering what you had just confessed. She stared out at the stars, one hand wrapped around her untouched drink, her expression thoughtful as she processed everything you had told her.
Finally, your mother let out a quiet breath, "Do you even want to be Magistrata?"
The question caught you off guard.
Not because you hadn't thought about it.
Because you had.
Constantly.
For every waking moment, for as long as you could remember.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the cup, "Shouldn't I?"
"You should," She agreed, and you felt your stomach begin to sink at her answer. It really should not have been that disappointing, you had come here for her honest opinion, but somehow her answer didn't make you feel anymore confident in your decision, "If you become Magistrata, you will do incredible things. You will have the authority to influence decisions across entire sectors. You will protect people on a scale you never could as an individual agent."
She took a sip from her cup.
"You would make history. The youngest Magistrata ever appointed. A remarkable achievement."
A faint smile touched her face.
"And yes, it would look very good for our family."
"But..." Your mother turned toward you, "My question still remains."
Her expression softened slightly, "Do you want it?"
"I should," The answer came out before you had a chance to really think about what you were saying. Like it was second nature. A reflex. "I mean... shouldn't I? I've spent my entire life working toward this. Since I was a little girl, becoming Magistrata was the one thing I was certain about. Everything I've done, every decision I've made, every sacrifice I've accepted has been because I believed it was leading me here."
Your fingers tightened around the cup, the warmth of the drink doing little to ground you.
"And if I don't want it anymore..." You swallowed, looking away because saying it aloud somehow made it more real. "Then what does that mean? What was all of it for? All those years of training, all that effort...my entire life. I cannot let it go to waste."
Your mother didn't immediately respond.
She simply watched you.
Eventually, she spoke, "You know what would be a bigger waste of your time and energy?"
You looked at her.
"For you to spend another twenty years chasing something you don't actually want because you're afraid of admitting you changed." Her voice remained calm, "Only to wake up one day and realize you spent your entire life building a future you never wanted."
For the first time that night, you let yourself consider the possibility that maybe the problem wasn't that you had lost your ambition. Maybe you had simply spent so long chasing one version of your future that you had forgotten to ask whether it was still the future you wanted.
A slow breath escaped you.
"Father will be disappointed."
A small, knowing smile appeared on her face, "If he is disappointed, then that would be incredibly hypocritical of him considering he turned down his promotion to Proctor shortly after you were born."
The words stopped you completely.
"What?" You stared at her, absolutely incredulous, "But... I thought..."
Your parents' careers had always been something you admired. Both of them were incredibly skilled, incredibly respected, and had dedicated their lives to the Plumbers. You had always assumed that their rank was simply where they had reached.
That was why surpassing them had meant so much to you.
"Why didn't he take it?"
"He decided that at that point in his life, his time and energy were better spent somewhere else." Your mother looked at you, "Raising his daughter. Lord knows he consulted many child psychiatrist's during my pregnancy who all recommended that a present father was the best way to foster excellence within children. The choice then seemed pretty obvious, and he's never regretted anything."
You were silent.
Your ambition had never felt like something you developed on your own. It felt inherited. Like something passed down through generations of Plumbers who had dedicated themselves to protecting others and reaching higher than the people before them.
Maybe he hadn't turned away because he was afraid of the challenge. Maybe he hadn't stepped back because he lacked ambition. Maybe you had misunderstood what ambition actually meant.
Because perhaps choosing something else wasn't the same thing as giving up. Perhaps walking away from one path because another mattered more wasn't failure. Perhaps your father hadn't abandoned his goals. Perhaps he had simply chosen the thing that would fulfill him the most.
And maybe, career had never been the only thing worth dedicating yourself to.
The realization sat uncomfortably in your chest.
Because if that was true, then what did that mean for you?
"Anyway." Your mother eventually stood, picking up her empty cup and brushing a small wrinkle from her clothes, "Think about it."
You looked up at her, "That's it?"
A faint smile appeared on her face.
"What else would there be?" She tilted her head slightly, "I've told you what I think. Anything more than that would be coddling."
You almost smiled. She always had a way of making the biggest decisions in your life sound simple.
"The choice is yours, darling." She turned toward the doors leading back into the base, leaving you alone with your thoughts for another moment before stopping, "Oh. Are you staying for supper?"
You stared at her for a moment before looking back toward the stars, "I don't know."
"Well, let me know soon." She lifted the cup slightly, "I have to start cooking."
The walk back to Ben's room was surprisingly harder than it had been to leave.
You thought you would be excited. You thought there would be some overwhelming feeling of anticipation, the same way you had felt when you were flying your ship back toward Earth, when every second between you and seeing him again had felt unbearable.
But the moment you stepped back into the plain white walls of the hospital, every step suddenly felt heavier.
Your stomach twisted as memories came rushing back—the way you had stood there and ended everything without giving him the chance to understand, the way you had walked away while he was injured and hurting, the way he had called your name and begged you not to leave.
Your throat tightened slightly.
You prepared yourself for the possibility that he might turn you away.
After all, you had been cruel.
Even for you.
But you slid the door open before you had the opportunity to talk yourself out of it, and the speech you had spent the entire journey home preparing suddenly felt completely inadequate. Despite having what you considered to be a very compelling opening line, your mouth went dry.
Ben looked up immediately.
He was sitting upright now, most of the monitors gone, fresh bandages visible beneath the loose hospital shirt hanging awkwardly over one shoulder. The bruising along his face had darkened, and one arm remained secured in a sling, but it was his eyes that caught your attention.
The moment his gaze found yours, a rush of warmth went through you that threatened to turn your bones into something soft and unsteady.
No matter how much time passed, his deep green eyes somehow always managed to make you feel like it was the first time you were looking into them.
Back when you were only concerned with your arrest record and the numbers written neatly across a sheet of paper. Back when you were constantly fighting migraines and now you couldn't remember the last time you had one that Ben hadn't somehow managed to chase away. You weren't that same girl anymore.
You hadn't been for a long time.
Ben pushed himself upright far too quickly, immediately wincing as his ribs reminded him exactly why the doctors had ordered him to stay still.
"You came back."
You stepped inside, allowing the door to close behind you.
What could you even say?
What words could possibly be enough to move past the way you had left him? How could you explain walking away from him while he was hurt, while he was begging you not to?
"Ben..." Your voice caught and you swallowed, clearing your throat, "I'm sorry."
Ben stared at you.
Then, to your surprise, he smiled.
A small crooked smile that he would give you when he knew something you didn't. A smile he would give you when he knew he was about to indulge you. A smile he gave you when he knew that you were caught in a riptide of your own thoughts.
Your stomach loosened slightly.
"You don't have to apologize."
"I do." You stepped farther into the room, stopping beside his bed, "I shouldn't have left like that."
He didn't respond.
Instead, he reached out for your hand.
And this time, you didn't pull away.
He lifted your knuckles gently, pressing his lips against them. You could feel the faint scratch of his split lip against your skin, and for one fleeting second, you wished you could simply fall into his arms and avoid this conversation entirely.
Ben forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Let's get a divorce."
Of all the things you had imagined him saying to you, this wasn't even among the forty-two possibilities you had prepared counterarguments for. And as a result, you were completely speechless.
"If it's easier legally, we can get an annulment." He looked directly at you know, "I'll sign whatever they put in front of me."
"If that's what it takes..." He continued quietly, his gaze dropping back to your hand as his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over your knuckles, "...then that's what we'll do."
You simply stared at him for a long moment.
"Really?"
His smile returned. Small. Impossibly sad. But entirely genuine.
"I just want you to be happy."
You looked at him for a long moment.
Ben was willing to sacrifice his greatest dream for you.
And you had been willing to sacrifice yours for him.
Or perhaps neither of you had truly been sacrificing anything.
Perhaps somewhere along the way, the dream had changed without you realizing it.
Perhaps you had changed without realizing it.
A small smile found its way onto your face. The first genuine smile Ben had seen since before the mission. You stepped closer to him and before he could ask what you were thinking, you leaned down, gently cupping his face between your hands, mindful of the fading bruises along his jaw, and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. You swallowed his soft gasp of surprise, gently running your thumb along the bruise on his cheekbone.
But when you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his.
"I am happy."
For a while, neither of you said anything.
And for once, the silence wasn't uncomfortable.
It wasn't filled with uncertainty or things left unsaid or questions neither of you knew how to answer. It was just quiet.
Peaceful.
You were curled carefully against his side, your head resting against his chest as you listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you. Initially, you hadn't wanted to. The injuries were still fresh, the bruising along his ribs still visible, and every logical part of you had immediately calculated every possible way you could accidentally hurt him by putting pressure in the wrong place.
But Ben had insisted and honestly, it hadn't taken much convincing. Because as much as you had tried to be practical, as much as you had tried to maintain distance because you felt you didn't deserve the comfort. You had missed him.
You both simply breathed each other in, allowing yourselves a moment. Ben's fingers moved slowly through your hair, almost absentmindedly, before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead. You felt a smile grow at your hairline and your expression shifted, tilting your head slightly to look up at him.
"What?"
"You know," His grin widened, "I actually asked Gwen to pick something up from our apartment."
Your brow immediately raised. Was this some kind of warning? Was she on her way back with a very justified lecture and to hex you for leaving her cousin in the state he was? Considering Ben's current medical condition, you wouldn't even blame her.
But instead of answering, Ben carefully shifted and you immediately felt him tense, in pain.
"Ben."
"I'm fine."
After a moment of struggling behind him, he finally brought his hand back into view. And suddenly, your mouth went dry. A small velvet box rested in his palm.
"What?" The word came out as barely a whisper.
Ben's expression softened.
"I've had it for..." He glanced down thoughtfully, "Four months? Maybe a little longer."
Your eyes widened.
"I kept waiting for the right moment." His thumb brushed lightly against the edge of the box, "A weekend where we weren't busy. Somewhere nice. Somewhere we could actually have a proper date without an alien invasion, a galactic emergency, or Vilgax deciding that he desperately needed attention."
A chuckle escaped you before you could stop it, "If you were waiting for that, you would've been proposing when we were well into our eighties."
He gave you a smile, "Still would've been worth the wait."
"Quite frankly, I'm surprised you didn't find it. It was right in the middle of my drawer."
You scoffed, "I stay out of your things because otherwise I enter an organizing spiral."
He smiled like he has been expecting that answer, "I know."
Slowly, he opened the box to reveal a beautiful ring nestled inside. Simple, elegant and classy. It was simply perfect. Nothing too flashy, or excessive. Just like you.
You stared at it.
Then back at him.
"Your mom helped me pick it."
A laugh escaped your throat, "Of course she did."
That conniving woman.
When you looked back down at the ring, you realized your eyes had started burning. You had never considered yourself to be a woman who would cry at the sight of a ring.
But this wasn't just a ring.
This was the future you thought you would have had to give up. This was standing in front of you after you had convinced yourself it was gone forever.
You had gone from believing that everything you had worked toward was slipping away, that you had to choose between the person you loved and the life you had built, to realizing that maybe you hadn't lost anything at all.
"Will you marry me?"
You stared at the ring, then back at him. Your new dream staring back at you with tears in his eyes, a hopeful smile on his face.
"Yes."
bonus:
Finally, one question surfaced above all the others.
"...How did you know?"
Ben blinked, "Know what?"
"That I was coming back."
He looked at you as though the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Because I know you."
You hummed, leaning back down and resting your head on his chest once again, admiring the ring that was now on your finger, "Then I hope you know that I'm not telling your mother that we eloped."
"Aw man!"
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
-Man if you think regular Ben Tennyson was too much already
-This is just extreme seriously..
-You think hes too much and he really is
-When he gets jealous- like a guy went up to talk to you and asks for your number
-He still has that confident handsome smile but he kisses your neck as it to claim you
-If the guy still doesn't leave he hovers his finger over his watch as if he's threatening to turn into a alien and it intimidates the guy and he flees
-So like Ben is extra romantic with you like hell flirt with you in his alien form
-He gets protective over you like it'll get concerning and he uses excuses like he's a hero or he's the world's protector
-Ben can be quite posessive- you could be warm or just feel comfortable and he puts his jacket over you
-Because Ben wants to see you in his stuff
-He loves making you flustered like and it boosts his confidence even more his smirk gets bigger
-If you wanna leave you have to go with him because he says it's for protection
-But it's really to claim your attention like he wants all of it
-Youre not getting away from him that easily
(A/N): Enjoyed it? Hit Follow so you never miss an update, and add this story to your Saves/Library or list, sharing with others helps
Want more? I highly suggest checking out my other headcanons in this book or my original story
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Hello again, it's been a while since my last request so I thought I'd ask for another one. Could you write about Ben Tennyson reuniting with his childhood boyfriend? It could be something like Ben, being a child, doesn't know how to be a boyfriend, he only knows that he likes that boy. The reader had to move to another town and some time later (maybe in the omniverse) he returns and Ben wants to try dating him again, but this time he knows how to be a boyfriend
2.5k words. ben tennyson/masc reader.
@cipheress-to-k-pop
Ben wouldn’t like to think he was bossy when he was a kid.
Yes, he had a tendency to act without thinking, and yes, he oftentimes dragged his could-you-really-label-him-as-boyfriend around everywhere, whether it got them into trouble or not — but that didn’t make him bossy. Even if someone managed to turn everything he did around and make it seem as though he was, it could easily be written off as him being clingy.
He and [name] had known each other practically their whole lives. It’d be a stretch to say they’d known each other since they were in diapers because he’s pretty sure their parents were at each other’s throats up until they found Sumo after he’d accidentally escaped out the front door and into the streets. The ice between them eventually melted enough that the two were able to hang around each other outside of school.
Their relationship (both platonically and whatever was right under romantically) had moved quickly from there.
They’d experimented with each other, for lack of a better word. They were each other’s first non-familial hand-hold, first non-familial peck on the cheek, first non-familial slow dance — first non-familial everything, if he were being honest. Anything that a couple of five-to-nine-year-olds could think of that was seen as “romantic.” Their first date was at an ice cream and frozen yogurt bar after Ben had managed to score the winning kick from the other side of the field, tucked away in a booth while the rest of his team tried tearing the building apart, while their parents and coach tried getting them to calm down. He’d talked [name] through the entire game, play-by-play as though he weren’t sitting front row in the stands beside his parents. On the car ride home, they’d sat side-by-side with [name] in the center and Ben by the window while playing whatever game they were fixated on that was no longer available in the app store.
As romantic (used tentatively) as the two were, Ben doesn’t think he could count what they had as real, as much as he wanted to say it was.
Like he said. He wasn’t bossy when he was a kid, but he was a little pushy.
A lot of their time spent together centered around what Ben wanted. During movie nights, they’d only watch cheesy superhero movies. Whenever they were playing video games, it was always Sumo Slammers. After school, they couldn’t work on their homework like [name] wanted because Ben wanted to go to the neighborhood park.
It’s not as though [name] really pushed back against his plans. He’d say that they should finish their homework before they do anything else, but Ben always tossed both of their bookbags somewhere else in the room and dragged him wherever he wanted to go. Ben was also willing to admit that there had even been times when he’d dragged [name] out of bed while he was deep into a fever, forcing him to entertain him for a few hours before one of their parents inevitably caught them while Ben started coming down with whatever [name] had.
Was Ben sad when [name] (what felt like) abruptly packed up and moved across the country? Of course. He’d only been told a few days before their move, which felt like the biggest betrayal.
While whatever it was they had going on between them walked the line between boyfriends and closer-than-average best friends, Ben could distinctly remember the feeling of losing a part of himself. The handful of days the two had remaining were spent lying on their sides in one of their beds, huddled under blankets, and making promises that, looking back, Ben couldn’t fully remember. Something about never forgetting each other, not watching the newest episode of their shared favorite show until they could watch it together, and other things along those lines, he’s sure.
They were ten when [name] moved away. Now they were seventeen, and that piece of Ben that’d gone missing years ago still had yet to fill.
Since he got the Omnitrix, Ben had always wondered whether [name] had ever seen him in the media. “Ben Ten Saves Earth from Alien Conqueror’s Clutches,” “Savior of the Universe Solves Diplomatic Disputes Between Warring Worlds,” “Benjamin Kirby Tennyson Terrorizes Local Neighborhood for Fun,” — any of them. He wonders if he’d be proud of all the work he’s done, or if he’d be disgusted by the fact that he can transform into an alien that looks like a combination of bugs he’s always hated. Would he help Grandpa Max, Gwen, Kevin, Rook, and himself when it comes to their intergalactic mission to keep the peace, or watch from the sidelines because debate was never his strong suit? Would he like the fact that Ben still played Sumo Slammers and Soccer? Would he call him “a nerd in a jock’s body, eugh,” in that same playful voice he used, or would he say it with disgust like the majority of the people Ben’s tried pursuing prior to his secret being outed? Would he still eat chili fries with him? Would he —
“Ben!”
Jumping out of his thoughts, Ben just barely manages to stop his smoothie from falling off the hood of the truck after a full-body flinch.
Once he’s sure the cup is safe in his (white-knuckle) grip, he looks over at Rook, who’s giving him one of his usual looks that said “what is your malfunction?” He has his hand on Ben’s shoulder, fingers flexing and relaxing a little harder than necessary just to make sure he was still with him.
“I’m okay,” Ben says with a cough to clear his throat and thoughts. He fixes himself so he’s sitting further back on the Plumbers’ truck, back just about leaning against the windshield. “I.. just could’ve sworn I saw someone I know.”
He can tell Rook is hesitant to take the answer, even if the corner of his lips quirk up. “Isn’t it you who told me it was rude to stare?”
Sucking his teeth and shrugging Rook’s hand off, Ben turns his head back to the Mr. Smoothys building to see if he can catch a glimpse of the face again. “This is different,” he scoffs, head tilting this way and that to get a better angle. “We knew each other as kids. We’re dating.” Rook’s smoothie goes down the wrong pipe, and Ben corrects himself with, “we were dating. Past tense, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“We never officially broke up. He moved across the country when we were ten, and we haven’t seen each other since.”
“You never saw him during your road trip with Max?”
“No,” Ben answers, more clipped than he meant it to be. His grip on the cup tightens further before he finally relaxes, but some of the drink had already spilled over and onto his hand and part of his lap. “Grandpa took us to his state, we looked everywhere, but he wasn’t there, and we had to go. I’ll be back.”
Rook doesn’t move to join him when Ben slides off the hood. A part of him wants him to join, if only because he doesn’t know how he’ll react or feel if this does or doesn’t end up being his eyes playing tricks on him again. He’s embarrassed to admit how many times this exact scenario has happened in the past seven years.
His gait was stilted, he could tell. The smoothie was cold on his thigh, but it was mostly because he was nervous. The what-ifs and would-bes are populating his mind again, clouding most of his thoughts by the time he reaches the doors. He nods at anyone who cheers his name or waves enthusiastically out of habit and is quietly grateful that no one tried walking up on him for any sort of autograph, photo, hair, or in-person demonstration of how their favorite alien functioned.
It was the middle of the day in the middle of the week, which only added to Ben’s thankfulness. The building wasn’t overly packed as it usually was, but he still couldn’t see from one end of the building to the other. It’s a conscious effort he has to use to keep himself from tilting his head to look further into the small crowd. The smoothie on his thigh was cold and starting to become sticky enough that he would consider stealing the Plumbers uniform Rook kept in the truck as a spare if not for the fact that he was already at the condiment station.
Dropping his cup into the trash can attached to the table, he grabs a couple of napkins and swipes at the slowly worsening stain. The technique barely works and only serves to spread it further.
Throwing the used napkins away and tugging out a few more, Ben tries rubbing this time.
He scoffs when that doesn’t work either.
“You have to blot it, y’know. Start from the inside, then work your way in, like oatmeal.”
Ben nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden appearance of the voice. “What?”
When he looks up at the voice, he finds that he’s hiding his face behind a fist, likely trying not to laugh over the way his voice cracked. “The napkin,” he starts once he’s sure he won’t laugh, “you have to blot. Not swipe or rub.”
“Oh,” Ben huffs. His cheeks are hot, so he knows he’s blushing. It’s not because the man in front of him was attractive — well, partially anyway. Even he had to admit when someone was easy on the eyes — but because he was a little more than embarrassed. First, he spills his milkshake, then he jumps like some scared rabbit with a voice crack, and now he was getting tips on cleaning the spill from some guy who happened to be cute? Knock on wood, but he’d kill for a villain of the hour to show up now. “Thanks.”
Shaking his head, the man pulls out another handful of napkins and hovers them near Ben’s leg. Belatedly, he realizes he’s asking if he can have a go, to which he jerkily nods his head.
“I haven’t done this since I was a kid. My friend would always make me get the grass stains out of his soccer uniform so his mom didn’t kill him.”
Ben’s brows furrow. [name] did that, didn’t he? On days when it was just them and one of their dads?
“I just got déjà vu. My.. uhm —” Was it normal to introduce your at the time kind of-somewhat boyfriend as just your boyfriend? Would [name] have considered them boyfriends? He hoped so. “My boyfriend did that for me when we were kids, too.”
The guy pauses his dabbing-not-swiping and looks up at him. His eyes squint as he examines his face, and Ben can’t help but notice that he looks an awful lot like —
“OH!”
[name] flinches at his volume, but doesn’t slap him on the arm in warning like he used to do. Instead, he backs away and blinks owlishly. “I could’ve sworn you were off-world.”
Deflating at that, Ben’s brows furrow. “You didn’t want to see me?”
“I didn’t say that. Sandra and Carl said you were. He said we could plan a… thing for when you get back. It was gonna be the first thing I do now that I’m back.”
“You know I hate surprises,” Ben says light-heartedly with a suck of his tongue.
“You hate surprises because you don’t have the patience,” [name] scoffs equally as light, kicking the toe of his shoe into Ben’s. He takes it as a sign to offer his leg again, and he starts dabbing again. “You weren’t even supposed to know.”
A smile bites at Ben’s lips. With [name]’s attention less on his face and more on his leg, he lets it spread. How could he not? He’d just been reunited with his childhood sweetheart, they were bantering like there hadn’t been seven years since they’d last seen or heard from each other, he had admitted that the first thing he wanted to do was see Ben, and the way that he spoke implied that he was going to stay in Bellwood for good.
It falters the slightest bit when a question comes to mind. Would it be alright to ask about his love life? He hadn’t even found out why he couldn’t find him during his fifth-grade summer trip. What about his family? Did he still like Sumo Slammers as much as he did? Was there a favorite alien of his that Ben could turn into? Are his grades in school any better than Ben’s were?
“How’s your thing with.. Julie? That is her name, right?”
He scratches at his cheek. “We broke up a while ago.” By the way [name]’s head moves, he can tell he was making a face that he quickly masks. He takes it as a half-hearted sign to keep going. “My heart wasn’t in it.”
“Your heart wasn’t in it?”
Was it socially acceptable to say that it was because, for some odd and unexplainable reason, he was caught up on his ex from when he was a kid?
“Yeah. What about you?” He asks in a hurry, not wanting to make the conversation any more awkward than it already is. “Any, ugh, middle or high school sweethearts?”
[name] snickers as he leans away from Ben’s leg and stands at his full height. “I tried. My heart wasn’t in it either.”
Did that mean what Ben thought it did? That he was just as hopeless when it came to dropping any semblance of romantic love for him? Was that him saying that he still loved Ben in all his pushy, trouble-making glory? That he’d like to actually date and be boyfriends again?
“Oh,” is all Ben can say.
“Good oh or bad oh?” [name] bites at the inside of his mouth.
“Good oh! Of course it’s a good oh,” Ben exclaims with a little more passion than he meant. What happened to his cool, somewhat suave, Playboy facade? He didn’t know, nor did he really care. As far as he was concerned, this was one of his top two experiences alongside receiving the Omnitrix — and it wasn’t number two. “Does this mean you wanna.. — or, I mean, we can just —“
Another laugh cuts him off, this time heartier. “You could at least take me on our first date. I wouldn't really count that post-match one as official.”
Feeling the blush on his cheeks spread out to his ears and neck, Ben offers a hand out to [name]. "As long as I get to change out of this and drop off Rook, we can go wherever you want," he hums.
"Rook?"
"My partner! He's an alien."
"Then please," [name] purrs, placing his hand in Ben's. "Lead the way."
I lowkey don't want to bring this up again but since my old account got deleted I feel the need to re-respond to something just in case and I just find it funny asf that people probably older than me can't handle the truth. I wish I could be the bigger person but I'm clearly not and laughed my ass off writing this.
Basically before this account I made a quick statement saying that I think Ben was a bad boyfriend then someone asked to hear more about it and I gave them FACTS FROM THE SHOW and I thought that would be the end of that I shared my opinion followed by facts. But someone got pissed off because they couldn't handle the fact their fav was called out for something they actually did 😂
Then that person idk who they are decided to run to two Ben 10 creators to cry to and those creators hella weird cuz both of them saying I have a kind for bad bf Ben and toxic relationships is crazy because I hate any toxic ships I make that very clear and I was younger then Ben the moment I am anywhere near a characters age I get detached from them cuz I don't want to be like those weirdos that go online and say their sad they can't goon to a character anymore.
They were definitely rude in my opinion but they didn't say much other than that I have a kink which I don't amd I also hate ooc and I make sure to get my facts before doing anything so just say you haven't watched the show.
They wrote a paragraph about me I am honored (I highlighted the things I thought were important yw) 🥹✌
"I hope your blog is active for receiving responses but I want to bring this to your attention. This tumblr writer named @iizora who made a series of Ben 10 x reader based stories with zero media literacy. Make false claims about Ben being a bad boyfriend and write stories about him . She doesn't understand that Ben never got the things to enjoy that he loves . He didn't have a normal childhood and was constantly being bullied in school life. Ever since he got the Omnitrix, he had given up his entire normal life so that people could have that normalcy . I mean what more is left to sacrifice when you have given up everything so that others could enjoy what you couldn't . Right? He was ready to sacrifice his life for sentient ultimate forms of his aliens so that they could be free. Ben never demanded anything from anyone.
The claims are indeed not false he's a bad bf and I will tell you the exact EPs I will rewatch the whole show just to prove that point. Ben did get things he enjoyed multiple times we literally see a Ben without the Omnitrix he gets a normal life that he doesn't like because something felt wrong to him. Yes he didn't have a normal childhood but he def enjoyed his childhood and learnt a lot. Yes he was bullied but he stood up for himself and the bullying stopped so I don't get what the point of that paragraph was for and how it relates to the topic of Ben being a bad bf, I'm not usually one to compare trauma or anything but he has a loving family a loving uncle a best friend and his cousin he was surrounded by love so I'm trying to understanding how he's not being able to reciprocate that love to others.
