#BWAHAHA HE LOOK SO STUPID | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist · 8 months ago

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Before I get started with my usual ravings/shout out on my favorite bits, let me make one thing perfectly clear: don’t EVER apologize for the length of your chapters! I needed this so badly today – it has been a two star shit show, and this chapter single-handedly turned that around. I got swept up and devoured the chapter first without even looking for my favorite parts, then got to read it again at my leisure and pull my favorite gems off of this stunning crown

“Where the question wasn’t could you leave the bed, logistically, but did you even want to? Was it really worth it for two stupid phones? Here you had to convince yourself that you’d woken up to Ben holding you many times before, and this wasn’t any different. This was the same, really. Semantically. You’d be back soon anyway. It would barely be three minutes to go to the living room, grab the phones, and return. But he wasn’t making it easy.” I loved this - you could cut the indecision with a knife, and it was so funny!

“Guess who earned phone privileges.” You don’t wait for his response before pushing off the door and presenting the phone dramatically. “It starts with you and ends with cunt.” 🤣🤣

“I was fucking wrong. Fix it.” His voice is low, gravely and annoyed with clipped words, but you can still feel the jagged affection in him.” I love the phrase “jagged affection” - that is so him!

I absolutely adore “You don’t have a goddamn clue how fucking bad I want you. But I’m not going to make you do a damn thing you don’t want.” because THAT is growth right there! And him giving her the last of the jam and more yogurt – love that!

“Return the fucking compliment. I worked hard on it, and texting is fucking stupid.” / “Your compliment sounds like you're a teenager who just found out his dick wasn’t just for pissing.” Have I mentioned how much I absolutely love these two? (If I could find a man who could match my sarcasm like that… But I digress…) And that second “compliment” - dead! The whole “huge fucking baby” exchange - especially “I could tell you, or just show you,” you twist your face in mock concern. “But that would be teaching you and that never works out for me-“ she is absolutely savage, and I love her!!!

“What could I possibly not want to see,” Ben says, giving you an incredulous look. “Sex? Death? Torture? Which of those do you think would make me gasp like a pussy grasping their fucking Sunday pearls.” HOW on earth do you make him so coarse and sweet in one fell swoop? I just am in awe of how you write him!

“Well, I’ll also suck on your beautiful fucking face until you’re begging me to fuck you. And then I won’t, because I’m a gentleman. And you wouldn’t be of sound mind.” BWAHAHA!!!!

“you want to win. You don’t want to trick him and come out on top. You want to win and fucking earn it.

He called Hughie by his name?!?! “That kid is the only one of those pussies who seems to genuinely mean it when he says shit. I can respect that.” He walks into the bathroom, glancing back at you once. “Read his fucking text.” Damn, more growth! And the fact that he actually did it because Hughie was checking on her and making sure she’s OK… Dammit, that withered Dusty thing in the center of my chest is starting to twitch and feel all fuzzy! But then “Two things,” he says your name in that low, deep way that makes everything spin a little. “You get to teach me two things. If you try to pull three on me, the sucking face is off the table.” Ah, there’s our beloved asshole again!

The whole “what if I fuck the Dog exchange – my stomach hurts. I was laughing so hard as it went on, getting more unhinged - “I work for the CIA, Sunshine.” Ben says smugly. “Not much more fucking upstanding than that.” “Way to ruin the fucking mood.” I love this SO HARD!!

Speaking of hard: “Someone is out to get you. Some hidden facet of the universe has an agenda against you” NO DOUBT! I love that she experienced his dream and orgasm – feeling his pain from his nightmares is bad enough - but God, what an exquisite torture that would be! The whole “no lies” exchange was perfection, as was “You kiss a man a few times and suddenly he’s doing chores without being a bitch.” But the sarcastic cherry on that gloriously awkward and sweet exchange: “You’re a piece of fucking work,” he says your name in something that sounds like awe, and something is leaving a mark inside you, on your ribs.” <chef’s kiss>

“when you look back for only a second, he’s smiling after you. A toothy, content, easy grin that makes his eyes sparkle and face look like all he’s ever felt is joy. Never any cold Russian nights or sour, consuming revenge. Just joy. Warm, simple joy.” Damn, it got dusty in here fast! “You’ll have him like this, and make it be enough. This will be enough. Because Ben is everything, and you don’t deserve everything. He wouldn’t give you everything anyway. So you’ll have this. You’ll have his joy and let it carry you everywhere. And that will fucking be enough.” <sniff> does anyone smell onions? <sniff> “He wasn’t going to stop until he had it all memorized… because if Ben could figure out why She liked something, he could find a million new ways to do it… his orchestra was the most fucking perfect woman to ever exist. And then, unless She made him, he wouldn’t ever stop…actually fucking Her might kill him. And he was okay with that. It would be a worthy death.” <grabbing tissue> damn allergies <sniff>. “Ben was trying to just pretend he was very calm about it and not trying to figure out ways he could keep Her doing that without hurting her or pushing her away. Even if he couldn’t figure out why that was needed.” And then he gets his answer - and the fact that he knows, and is still so protective - forking EPIC!

“Kimiko says my tits are magic, but not as magic as Butcher’s. Which proves he’s just a dick, because if it was about magic tits he’d have the game on lock.” And there’s the emotional whiplash I love that you make rain throughout their relationship! “It’s not my fault you have such good tits… They’re fucking weapons of war.”

“She has you this time, the Thing reminded him. If this goes to shit, she’ll always fucking have you.<sniff> damn allergies

“you, you it’s just you and if you liked we can go right fucking now and leave forever and I’d keep you safe and happy and smiling and fuck you wherever the hell you want whenever you want because it’s you and you’re perfect. “You’re good.” Ben settled for simplicity. Poetry was not his fucking strong suit, and that was more than okay by him.” <wipes eyes> “She had faith in him, she trusted him, and if anyone had any issue with that she’d defend him. Just like Ben would defend Her. To the ends of the fucking earth, until they burned together.” The Onion Ninjas have killed me, I am dead and writing this from beyond the grave.

The scene with Neumann and Zoe was great, him getting g her back to the van was sweet, and “It might be fucking creepy, he might be getting weird looks from the Pussy Brigade, but Ben didn’t give a single fuck. If She ever decided to leave him, if he had to let Her go, at least he’d have a memory of this. Of Her just needing him, just wanting him. Something of Her, forever.” was perfect. This whole damn thing is perfect! And when it’s over, I’m gonna need this in a PDF format, to save someplace safe where I can read it again and again in case Tumblr ever falls, or the Internet is gone, because I adore this story and the way you write them so very much. BRAVA!!!

Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I’d like to dedicate this Chapter to Eric Kripke. This one’s for you. Bitch. Chapter Title from Under Pressure By Queen & David Bowie.

Word Count: 21.6k (I'm crazy. I'm on a roll. I haven't slept more than 4 hours.)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Ben get's a phone, and Victoria Neuman undergoes big changes. Usual warnings. Also somnophilia? Kind of? You'll see.

Read on A03!

Chapter 12 - Chapter 14

This was going to be a very long, entertaining day.

You get up early in the morning, sneaking downstairs to grab the phones you’d left abandoned after last night’s fight and subsequent not-fight. Kissing. You’d kissed Ben.

A lot.

It didn’t feel real. It had been real—you were sure of it—because you woke up on Ben’s chest and could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours. It was real because his arms were wrapped around your waist, and his hands were slightly under your shirt so his fingers brushed your skin. He hadn’t done that before, touched you like that in his sleep. He’d mostly rolled up to you like a very large dog, never touching your skin unless you fell asleep with him already doing so. You’d never been sure if it was purposeful, subconscious, or just something you were overthinking. Just coincidental, simply a byproduct of how he’d essentially throw himself on top of you, tangling blankets and creating natural barriers between your bodies.

But this touch felt purposeful. This touch felt important. Careful and low on your back and different. It was undeniable evidence that last night had been real and not simply another dream.

It took a lot of effort to get out of bed. There was the physical game, where you had to remove yourself from Ben’s grasp without waking him up. It involved slow and measured movements, a lot of stopping and waiting when he shifted or snored a little too loud, and several reevaluations of your methods when Ben just pulled you tighter against him.

Then there was the mental game. Where the question wasn’t could you leave the bed, logistically, but did you even want to? Was it really worth it for two stupid phones? Here you had to convince yourself that you’d woken up to Ben holding you many times before, and this wasn’t any different. This was the same, really. Semantically. You’d be back soon anyway. It would barely be three minutes to go to the living room, grab the phones, and return. But he wasn’t making it easy. He kept bringing you closer, kept making disgruntled sounds when you got a little too far away, and his warm and rough hands on your skin made it hard to do anything that would take them away from you. At one point you were pushing yourself away from Ben’s chest—so close to being home free and able to roll out of the bed—and you brushed up against his morning wood.

You had to take a few deep breaths before you could start moving again.

After a tremendous amount of mental effort, some very strategic and well-timed squirming, and another quarter hour you’d gotten out of Ben’s arms and fallen down to the floor. You’d stood up slowly, tiptoed to the door, and all but ran down the stairs. The phones had fallen under the couch and between the cushions during last night’s events, and you managed to fish them out in only a few minutes. The mission was successful, because you’d gotten the phones in faster than you’d thought you would and Ben was still none the wiser to your absence. Sure, your phone was dead and Ben’s was covered in dust, but you had a charger on your bedside table and Ben would have to just be grateful he got a phone.

Now, you’re climbing up the stairs in soft steps, both phones in hand. When you open the door to your room you start a little, because you see Ben sitting up against the headboard and giving you a frown that borders on a pout, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Good morning,” you say cautiously, scanning his face as you lean against the now-closed door with your hands behind your back.

“Where did you go?”

You blink at Ben’s grumble. “Downstairs? I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“Why,” Ben snaps, and you realize that—despite the sleep lingering in his eyes—he’s upright, hands clenched at his side, leaning forwards slightly. You can even hear something edged into his voice as he continues. “What the fuck were you doing.”

There’s a warm, humming feeling of need and comfort in your gut. It’s trying to move you towards Ben, to pull the frown off his face with your lips, but it’s not stronger than the spark in your chest. The little, bright desire that makes you feel light. That feeds off of Ben’s deep voice and surly behavior and just him.

“Aw,” you tilt your head at him with a mocking smile. “Did you miss me?”

His frown deepens. “No.”

“I think you missed me. I think you’re grumpy because you woke up and I wasn’t there.”

His scowl is almost adorable. “I’m not fucking grumpy.” You raised your brows at him with a light, teasing grin on your face. “Shut up.”

You hum. “If you keep whining I’m not giving you your gift.”

“Gift?”

You give Ben a grin. “Guess who earned phone privileges.” You don’t wait for his response before pushing off the door and presenting the phone dramatically. “It starts with you and ends with cunt.”

You throw the phone to him, walking towards the bed as you do, and he catches it with ease. “Brat.”

“Just for that I’m not telling you what your passcode is.”

“Passcode?”

“Oh shut up,” you give him a flat look, dropping on the edge of the mattresses. “You know what a passcode is.”

“Phones don’t have passcodes. You open them with your face.”

You snort at Ben’s indignant expression. “Your face?”

“That’s how you fucking open yours,” Ben glances between the phone in his hand and you, holding his gaze as you slowly scooting across the bed to plug your own phone in. “I’m not a goddamn idiot-“

“Then open it.” You nod at the phone, clenched in Ben’s hand. “If I’m wrong, just open it.”

He gives you one last glare, tapping the screen roughly. The phone lights on, displaying a picture of his shield where it's still resting in your bathroom. Ben blinks at the screen, before looking up at you with a frown.

“That’s my shield.”

“I know,” you scan his face, trying to gauge his reaction without touching him. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to choose a wallpaper for Ben’s phone. A band logo felt weird, you’d considered just a stock photo of the Grand Canyon several times, and there was no way you were about to just put his face there. That would’ve meant scrolling through a lot of old Soldier Boy promotional photo shoots, and you had already missed him enough. That would’ve just been cruel to you. Eventually you’d decided the shield was a safe bet, and just taken a photo of it as a placeholder. He could change it later, but you still really wanted him to like it. Which was annoying, because it was just a photo, and he didn’t even know—nor did he have to ever know—how much effort had gone into it. You’d deleted several angles you deemed bad and shots you thought were blurry. He better like it, because that was fifteen minutes of your life you’d never get back.

Ben looked back at the photo with a frown. “How did you get that?”

You blink. “What, the photo?”

He grunts in affirmation, still staring at the screen.

“I took it?” You say slowly, and he looks up at you.

“With what. How did it get there.”

“With a camera? You’re not that old,” you meet Ben’s surly frown with a small smile, nudging his shoulder. A mistake, because his confusion runs through you with something rough and easy that sits in your chest. “You’ve definitely seen a camera before. You lived in front of cameras.”

“Cameras are big. I’d have fucking notice if you had one.”

“Welcome to the wonders of modern technology,” you reach over his body, flipping the phone over in his hand and tapping the lenses. “Phones have cameras now.”

You look back up at Ben with a grin, and find him still watching you. The rough and easy thing is growing strong through where you’re touching, and your faces are a lot closer together than you’d realized.

“So, um,” you can’t make yourself move, the intensity of Ben’s gaze locking you against him. “I took the photo. I can show you how-“

From the corner of your eye, you see Ben drop the phone just before he kisses you. His hand moves up, cupping your face to angle it where he wants you, and you let him. Because this is real, and it makes your head spin happily. There’s no noise in your head about trying to notice everything around you and fit it into a puzzle, no reeling about what Ben’s thinking. Because you’re falling against his back, leaning over his shoulder, and his lips are soft against yours. All you feel is Ben.

When he pulls back, he has a smug grin on his face. “I can’t believe it’s that easy to shut you up. I should’ve done this months ago.”

“Fuck you,” you try and snap, but the words come out breathless and lustful. “Stop trying to distract me-“

“You don’t seem to be stopping me,” he winks, and you knee him in the back.

“Shut it. Open the phone.”

He rolls his eyes, but picks it up from his lap. He manages to figure out that you need to swipe up himself, and you feel the tight frustration grow in him when the passcode display pops up. You wait several minutes, letting Ben glower at the screen as he aggressively taps it. That frustration builds in him and you feel it move to coil in your stomach from where you still lean over his shoulder.

“Ready to admit defeat?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, hitting another set of random numbers with a rigid hand. The words too many failed attempts, try again in 1 minute cover the screen, and Ben’s grip on the phone tenses, enough that you’re surprised the screen doesn’t crack. “What does that fucking mean.”

“It means you don’t know the passcode, so the phone is locked for a minute. If you get it wrong four more times, all the data gets erased.”

He turns his head to glare at you. “Fix it.”

“Say you were wrong.”

“No.”

You shrug, “then I’m not fixing it.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

“You’re fucking annoying.”

“Right back at you, Pretty Boy. Say you were wrong.”

“I was fucking wrong. Fix it.” His voice is low, gravely and annoyed with clipped words, but you can still feel the jagged affection in him. So you smile sweetly, grabbing the phone from his hand as the minute ends.

You’re hanging around him, body pressed right against his back, head resting on his shoulder, and arms reaching around his neck as you hold the phone up for you both to see. “It’s 696969,” you enter each number as you speak. “Easy to remember. I can set up the face thing for you later, if you want.”

He grunts, taking the phone back as you return it to his hand. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with it.”

“Whatever you want, I guess. I put in all the contacts you need, and downloaded some apps-“

“Apps? What the fuck are apps?”

“Jesus,” you mutter to yourself, fully realizing you’re going to have to walk Ben through this like he’s a toddler. “Apps are an abbreviation for applications. You put them on your phone for different things, like texting or entertainment or shopping.”

“I don’t need entertainment. I have you.”

His words, paired with the firm way he says them—like simple and obvious fact—make you feel warm and dizzy, but you just hum. “Then just don’t use it for that. It’s your phone, Ben, you do what you want with it.”

“What do you use it for?” His hand comes up to hold your arm around him as he frowns at you.

“My phone?” You have to clarify, because he’s so close and there’s no way he’s not touching you like that on purpose. Trying to make it hard to focus on anything but him.

“Fucking obviously.”

You whack his chest with your free arm. “Shut up.”

“Answer my question.”

You try to tune out how his hand is starting to rub against your arm, now certain he’s doing it deliberately. “I don’t know, what does anyone use phones for? Texting, music, photos, social media, porn-“

“Porn? You use this for porn?”

“Everyone does. There’s lots of porn on the internet, and the internet is on your phone.”

“What kind of porn?”

“All of it,” you shrug. “If you can think of it, it’s a safe bet it’s on there.”

“No,” Ben tugs you forward a little further, grinning cockily. “What kind of porn do you use?”

You gape at him like a fish. “I, uh, I dunno. Regular porn?”

“You can be more fucking specific than that,” his smile is growing, and you can feel his amusement growing with lust. You have to stop yourself drooling as you respond, because his hunger in your gut is making you thirsty, and his face is so unfairly attractive and distractingly close to yours.

“I am not sharing my porn habits with you, Ben.”

“Why the hell not?” He says your name and it vibrates through you. “I can promise you, it won’t be something I haven’t fucking seen before. If it’s porn, I’ve seen it.”

That makes you snort. “I doubt that.”

The hunger in Ben grows, moving down, down, down into you. “What kind of freaky shit are you into that I wouldn’t have seen, Sunshine?”

“No, that’s not-“ you take a deep breath, because you need to defend yourself, and that’s hard to do when everything feels hot and aching. “There’s like, a lot of porn on the internet. A lot. And I can promise you there’s some shit that even you’ve never seen.”

“Promise?” You can’t meet Ben’s eyes as he teases you, because you can feel the strength of his desire and that alone is making you feel faint and feverish. Looking at him would be counterproductive. “That’s a dangerous fucking promise to make, beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

He hums. “I think you need to prove it.” You don’t answer, still refusing to let yourself look at him, and Ben tugs at your arm slightly. “Can you fucking prove it?”

“It is not my job to prove that the internet has porn,” you manage to mumble, and he chuckles.

“Maybe not, but I think we’re a little fucking past only doing things for our jobs.”

“Fuck you.”

Suddenly, Ben is pulling you around his body, using his hold on your arm to spin you into his lap. His other hand moves up, running through your hair and pulling your head up to look at him, and his whole face is alight with almost ravenous hunger. You can’t look away, even if you wanted to. He leans forward, until he’s just a fraction of an inch from you, and whispers, “All you have to do is fucking ask, and you can.”

You can’t stop yourself from grabbing his shirt, forcing him forward to close the space between you. This kiss isn’t quite as brutal as last night, but that doesn’t mean it’s not just as desperate. Your legs wrap around Ben’s torso, trying to bring him closer as he tugs at your hair to make your head move further back. His arm is back around you, pushing you up against him as he groans into your mouth, and it makes you moan in response. You can feel him, growing hard against your ass as he sucks on your lower lip, and you’ve never felt a devouring need as strong as the one in Ben that’s climbing through your blood and up your spine. It takes every single sliver and bit of willpower you possess to not just give into him, let Ben just keep going until every part of you is flooded with just him and his body.

It’s just lust, a small voice ringings in your head. Not what you have. Only lust.

But that sharp and loud feeling in Ben’s chest is still there. It’s pushing against the lust, making it bigger. And he’s right here, and breathing raggedly into your mouth. His muscles are rippling around you, and his whole body is controlled like he’s holding himself back. He feels so good, and all he’s doing is kissing you. It would be so easy to make him feel like this, to return all he’s giving you by touching him where he’s pushing into your skin.

But if you do that, you’ll just be falling further. You’d already failed to stop yourself just tasting him in the simplest way. If you reached down, even if you were just giving him your hand, that would be another thing you’d need to have forever. Another thing that made you need more.

So when Ben pulls back, first just taking a sharp breath before leaning back down for one last, wet, heavy kiss before resting his forehead against yours, you have to chose your words carefully, picking them out and saying them slowly.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?“ You ask, your heart still pounding in your ears.

“Okay with what?” He grunts, and you almost moan just from his voice. Deep and hoarse and just as needy as you feel.

“This being it right now. Not, you know,” you glance down pointedly. “More.”

“Of fucking course I am.” Ben sounds offended, like the answer no is unfathomable to him. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be.”

“Because, uh,” you lean back a little to fully meet his eyes, your voice unsteady. “You’re you.”

He scowls, and you can feel his frustration return like a train crashing into you. Tight and sour in his chest. “What the fuck does that mean.”

It’s hard to keep looking at him. “You founded herogasm. 40% of what you say is some sort of innuendo. It’s not bad,” your own voice is anxious, because you think, know, that you want Ben—just physically, not to mention the other part—more than he wants you. If this pushes him away, makes him stop kissing you until your mouth is slightly swollen and you’re aching, you’d hate yourself for taking that away from you. “It’s really not. But I just, I can’t do the uh, bigger stuff,” bad word choice, because you can still feel him against your thigh and now all you can think about is shifting to bring him closer. “So I just, I just want to make sure this is enough. For you.”

The sourness is still in him, but his voice isn’t bitter or angry when he speaks. It’s almost stern. “You fucking trust me, yeah?”

“Of course I do.” The words had barely left his mouth when you answer, your response almost instinctual.

“Then believe me when I say that I’m more than damn fine with this.”

You shake your head. “It’s more complicated than that, Ben-“

“No it’s not. I want this, you want this. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t also want to fuck you, because I’m not a damn pussy and I really fucking do.” He pushes his hips upwards to emphasize the evidence against you, and you have to bite down a whine. “You don’t have a goddamn clue how fucking bad I want you. But I’m not going to make you do a damn thing you don’t want.”

“I do want,” your words are weak, and you can’t stop them falling out of you. “Want you. I want you. But it’s just, I can’t-“

“Is this enough for you?” Ben says your name, scanning your face with that look that strings every piece of you apart for him to have.

No.

“Yes.”

He nods roughly, moving you a little further up against his chest. “Then stop asking stupid questions.”

Being so close to him makes every part of you a little higher—a little—and it’s easy to say, “make me.”

Ben laughs, and it’s loud and smooth and comfortable. “Brat.”

You open your mouth to say something, probably, but any and all words are forgotten when his mouth slams back into yours. In only a heartbeat his arms tighten under yours as his knee is pushing you further upwards by your ass, standing up off the bed with one steady and fluid movement. You can hear the sound of his phone falling to the ground, but can’t really bring yourself to care because Ben’s dropping his head to your neck and sucking at it as he walks you backwards, sitting you with surprising care against the dresser. He’s running his hands up your back, into your hair, holding you still while his mouth finds your collarbone. Kissing a line across it and making you moan right into his ear-

A small, annoyed sound escapes your throat when he pulls back with a lazy grin. “Yogurt and toast?”

“Wha…” You trail off, your brain struggling to return to speech in the fog of Ben still holding your thigh and tracing a thumb across your cheekbone.

“Yogurt and toast.”

“I heard you,” you frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ben moves forwards just a quarter-step, and you’re made aware of the fact that he’s standing between your legs. “Breakfast. What the fuck else could I be talking about.”

“I don’t know, I just wasn’t thinking about breakfast.”

“What were you thinking about?”

You shove at his chest, and he doesn’t even pretend to be affected. “Fuck you.”

“I could’ve guessed that,” Ben winks, and your whole face becomes heated.

“You can’t just make that same joke every time I say that,” you manage to grumble. “It’s not going to get funnier.”

“It’s not supposed to be funny, it’s supposed to make you horny,” he scans your body slowly, leaning into his, thighs pressed together, hands grabbing at his shirt. “And I’d say it’s doing its job real fucking well.”

“Fuck-“ you scowl as you cut yourself off. His eyes return to yours, glowing with the smug, satisfied feeling you can feel near his gut. You stick your tongue out at him as a backup plan, which immediately backfires because Ben nips at it quickly before kissing you one last time. It’s messy and long and the moment you completely give into it he’s gone.

“Get changed,” Ben tells you as he walks towards the hallway door. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“You’re a fucking tease!” you call after him, and his snort echoes through the house.

It only takes you a minute to change, time that is mostly spent collecting yourself and checking your now-charged phone. There’s a testing message from Mallory that you give thumbs up to, a simple hi from Kimiko you respond to with a smile, and a very long and detailed text from Annie about the details of Stand Edgar’s deal that you decide to read later in favor of Butchers more to-the-point words.

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever

Soldier Boy’s blasting Neuman for Edgar. Need a day to set it up, then we move. Can’t let word get to her.

You pick Ben’s phone up from where it had landed just under the bed, and make your way downstairs. Ben is waiting for you in the kitchen, sitting at the counter and glaring at the doorway before he sees you. His mouth opens to say something when you come into view, but before he can you’re throwing his phone to his face without warning.

He catches it—You’d hadn’t bothered to worry about if he would, because you’d see him catch a knife out of the air while stomping up the stairs—and gives you an annoyed frown. “You changed too slow.”

“You didn’t give me a time limit,” you walk around to sit beside him as you speak. “Butcher says they only need a day before we move on Neuman.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Lovely. Open your phone.”

“Why,” he grumbles, and you shrug.

“To prove you were listening and remember the passcode.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but glares down at the device in his hand. You watch in amusement as his face draws into a focused frown, angrily smashing the numbers on the display with his forefinger. When it unlocks he looks at you with a self-satisfied grin. “Fucking piece of cake.”

“Uh huh,” you give him a mocking nod and smile. “Now send a text.”

“A text?”

“If you’re such a tech savant, send a text,” your smile becomes genuine and toothy as his eyes narrow at your teasing. “One, simple fucking text. Whatever you want, to whoever you want.”

Ben holds your grin with his glower before glancing back at the phone. “Whatever I want?”

“That’s what I said. I can help if you ask very nicely.”

Ben looks back at you, his expression remarkably determined. “I can do it my fucking self. Shut up and eat your breakfast.”

Only as Ben’s pushing the food closer towards you—attention now entirely focused on the phone—do you see it. He’s put yogurt on a plate, something that he’s done several times before and seems to have no interest in stopping, no matter how many times you tell him it’s just plain weird. There’s a slight improvement in that he has made some sort of attempt to separate the yogurt from the toast, laying the spoon between them in an attempted barrier. The result is almost nothing, if anything now you just have to deal with a yogurt-covered spoon, but it’s still confusingly heart-warming. The gentle feeling that grows in your chest is only spurred on by glancing at Ben’s plate—hardly touched and forgotten in front of him—and seeing that he has just a little less yogurt than you and that there’s no jam on his toast.

“Ben?” you ask slowly, and he grunts in a signal to keep talking. “Where’s your jam?”

“What the fuck are you talking about. Is this slang I’m supposed to learn, because I’d rather you shove a fucking bomb up my ass-“

“It’s not slang, dummy. Your literal jam. That you always put on your toast. Where is it?”

“We ran out.”

You stare at your own toast, almost drowning in red jam. “And the yogurt?”

“What about the yogurt?”

“You barely have any.”

He’s not looking up as he responds, “Out of that shit as well.”

You blink at him. “We got groceries yesterday.”

“It’s not my goddamn fault Mallory’s a terrible fucking shopper-“

“No, I don’t care about that. I can just text her later. Why’d you give me all the stuff?”

“You need to eat.” Ben’s answer is flat and bored.

“So do you. You have the metabolism of a hummingbird-“

That makes him look up. “A hummingbird?”

“They have famously high metabolism, they have to eat two times their body weight daily. But that’s not the point-“

“Why do you know that?” He sounds bemused, frowning at you.

You give a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know, why does anyone know anything. Ben, you need to eat as-“

“You know so much weird shit.” You can’t read his tone, and have to fight the urge to touch him and find out if he’s annoyed or bored or amused-

Shaking your head, you manage to move on. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“Maybe.” Ben’s shoulder nudges yours. “But it’s not my fault it’s real fucking easy to do it.”

You’re gaping at him a little—he’s looking at the phone again with a thin-lipped frown of concentration—because all you felt when your shoulders connected, arms brushing, was simple affection. Pure and sitting in his chest and head like air. It’s making the small voice reminding you not to try and make this go further harder to hear, making you need to know more. You’re about to say something, push him for what he meant by his comment, why he put the extra food on your plate, maybe circle back to the question pounding in your head of why are you okay with just this. I’m glad you are, I’m unspeakably grateful, but why. You shouldn’t be. Fucking hell, Ben, I’m barely okay with this. I haven’t told you why I need this, not really, so why in living hell are you happy with just this?

But your phone buzzes before you can.

Ben looks up at you with a pleased, cocky smirk. “Check your phone, Sunshine.”

You pick it up off the table—angling the screen away from Ben so he can’t see his contact name—and glance up at his straight, self-satisfied posture and smug face before you read his text.

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

You look hot when your being annoying

You read it a few times before you look up at him. “You used the wrong you’re. It should have an apostrophe, it’s a contraction.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What am I supposed to say?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Thank you?”

“Or that I’m hot. Return the fucking compliment. I worked hard on it, and texting is fucking stupid.”

You roll your eyes. “Your compliment sounds like you're a teenager who just found out his dick wasn’t just for pissing.”

Ben frowns, picking up his phone again. You watch him type at little faster this time, still one finger at a time but with an almost zealous focus. Your phone buzzes again, and he looks up at you with an intense gaze and speaks with sharp words. “Read that one.”

You sigh, but do.

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

You are so beautiful that if I got to fuck you a thousand times it would only make you more beautiful so I’d keep fucking you forever

You stare at it for a second, because it’s so shockingly sweet and graphic it’s making your body incredibly confused. Half of you is moved, and wants to kiss him gently and smile at him until he says something like that again. The other half want him to fuck you right here, then on the floor, then in the hallway, then on the stairs, and on and on until you’ve covered the whole house.

“Better?” He grunts, and you look up at him with a heated face.

“Yeah, um. Yeah.” You give a dry laugh. “And here I thought I wasn’t your type.”

That makes him scowl, and his voice is an annoyed grumble. “What made you fucking think that.”

“For one, all my teeth are real and I can walk without a cane.”

Ben’s face becomes a little lighter. “I fuck one old lady in front of Butcher and Cocksucker and all you dumbass idiot pussies think I only fuck old ladies.”

“No, I just think it’s hilarious.”

“Well, you’re not a fucking idiot,” He mutters, and your smile must look downright insane.

“And your compliment game is getting better by the second,” you bite into your toast, speaking through crumbs. “Am I allowed to teach you about internet slang? Or are you going to shove a bomb up your ass.”

“You’re allowed to do whatever you fucking want, Sunshine,” Ben shrugs.

“So that’s a yes?”

“I didn’t say that.”

You roll your eyes. “Ben,” you exaggerate his name in your drawl, leaning forward as you swallow. “If I were to try and teach you about the internet, would you listen to me or be a huge fucking baby about it.”

He rolls his eyes. “I am not a fucking baby-“

“I said huge fucking baby.”

“Shut the fuck up. And you couldn’t make me learn about internet slang if you cut off my dick,” Ben winks. “Which, as I’ve been damn telling you, would hurt you more than me.”

“I don’t think you know how pain works,” you mutter, taking another bite.

“My point still fucking stands.”

You examine Ben carefully. “What if I asked nicely? Would you listen then?”

“No.”

“What if I said please.”

“I don’t care.”

“Why not?” You pout. “What if I said it’s important to me?”

Ben snorts. “This isn’t fucking important to you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” Ben leans forward until he’s only a breath away. “You just want to try and teach me shit. Even though it never fucking works out for you.”

“Really?” You hum. “Because you just sent me a text on a phone, Pretty Boy. Could you do that in December?”

“You sure think mighty high of yourself, Sunshine. I could’ve figured it out my goddamn self.”

“I think highly of myself,” you smile, moving close enough that your lips are brushing Ben’s but never fully touching. “Because I’m right.”

Ben grunts, staring at your mouth like he can will it to be closer. “Brat.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Cunt. You know, I wouldn’t just teach you about slang. I could show you where to find the porn.”

“I thought that wasn’t your fucking job?”

“It isn’t,” Neither of you will close that final gap. You’re not touching, but you can feel the heat from Ben’s body, hear his breathing turn heavy. “But I can see a few ways in which it could benefit me.”

Ben’s eyes shoot to yours, and his voice is a growl. “Like what.”

“I could tell you, or just show you,” you twist your face in mock concern. “But that would be teaching you and that never works out for me-“

You know you’ve won—the game you’d fallen into and the argument—because Ben kisses you. Rough and consuming, pushing his mouth to yours with a feral sound and holding your jaw with a firm hand. You let him pull you closer, relaxing into his touch and taste and smell and everything. It’s all just Ben. Picking you up with one arm, standing without ever parting from you, letting your hands scratch at his back and neck as he only kisses you more. You might be grinding against him because he groans, and his grip starts to crush you into his body. You whimper when he bounces you further up his body, making you angle your head down to stay connected to his mouth. To keep that hunger eating you in the best possible way. To keep the roar in your heart climbing up into your head and making everything so simply Ben. Coffee and salt and strawberries and Ben.

He pulls back so abruptly you whine, and scans your face with narrow eyes. “We’re going to try something.”

“How specific,” your grumble is breathless, but your glare at least feels strong. “Are you going to tell me what that means?”

“If you would be patient for once in your damn life, I’d have told you already.”

“Fuck yo-“ His splits into a wide grin, and you know you didn’t cut yourself off in time.

“That’s actually a part of this, Sunshine.” Ben starts to walk out of the kitchen, still holding you slightly above him. “Aren’t you just a fucking genius.”

You frown at him. “I thought you were okay without-“

“I told you to stop fucking asking that,” Ben snaps, squeezing his grip around your waist and on your thighs. You can feel the resolved stone feeling running around you with that same bitterness from before. “You told me you trust me, prove it. Stop asking stupid questions about if I’m okay with this when I obviously fucking am.” He stops in the middle of the dining room. “Understood?”

“Understood,” you mumble, and Ben rolls his eyes before kissing you again. This one is quick, and even though it only lasts a second you’re still burning when he pulls away.

“Try again, like you actually fucking mean it this time.”

Even as you wrinkle your nose at him, your voice becomes louder and you believe you more. “Understood.”

“Good,” Ben nods, but still doesn’t let you go. “We’re going to do a new reward system.”

You blink at him—your head still in a little of a daze—unsure if you heard correctly. “What?”

“No more favors. You keep using them for stupid shit like TV and making me read.” Ben’s face scrunches in disgust at the very memory of books. “This will be more effective anyway.”

“You still haven’t told me what this is. It might be dogshit. It might get you burnt a lot today.” Even as you snark at him, you have a feeling you know exactly what he’s talking about. And you will never tell him that he’s right. If this is going where you think it’s going, it will definitely be effective.

“It’s not,” Ben lowers you down his body, not letting go until your feet are steady on the ground. “And I’m not too worried about burns. We’re not working on that today.”

That catches you off guard. “We’re not?”

“Nope,” Ben leans down to your eye level with a wide, cocky smile. “You’re going to sing, whatever the hell you want, and you’re going to control it.”

“I can’t-“

“Yes, you can.” Ben’s tone is firm. “You will. Even if it takes us a hundred goddamn years, you will.”

You want to argue. You might just literally not be able to control it. That might simply be a part of the power. But Ben also said a hundred years. A hundred years that you would get to have him. So you can only mumble a protest of, “I really can’t control it now. I might, uh, make stuff happen you don’t want to see.”

“That’s not what I meant, you dick. It might be emotional. More than just lights and dancing. Intim-“ You stumble over yourself, because that word might be too much. “It might just be parts of me you don’t want to see.”

“I think I’ll fucking manage,” Ben drawls, and you sigh.

“Benjamin-“

“Don’t Benjamin me,” Ben snaps your name. “There’s not a thing you could show me that would make me walk away now. You burn, I burn. Not controlling this is something that makes you more afraid Homelander.”

Not a question, but you nod nervously. “I guess, yeah.”

“Then we’re going to make it better.” Ben takes a large step back, and you tilt your head at him.

“You still haven’t actually told me what the new reward system is.”

He winks, “do one thing on purpose, and I’ll let you teach me two things about my phone.”

“You’ll let me?” You scoff. “That feels like it’s more beneficial to you than me.”

“Well, I’ll also suck on your beautiful fucking face until you’re begging me to fuck you. And then I won’t, because I’m a gentleman. And you wouldn’t be of sound mind.”

“Cunt.” You grumble, and he just shrugs with a smirk.

“Brat.”

“How will you know I did something on purpose?” You cross your arms, wrinkling your nose at him. “I could just lie.”

“What a good fucking point,” Ben says your name, grin never dropping. “This is why you’re the brains.”

“I thought I was the beauty. You were very bitchy about that.”

“You’re all three, and I’m the pimp. Tell me what you’re going to be trying to make happen.”

You scowl. “I don’t fucking know, I didn’t have time to prepare an idea-“

“It doesn’t have to be fancy. Just whatever pops into your damn head.”

“But-“

“We can fight about this all fucking day,” Ben shrugs. “Or you can say what you’re thinking in three, two-“

“Strawberries!” You blurt, glaring at him. “Fucking strawberries.”

His brows raise. “Strawberries?”

“You said whatever pops into my head. I’m making a grocery list, fucking sue me.”

“You think you can make strawberries work?” Ben watches you, trying to pick you apart with slow words and a stupidly handsome face.

“No. Because this won’t work.”

He rolls his eyes. “Can you fucking try to make it work?”

“Maybe.”

“Then get a move on.”

You cross your arms. “What the hell am I supposed to sing?”

“Whatever the hell you want,” he grins. “But could you let me know ahead of time if my clone will be joining us?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, and Ben laughs, leaning back against the wall. “Are you just going to watch me?”

Ben shrugs, still smiling widely at you. You told me to shut up. Deal with the consequences, Sunshine.

You stick your tongue out at him, flipping him off at the same time, and he just snorts.

It takes you a full minute to choose a song. Can’t do a sex song, can’t do a romance song, can’t do any that opens up the chance of Fake Ben showing up again. Not when Real Ben is watching you on the other side of the room and might explode if his ego gets any bigger. Can’t do a song about pain or abuse, can’t do Smash Mouth, can’t do anything that makes you think of Homelander. You could do a recession-type pop song, but that just feels weird.

There’s—as there always is—an easy and obvious solution. Moon River. You know, at least in theory, what will happen. Ben knows the song, knows about what it means to you. Moon River, plain and simple.

You don’t bother trying to look at Ben when you start. You have no interest in seeing him, seeing his reaction or demeanor as you do this. So you chose a scorch mark on the wall, glue your eyes to it, and sing. Quietly at first, but you find a rhythm and it builds until your voice feels clear and strong. The instrumentals kick in faster this time, smooth guitar and strings and cymbals. The changes to the world are a little different this go, however. You’re not in your childhood bedroom, but a distorted version of the safe house bedroom. The horse paintings are blurred, and it’s not clean anymore—small signs of both you and Ben scattered across the area in shirts and towels, a book on your nightstand and a ben’s supe suit across the bed—but it feels more comfortable. More natural. The sky does open again, flooding the area with light from stars that are a little closer than they should be, and you can feel a warm breeze moving in from above. You can smell pine trees and rain and coffee and the ocean and strawberries-

Strawberries. The song is almost over and you haven’t even tried to make strawberries appear. You could write off the smell as your attempt, Ben doesn’t know how this works and you could likely sell it, but you want to win. You don’t want to trick him and come out on top. You want to win and fucking earn it.

Which is really annoying. Cheating is easier.

You try to focus. Strawberries. Maybe a field of them, maybe just a large vine of their flowers that climbs up the wall. Anywhere they want to be, as long as there’s strawberries. But no matter how hard you think strawberries. All across the room, or on the floor, or sprouting out of your face, strawberries, nothing happens.

The song draws to a close, and the world fades back into you and Ben in the dining room.

“It didn’t work,” you say flatly.

“Go again,” Ben pushes off the wall, walking to sit in one of the less-than sturdy chairs in the corner of the room. “We’ve got all fucking day.”

You sigh. “It’s only 10:30.”

“And we’ll be here until you get this.”

“You’re a fucking cunt.”

“You love it, brat. Go again.”

You scoff, even as your heart becomes a little faster in your chest, and start the song over. This time, you glare at Ben the whole way, and nothing happens.

“Again.”

It takes seven hours. You don’t bother changing the song, half because you’re stubborn and half because it’s established a clean pattern of events. Bedroom, instruments, sky, wind, comfort. Over and over and over, slowly becoming more solid, the images and sensations in less of a haze. It’s not purposeful, so you haven’t won, but the practice is—annoyingly—making you stronger. Ben notices, you can tell by his stupidly pleased smirk, but doesn’t say anything. Around 1, he leaves the room with only a short order for you to keep going and returns with two bagels. He passes one to you wordlessly, and when you drop to the floor—eating with your legs crossed beneath you—Ben scoffs. But he also lowers himself to your side, inhaling his bagel with his knee pressed against yours and a hand on your thigh. You can feel that content, smooth and effortless in Ben’s chest. Flowing in time with that stone resolve wrapping around you, around him. Neither of you speak—you don’t really feel like you need to—and when you finish your bagels within seconds of each other, Ben squeezes his hand once before standing and returning to his chair.

It’s 5:30 when it happens. You’ve been at this all day, you’re tired, but you kept going and going and now, when your illusions have become a clear and perfect replica of the world, it happens. A single strawberry flower, sprouting in a glowing rainbow mist on the mattress. You can hear Ben’s chair squeak when he sees it, even if the sound only echoes distantly over your orchestra, and you almost stutter to halt in shock. But when you push forwards—voice becoming a little frantic, a little off-pitched—the plant grows. Overtaking the bed, covering the sheets and pillows until it’s all green leaves and blooming red fruit.

When the song finds its natural conclusion, you look over at Ben with wide-eyes. He’s staring at where the bed was, now dissipated into a colorful mist through the dining room.

“How the fuck did you do that?” His voice is gruff, looking at you with an intense, unblinking stare.

“I don’t know, it just sort of happened-“

“Can you do it again?”

“I don’t know, Ben.” You rub your face, your eyes becoming heavy. “I’m tired-“

He stands so suddenly it almost makes you start. Without warning Ben crosses the room, picks you up, and carries you out of the dining room.

“What are you-“

Ben cuts off your mumbled protest. “You look like shit.”

“Rude,” you grumble, shoving his chest. “You’re the asshole who made me work all day.”

“And I’d fucking do it again,” Ben holds you a little tighter as you climb the stairs. “You got stronger. You controlled it. And now you’re going to take a shower, because you look like shit.”

“Again, that’s rude-“

Ben kisses your nose, pushing the door to your room open with his foot. “Beautiful shit. But shit.”

“You’re real lucky I don’t kick your ass, Pretty Boy.” You huff, and Ben chuckles against you.

“I don’t think you’ve got the energy to kick anyone’s ass right now,” Ben drawls your name as he sets you down on the mattress.

“And whose fault is that?”

Ben ignores you. “Go shower, Sunshine. I’ll bring up dinner, and then you’re going the hell to bed.”

“You’re a dick, Benjamin!” Your voice raises to a half-hearted shout as he leaves the room, and you can hear the amusement in his voice when he shouts back.

“Fucking shower!”

You roll your eyes—sticking your tongue out at the empty hallway—but stand and walk to the bathroom. Not because Ben told you, but because you’re sweaty and gross and somehow sore despite only standing. It’s a tight feeling running along your muscles, stronger under your arms and circling your forehead, aching behind your knees. You take your time with the shower, letting steam fill the room and simply standing in the hot, gentle fall of the water until you hear Ben’s loud steps re-enter the room.

When you leave the bathroom, changed into a sleep shirt and your hair wrapped in a towel, Ben’s standing tall and rigid in the middle of the room. There’s a plate of something that might be spaghetti in one hand, and your phone in the other.

“You got a text from Hughie,” he grunts, passing you both the plate and the phone.

“Oh, what did he-“ you stop yourself, looking up at Ben with a gaping smile. “Did you just say Hughie?”

“Shut up.”

“No, no. You said Hughie. You’ve never called him Hughie.”

“Shut up,” Ben mutters, stomping past you to the bathroom. “I’m going to shower.”

You set the plate down on the dresser, spinning to grab his arm. He stops, turning to look at you with a glare, and you push through the haze of his care and hunger and annoyance and there’s that strange tightness again- “Are you okay?”

Ben scoffs. “I’m fucking fine. I’m not a weak-“

“Pussy, I know. You’re being grumpy again.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“Uh huh,” you raise your brows at him, letting disbelief coat your voice and cover your face. “Why’d you call Hughie his name?”

“Am I not allowed to call people their damn names?”

“Not when you’ve only called them Cocksucker before.”

Ben yanks his arm from you, taking a long, labored breath before grumbling, “That kid is the only one of those pussies who seems to genuinely mean it when he says shit. I can respect that.” He walks into the bathroom, glancing back at you once. “Read his fucking text.”

You stare at the door for a second after it closes before picking up the fork Ben had stuck into the spaghetti, taking a large bite as you open your phone.

Hughie Campbell: Not Allowed to Speak On Fall Out Boy

Are you okay? Just wanted to check after all the Tek Knight shit.

I’m really sorry about that. I should’ve pushed Butcher.

Kimiko wants to know too, but she threw her phone at The Deep during a fight and it broke.

You smile softly at the screen.

I’m good. Really. I’ll see you tomorrow for Neuman.

Tell Kimiko I hope she kicked The Deep’s ass.

“Ben!” you call, knocking on the door. “The shower’s not on, I know you can hear me!”

“What?!” He snaps, opening the door just enough for you to see his bare chest.

“Um,” you swallow, trying not to look further down. “Do you want ice cream?”

He scans your face. “Vanilla?”

“Sure, old man,” you grin, and Ben scowls.

“Shut the fuck up.”

He starts to close the door, but you stick your arm forward to stop him. “Thank you.”

“You fucking volunteered to get me the ice cream, I don’t have thank you-“

“No, you dumbass.” You whack what you can reach of his shoulder. Mistake, because powerful heat and desire and something loud that makes everything sharp pieces through you. “I’m saying thank you.”

He frowns, leaning forward a little. It takes active effort not to drop your gaze. “For what.”

“The food. Bringing my phone up,” you give him a teasing grin. “Sitting with me tomorrow for internet lessons.”

Ben snorts, opening the door to stand fully before you. By some sort of miracle, his pants are still on. He lets go of the door for a second, cupping your face in his hands and he examines your face. “Fucking brat,” he mutters, and you scoff.

“I’m starting to you’ve forgotten my name-“

He all but picks you up off the ground, and this time he’s gentle. Every part of this kiss is soft, from his mouth to his hold on you. It’s long and careful and so tender it might break you. When he pulls back, he draws circles along your cheeks, smirking down at you.

“Two things,” he says your name in that low, deep way that makes everything spin a little. “You get to teach me two things. If you try to pull three on me, the sucking face is off the table.”

He retreats back into the bathroom, closing the door, and you’re left dumbfounded in the bedroom, swaying slightly to nothing at all.

You go down stairs after inhaling your spaghetti, returning with two bowls of ice cream. You sit on the bed as you eat your small helping, having put practically the remainder of the pint in Ben’s bowl, which is waiting for him on the dresser. Taking the infinite amount of time provided by Ben’s shower, you run over the day in your head, trying to pin-point what had changed. How you had controlled it. Any small shift in the late afternoon that you could use. Implement further. But it only devolved into you playing Ben’s words and actions on loop in your head. How easy he was touching you, like it was the most absurdly natural thing for him in the world. How quickly he had, you had, fallen into the habit of it. Because it was natural. It was easy and everything, and you’d expected it to feel different. To be tense, or awkward, a strange dance you didn’t know how to navigate.

But it felt the same. Your thirst was stronger, trying to take root in your brain and make you pull Ben into you, but everything else felt the same.

And that was terrifying.

You hear the shower turn off, a chew at your tongue as you stare at the door. The moment it opens, Ben walking through with wet hair falling across his eyes and a bare chest, you speak. Because if you don’t blurt out your words now, you’d just get lost in him and his stupid face and stupid body and he smells so good-

“What if I fucked a dog?”

Ben stops in the middle of the room, staring at you in confusion. “What the actual fucking hell are you talking about.”

“You said there wasn’t a thing that could make you walk away. What if I fucked a dog?”

“Did you fuck a dog?”

“No, that’s just an example.”

“Why the hell is that your example?”

“I don’t know,” you shake your head nervously. “That’s not the point. If I did fuck a dog, would you that make you walk away?”

He snorts, picking his ice cream. “Are you going to fuck a dog?”

“No, but that’s not the point-“

Ben says your name, bumping your thigh with his as he sits at your side. “If you fucked a dog I would have a fuck ton of questions. But I wouldn’t walk away.”

“Really?”

“I might check you into an asylum,” he shrugs, taking a large bite of ice cream. “But I’d make sure it’s one that offers conjugal visits.”

You give a flat look. “I would not attend conjugal visits with the man who checked me into an asylum.”

“You’re the one who fucked a dog in this scenario,” he speaks through his mouthful, and a little ice cream dribbles onto his beard. “I’m just being a responsible, upstanding citizen.”

That makes you laugh. “Oh, fuck off. You’ve never been an upstanding citizen in your life.”

“I work for the CIA, Sunshine.” Ben says smugly. “Not much more fucking upstanding than that.”

“We both work for the CIA,” you try not to stare at where drops of ice cream are smeared on his face. You want to lick them off, but you are also not moving first. “And, as I’ve told you before, we don’t actually work for the CIA. We don’t get paid.”

“We need to fucking talk to Mallory about that,” Ben grunts. “We’re carrying her whole pussy fucking team on our backs. We deserve to be paid.”

“What part of legally dead still isn’t getting through to you?”

“The part that means we don’t get paid. It’s fucking exploitation.”

You snort. “Yeah, you’re really suffering in this arrangement. All you get is a free phone, free internet, free food, and a free house.”

“And you,” he winks. “Free you.”

That makes your whole body loose and hot. “Shut up.”

“Are you going to show me porn tomorrow?” He muses, ignoring you. “I’ve well fucking earned it.”

“Fuck you.”

This time it’s purposeful. This time you can’t stop staring at Ben’s full lips, covered in vanilla, or stop leaning into his study, warm body. This time you’re setting him up, dangling the bait in front of him, daring him to take it.

He does.

Ben tugs you forward until you’re tucked right at your side, his arm around your shoulders so his hand can tilt your mouth up to his. You don’t hesitate to lick his lips when they find yours, taking the sweetness of the sugar combined with just him onto your tongue. Saltier, stronger, better than anything you’ve ever tasted before. He bites your tongue lightly when you do it again, pushing back with his own until you whimper, your hand darting to his face to try and get more. You’re vaguely aware of Ben setting the ice cream to the side, and suddenly he’s pulling you down, then over his chest once he’s flat on his back. You slide one hand into his hair, letting your weight rest entirely against him and grinding down on his abdomen until he groans your name. His hand grip your hips, stilling you completely, tugging you down just enough that you can feel him hard, prodding into your thigh.

Ben looks down at you, eyes hooded, voice gravelly. “If you don’t want more right fucking now, you need to stop that.”

Nothing is more difficult than nodding, trying to get a hold of your body and not just letting yourself crash forwards. Letting Ben take everything. “Sorry-“

“Don’t apologize,” he snaps, moving one hand up your back until it’s holding the back of your head, running fingers through your hair. “Never apologize to me.”

You smile at him, toothy and careless. “Even if I fuck a dog?”

He snorts. “Way to ruin the fucking mood.”

“It’s a talent.”

Ben lowers your head onto his chest in a slow movement, and you don’t stop him. When he speaks, you can feel his voice everywhere. “I think it’s bedtime for you, beautiful.”

“Just because I ruined the mood?” You mumble a protest, but he’s warm and secure around you. Making you sleepy.

“Because you’re actively fighting to stay the hell awake. Sleep.”

You try to keep arguing, but all that comes out is an incoherent hum. This might become a problem, how if Ben just kisses you and holds you, your body will listen to him more than it ever listens to you. But it doesn’t feel like one now. It just feels safe, surrounded by the smell of pine and still tasting vanilla.

Just before your eyes close you feel Ben press one last kiss to the top of your head, and that’s all it takes for sleep to find you.

You’re on the floor of the dining room, Ben above you, your hands scratch his back as he laughs against your mouth.

“Ready for more, Sunshine?” His voice rolls through your whole body, and you nod almost manically.

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

He pulls back, watching you lust-blown eyes, and everything is life and green and good and Ben. “Beg.”

“You dick-“

He leans down so his nose is bumping yours. “Convince me you want everything. Beg.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Try again.”

Dignity doesn’t really feel important right now. Not when you want everything. Not when Ben is offering. Offering everything. “Please. I want this. I’ve wanted this. Just fuck me, you fucking cunt.”

He chuckles, kissing around your mouth. “That’s not very nice.”

“Please fuck me. I want you, Benjamin, you insufferable asshole. I want you, I need you, I-“

That’s all it takes. He’s falling back onto you, into you, almost eating you because he’s everything and why did you even bother trying to fight that. Who cares if you can’t go back. Why would you even want to? You just want him, and now you have him, and he has you. Right now he has you, and maybe he wants to keep you the same way you want to keep him. It’s just you and Ben, and nothing else is real except you and Ben.

You’re woken suddenly by Ben bucking up into you. When you blink away the fog of sleep from your eyes, he’s fast asleep, still holding you with his head pressed back into the pillow. You’d somehow moved up his body in the night, finding your head on Ben’s shoulder, your face pressed into his neck.

He’s not having a nightmare. There’s no building light or heat in his chest, no pain or distress moving from his body to yours. Only hunger. Vast and aching hunger that moves between your legs. A deep, growling sound leaves Ben’s mouth, paired with another rough jerk into the air and his hand fisting into the ends of your hair. Then he moans, right into your ear, and any lingering drowsiness is burned out of your body. Because that moan was long and borderline incoherent, but it sounded like a word. Like your name. And this time when he pushes his groin into the air you can feel him, long and hard, poking against the lowest curve of your ass.

Someone is out to get you. Some hidden facet of the universe has an agenda against you, because Ben is having a sex dream and moaning—as far as you can tell—your name. Because his sex dream just woke you up from your sex dream. About him. And you’re still horny and wet and thirsty and he’s hungry and his cock is only inches from where your desire for him is becoming painful. And to top it all off, Ben’s holding you against his body with such a confusing combination of reverence and strength that not a single chance you can wiggle away without waking him.

And if you wake him, there’s nothing in the world that could stop you from giving every single part of yourself to him. So you have to ride it out, unable to fall back asleep, as Ben continues to fuck the air against you. Making the most pornographic sounds you’ve ever heard, sounds that echo through your body from where you’ve pressed your face into his neck, and leave imprints in your gut and heart and head. This qualifies as torture, you decide, because right now if Ben asked you any question, you’d tell him whatever he wanted to hear. You’d do whatever he wanted you to do. Anything to make him give you relief. Anything to turn this into something you don’t have to endure, your brain running wild with fantasies of giving Ben everything and him offering you even half as much.

You’re dizzy with lust and need—your thirst fed by Ben’s unyielding hunger—when he finally makes the best sound you’ve heard in your life and satisfaction crashes through your body like a wave. Ben’s grip on you loosens, and you frantically roll off of him, climbing out of bed and moving to the bathroom on long but quiet steps. Locking the door, you fall to the floor and shove one hand into your shorts as the other raises to your mouth, biting down to stifle your moans and breaths of Ben’s name. Your back presses to the wall—unable to care as the fire starts to seep out of your skin—fingers moving fast against your clit because there’s not time for anything else. Not when you feel like you’re about to explode, and the aftermath of Ben’s own desire is still planted in your body.

You double over when you cum, knees shooting up to your chest as you stare at the floor, eyes wide and heart racing. When your basic cognitive functions return—the chorus of just Ben fading into the back of your head and the smoke clearing the room—you realize that’s never happened before. You’ve never felt someone’s orgasm like you’d feel anger or joy or fear. To be fair, you hadn’t been with anyone since the empathy had become a part of you. Except Homelander, and that didn’t count.

Some evil, loathsome part of you still goes there though. Back to the lab, where Homelander would-

You can’t think about it. But he’d done it. After the empathy. And you hadn’t felt it.

You’d also never felt pain from someone. Not like when you touched Ben in a nightmare. But Ben’s emotions were weird. You couldn’t decipher them on a normal day. This probably wasn’t something to note or worry about. Not worth dwelling on at all, not when you were already tearing yourself apart trying to figure out what the massively repressed, ancient man-child in the other room wanted from you. What you could afford to give to the impossible, frustrating, perfect man you-

It wasn’t something to worry about.

Collecting yourself off the floor, you realized you couldn’t go back to bed. You were wide awake, and even if you weren’t Ben had definitely stained the sheets, enough that he’d notice when he woke up. Guilt started to stab into you, because Ben might not have meant you to be there. That was private, his, and you’d just jerked off to it. You’d tell him. You had to tell him. But not right now. When he woke up.

So you move silently back to the bedroom, grabbing your phone before creeping into the hall and descending into the living room. You fall onto the couch, reading the text from MM, telling you that they’ll be at the safe house around noon. You give it a little thumbs up, and try to distract yourself from how remarkably horny you still are.

It’s another hour and half before Ben wakes up and walks down the stairs, his hair messy and eyes blurry as he squints at you.

“How long have you been up?” Ben’s voice is hoarse, and he’s not moving to the couch, standing rigid at the foot of the steps.

You shrug, playing it off in the way you’d been rehearsing over and over. “A few hours.”

“What woke you up?” He’s still watching you intently, looking slightly more awake.

“Um,” you can’t lie. It feels wrong to lie. You couldn’t have moved or stopped it, but he needs to know you had been there. “You?”

“Me?”

“You had a, uh, a wet dream? And weren’t letting me go, and I would've tried to go, because you were asleep, but you’re really strong and weren’t letting me go. I’m-”

“Don’t say sorry.” Ben grunts, and finally walks to sit beside you. “And I don’t give a shit. It was about you anyway.”

“Oh.” You hadn't expected him to just say that, but you probably should’ve. “That’s doesn’t mean I get to just stay though-”

“Maybe not. But you didn’t chose to, and I don’t give a shit.” Ben leans back into the couch. “I’d fucking tell you if I did. And it sounds like you didn’t have a choice.”

“I’m still sor-”

Ben says your name firmly. “You told me. That’s what fucking matters. No lies.”

You nod slowly. “No lies.”

“You done freaking out?”

“I wasn’t freaking out-”

“I get why you were, with the shit that happened to you.” Ben shrugs. “But if I was worried about you seeing that I’d sleep in my old room.” Suddenly his eyes narrow at you. “It didn’t hurt you, did it?”

You answer fast. “No, I uh,” you shake your head. “No.”

“If it did, you need to fucking tell me. I know you don’t want more-”

“I didn’t mind,” you mumble. “Really. Promise. And it’s more complicated than not wanting more. I kind of, um.” No lies. “I liked it.”

His eyes flash. “Liked it?”

“Sorry-”

“Don’t fucking apologize.” Ben looks you up and down. “What did you like?”

“All of it.”

“How much.”

Stupid fucking handsome man and his deep voice that makes you answer. “A lot. I um, took care of myself?”

His voice is somehow deeper, and he won’t look away from you. “Took care of yourself?”

“In the bathroom-”

“Did you cum?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Ben grins, and you think he’s going to keep pushing. “I changed the sheets.”

“Oh?” You feel a little lighter—it’s a little scary how easy this all is, how fast you feel better—and your tone becomes teasing. “Without me asking? Who even are you?”

“Shut up. I’m not making you change my cum sheets.”

You poke Ben’s side with your foot, grinning and the disgruntled sound that escapes him. “You kiss a man a few times and suddenly he’s doing chores without being a bitch.”

Ben catches your foot, yanking you forward until your legs are across his, leaning down until his smirk is hovering above your slack jaw. “You didn’t kiss me just a few times. You just told me you liked me dreaming about you. And as far as I recall, I owe you one more. But a pussy fucking bitch wouldn’t give you what you want, Sunshine, would he?” When you don’t respond, just staring at him in some sort of horny shock, Ben leans just slightly forward. “Would he?”

“Cun-“

Ben catches your words with his mouth, and you gain just enough control to snap at his tongue between your teeth. Not biting it off, but drawing enough blood that the metallic taste overtakes the taste of Ben. He pulls back with a hiss, and you cross your arms across your chest.

“I told you I’d do that, Pretty Boy.” You taunt. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”

He gives you an incredulous look, but you can feel his sharp amusement, and his hand has dropped to hold your thigh over his legs. Tracing small patterns on your bare skin. “You’re a piece of fucking work,” he says your name in something that sounds like awe, and something is leaving a mark inside you, on your ribs.

“Would you have me any other way?” He snorts. “Fucking hell, no.”

You smile at him, and he smiles back, and if the world ended right now you wouldn’t mind. Not when this is everything. “Good.” You lean back into the armrest of the couch, your eyes never leaving Ben’s. “Ready for your lesson?”

“Right now?” Ben raises his brow at you. “It’s 8 in the goddamn morning.”

“And we have a long, busy day of internet lessons and hitting Victoria Neuman with your special sauce ahead of us. Might as well get started now.”

Ben glares at you. “Don’t call it special sauce."

“Hm,” you pause in mock thought. “No.”

“Brat.”

You knee his chest lightly. “Go get your phone, Benjamin.”

With a series of low grumbles and a strong pout on his face, Ben removes your legs from against him and stands, disappearing back up the stairs. You hum to yourself, foot tapping as you wait for his return, and don’t even realize what you’re doing until Ben’s voice sounds behind you.

“Why does the whole room smell like vanilla.”

You feel the flush of your face, freezing as you tip your head back to meet Ben’s eyes. “I dunno.”

“Did you leave the ice cream out?” He walks back to his seat, glaring at your legs pointedly until you press them to your chest. “Because I could smell it upstairs as well.”

You give an over exaggerated sniff. “Well, it’s gone now.”

“No it’s-“ Ben pauses, scanning your body and face as his nose twitches. “You were fucking singing.”

“Maybe,” you mumble, hugging your knees. “Shut up. Did you get your phone?”

Ben scoffs, but shakes his hand, displaying the phone. “Your faith in me is astounding,” he grumbles your name, and you sit up a little with your shrug.

“I know you’re being a dick, but yeah, it is.” You lean against your bent legs. “Open the phone.”

He starts to enter the passcode, but looks up at you with a frown. “Are you going to stay over there?”

“Um,” you blink at him, and shake your head slightly. “No?”

He doesn’t say anything, just waiting expectantly for you to scoot over to him. Only once you do—thoroughly invading Ben’s space as he pulls your legs back up, making you half on his lap and half pressed into his side—does his attention return to the phone. When he opens it—after three tries, but who’s counting—Ben looks at you with a cocky grin. “That it?”

“Nope,” you lean over him, taking the phone from his hand. “We’re going to learn about cameras.”

“I fucking know about cameras-“

“Well, you clearly don’t, because you looked like you were going to have an aneurysm about your lock screen yesterday.” You swipe through the phone, keeping it in Ben’s view, and find the camera app. “That,” you point to the screen, finger hovering over the small, gray button. “Is the camera.”

“That’s not a fucking camera,” he snorts. “That’s a button.”

You roll your eyes. “And what, Benjamin, do you think the button does?”

He scowls. “Shut up.”

“Answer my question.”

“Camera.” Ben’s answer is through gritted teeth, but—as far as you can tell from where you’re touching him—his annoyance is more for show than anything else. So you keep going, holding the phone a little higher up.

“Press it,” you prompt him, shaking the phone slightly.

Ben does so, his aggressive tap of the screen pushing your hand back slightly. The camera opens up, flipped to the self-view, and Ben starts backwards. “Why the fuck is it doing that.”

“It’s the front view.”

“Why in living Christ would you need a front-view.”

“For selfies.”

“Selfies?”

“Photos of one’s self,” you explain, not bothering to hide the amusement in your voice. “It’s pretty self-descriptive.”

“Why would you need that.”

You sigh. “It’s not something you need to do. Most of this isn’t going to be stuff you need to do. It’s for fun.”

“For fun,” Ben repeats slowly, still sounding like he doesn’t believe you.

“Yep. And I think you’d like selfies. You get to pose, and stare at yourself. It’s right in your wheelhouse, Pretty Boy.”

Ben huffs. “What would I do with them?”

“Whatever you want,” you shrug. “Jerk off to them, print them out to hang around the house, post them on social media-“

“Social media?”

“I am not explaining social media to you today,” you say flatly. “Cameras are already going to be a lot.”

“It looks pretty fucking simple from here,” Ben grumbles, pulling the phone from your hand. “That big white button takes the photo, yeah?”

“Well, yeah,” you try to push down a giggle as he presses the button repeatedly, taking a large amount of selfies from a low angle. He’ll still probably look hot in all of them, because he’s Ben and life is unfair, but that doesn’t make it less funny. “But there’s more to it.”

He stops, giving you a frown. “What the hell do you mean more.”

“Turn the camera.”

Slowly, Ben angles the phone so you’re looking at your reflection on the display.

“No,” you reach up, returning the screen to face him. “Turn the camera. It can switch between the front camera and the back camera,” you tap each one in turn for emphasis. “So switch them.”

He does. After almost eight minutes of swearing under his breath—and very much not under his breath—Ben finds the right button and flips the camera around. From there you make him stand, take several photos of random objects until he can do it without totally messing up the focus, then teach him about zooming. That takes a whole half hour, because he can’t seem to figure out how to get any sort of middle ground, either going all the way out or zooming in for far you can’t even tell what he took the photo of. You forgo filters, that’s a battle you don’t have the energy to take on today, and instead focus on flash—how to turn it on and off, when it needs to be on and off—and video. That one takes two hours.

You start to wander the house, taking him to the kitchen and explaining how food photos work.

“That’s fucking insane,” Ben mutters as you conclude your small speech. “Just eat the damn food.”

“You’re still going to eat the food, this is for the memory of it. So you can look at it later and remember hey, that was a fucking delicious quiche.”

“That dumb.” Ben snapped. “Just remember shit with your fucking brain.”

You snort. “You’re going to hate Instagram.”

“What the hell is Instagram.”

You don’t explain or elaborate, simply linking your elbow through his and pulling him into the hallway, up the stairs. From there you spend a while in the bedroom, making Ben take photos in lower lighting to practice the flash and teaching him about mirror selfies. He takes that one a little easier, though it results in a lot of sex jokes about how mirrors are for two hot people fucking and how he’d be open to showing you what that means, beautiful, if you say please.

When you enter the bathroom, making Ben take about three or four videos of the running water, you notice he keeps looking at his shield. Before you can ask what he’s doing it for, he looks at you in the mirror, “How did you put it on the screen?”

“The shield?” You ask for clarity, even if you know what he means. He grunts, and you continue. “I set it as your wallpaper.”

“How?”

You pause, narrowing your eyes at his reflection. “If I show you, it doesn’t count as part of my winnings, because you asked.”

“Fine,” Ben thrusts the phone into your hand. “Just do it.”

You do, Ben hanging over your shoulder as you navigate to settings, then wallpaper, then slowly walk him through the functions. Eventually—after another hour or so of pointless photos and videos—you feel a little more comfortable in his capabilities, maybe even bordering on confident, and tug him back to the couch.

“That’s thing one,” you take the phone back from Ben’s hand, scrolling to the app store. “Ready for thing two?”

“That was more than one fucking thing,” he snaps. “That was a least damn fifty.”

“Nope. That was just cameras. I get one more.”

“Not if I just walk the hell away-“

“Ben,” you look up at him. “Just trust me. You’ll like this.”

He scowls, but waits for you to return the phone to his hand. Ben’s eyes scan the screen for a second before he looks back up at you. “What the fuck is this.”

“Candy Crush.”

“What.”

You scoot a little closer to him, resting your head against his arm as you look up at him with a smile. “It’s a game. Senior citizens everywhere love it.”

“I am not-“

“Yeah, you are.” You dismiss him, drumming your fingers against his skin. “It’s a silly, stupid game with bright colors and an addictive design. It kills time, and-“ your grin grows until it’s toothy and covering your face. “If you spend money, it’s out of the CIA’s pocket.”

“Spend money?”

“In-app purchases. You fail a level, pay to try again.”

Ben says your name, a long drawl that sits in your stomach. “I am not playing this shit.”

“Sure,” you shrug. “But if you change your mind, the app looks like that.” You return to the homescreen, pointing at the logo.

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t fucking use it.”

“Okay.”

“I’m being serious.”

You grin. “And I said okay.”

“Brat.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Cunt.”

Ben drops his phone to the side, attention entirely scorching through you. “You want the second half of our deal?”

“Yes,” you answer a little too fast, and your voice is suddenly weaker. You blame Ben’s lust, climbing into you, intertwining with your own, sitting happily in your gut and above your lungs. He’s almost on top of you, and you can see just a slight ring of green in his eyes. Watching you, coming closer. Closer, still closer. But not close enough.

You don’t think Ben could ever be close enough. Not when he finally touches you, not when he sucks on your mouth and tongue and neck like he’d promised, not even when he fully rolls on top of you. Because everything in the world is nothing compared to this. Just Ben. Touching you. Close, but not close enough.

Your alarm from your phone barely breaks through your ears into your brain, because all your thoughts are being overtaken by just Ben.

“Fuck,” you manage to pull back, grabbing your phone to turn off the repetitive ringing. “We need to get changed.”

“Changed?” Ben frowns, still holding you. “The hell do we need to get changed for?”

“Neuman,” you start to stand up, but Ben’s hand falls to grab yours, keeping you from leaving the couch. “The Boys will be here in like twenty, Ben. Probably more like ten with Butcher’s lack of respect for speed limits and police.”

“And you’re coming on this one.” He scans your face, hand squeezing yours.

“Yeah, I should be. We shouldn’t really be in public for this, so I don’t see why I can’t.” Ben nods, but still doesn’t let go, so you squeeze his hand back. “I’ll be fine. But we need to change.”

That seems to get through to him, because he nods, rising from the couch. Still holding your hand. “You change first. I need to shit.”

“Charming.”

You start to move away, but Ben doesn’t let go of your hand, spinning you around into his chest. This last kiss is long. He’s taking his time, pulling you closer and closer, not stopping until you whimper, and then pulling back with a smirk. “You have seven minutes.”

It takes a few seconds of blinking away the burn under your skin to understand what he means. When you do, though, you shove his chest and stomp up the stairs, yelling over your shoulder. “You’re a piece of shit, Benjamin.”

He doesn’t respond, but when you look back for only a second, he’s smiling after you. A toothy, content, easy grin that makes his eyes sparkle and face look like all he’s ever felt is joy. Never any cold Russian nights or sour, consuming revenge. Just joy. Warm, simple joy.

You’ll never tell him. He’d hate that you used the word sparkle, because he’s a fucking man and not a glittery pussy, but it’s accurate. And it doesn’t matter, because you’ll never, ever tell him. You’ll keep him close, but not as close as you want, and touch him until he grows bored of you, and taste phantoms of vanilla and salt and strawberry forever. You’ll have him like this, and make it be enough. This will be enough. Because Ben is everything, and you don’t deserve everything. He wouldn’t give you everything anyway.

So you’ll have this. You’ll have his joy and let it carry you everywhere. And that will fucking be enough.

————

Ben had never been so satisfied by just kissing. He didn’t think it was fucking possible to be this satisfied by just kissing. But it was Her. And she was perfect. Kissing Her was perfect. Hell, he’d even start to develop a strategy for how to kiss her. Ben was filing away every sound she made—the loud whines and quite whimpers and moans, and this one thing where she’d make a throaty, high noise that was half his name and half a squeal—and spending a lot of time trying to figure out what triggered each and every one. If he sucked on Her neck she’d make a hissing, needy sound. If it was her chin, the noise would become more breathless and she’d lean into him. If Ben was gentle the sounds were soft, when he let himself go just a fucking fraction, they were loud and desperate.

He wasn’t going to stop until he had it all memorized. Until he knew every single thing that made Her tick and why. The why was fucking vital, because if Ben could figure out why She liked something, he could find a million new ways to do it. And keep going and going until She was singing for him, and he could play Her perfect mouth—and whatever part of her perfect body she’d offer him—like the symphony it was. Where he was the only conductor in the world that wasn’t a pretentious fucking pussy, because his orchestra was the most fucking perfect woman to ever exist. And then, unless She made him, he wouldn’t ever stop.

Because kissing Her was addicting. Ben had thought that touching her was like a drug, but She had an annoying habit of making Ben look like a fucking idiot. If he hadn’t been so absorbed in touching Her before, he could’ve seen this coming. He could’ve realized that just brushing against Her skin was better than any kiss he’d ever had. He could’ve put together that kissing Her would feel like goddamn sex, hot and wet and savage, the most natural thing he’d ever done. Kissing Her made the Thing so big that it was no longer just in Ben’s chest. It was all over him, rooted where it had always been but burning through the rest of his body.

If just kissing Her did this, made Ben become overtaken with an almost pious desire to keep going forever and ever, actually fucking Her might kill him.

And he was okay with that. It would be a worthy death.

She was still upstairs, and Ben could hear the even pattern of Her heartbeat as she changed, hear the shuffle of clothes falling to the floor and moving in the drawers. She was probably fucking naked up there, just a floor away. The Thing wanted to go to Her, just fucking offer more. But he wouldn’t because She didn’t want more right now. Ben didn’t have a goddamn clue why, not when She was kissing him back and fucking cumming to the thought of him. The Thing had almost exploded inside him when She’d told him that, and Ben was trying to just pretend he was very calm about it and not trying to figure out ways he could keep Her doing that without hurting her or pushing her away. Even if he couldn’t figure out why that was needed. She seemed almost as desperate for more as Ben was. Not as desperate, because that wasn’t fucking possible. Ben felt pretty fucking confident in saying that nobody had ever been this filled with need for another person in history. But everything he was throwing at Her, she was throwing back at him. Like she always fucking did.

Because She was perfect.

The door to the safe house opened before She returned to the living room, and it occurred to Ben that he still needed to shit. That he’d been standing at the base of the stairs like a goddamn idiot, waiting for Her like a fucking puppy. He could only be more pathetic if he was right outside her door. If a single member of the Pussy Brigade commented on it, asked why he was just standing around like he was lost, he’d tie their tongue into a knot then cut it out.

He heard Butcher first. “You two twats ready to go?”

Ben glared at him down the hall. “Obviously we’re fucking not.”

“Did MM not fucking text like I told him to?” Butcher’s eyes raked over Ben, taking in his sweatpants and wrinkled shirt.

Wrinkled from Her, the Thing hummed in content. She did that.

Ben told it to shut up. He was well fucking aware of that, and didn’t need the Thing to remind him, because it made him hard and he had no interest in explaining a boner right now.

MM entered the safe house, saying Her name as he walked to stand beside Butcher. “Got the text. She even gave it a reaction.” MM scanned the living room with a frown. “The hell is she?”

On perfect fucking clue—Ben was starting to think She had a fifth power that made her do everything better than anyone had any damn right to—the bedroom door opened and She descended down the stairs.

“Ben, where the hell did you put my sunglasses? Because I definitely left them on the dresser and they’re not there anymore-“ She froze at the bottom of the stairs, spotting Butcher and MM. “Uh, hi.”

“Afternoon, Love.” Butcher looked between Her and Ben, a taunting smirk tugging at his lips, and it took everything in Ben not to step forward and block Her from Butcher’s gaze. “You ready to rumble?”

“Um,” She looked at Ben, addressing him solely, and it made the Thing swell through him. “Can you change fast?”

He nodded, shrugging. “Whatever.” Ben started to push past Her, but she caught his arm. Still only looking at him.

“Sunglasses?”

Ben knew exactly where those sunglasses were. They’d fallen under the bed yesterday morning when he’d swept half the dresser's contents to the floor to put her down, and he’d seen them this morning when he’d been cleaning up his mess. He’d cum in his sleep like a fucking teenager, and moved faster than almost any other point in his life to cover it up. But Ben didn’t say any of that out loud, because he didn’t know if She wanted the Pussy Brigade to know that he’d been eating her mouth like a feast for two days and fifteen hours. Ben didn’t give a shit if they did, he’d fuck Her in front of them if it made it clear to them that he wasn’t going anywhere. But this seemed like the type of thing She’d care about, and he didn’t want to risk her taking away what she’d given him so far.

So he just said, “I think I remember where I put them.” And retreated to their room.

Ben gets the sunglasses first, propping them back up on the dresser where he won’t be able to miss them when he leaves. He shits quickly, puts on his supe suit—if the Pussy Brigade had a problem with that they could suck his dick—and stared at his shield in the bathroom for a second before deciding to leave it. He’d just be blasting Neuman and leaving, no damn point in taking it where Cocksucker would try and pick it up again. He checked his hair in the mirror, and failed to not think about fucking Her against it. Or fucking Her on the bed. Or on the stairs. Maybe in the kitchen. Defiantly during training, and if she ever made good on Her promise to show Ben porn-

He grabbed the sunglasses and stormed back downstairs, shoving the Thing and his desires to let it—Her—keep consuming him deep, deep into him. Ben had a fucking job to do. She’d still be there to dream about fucking until the bed broke after.

She was waiting for him, talking to Kimiko in silence with a smile splitting her face. MM had left, Butcher was watching them with a look like he’d tasted shit, and Ben didn’t think anyone would miss the asshole if he somehow got slammed, face first, into the wall over and over. Especially as She heard Ben’s step, looking up at him with the same smile she needed to stop giving him. The smile that Ben couldn’t stop himself from reading as oh, it’s you! Hello, Benjamin. I adore you and if you wanted to give me every fucking piece of you, covered in blood or not, I’d take them and keep them safe.

But that didn’t sound like Her at all. For one, she’d never say every fucking piece of you. She might say every part of you, or all of you, good, bad, and ugly, but she wouldn’t say every fucking piece of you. Ben would say that.

Also, She didn’t think that. She gave a shit about him, Ben knew that much, but she didn’t adore him. Not like he adored Her. She didn’t want to keep him safe, not like Ben needed Her to be safe. The Thing would keep every bloody and dark part of Her safe if she’d give them to him. It would hold them carefully until she wanted them back, and then care for the place She’d put them until they returned.

So Ben just took Her smile as best he could when he wasn’t allowed to pull it up to his mouth, make it open into a moan, and keep going and going up he learned what Her orgasms sounded like.

If She ever let him hear what her orgasms sounded like, it would take a damn miracle of God to stop him from hearing them every single fucking day.

He took Her smile, returned it with his own, and passed her the sunglasses. “Found them under the bed,” he grunted, stopping at Her side.

“Oh,” She frowned, opening them and placing them on her brow. “I thought I checked there.”

“Did you say the bed.” Butcher’s voice was mocking and cold, but lined with what Ben pinned to be genuine, morbid curiosity. “Are you two sharing a bed.”

Ben is more than fucking ready to cut out Butcher’s tongue. Maybe stab him in the throat to finish damn the job. But She speaks first.

“Yeah, we are. Because some of us have nightmares about Homelander raping us and feel safer when we're not alone. So shove it up your ass.”

The Thing was boiling in Ben. Overflowing with warmth and power for Her. Her, Her, Her, it chanted, making the continuing conversation a little fucking hard to hear. Ben could see Her look at him from the corner of her eyes. Giving him the tiniest smile that says thank you for not leaving me alone.

Ben couldn’t stop himself smiling back. Wouldn’t fucking dream of it. You’d be lost without me.

She wrinkled her nose at him. You can’t even use a phone camera without my help.

Not anymore, he winked. And you have not one to blame but your damn self for that, Sunshine.

She stomped on his foot, hard enough that he sort of feels it, Ben had to cover his snort with a cough.

Butcher wasn’t fooled. “Something funny, Gov?”

“Not to you, you boring fucking pussy,” Ben drawled. “Are we going to actually fucking go or just wait for you to jerk yourself off?”

“Suddenly his head is in the game,” Butcher sneered. “I wonder what fucking did it?” His gaze turns to Her. “Can I borrow your tits, Love? I think they might be bloody magic.”

“Stop being a cunt, Butcher,” She snapped, just in time to stop Ben throwing Butcher out the door hard enough to break the Pussy-Mobile Ben could see in the driveway. “And Ben’s right, we should get moving.”

Butcher muttered something that sounds like horny fucking bombs shouldn’t be allowed within ten miles of each other, and stalked out the door. Kimiko signed something to Her with a smile, and she signed back with a laugh. Before Ben could even ask what the fuck they’re saying, Her arm was linked through his and she started telling him.

“Kimiko says my tits are magic, but not as magic as Butcher’s. Which proves he’s just a dick, because if it was about magic tits he’d have the game on lock.”

“Huh,” Ben frowned, trying not to let the Thing overtake him with thoughts about how right it feels to be walking with Her looped against him. “I wouldn’t have pegged Butcher to have good tits.”

“That’s because you,” She bumped her shoulder with his. “Are very unobservant.”

“I’m incredibly fucking observant. I clocked your tits the first time we met.”

“I remember. You weren’t listening to Hughie because of it. Which is very unobservant.”

“It’s not my fault you have such good tits,” Ben grumbled, savoring the way Her heart flutters as she tried to fight her giggle. Looking up at him with fucking perfect, happy eyes. “They’re fucking weapons of war.”

She fully snorted. “I think your compliments are regressing again.”

Ben rolled his eyes, just offering a hand to steady Her as she climbs into the van. She takes it with a grin, and doesn’t let go when Ben follows her.

“What’s the plan,” She asked, and the Thing hummed as she still didn’t drop Ben’s hand, pulling him into his place at her side.

Butcher’s answer was short, clipped. “Blast Neuman.”

She blinked, her body tensing against Ben. “And?”

“That, um, that’s kind of it,” Cocksucker said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We don’t have a huge window before Vicky gets word we’re up to something-“

She raised a hand, and Cocksucker fell silent. “What, exactly, did you use yesterday for.”

“Getting Neuman’s schedule,” MM answered this time, voice stronger than Cocksuckers but still lined with fucking guilt. “Those motherfuckers run a tight ship, we needed to know where she’d be-“

“But you didn’t come up with a plan. For when you would, inevitably, know?”

Nobody answered this time, and She gave a long sigh. Her heart was fast in her chest, but it wasn’t the stumbling, unordered beat that signals fear or panic. It was moving because Her brain was moving, her perfect face scrunched in thought, the machine that was her brain practically audible. The Pussy Brigade even had the nerve to look afraid, despite the fact that She wasn't smoking or making the air of the van wave with heat.

She turned to Kimiko—sitting at the French Prick’s side—who was the only one watching with plain curiosity. They started to sign at each other—the French Prick jumping in to add something that was received with a frown and a nod—and when She turned back to the group her face was drawn in determination.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” She said slowly, staring ahead at the wall with her brows knit. Ben pulled Her a little closer into him, and her heart slowed slightly. “We’re catching Neuman at home. Off-guard. Do we know if other people live in the building?”

“Only some other bureaucrat fuckers,” Butcher answered from the front, and Starlight shook her head.

“And their fucking families, Butcher.”

“Okay,” She nodded slowly. “Frenchie, you burned off your fingerprints a while ago, right?”

“Oui,” the French Prick holds up his hands for display.

“Good. You’re going to pull the fire alarm. Hughie,” Her sharp gaze turned to Cocksucker. “I need you on the cameras. Make sure everyone is out. MM will be on standby if there are stragglers. Kimiko and Annie will cover the exits, Butcher,” She paused, and Ben could hear the gnaw of her lip. “Scratch all of that. Annie can’t be seen participating in this, she’ll be on the cameras, and Butcher will take her spot on the exits. Hughie, you’ll come with Ben and I. I’ll cover you when he goes off.”

There’s a second of silence, and then the van erupted in protests. Butcher shouting about how he’s not going to cover a bloody exit, he wants to see Neuman get fucked. Starlight whining about how she doesn’t want to be useless in the van, she can really help. Cocksucker fretting about how he’s not sure this is a great idea, and might be better staying on the cameras. The French Prick and Kimiko are silent, exchanging a look with subtle gestures at Her, Kimiko’s face determined, gestures growing and growing until the French Prick raised his hands in surrender. Finally, MM seemed to be trying to do what he considered reasoning with Her, that they couldn’t just go off with only Hughie, what if you need backup, what if Soldier Boy goes nuclear.

Ben opened his mouth—ready to defend himself, defend Her—but She caught his eye and shook her head. I can handle this.

He gave a curt nod back, not hiding the scowl on his face. Fine. But don’t be fucking nice to them.

Shut up, Her eyes narrowed at him before she turned back to the group, who was starting to tire themselves out like the fucking children they were. When the van was quiet once more, She spoke in a clear, bored voice.

“Butcher, we’re not killing Neuman, so you’re not invited. Annie, I know you want to help. Staying here is helping. You’ll draw attention, and if the public realizes you’re associated with Soldier Boy then we’ll be assfucked. MM, Ben won’t just go nuclear. We’ve got it under control. Hughie, you’re the only one Neuman won’t try to pop on sight. She’ll talk to you, and it’ll be good to have a friend there for when Ben’s done. And-“ She sat up a little straighter, glaring around the van. “If any of you don’t like my plan, I’d love to hear your alternatives.”

“How do you plan on getting into the bloody building?” Butcher snapped. “They ain’t just gonna let you in.”

“Fire escapes are very real, dumbass.” She retorted. “And Hughie can do that shit where he makes their cameras play the same video so they don’t see us. We’ll corner Neuman, then Frenchie will pull the alarm, and Ben will go off once it’s just us and her and Zoe.”

“What’s your escape plan?” Starlight asked, giving Cocksucker a worried look. “You two can just leave, but Hughie-“

“I can redirect Ben’s blast. Make sure it doesn’t destroy the building. Hughie will be fine.” Ben stiffens beside Her, because as far as he fucking knows she’d only done that once. And it had ended in Her small and sad and broken, curled up into herself and alone.

She has you this time, the Thing reminded him. If this goes to shit, she’ll always fucking have you.

“Are we good?” She was asking the van, and Ben saw each of the fucking pussies nod. “Awesome.”

She leaned back into Ben, and he frowned down at Her, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “You can redirect my fucking blast?”

She shrugged, starting ahead with empty eyes. “Hypothetically, yeah.”

“And you’re going to risk Hughie’s life on hypothetically?” Ben didn’t give a shit about Cocksucker’s life, but She did. And Ben gave a shit about Her life, about her not breaking down and tearing herself apart about accidentally killing Cocksucker.

“It’s an educated guess, Ben.” She muttered. “It’ll work. It has to. And don’t you dare say-“ She shot Ben a glare, voice dropping into her dogshit impression of him. “But what if it doesn’t.”

Ben scoffed. “I wasn’t going to fucking say that.”

“Yes, you were. You always say that.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben felt the Thing become a little lighter as a smile tugged at Her mouth. “Do I have to do anything in your plan besides hit Neuman?”

“You have to not be a dick to Hughie, let me do the talking, and stand around looking pretty until I tell you to be useful,” She counted her answers off one by one on her fingers, and Ben chuckled.

“Be pretty, huh?”

“Don’t fish for compliments, Benjamin,” She teased. “It’s unbecoming.”

“If I give you one, will you give me one?” Ben leaned forward a little, fighting every instinct in his body to soothe Her lips where she’d been chewing them with his tongue. Any marks were gone, so he couldn’t really fucking pick out where She’d been biting, but that just meant he’d have to cover all his bases. Soothe Her whole fucking mouth. “A quid pro quo?”

She hummed. “Good use of quid pro quo.”

“Is that a fucking yes?”

“Fine,” she sighed. “You look very nice in your stupid suit.”

“Nice?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she gave him a flat glare. “Handsome.”

“Say the whole thing.”

“My compliment better blow Shakespeare out of the fucking water,” she muttered, but looked up at him with batting eyelashes and an over-sweet voice. “You look very handsome in your stupid fucking suit. Your turn.”

Ben started to stall, because he couldn’t think of anything good enough for Her. “We should get you a suit.”

She snorted. “I am not wearing a costume.”

“It’s not a fucking costume, Sunshine, it’s a uniform.”

“If I can buy a semi accurate version of it at Spirit Halloween, it’s a costume.”

“What the fuck is a Spirit Halloween.”

“It’s a costume store. Stop stalling and give me my compliment.”

Ben sighed, scanning Her face and trying to make the Thing come up with something a little more fucking poetic than you, you, you it’s just you and if you liked we can go right fucking now and leave forever and I’d keep you safe and happy and smiling and fuck you wherever the hell you want whenever you want because it’s you and you’re perfect.

“You…” Off to a remarkably fucking shit start. “Are…” Ben was going to find it, if it was the last thing he fucking did. He was going to keep staring at Her until he figured out exactly what say that would make her face all flushed and thighs clench and heart stutter.

“I am?”

“You’re good.” Ben settled for simplicity. Poetry was not his fucking strong suit, and that was more than okay by him.

“I’m good?” She frowned at him, and for a second Ben wanted to bring her into his chest, just show Her what he’d meant. He couldn’t show her with just words, and she was frowning, and just fucking showing her would be more fun anyways. It would make Her smile, make her understand, he was goddamn sure of it. “Are you going to elaborate?”

“You’re good,” Ben repeated, shrugging and his hands fisted to stop himself from grabbing Her. “It’s pretty fucking simple. Your pretty brain should be able to figure it out.”

“Well congratulations, you’ve stumped me. Can you please be just the tiniest bit less cryptic.”

“You’re good.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first two times-“

“No,” Ben said Her name, too lost in trying to make her get it to stop himself grabbing her chin. “You’re good. You’re not what these pussies say you are. You’re a lot fucking more than whatever Homelander thinks you are. You’re better and more important than any politician, supe or no. You’re good.”

“Oh,” She whispered. “Thanks.”

Ben’s hand was still against Her jaw, and she wasn’t pushing it away. If anything She was leaning into it, keeping Ben touching her as if she didn’t care about the useless fucking onlookers either. And She was staring at him, keeping Ben with her just by fucking looking at him, her mouth just slightly open. If he wanted Ben could move his thumb up, trace Her perfect lips, see if she’d let him push it into her-

Someone who Ben was going to have to kill later said Her name, and she looked away.

The Thing was so absorbed in Her, in try to get back to Her, that Ben missed the entire first half of the conversation. MM was crouching in front of Her—holding onto the seat at her side to steady himself from Butcher’s fucking terrible driving—and talking without sparing Ben a glance.

“-Even if Butcher doesn’t tip her off, what makes you absolutely so goddamn certain Soldier Boy won’t blow his load early and screw us,” MM was hissing, and Ben scowled.

“I never fucking blow my load early-“

She caught his eye, her own flaring slightly to tell him, Shut up, Pretty Boy.

Ben grunted, but fell silent with a clenched jaw, shooting Her a look of, I don’t blow my load early.

She rolled her eyes. Now is not even remotely the time to start measuring your dick. Let me handle this.

Fine, Ben winked. But you’re welcome to help me measure it later.

She kicked Ben’s shin, addressing MM. “He won’t. I’ve been working on it.”

“You’ve been working on it?” MM scoffed. “Just because you’re all smiley and gross at each other doesn’t mean you can control this motherfucker’s PTSD.”

“No, but my fucking healing powers mean that I can get rid of it.”

MM blinked at Her, glancing quickly at Ben before speaking in a low tone that Ben, for one, didn’t fucking appreciate. “You've been healing him.”

“Allegedly,” Ben muttered under his breath, and earned a dirty look.

“Yeah, well, you’ve only blown your load once this month. So shut the fuck up.” She looked back at MM. “He can control it.”

“It’s your ass if he can’t,” MM snapped, and She rolled her eyes.

“I’m aware. He can.”

Both Ben and the Thing were big fans of how clear and final She said those words. Ben could control it, that was it, no room for discussion. She had faith in him, she trusted him, and if anyone had any issue with that she’d defend him. Just like Ben would defend Her. To the ends of the fucking earth, until they burned together.

“Do you know where we’re putting Neuman and Zoe after this?” She was still talking to MM, but Her voice had raised enough for the whole shit team to hear. “She can’t just keep being Vice President. Homelander will kill her.”

“About that,” it was Cocksucker who answered, rubbing his hands together like an anxious pussy. “They’re going to the safe house.”

“The safe house?” She repeated with a frown. “Like, our safe house?”

The Thing liked Her use of our. Ben did too. He did not like where this conversation was headed. “I am not living with Head-popper and her kid.”

“Well, I’ve got fantastic fucking news,” Butcher drawled, standing and turning as the van came to a halt. “You ain’t gonna. You two,” Butcher pointed between Ben and Her. “Will be moving.”

“To a different safe house?” She asked, and Butcher shook his head with a snake-like grin.

“To the new FBSA HQ,” Butcher winked at Ben, and Ben wanted to sew his eye shut. “In Jersey.”

“I am not living in fucking Jersey either,” Ben snapped, and She sighed.

“Why not a new safe house?”

“Because.”

She snorted at Butcher’s useless fucking response. “What, does the whole CIA somehow only have one safe house?”

“Listen,” MM grunted. “You’ll get an apartment. Just a little fuckin smaller than the house. You’ll have more freedom-“

“We both still won’t be able to leave the house.” She pointed out, and MM shrugged.

“But you’ll be able to fuckin order food. Get packages delivered without texting me or Mallory about it. Have visitors. Anything you order will have to be under a fake name, and visitors will have to be approved, but it’s more than what you have now.”

“Why now? That building was finished in January, I saw it on the news. Why move us now?”

“Because,” Butcher crossed the van with a shrug. “We bloody said so. Now are we ready to get a move on? Time is of the essence in this shit plan.”

“Okay,” She took a deep breath. “Hughie, can you-“

“On it,” Cocksucker gave Her a thumbs up, starting to tap of his little laptop. “I’ll let you know when I’m good.”

“Thanks. Just so we’re all on the same page, Butcher, what are you doing?”

Butcher rolled his eyes. “Watching the exit. Why am I getting fucking cold called-“

She ignored Butcher’s whiny bitching, and turned to Starlight. “Annie?”

“Stay in the van, make sure the building’s clear.”

“MM?”

“Standby to help Annie get people out.”

“Frenchie?”

“Fire alarm.”

She signed at Kimiko, who responded with a smile.

“Good,” She looked around the van, and Ben realized she hadn’t asked him.

Because She trusts you, the Thing rumbled. She isn’t worried about you fucking it.

“Any questions?” She asked, and when she was met with shaking heads she nodded. “Hughie?”

“We're good. Annie, do you need help-“

Starlight shook her head, taking the computer from Cocksucker. “I’ve got it.”

Cocksucker gave a small nod, and turned to Her. “I’m ready.”

“Alright,” Ben could hear the tap of Her fingers in the familiar pattern, her heart speeding up as she took another breath. “We’ll go first. Annie, find exits for Butcher and Kimiko, and send them fast. If Neuman sees us coming we need to have our asses covered. I’ll text when Frenchie’s good to pull the alarm.”

She stood on unsteady feet, and Ben’s arm shot out instinctively to catch her around the waist. He was rewarded with a grateful smile and Her heart slowing ever so slightly. “Ready?”

The question was for Ben. He knew it, because She wasn’t looking anywhere but him and her voice was soft. “Fucking born for it.”

She huffed a small laugh, dropping the sunglasses onto the bridge of her perfect nose, and Ben didn’t bother to remove his arm from her as he stood. The Pussy Brigade’s confused and judgmental stares could go suck each other off if they wanted. She gave a small gesture to Cocksucker, who left Starlight’s side to follow them out the van and into the cold alleyway.

They were silent for a second as She took in the tall brownstone building before them. Cocksucker kept shooting them both anxious fucking pussy looks as Ben held Her against him—using his body to block her from the chills of the wind—and would look away frantically whenever Ben held his gaze.

“Ben,” She looked up at him with sharp eyes, over the frames of her sunglasses. “You need to throw us.”

“What?”

Ben and Cocksucker spoke in almost perfect unison, though Cocksucker’s words were more panicked in comparison to Ben’s disbelief.

“I am not fucking throwing you,” Ben snapped Her name.

“You have to,” She looked back at the building, pointing as she spoke. “We can’t go through the emergency exit, alarms will go off. That,” Her finger moved to the iron stairs and grates lining the building. “Is our best bet. You can jump, me and Hughie can’t.”

“Then I’ll go first and lower the damn ladder.”

Cocksucker nodded. “I second Soldier Boy, that’s a better plan.”

“No,” She elbowed Ben’s ribs, shaking her head. “It’s not. That’s something people might notice. We need to leave as little a trail as possible. Ben’s going to throw us. Me first, then Hughie, then he’ll jump.”

Ben wanted to argue—tell Her that there had to be a better idea that didn’t involve Her just being chucked into the fucking air—but She had already detangled herself from Ben, and was moving towards the building. So Ben followed, Cocksucker stumbling behind him, and stopped at Her side.

“This is fucking stupid, Sunshine.”

“Uh huh,” She looked up at the fire escape. “Whenever you’re ready, Pretty Boy.”

Ben huffed, but picked Her up carefully, locking his arms firmly around her body and balancing on one leg as he propped up a knee. “Don’t die.”

“Couldn’t if I tried. Go.”

Ben squeezed Her slightly, then threw Her up. The half-second before she grabbed the rails—where she was suspended almost fucking cartoonishly in the sky—sucked all the air from Ben’s lungs. But She was fast, finding a grip and hauling herself onto the platform with only a small grunt that was carried away by the wind.

“All good!” She called down. “Send Hughie up.”

Ben looked at Cocksucker, whose face was like a fucking deer about to be mauled by a wolf.

“Uh, I’m not sure this is a good idea-“

“Shut up,” Ben grunted, walking to pick the gangly fucker up. “I’m not going to fucking kill you. And she’ll catch you.”

“But-“

Ben grabbed Cocksucker under his arms and tossed him into the air with a yelp. As promised, She grabbed Cocksucker’s hand in the air, holding him steady until the little pussy got a hold on the bars himself and pulled up to Her side. Ben sighed, rolling his neck and trying to measure the jump as he backed up.

“Ben-“

Her call was cut off as he lept into the air, landing pretty damn perfectly on the platform. Right in front of Her. “Yes?” He winked, tone mocking, and She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Show off.”

“You fucking told me to do that.”

“Fuck you,” She turned away, and the Thing started brainstorming ways to get her back later for those words. “Hughie, what floor is Neuman on?”

“The top one, I think.”

“You think?”

“I’m like 98% sure.”

She sighed. “Then we better start climbing.”

The walk up the stairs was silent, Her leading the way, Ben at the rear, and Cocksucker moving in small, quick steps between them. The wind was biting, howling in Ben’s ears louder and louder the closer they drew to the top, drowning out the sound of Her heartbeat. When they stopped, one level from the roof, She crouched below the window. Cocksucker followed suit, and Ben gave Her a flat look.

“I’m not-“

“Benjamin, get your ass down before I make you.”

He glared at Her, only because this is important, and hunched to the floor.

“I’ll go in first. Ben, I’m going to have to keep my eyes on Neuman, so you need to text Butcher.”

“I don’t have my fucking phone-“

She tossed it at Ben wordlessly, raising Her brows.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, and She stuck her tongue out.

“Ready?”

Ben grunted, and Cocksucker gave a barely perceptible nod.

She exhaled through puffed lips, moving the sunglasses into her jacket as she looked at the window. “Here we fucking go.”

Neuman’s apartment was nice. Cozy. If Ben didn’t have a fucking job to do, he’d ask for her interior decorator. Especially if he’d understood MM correctly and was going to be getting his own apartment soon. To share with Her. Their apartment.

Would she like that carpet? The Thing was fixated on a deep blue, stupidly damn fluffy carpet thrown across Neuman’s floor. No, it’s blue. Fucking pussy color. She’d like the texture though-

Job to do. Ben had a job to do. The Thing needed to shut the fuck up, because Ben had a job to do.

A job that walked right into the hallway they were standing in.

Neuman’s eyes widened, talking a stumbling step back as she yelped. “Hughie? The fuck are you doing here? In my home?” Nueman’s eyes darted to Ben, then Her. “With Soldier Boy and the Anomaly?”

“It’s complicated,” Cocksucker rubbed his neck nervously. “You should, uh, you should get Zoe.”

“Stay the hell away from my daughter. Whatever you’re doing here doesn’t fucking involve her.”

“Vicki-“

Cocksucker’s pleading words were cut off by Her, tone firm. “Neuman, we’re not going to hurt you, or Zoe. We just need you both. Now.”

Neuman laughed disbelievingly. “You’re not here to hurt me, but you brought Solider Boy?”

“We’ll explain,” She answered, voice calm even as Her heart started to pick up. “But please get Zoe.”

“Fuck no-“

“Neuman.” She crossed her arms. “You can’t pop me or Ben. You won’t pop Hughie. I swear we aren’t here to hurt you. Go get Zoe.”

There was silence for a second, Ben could see Neuman looking around frantically, trying to find a way out where there wasn’t one, and eventually giving in. “Zo, baby? Can you come here please?”

A girl, couldn’t be more than fucking twelve, entered the hall. “Mom, what’s-“ The kid’s words died with a gasp as she saw Ben, Cocksucker, and Her in the hall. “Mom?”

Neuman moved the kid behind her, holding her hand with a white-knuckled grip. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“What is Hughie doing here, with Soldier Boy?!” The girl's voice was frantic, and Ben could hear her heart race. “And Homelander’s girlfriend? What the fuck is happening-“

“She’s not Homelander’s girlfriend,” Ben hissed, and She slapped Ben’s arm.

She’s just a kid, Her glare said. And you said you’d let me do the talking.

You’re not Homelander’s anything, Ben glared back. She should fucking know that.

Just a kid, Ben. She gave the phone in his hand a pointed look. Text Butcher that we’re good.

Ben scoffed, but opened the damn phone to tell Butcher that the French Prick needed to move as Neuman continued to comfort her daughter.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. I can’t explain right now, but we’re going to be fine. I just need you to stay behind me.”

“Mom-“

“Zoe,” Cocksucker said gently. “We’re not going to hurt you, or your mom. We just need to talk.”

“About what?” Neuman hissed. “I’d have taken a meeting, you didn’t have to resort to breaking into my home, Hughie.”

“Well, uh-“

“And I fucking know you visited Stan on Monday. So don’t lie to me and say you’re not up to something-“

Neuman was cut off as a wailing, deafening siren rattled through the building. Turns out the French Prick moved impressively fast. Ben had barely hit send two seconds ago.

“Ben,” She mumbled, eyes not leaving Neuman’s fearful expression. “Can you break the alarms?”

Ben nodded with a grunt, walking to the red light above them as smashing it with his fist. That seemed to be enough, he could hear everyone’s breathing and heart again, so he returned to Her side.

“Hughie, tell me when Annie says we’re good.”

Cocksucker nodded, pulling out and fidgeting with his phone, and Neuman took a shaky step back.

“Don’t try and leave, Neuman,” She said, voice tired and face bored. “I really don’t want to hurt you, so please just wait.”

“Wait for what?! What the fuck is happening?!”

She sighed. “As you probably figured out, we cut a deal with Edgar. He’s going to help us out, as long as we talk you and Zoe out of the game.”

“Out of the game?” Neuman’s face twisted in determination. “You lay a hand on me, on Zoe, and I’ll blow Hughie’s brains up.”

Cocksucker paled, “Vicki-“

“I phrased that poorly.” She addressed Neuman firmly, standing her ground. “We’re removing the V from your system. So you don’t have to be a part of this shit show. The CIA will keep you safe, and we’ll get what we need.”

“No,” Neuman shook her head, taking another step back. “Fuck no. You’re not touching me, or Zoe, and whatever Stan said he’d give you I can give you as well-“

Neuman’s words choked him her throat as fire spread slowly along the floor. Controlled, careful flames that blocked the exits and never rose above a foot.

“We’re not asking.” She said softly, almost fucking apologetic. “It might hurt for a second, but you’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Um,” Cocksucker said Her name, looking up from his phone. “We’re ready.”

“I’m sorry,” She said to Neuman, and Ben knew She fucking meant it. Her heart was bouncing around in her chest, her breathing was labored, and her face was full of guilt when she looked at him. “Now, Ben.”

Ben called the drums, pulling them as fast as he fucking could into his chest, into time with his heart. It was building, growing louder and brighter, and he angled his chest at Her right before everything fell in place inside him, and the world exploded.

The Thing roared as the bomb caught Her, even if every conscious part of Ben knew she’d be fine. She was strong, she could handle it, she’d fucking told him to hit her. But that didn’t stop the Thing from trying to climb out of him, to get to Her as she floated off the ground, surrounded in golden light and fire with her eyes shut. Ben couldn’t hear Her heart, couldn’t read her face, couldn’t give shit about Neuman trying to run or Cocksucker backing up to the window. It was just Her, burning alone, impossible to reach. Impossible to help.

She went out. For only a second all the light died, and Ben could hear Her heartbeat again. Then Her eyes opened, fucking wild and glowing, and everything exploded. Light shot from Her chest, hitting Neuman and Zoe head on, moving through their bodies as she levitated further off the floor. Ben even fucking stumbled, because the world shook. The ground moved and everything seemed to come to a screeching halt, suspended in time as She grew brighter. Time only resumed when the light—as fast as it had appeared—died, and She collapsed to the floor.

Ben fucking dove to catch Her, grabbing around her chest right before she hit the floor. Her eyes were open, and Ben could see the exhaustion in them, hear the slowing of Her heart as the energy drained from Her body. He heard Cocksucker run past them, checking on Nueman, but didn’t look away from Her.

“Ben,” Her voice was weak, breathless. “I’m fine. Make sure it worked.”

“I’m not fucking leaving you-“

“All you have to do is turn your head, check that Neuman and Zoe are alive, and tell me,” She gave a soft laugh. “Fucking drama queen.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben muttered, but glanced over his shoulder to where Cocksucker was standing awkwardly as Zoe climbed her feet, Neuman pulling her into a hug. “They look fucking fine.”

“Okay,” She sat up slowly, not trying to leave Ben’s hold as she called over him. “Hughie, are they-“

“We are,” Neuman answered. “I can’t feel it. Your blood or hearts. Zo?”

The girl’s hands moved to her face. “They’re gone.”

Neuman nodded, and looked back at Her. Ben could hear the race of Neuman’s heart, almost smell her fear. “Now what?”

“Butcher and Kimiko are on their way up,” Cocksucker said, glancing at his phone. “We’re going to get you somewhere safe.”

“What about my life,” Neuman shook her head. “Zoe’s life-“

“You both wouldn’t have fucking lives if Homelander decided you weren’t useful anymore,” Ben snapped. “You’re fucking welcome.”

Neuman looked at Ben with a frown, her eyes scanning over how he was still holding Her, keeping her carefully upright. “What did Edgar offer you.”

“Help,” Ben hissed. “And it's not your fucking problem now.”

“We need to move,” She tugged at Ben’s shirt, voice even quieter than before. “Homelander will have noticed this, we need to go-“

Ben nodded roughly, and scooped Her into his arms. Ben turned to Cocksucker as She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Tell Butcher you pussies better fucking haul ass to get Neuman out.”

Cocksucker nodded nervously. “Um, where are you-“

“The van. We still have shit at the safe house, we’ll need to get it before you move us. But I’m not fucking waiting here until Butcher arrives.” Until Homelander arrives. Not when She’s about to pass out. Ben spoke the last words through gritted teeth. “I did my job. Do yours.”

Ben didn’t wait for Cocksucker’s response, climbing back out of the window and studying the drop down the alley. He could just jump—it would be faster and they’d both be fine—but it would be loud. Crack the pavement.

Get more unwelcome attention.

So Ben climbed down the stairs, keeping Her secure against his chest. He jumped down from only the last platform, making sure Her hold on him was firm before did he, and moved to van in long, fast steps. He vaulted through the doors, dropping against the walls—not bothering with pointless fucking greetings to MM or Starlight—and listened to Her breathing fall, becoming slow and easy as her eyes drooped. She passed out in Ben’s arms, and he rubbed small circles on Her back because he fucking could. Because they had done it, She had done it, so Edgar would come through and she’d be safe.

It took a few minutes, but the remainder of the team—now joined by Nueman and her daughter—returned to the van. The door slammed behind them and MM took off, hightailing it away from the alley, from where Homelander would surely arrive any minute. But Ben didn’t give a shit, didn’t bother to listen to Butcher, Starlight, and Nueman talk about next steps, because She was here. Holding Ben, heartbeat in rhythm with his own.

She leaned against Ben the whole way back to the safe house. Face smushed into his chest, hair tickling Ben’s chin as she climbed up just a little closer in her sleep. Curled in his lap, a little bit of droll falling from her mouth. Ben had never seen something so fucking perfect in his life. She deserved to be like that for the rest of fucking time, comfortable and peaceful. Against Ben, if that’s what she wanted.

Ben moved slowly, careful not to disturb Her, and pulled out his phone. 696969 was a fucking stupid passcode, but he’d noticed Her fight a giggle every time he had to enter it so it would stay like that forever. It took him a minute to find the camera app—there had to be a better way to navigate this piece of shit—but when he did he raised his free arm, holding the phone down at Her perfect face, and took a photo. It might be fucking creepy, he might be getting weird looks from the Pussy Brigade, but Ben didn’t give a single fuck. If She ever decided to leave him, if he had to let Her go, at least he’d have a memory of this. Of Her just needing him, just wanting him.

Something of Her, forever.

End Note: My wife (Victoria Neuman) is home from war (s4 of the Boys)

Thank you guys for 100 followers!!! I want to do something but have literally no clue what. As always, thank you for reading, and leave a comment if you want to, with any and all your thoughts or feedback! They feed me, and I adore you guys <3

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