#Hughie Campbell fanfic
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A Classic Sick Fic
Hughie Campbell x sick!supe!reader
Prompt: You’re sick and Hughie forces you to let him take care of you.
Warnings: vomit, other general cold and flu symptoms, inability to breathe
A/N: I’m sick and I just want Hughie to hold me and for some reason I’m unable to figure out why there is a criminally low number of fics for Hughie. I think he’s really neat. He is so special to me. Being the change I want to see in the world or whatever. Please don’t judge any typos I’m so ill. I envisioned this sometime during season 2. Let’s pretend Annie isn’t there for a sec. (I love her tho she is my girlfriend and he is my boyfriend and we are all happy and in love in my silly little head.) Crossposted on my AO3 adriansglasses.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hughie asked again, while you coughed for probably the millionth time.
“Yeah I’m fine.” You weren’t fine. In truth your cough and endless runny nose were driving you insane. You hated being sick. You couldn’t stand your body not feeling the way it usually does.
“You look miserable- well not to say you look bad, well you do look bad, but not in the way that- I’m gonna just stop talking before I dig myself into a bigger whole.” He shifts awkwardly.
“It’s okay, Hughie. I feel like shit.” You sigh, well as much of as sigh as your body can let out while your nose is this stuffy.
“Can I do anything to help?” He asks.
A hug. You really wanted a hug, but you didn’t want to get him sick. You also didn’t know how to ask without making it awkward. You didn’t really know what you and Hughie were. You felt like more than just friends, but you’d never talked about it. It was hard when you were on the run from Vought. If you were being honest you couldn’t really even afford to be sick right now. If you were sick, you couldn’t use your powers and Butcher wouldn’t want to keep around a useless supe. It’s already pretty useless enough that you can even get sick. Other supes are bulletproof.
“No, I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.” You fake a smile, coughing again.
“No can do. I never stop worrying about you.” He smiles, but his tone is very serious. A blush creeps up on your face, but it’s easy to mistake your cheeks heating up for a fever.
You start to cough again, but this time it doesn’t stop. You have a coughing fit that leaves you gasping for air. You reflexively reach out for Hughie’s arm. He takes your hand in his, rubbing your back with his other hand.
“It’s okay. Just breathe. Let me help you for once.” He gives your hand a light squeeze. You nod, tears coming to your eyes.
“Trash can!” You yell between coughs. Hughie acts quickly, bringing the trash can to your lap.
“Woah, hey it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He holds your hair back, continuing to rub circles on your back. “Just breathe. Take your time.”
“I’m- so- sorry!” You struggle to get out the words while your hurl into the can.
“Don’t be sorry. You can’t control it. Just let it out. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying to help you through this. I lost count a long time ago of the amount of times you saved my ass. Let me help you. I promise you, I’ve had to deal with much grosser substances for this team than a little vomit.” His calming voice talks you through it, yapping along like this is a totally normal position to be in. Maybe it was. You didn’t know. You weren’t used to anyone caring this much.
“I’ll be right back.” He got up and quickly went to get you some water. You hated being alone, even for a minute, but you gladly took the water. It felt cool on your irritated throat.
“Drink it slowly.” He lets out a soft chuckle, seeing you start to gulp down the water. You slow down at his advice. You know if you drink it too fast you’ll get sick again.
“I’m so fucking tired.” Once you’ve recovered Hughie starts to pull you down into the bed.
“That’s okay. Just rest.” He attempts.
“I can’t. There’s too much going on.” You try to fight your fatigue. Hughie lays down pulling you into his arms. “I don’t wanna get you sick.”
“I’ve got a pretty good immune system. I’m not worried about getting sick. I know our entire world is like kinda imploding, but if you don’t rest you won’t be able to help anyone.” He tries to bargain. You also can’t deny how warm he is, or how your body just melts into his. He’s so comfortable. Laying with him is probably the calmest your brain has felt in weeks. “It’s okay to take a break, (Y/N). Even when the world is falling a part around you, if you don’t stop to take a break you’ll fall a part with it. Trust me. I learned that the hard way. Just relax. Close your eyes. I’m going to stay here and make sure things stay okay as long as we need them to for you to get better.”
You finally stop fighting it and close your eyes. You’re drifting in and out of sleep when you feel Hughie place a kiss on your forehead. Everything will be okay. It has to be.
#hughie campbell#hughie campbell x reader#the boys#the boys hughie#jack quaid#the boys fanfic#the boys fanfiction#the boys one shot#Hughie Campbell oneshot#Hughie Campbell fanfic#Hughie Campbell fanfiction
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Irredeemable - Hughie Campbell x fem!reader (The Boys)
Pairing: Hughie Campbell (The Boys) x fem!reader
Word Count: 3011
Warnings: Swearing (obviously), canon typical everything
You should have known that you were the last person Butcher would want to see right now, and yet you had made the decision to return to him, to the team.
The Boys had been the closest thing you’d had to a family in a long time, even with their quirks and, well, their long running murderous rampage.
That was, until everything went to shit. Butcher had effectively exiled you from the team, sending you on your own solo mission several states away.
It wasn’t that you hated what you were doing, you just hated doing it on your own. Supe killing was a team effort, no easy feat for someone so completely alone. So when you caught wind of the team’s current predicament, you’d decided for yourself that it was time you made your return.
Maybe your sudden reappearance would serve as a well needed distraction from Becca’s death. Or maybe Butcher would do everything in his power to make you fuck off again.
The feeling of something heavy landing on your front pulled you from your sleep.
“Look what the fucking cat dragged in.”
You pushed your bag full of guns off your lap as your eyes fluttered open before sitting up on the sofa, suddenly aware of your surroundings.
You don’t even remember getting to the hideout, let alone crashing onto the couch in exhaustion.
“How long have you been back?” Butcher’s voice echoed in your ears again, a scowl on his face as you stared back up at him blankly.
“I - uh,” you start, rubbing your forehead. “What time is it?”
Butcher turns his head in the direction of the rest of the team, keeping his eyes on you as he waits for someone to tell you the time.
“Four sixteen P.M,” an unknown voice reads out, your eyes moving to find the source.
“Who-,” you barely get the word out before Butcher interrupts you.
“Four sixteen P.M,” Butcher repeats, turning his head back to you. “Now fuck off.”
Butcher begins to storm away as you jump up from the sofa. You move quickly to catch up with him, ignoring all of the eyes on you as you grab hold of his coat sleeve in desperation.
“I need to talk to you, Butcher,” you say, your voice almost a whisper.
“I don’t want to talk to you, love,” he whispers back.
“Please, Butcher. I, fuck,” you breathe, dropping his sleeve. “I killed him.”
“You-” Butcher starts, cutting himself off in shock. “You killed him. Him?”
“Him,” you repeat.
Butcher does nothing but stare at you for several seconds before bringing a hand to your shoulder.
“Welcome back,” he grins.
All you can do is smile back at Butcher as he removes his hand from your shoulder before quickly turning away, getting back to whatever it was that he was doing in the first place.
You feel the weight leaving your chest and your whole body relaxing as you turn back, facing the rest of the team.
Your smile only grows as your eyes meet Frenchie’s, the man instantly striding over and taking you into his arms.
“Mon ami, I missed you!” he exclaims, excitedly jumping you up and down in his embrace.
As Frenchie returns your feet to the ground, you look up at M.M, continuing to grin as he nods at you.
“You guys have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” you sigh.
“It’s good to see you again, (y/n),” M.M nods. “Although, I’m sure you can see, things have kind of changed around here since you’ve been gone.”
He tilts his head to the side, your eyes following to see the two newest members of the team.
“This is Kimiko,” Frenchie beams, putting an arm over her shoulder. The dark haired girl gives you a sweet smile as she waves at you. You wave back before focusing on the lanky man beside her.
“Hi,” he says, his voice slightly worried.
“Hey,” you say, holding out your hand for him to shake. “I’m (y/n).”
“Hughie. I’m the one who told you the time,” he laughs nervously, his hand slightly clammy in yours. “I don’t know why I just said that, I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head as his face cringes.
“I appreciate it, Hughie.”
It doesn’t take long for you to settle right back into the team with the six of you each perched in the living room area of the hideout, both recounting stories and bringing each other up to speed with any new information.
You aren’t so happy to hear that your room has become Hughie’s, but you take the opportunity to tell him about all of your previous endeavours in that very room, on his bed.
“She’s teasing you, Hughie,” M.M laughs “She never had that many guys over.”
“Oh she did!” Frenchie says. “I could hear her every fucking night,” he nods his head, nudging his elbow into your side.
You give Frenchie a swift slap on the arm before mouthing a ‘sorry’ to Hughie, a disgusted look on his face.
“Right,” Butcher says, slapping his hands to his knees before getting up from the sofa. “I’m off to bed. Big fucking day tomorrow.”
He gives Hughie a heavy pat on the back before leaving the room, his door slamming shut behind him.
One by one, the rest of the team bid each other goodnight until you’re left alone with Hughie. He’s stood awkwardly in front of the T.V., his arms pressed to his sides as you rub your eyes with the back of your hands.
“I, um,” he starts. “I’m sorry for taking your room. I just-,”
“You didn’t know, Hughie,” you say, a tired smile on your face. “It’s your room.”
He nods, his face relaxing before he immediately tenses up again.
“But where are you going to sleep?”
“Here seems fine!” you say, swinging your legs up onto the sofa and resting your head on the arm of the couch.
He looks at you in disbelief as you shoot him an assuring smile.
“Are you sure? I just feel really bad,” he says, holding a hand to his cheek.
“I’m sure,” you sigh. “Now get to bed.”
A gentle laugh escapes him as you shoo him off with your hands, finally giving in.
“Fine, fine. But at least let me bring you a blanket?”
“Oh wow, uh,” you can’t hide your shock at his kindness.
He’s definitely in the wrong business.
“I’ll be right back,” he smiles.
----------------------
You wake up curled up on the sofa, tucked under a fleece blanket. The smell of cheap, herbal body spray and a tinge of sweat fills your nostrils.
There's a faint sound of life from across the room, shuffling and clattering around. You sit up, feeling oddly refreshed despite your awkward sleeping arrangement.
“What time do you call this, love?” Butcher’s voice calls out. “Never knew you to sleep in.”
“Fuck off,” you grunt, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you peel yourself up from the sofa.
“Ever the charmer,” he says, throwing a tea towel in your direction. “Make yourself useful and help Frenchie with breakfast.”
“Yes, boss,” you laugh, making your way towards the two men.
After a short while, breakfast is ready (Frenchie is very proud of his “French(ie) toast) and the rest of the gang join you in the large, communal room.
You shoot Hughie a smile as he walks towards the sofa, earning a polite nod in response. Quickly, you turn back to the “kitchen” countertop, eager to serve up this morning’s meal.
“So,” you start, gently piling a couple of slices of toast onto each plate. “What’s the plan for today?”
Butcher only laughs, lowly, in response as he shakes his head.
Both M.M and Hughie shoot Butcher a look of confusion, to which he just shrugs.
“You can do -” he cuts himself off, taking a bit of his toast. “Whatever you want,” he mumbles.
You furrow your brows, averting your gaze to the rest of the team in a desperate attempt to get some sort of answer.
Catching Hughie’s eyes, he shuffles in his seat before turning to face Butcher.
“I’ve - uhh - I’ve got some errands to run. (y/n) could -” he turns back to you. “You could join me today? I could use the company,” he shrugs.
“Sure,” you smile, catching Frenchie smirking to himself in your peripheral vision. “Errands sound good.”
------------------
Over the course of the morning, everyone splits into their decided pairs for the day: Butcher and M.M head out first to make a start on something or other a few miles away, Frenchie and Kimiko to gather intel on a particular set of Vought owned buildings and you and Hughie to… go shopping?
The two of you wander into town in comfortable conversation, stopping in a few different shops along the way.
“I’m sorry, I have to ask,” you start. “How the actual fuck did someone as, well, as good as you end up working with Butcher?”
“Oh man,” Hughie lets out a breathy chuckle, his grip on the carrier bag growing tighter. “My girlfriend, uhh - fuck. A-Train killed my girlfriend.”
“Shit, I’m so sorry, Hughie. I shouldn’t have asked,” you say, stopping in the street in embarrassment.
Hughie lets out a soft breath, shaking his head. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”
He tilts his head for you to continue walking, “Come on.”
The two of you walk in silence before you speak up again.
“What was she like?”
“Hmm?” Hughie stops.
“Your girlfriend. What was she like?” you repeat.
Unexpectedly, Hughie proceeds to tell you about his late girlfriend, who you now know as Robin, in great detail; the two of you go through what could only be described as an emotional rollercoaster as he tells you all about her personality, her passions - everything.
“I’m sorry,” he interrupts himself. “I didn’t mean to, you know, fuck,” he shakes his head. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
“Come on,” you smile, holding your arm out for him to follow you. “Let’s go sit down somewhere.”
Wordlessly, Hughie follows behind you until you arrive at the park. The two of you sit beside each other on one of the many benches overlooking the city.
He turns his head towards you, looking at you as if he’s asking for permission to speak. You gently nod in response.
“I, um. I guess I just feel kinda guilty about everything. Just, yeah, everything. After Robin, I met the guys, you know, and they’ve helped me. They’re a good distraction to all of the bullshit, which is kind of ironic seeing as, you know, thanks to them I’m deep in the bullshit. And then of course there’s Annie,” he pauses with a shaky breath. “There was Annie. She made me feel so much better about everything, which in turn only made me feel worse. Annie is a supe, you know? And a supe killed my girlfriend. So, there were times where it kind of felt like I was betraying Robin by being with the thing that killed her.”
“Hughie,” you say, your voice gentle. “You have nothing to feel bad about. Whatever happened, whatever you’ve done is nothing in the grand scheme of things.”
Hughie nods, softly at first before gradually becoming more confident.
“Me and Annie, we, uh, we’re not a thing anymore.”
“Oh?” you pry.
“It’s complicated,” he shrugs. “But now Butcher is pissed. He was sort of hoping that my relationship with Annie would get us closer to Vought, you know, use her a little bit. But now that things have fallen apart, I think Butcher feels like I’ve wasted my one chance to be a useful member of the team.”
“Listen, Hughie,” you shake your head. “Butcher has kicked off about far less in the past. If he wanted you off the team, you’d be gone by now. Trust me.”
Hughie shifts on the bench, turning his body to face you, careful to keep his knee from brushing against your leg.
“I’m sorry, (y/n)” he says, shaking his head slightly as he furrows his brow. “I should have asked this before but, uh, what happened with you and Butcher, exactly?”
You can’t help the dry laugh that escapes your lips, throwing your head back.
“Where do I even start?” you laugh.
Hughie lets out a small chuckle with you, though he can’t disguise the fact that he is desperate to know what went down. Catching his eye, you give in.
“I was seeing this guy, Adam, when I first met Butcher. God, this was years ago now,” you laugh. “We were kind of on and off, he was all over the place, mentally, I mean. I loved him though. Like, love of my life, kind of love. I was ready to put up with all of his shit, all of his disappearing, everything,” you say, forcing out a chuckle to stop yourself from crying.
Hughie nods, lifting his arm awkwardly in an attempt to comfort you before placing his hand back on his lap.
“To save some time I’ll just cut to the actually interesting part. Adam was a supe.”
Hughie stares at you in disbelief. You shrug your shoulders in response.
“I find it so hard to believe that you of all people dated a supe. Did you know he was a supe when yo-”
“No,” you cut him off. “I had no idea he was a supe. Neither did Butcher. Adam wasn’t one of the A-listers, but he did have a pretty impressive power. He was some kind of telepath,” you shrug. “He could put thoughts into your brain, and remove your thoughts as he pleased. Hence why we never suspected him.
“Anyway, Butcher did eventually find out the truth about Adam, and he tried so hard to get through to me but whatever Adam put in my brain made that impossible. It got to a point where I didn’t trust Butcher at all, I never knew why, and I think Butcher got fed up.”
Hughie remained still in his seat as you spoke, watching your face morph from expression to expression as you told your story.
“So Butcher just… kicked you out?” Hughie said. “ I can’t believe he would just give up on you like that, especially after everything he’s done for me.”
You offer Hughie a soft smile in response, shaking your head gently.
“Butcher didn’t outright kick me out, although I’d understand if he had done. Adam actually proposed to me.”
The shocked expression returned to Hughie’s face, his eyes wide and mouth agape.
“Adam wanted to move to Vegas so, obviously, I dropped everything to follow him there. I told Butcher that I was leaving the team to be with Adam. I didn’t mean it, of course, I was just so in love, so under Adam’s spell that I would do and say anything to make him happy. Butcher didn’t like that, obviously, so he effectively banished me. ‘ Said if he ever saw me again, he’d kill me.”
Hughie turns in his seat, hunched over with his head in his hands as he takes in every word of what you had just said.
“Butcher just let you leave?” He asks, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “He seriously made no attempt to stop you?”
“I guess he-”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if he had tried to stop you,” he interrupts you. “You were under Adam’s mind control.”
“Exactly,” you nod. “After a good couple of months in Vegas, something snapped in me. Adam couldn’t control me anymore. And - please don’t tell Butcher this,”
“I won’t,” Hughie interjects, edging closer towards you.
“When I first, I don’t know, woke up? Is that the right word?”
“Woke up works,” Hughie shrugs.
“Okay,” you laugh. “When I finally woke up, I was so, so mad at Butcher. I blamed him for a while for not protecting me, for giving up on me. But I know in reality,” you sigh, “there was nothing that he could have done.”
“I imagine it took you a long time to come to terms with that,” Hughie says, his voice quieter than before as he ducks his head even further towards you.
“Yeah,” you nod. “I only really came to terms with it when I snapped. I actually stayed with Adam for a couple of days after I woke up, trying to think of the best escape plan. I spent two days pretending that I was still under his control before I couldn’t handle it anymore. I killed him.”
The two of you sit in silence for a while after that, both staring into the distance, past the view of the city and towards the pale late morning sky.
“Why didn’t you come back sooner?” Hughie asks, his voice cutting through the quiet.
“I, god, Hughie, I’ve never thought about that,” you laugh, dryly. “I guess -”
“You don’t need to have an answer, (y/n),” he smiles.
You can’t help but smile back at him as you think more on his question.
“I actually stayed in Vegas to kill supes. The whole city is a goldmine for washed up supes so it was good practice for whenever I chose to return.”
“Do you think maybe, no. I shouldn’t say it,” Hughie interrupts himself.
“No, no, Hughie. Please say it,” you say, practically begging Hughie for an answer to his question that is sure to plague you otherwise.
“Maybe,” he sighs, pulling himself up from the bench, standing before you. “Maybe you were trying to prove to yourself that you were still a supe hunter? That Butcher would still want you on the team after everything?”
You had no words. Hughie was right, of course he was. But what could you possibly say in response to that information?
You remain seated in silence for a little while longer before finally deciding to stand beside Hughie.
“Come on,” he says, his voice soft. “We should be heading back.”
A/N let me know if you want a part two to this!
#hughie campbell#hughie campbell the boys#hughie campbell x reader#the boys hughie x reader#hughie x reader#jack quaid#hughie campbell x reader the boys#hughie campbell reader#hughie campbell fanfiction#the boys fanfiction#the boys fanfic#hughie campbell fanfic#fanfic#send requests#i love hughie with all of my heart i'm not ashamed#angst#the boys#the boys hughie#hughie the boys#amazon the boys#boys#amazon boys
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4th of july | hughie campbell x fem!reader | one shot
Pairing: hughie campbell x fem!reader
Summary: As a Frenchie's sister, your place in the group was automatically assigned. From the very beginning, a relationship between you and Hughie was different from the rest. Shy glances and smiles awakened little butterflies in your bellies, which exploded like fireworks in the sky on the evening of July 4th.
The one shot is also avaliable on Ao3
5 693 words
I got inspired while listening to the song "4th of July" by Aidan Gallagher. I also used "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" by Aerosmith.
hughie campbell masterlist | general masterlist
"So what are we actually supposed to do here?" you asked, looking around through the car window. Colorful stalls and decorations stretched across the square attracting more and more people. Today was the Fourth of July, and on this occasion Vought decided to hold a huge event to which all residents of New York were invited. Of course, the entire Seven was also present there. Butcher immediately saw this as an opportunity to steal some documents from the tower. He wanted to take advantage of their lack of attention so together with Kimiko, Marvin and Frenchie they decided to break in there this evening. You and Hughie fell into the role of observers. You had to go to the festival and monitor all the time to make sure nothing suspicious was going on and that none of the supes were leaving it. The task seemed all too easy, but you both knew it could only be the calm before the storm.
"Pray that suddenly a friendly family festival doesn't become a bloody massacre." Hughie laughed. "We wouldn't even be able to stop it all."
"What if we were?"
"What?" Without answering, you pulled from your bag a small box containing two vials of green liquid and two syringes. "Shit, y/n. How did you get it?" he asked moving closer to you. You ignored the shiver that went through you.
"You could say that Billy has a very dead sleep." you shrugged your shoulders. "I thought it might be better to be prepared if they suddenly needed our help, or if something went wrong here."
"Forewarned is forearmed, right?" From the moment you first stole Butcher's temporary V, you had to admit that the power you felt then was addictive. It was pleasant not to feel fear, at least for a while. You knew that Hughie felt exactly the same. "But you promised Frenchie that you would never take it again," he said.
"So hopefully we won't have to use the power and then no one will know anything, right? You're not going to blurt out to my brother, are you?" You knew you shouldn't take it, but the desire to feel powerful was much stronger.
"It will be our dirty little secret." he smiled and took one of the vials from you.
The surge of power and energy you felt when the V started coursing through your veins was indescribable. You felt you had something you had always lacked. Control.
"So... are we going to sit here for a few hours or do you feel like wandering around the stalls and pretending we're there completely by accident?"
"Sounds like a plan." You smiled and got out of the car.
People were swarming everywhere, you had the feeling as if the entire population of New York and the surrounding area was right there. Suddenly you felt someone grab your hand. When you looked back you saw Hughie smiling shyly in your direction. "I can't let you get lost in this crowd." he said somewhat nervously. He was glad that your post-V superpower was not incredibly sharpened hearing because if you had heard his heartbeat you would have guessed right away that this was just an excuse to get closer to you. From the very beginning when you appeared with the team he looked for every possible opportunity to be close to you. From the very beginning there was something between you that made you always find your way to each other, even unconsciously. Despite knowing that you liked each other a little more than you should have, neither of you wanted to take the first step. You preferred to dance around each other and let your feelings lead you freely to the rhythm of uncertainty and tension that was building between you.
The day flew by very quickly, nothing suspicious was happening, so you let both of you enjoy yourselves for a while, forgetting why you were really there. You ate cotton candy, took a ride on the ferris wheel, listened to concerts by small local bands, all the while letting your fingers intertwine from time to time, feeling the butterflies in your stomach awaken with every single touch. Leaving aside the real purpose of your visit to this event and the fact that there was a substance running through your veins giving you superpowers you would have been an ordinary couple carelessly enjoying a date. As it began to get dark you got a text message from the rest of them that everything had gone according to plan and they were just going home, so you also reluctantly headed for the exit.
"What a lovely sight!" an elderly man standing at the dart-throwing stand suddenly exclaimed. "Young man, maybe you'd like to win one of these adorable plushies for your beautiful sweetheart?" Before you had time to say that you are not a couple Hughie was already standing in front of the target and aiming at it. You looked with amusement at the surprise of the man, who could not believe that all the darts hit perfectly in the very center. The smile never left Hughie's face.
"You can choose whichever one you want," he said with satisfaction in his voice.
"Hm... that one looks good." said pointing a finger at a small plush dog.
"Are you sure? Don't you want anything bigger?"
"No, I love it." you said while taking the award from the man's hands. "I'll call him Hughie, how about that?" you laughed.
"As long as it's not your favorite Hughie it can be," he said.
"But just look at him, he's so cute! How can he not be my favorite?" you asked teasingly.
"A kick in the teeth, y/n," he said putting his hand on his chest. "I'll forgive you on the condition that you stay here with me for the fireworks show, how about that?"
"I'd love to, but I have an idea for a better place."
"What kind?"
"I'll tell you in the car, come on."
When you got into the old pick up you started giving him directions and after less than 10 minutes you were at a viewpoint from which you could see the whole festival. The view from the top was beautiful. Thousands of little twinkling lights were spilling below you, and the crowds you were in not long ago seemed incredibly far away. You parked near a small bench and fortunately there was no one else there. You left the car windows open so that you could hear the radio and sat down on the bench close enough that your shoulders were touching. There was an awkward, tense silence between you, which neither of you dared to break. Now all the confidence you felt down there was gone. Your heart was beating harder and harder, and your hands were covered with an unpleasant sweat. You felt a strange tingling in them as if your hand was demanding his touch.
"Dear listeners, now a special dedication to all those who have not yet dared to make the first move. May Steven Tyler's beautiful voice awaken your courage on this beautiful magical evening and make you realize that none of you want to miss a thing." Hearing this, Hughie laughed quietly, feeling as if these words were directed straight to him.
I could stay awake just to hear you breathing
Watch you smile while you are sleeping
While you're far away and dreaming
I could spend my life in this sweet surrender
I could stay lost in this moment forever
Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure
"I love this song." you said quietly however you didn't dare to look at him. You stared ahead admiring the landscape, but he was watching you carefully paying special attention to your lips wondering what it would be like to kiss you. Many times this thought had crossed his mind but now it was a thousand times more intense.
Don't want to close my eyes
I don't want to fall asleep
'Cause I'd miss you baby
And I don't want to miss a thing
'Cause even when I dream of you
The sweetest dream will never do
I'd still miss you baby
And I don't want to miss a thing
How many times did you appear in his dreams? He couldn't count anymore. Every time he woke up from one, he desperately tried to fall back asleep hoping that you would appear in them once again.
"Hey, y/n..." he began uncertainly. When you looked at him he suddenly felt as if he had completely lost the ability to speak.
"Yes?" your voice was quiet, but it reached his heart causing his heartbeat to be comparable to A-Train's during a heart attack. He was unable to mumble anything. He sat like that and, looking into your eyes, begged in soul that you would read from his everything that was going on inside him right now.
Lying close to you, feeling your heart beating
And I'm wondering what you're dreaming
Wondering if it's me you're seeing
Then I kiss your eyes
And thank God we're together
And I just want to stay with you in this moment forever
Forever and ever
"I really want to stay with you in this moment forever." he whispered. Seeing a smile forming on your face he dared to touch your cheek gently. You, without thinking, cuddled your face into his large hand and closed your eyes relishing the moment. Hughie slowly moved closer to you and rested his forehead against yours. Your breaths sped up, and as colorful streaks splashed across the sky he brought your lips together causing you to feel as if those fireworks were exploding inside you. You had waited so long for this moment that with each kiss you desperately wanted more, as if you wanted to make up for all the lost time.
I don't want to miss one smile
And I don't want to miss one kiss
And I just want to be with you
Right here with you, just like this
And I just want to hold you close
I feel your heart so close to mine
And just stay here in this moment
For all the rest of time
"I would definitely want to stop time right now and stay here in this moment for the rest of my life." he said as you pulled away from each other to catch your breath.
"I may not be able to stop time, but I can make you feel that way for a while." you replied while looking toward the sky. Your superpower after taking V turned out to be slowing down everything nearby. You discovered this when, during a trip to Russia, you slowed down bullets that were fired straight at you and your brother. Now everything around you froze. The colors in the sky stopped looking as if they were painted.
"They froze like the stars in the sky." he said. "They reflect in your eyes in a beautiful way."
"Yeah, but I can't keep them like that any longer," you replied laughing.
"It's fine." he said. "Can I..."
"Yes." you said interrupting him. You knew perfectly well what he wanted to ask. Hearing this, he brought your lips together again in a sweet kiss.
"Hughie?"
"Yes?"
"Can you promise me that when we return to the gray reality again and we will be consumed by another mission you will not forget what happened today?"
"Why should I forget?"
"Memories like to fade," he said.
"The best ones always last. Besides, I have a feeling that there are many more similarly beautiful memories ahead, y/n."
"Even if time moves on, I will keep lookin' back to tonight," you sighed. "I will always go back to it."
"Me too." He replied quietly kissing the top of your head. You felt a smile creep onto his face again immediately after.
When, unfortunately, your time together came to an end Hughie drove you back to the place where you lived with your brother and Kimiko, and he himself returned to his apartment. When you opened the door you almost tripped over the bag that stood by it. When you looked closer you saw that it was filled with your belongings.
"Serge? Kimiko?" you called out going deeper. At the sound of your voice they both left the room. Kimiko had tears in her eyes and your brother barely looked at you. He was furious. You had already guessed what had happened. Wordlessly, he handed you a phone that showed a video of how fireworks suddenly froze in the sky.
"Why?" he asked.
"Serge... I can explain." you felt panic rising in your body.
"You promised! You promised never to take that shit again in your life!" he shouted. "Why the hell did you do that?!"
"I wanted to feel better! That I had control over something!"
"What fucking control are you talking about?! The only thing you had control over was whether that shit got into your system or not!"
"What if something had happened there? What if one of the seven had done something?! What if you guys suddenly needed help? If something happened in the tower!"
"But nothing happened! Everything went according to plan! Also, that's still not enough reason to take it!"
"I know! But if you took it you would understand what I'm talking about, Serge!" you felt tears running down your cheeks. "All our lives we are afraid of something, we are constantly running away from something because we are never safe! Do you remember what happened when our father was getting drunk? He would beat you into unconsciousness, and all I could do was look at it and beg him to stop! And the moments when we had to sell ourselves to the sleazy rich to have anything to eat at all? When Nina forced us to kill all those people? If only I could have had those powers back then believe me our lives wouldn't be so fucked up now! Maybe it would be at least a little... normal."
"But you didn't have them and the fact that you have them now won't change anything. Nothing will ever change our past y/n, but it will change the future because I don't want to see you anymore." his voice was becoming calmer, and that scared you even more. You felt as if barbed wire was wrapping around your heart and tightening, driving straight into it.
"Serge..." saying his name your voice faltered.
"You have betrayed my trust y/n, once again you have done it. Now Vought knows there's some supe with the power to slow down time wandering around somewhere, and they'll definitely be looking for them. You can't stay here, for the near term it's too dangerous. And I can't even look at you." Although his gaze was glued to the window you could see tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. From the very beginning, the two of you were inseparable. Growing up with an unbalanced alcoholic father from an early age, you had to learn how to take care of each other, so you went through every worst situation in life together. You could always count on each other, and now suddenly you were supposed to disappear from his life?
"I've done so many awful things in my life, and it never bothered you..."
"Taking V is the worst thing you've done."
"Bullshit! You took much worse things yourself, after which you almost died more than once you asshole! You took things that could kill you in seconds!" you didn't know how you felt. You were furious that he didn't even try to understand you. You were hurt that after all you've been through together he just so simply wants to remove you from his life. He saw you murdering people and never hated you because of it. He was always there for you and helped you cope with all the darkness that engulfed your life. He did everything to be the best big brother to you. You both were each other's support and motivation to stay alive. Now that was about to change. Now you would be left all alone like a country dunny.
"And I'd rather die than take V!" he yelled. "In your bag are the keys to the apartment in Larchmont and a bus ticket." he added more calmly. "Leave your old phone here, you need to find something new."
Feeling resigned, you picked up the bag and turned to leave. Before you could grab the door knob you felt someone grab your wrist. It was Kimiko, whose eyes were shining with tears. You hugged her tightly.
"Hughie didn't know anything." you said before leaving. "He didn't know I took V." you lied. You could no longer be saved by anything though, you could save him from all this.
With pain in your heart, you left the apartment and headed for the bus stop. Sitting there, you looked at the little plush dog you held in your hands. You wondered how such a beautiful evening could have turned into the worst of your life. As soon as you gained something beautiful you immediately had to lose it along with everything else you loved. You had never really been alone in your life. Now you had to face it at a frighteningly fast pace.
It's been a week since you left, at first Hughie thought you were avoiding him after everything that happened at the festival, but he knew you weren't the kind of person who just disappears like that. He tried to contact you many times but each time was met with no response. He explained to himself that if you had made up your mind and decided that you didn't feel anything more than friendship for him after all, you would surely have told him. He also wondered if maybe he scared you then? Did it all happen too fast?
"Does anyone know what happened to y/n? She hasn't been here in a long time." He finally couldn't stand it during one of the meetings. Taking the opportunity that Serge was out of the apartment he decided to find out as much as possible.
"Frenchie decided to send her to a little rehab from temporary V." Butcher replied.
"What?"
"On the 4th of July, she stole my V and took it. Frenchie found out, got mad and kicked her out of the house. He made her leave the phone and sent her outside New York." he summarized. Hughie felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach. He probably preferred to believe that he was simply being avoided, rather than what really happened.
"I never thought something would happen that could divide them." sighed MM "I don't know how you couldn't see that he was under the influence of this crap."
"I..." he was in such shock that he had no idea what to say. Didn't you admit that you both took it?
"No more chitchat, we have a mission to talk about." interrupted Butcher starting to explain the strategy. However, for Hughie, these were just indistinct words clumped together into one long sound. His thoughts were completely absorbed in something else.
When Butcher finished speaking, burdened by a barrage of information and feelings, Hughie sat down heavily on the couch right next to Kimiko, who was drawing something. He could see that she had been withdrawn more than usual for the past few days.
"You okay?" he asked.
She picked up her phone and began to text. I miss her.
"Me too." He replied sending her a sad smile.
She told Frenchie that you didn't know she had taken V.
This hurt him even more. The fact that even as your life was collapsing you decided to protect him, and he couldn't do anything to help you. He felt like a damn coward for not being able to tell them the truth.
She said she took it because she wanted to have control. She was talking about all the terrible things that had happened to them.
Suddenly it dawned on him how much pain you must have experienced in your life, and he didn't know most of those stories yet. He wanted to know everything about you, he wanted to know you inside out and accept it fully, because what you had done in the past didn't affect his feelings for you.
"Do you have any contact with her? Do you know where she is now?" he asked. However, Kimiko only shook her head negatively in response and went back to drawing.
He couldn't stand the pain that was spreading throughout his body. The mental was turning into physical. He was furious. Angry at Frenchie, who made the decision that you must disappear from their lives. He was furious at himself for letting you take V. That he didn't stop you. He cursed in his soul that he needed it to feel confident enough to finally take a step toward you. He blamed himself for this and couldn't forgive himself for not telling you to put those damned vials away then.
It's been two months since you disappeared suddenly and very painfully. It is said that time heals wounds, however, Hughie had the impression that his wounds grew even larger and fate sprinkled salt on them every now and then. Every day he looked for your face in the crowd, but to no effect. Whenever the opportunity arose he would rummage through your brother's things hoping to find any contact or address information about you, but he never managed to find anything that would help. He spent whole nights thinking up ways he could reach you, but nothing ever worked out. It was as if you suddenly vanished. Collapsed into the ground and disappeared forever. Thoughts of you being somewhere all alone now haunted him and bit into his brain causing him even more pain. With your absence, happiness was also gone. Nothing gave him pleasure, nothing made him happy. The only emotions he felt were grief, sadness and anger. They consumed him completely. From time to time, he wondered if maybe you had already met someone new and were actually putting your life back together? Maybe you have found someone with whom you feel happy and safe? The jealousy that gripped him at the time made him feel like screaming. He was the one who wanted to be the person who made you smile. He loved your smile. He loved the sound of your voice and laughter. He loved watching you teach Kimiko new things or patiently learn her language. After losing Robin, you brought brightness back into his life. You were the sunshine that chased away the dark clouds.
Everyone was convinced that his bad mood was because Annie had found herself a new boyfriend. He let them believe it because it was more convenient. He didn't even have the strength to deny it, because his heart was broken in truth, but for a completely different reason.The longer he thought about all this, the more convinced he became that he couldn't just let you disappear. He knew he was risking a lot, but you were worth it. You were worth everything.
"I knew she took it." he said when Marvin opened the door and stepped inside. "We both took V then, and I damn well wish I had stopped her from doing it!"
"What?"
"She would be here with us now if I had stopped her! It's all my fault. Now she's not here and I don't know what to do with myself." He nervously walked around the room combing his hair with his hand.
"You talking about Annie?" Marvin was visibly confused.
"Holy shit MM! I'm talking about y/n! Annie and her new guy don't matter to me even a little bit! From the very beginning the only person I cared about was y/n! And now she's gone." he felt tears gather in his eyes. He couldn't help it. Emotions were pushing outward, and he couldn't hold them back. For two months he had kept them inside, but now the dam broke giving them outlet " That day when she showed me that she had picked up those damn vials from Butcher I should have somehow talked her out of the idea. But instead I agreed. I took the damn thing to feel better. To feel confident. To finally stop feeling like a complete loser in life, like a slacker. To stop being afraid and finally do something to show her that I care about her!" he tossed out word after word. "The moment when I grabbed her hand and she didn't take it? Or the one when I won that fucking teddy bear for her? If it wasn't for V I probably wouldn't have even hit the target. And that moment when the fireworks froze in the sky? It was one of the best in my hopeless life! When I kissed her she didn't move away, didn't run away. Damn, seeing her smile right after that made me feel that everything could finally work out! Fuck!"
"You kiss my sister?" through all this, he didn't even notice when Frenchie also appeared in the room.
"Yes, Frenchie, I kissed your sister and I don't regret anything." His hands were shaking with nerves, and single tears flew down his cheeks. He was ready for your brother to go at him with his fists right away, to be honest he was sure it would happen. He wouldn't even defend himself. Because at that moment he didn't care about anything anymore. He missed you and couldn't cope with your absence from his life. "All this time you thought it was Annie who broke my heart, but that's bullshit. Even if I once felt something for Annie it was never as strong as with y/n. I am in love with her, and it was you who broke my heart, Frenchie. You broke it by making her disappear from our lives." He hid his face in his hands. Silence fell between all three of them.
"You really love her?" finally Frenchie asked, sitting down next to him on the couch.
"Yes," he said without thinking. "I know I messed everything up, but I can't turn back time, no matter how much I wish I could."
"I think she needs to hear all that you've said, too." interjected MM looking at Frenchie, who was thinking intensely about something. Your brother had two choices. He could attack Hughie and probably massacre his face or rethink the situation. No matter how angry he was he knew that this anger would not go away for even if he unloaded it on the boy with his fist. But he could also try to understand and give you a second chance. Your relationship with Hughie? Frenchie knew very well that he would never hurt you. He knew from the beginning that Petit Hughie had the purest heart of you all and would be able to take good care of yours.
"I am disappointed." Serge began slowly. "But y/n is my sister and I love her with all my heart. No matter what she does I will always want the best for her." he sighed.
"I think Frenchie wants to say that he forgives you." Marvin laughed.
"I'll forgive you on the condition that this time you swear on everything that you'll never take that shit again."
"I swear." Finally, for the first time, hope awoke in him. "No More V. Never."
"My sister deserves the best, I hope you know that if you break her heart I will kill you in the most drastic way I can think of?"
"I know, but I have no intention of breaking her heart."
"I know, that's why I didn't break your nose when I found out about the kiss. You may be an idiot sometimes, but your heart is good Petit Hughie. That's why I'm able to trust you to take care of y/n the best way you can."
"Will you tell me where she is?"
"I'll take you there, come on."
The road passed them in silence. All this time Hughie was trying to arrange in his head what he would say once he saw you. However, he was also ready for the scenario that if he saw you with someone else he would not retreat. If necessary he would fight for you, because he knew he couldn't bear to lose you once again. When you finally arrived at your destination they parked under a small tenement.
"I want to talk to her first, so wait here." Frenchie said while turning off the car.
You were lying on the couch cuddled up with plush Hughie when you heard a knock on the door. Startled, you opened the door, and the sight of your brother completely caught you off guard.
"Can we talk?" he asked, stepping inside.
"I thought you didn't want to know me..." you were happy to see him. The last two months have been a nightmare of loneliness for you. The pain of losing all the people you cared about caused you to isolate yourself from the world and not even try to get to know anyone else. You felt as if you had lost the ability to meet new people and function in society. You cried all days and lay staring at the TV. You lost the desire to do anything. You even ate only when the hunger was already unbearable. The last two months were just existence, because it definitely couldn't be called life. You were daydreaming about what would happen if Hughie found you. You kept coming back to that night with memories of when it all started and ended.
"Y/n Listen..." Serge sighed. "I'm mad, you broke your promises, You betrayed my trust, but that doesn't mean I stopped loving you. You are my sister and even if you stab me in the back I will still love you."
"I'm so sorry frère..." your voice squawked.
"I know that sooner or later I will forgive you, but it will be a really long time before I can trust you again."
"Please let me go home. I'll do everything I can to make it right. I hate being here alone, I can't handle it Serge." You walked up to him and grabbed his hand tightly. Your heart was breaking into pieces, you felt guilty and knew that this feeling would not go away too soon, you knew that you deserved to be punished, but you were aware that you would not last a moment longer here. Your brother also knew this very well.
"Come on, we'll pack up your things, okay?" he said coming closer to you, and you threw yourself around his neck hugging him with all your might.
"I missed you so much," you sobbed into the collar of his jacket.
"Me too sœur, me too." he replied feeling a weight fall from his heart as well.
Anxious Hughie sat in the car nervously shaking his leg. Minutes passed and you were still nowhere to be seen. He began to fear that the situation had gotten out of hand and instead of getting along you would start arguing again, but as soon as he saw you leaving the building all thoughts from his head disappeared. His heart skipped a bit and without even knowing when he was standing in front of the car smiling in your direction. At the sight of him you threw the bag you were holding in your hands on the ground and ran towards him. Your bodies collided with such force that he lost his balance, causing you to land on the asphalt. But at that moment it didn't matter. All that mattered was that you were now in each other's arms. He cupped your face and looked deeply into your eyes, which were glassy. Tears began to flow into his as well. This time they were a sign of joy and emotion. Pure happiness enveloped you completely.
"Are you crying?" you asked with a giggle.
"You are crying too." he replied still smiling. He corrected his position by sitting down on the ground, and you sat across from him and close enough that your foreheads touched.
"I missed you so much." you whispered.
"I kept thinking about you, remembering everything," he said grabbing your hand. "And I know that memories fade, but the best ones will last" he placed a gentle kiss on the top of your hand. "As time moves on, I keep lookin' back,"
"Kiss me like it was the 4th of July".
"When fireworks froze like stars in the sky?" you had the feeling that your heart was about to fail. Seeing Hughie's world's cutest smile as he held your hand it was melting at an incredibly fast speed.
"I thought you had forgotten..."
"I'll always remember the 4th of July and the look in your eyes... I saw every color of the rainbow in them."
"I didn't know there was such a romantic hidden in you."
"I can tell you more, I can tell you that it was actually you who was like a rainbow that appeared in the sky after a nasty storm. Did I go too far? Too cheesy? If you don't like it tell me, I'll stop right away." His self-doubt at that moment was charming. In truth, the words he said really touched and impressed you. Even if they sounded like they were taken straight out of some cheap, cheesy romantic comedy.
"Just kiss me Hughie." you replied. And he closed the gap between you without a second thought. The world around you ceased to exist. You didn't care that you were sitting in the middle of the parking lot. What mattered was that everything seemed to be getting back on track and you had the people you loved and who loved you with you again.
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A Smile From Hell
[Homelander x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: Despite the amount of unpredictability The Homelander has, he still catches you off guard with something as small as a smile.
WC: 3576
Category: Angst, Supe!Reader {TW — Homelander for obvi reasons}
In honor of Season 4’s weekly releases, this one is for the Antony Starr girlies (and you @summerrivera777777)
『••✎••』
John fucking terrified you.
He terrified everyone, really.
He had the power to level an entire city block with a glance. He was strong enough to crush a man's skull with one hand and fast enough to catch a bullet. He was an unstoppable force of nature. He was The Homelander, and he was a threat to anyone who stood in his way.
But, the thing was...
You knew everything about him. Everything.
And he absolutely despised that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. You had seen him at his most vulnerable and pathetic. You had seen his humanity, it’s amazing he still has any after the way Vought has abused him, and you had seen his inhumanity.
Jessica, or Sister Sage, had confronted you on several occasions, trying to get you to tell her your secrets. She wanted the upper hand on her arch nemesis, the only one in the world who was a threat to her. It was her mission to end the reign of the superhero she hated most, and she was willing to do anything for it.
You could see right through her, and you didn’t need magnificent amounts of intelligence to do so. You could see the fear in her eyes. You could see the doubt in her face, hear the strain in her voice, feel her uneasiness when she was near him.
John knew it, too. He just simply chose to ignore it. He had grown used to being the scariest man in the room. It’s been that way his whole life, and it seemed it was going to stay that way.
But, despite all that fear, she came to you for answers. Again.
And this time, the question was a simple one. It was so simple, yet completely understandably complicated.
How are you allowed to live?
That was a question that stumped you. It took you a long time to grasp the meaning of it, the specific answer she was looking for.
After a few clarifications, you finally understood what she meant.
She wanted to know why John allowed you to live. She wanted to know why he hadn’t killed you. She wanted to understand why you were the only person alive after calling him by his name.
Not his stage name, his real name.
For being the most intelligent person on the planet, you’d think that she’d be able to understand it. I mean, the answer was right there, in front of her face. She didn't need to be a genius to figure it out; all she needed was a little more insight.
A little bit of understanding.
"Respect," you said, your voice soft. Your words were clear, though, and she heard them perfectly.
The confusion on her face was evident, as was her disbelief.
"What?"
"It's respect. Anyone I respect is someone that deserves my respect."
She snorted.
"Right," she said. "Like he could actually respect anything other than himself."
"He's capable of it if that's what you're thinking," you told her. "And this isn’t about him respecting me; it's about me respecting him."
She narrowed her eyes at you, her suspicion rising.
"Why would you respect him?" she questioned. "You're not blind; you know exactly who he is."
Yes, you did. You knew more than most, and compared to The Seven now, you probably knew the most. His actions? Completely unredeemable. He was, in fact, a monster; there was no arguing that. He was a horrible, twisted, monstrous individual; no one would deny it.
His actions weren’t excusable, but he had an explanation. A reason for why he was the way he was.
He wasn’t born a monster; he was turned into one. That… that was the respect part. You respected him because you respected his story. You respected his pain. You respected his anger.
You respected his past; anything after that was on him.
"I don’t like using stage names to those I respect enough, so I call him John. He allows it because he knows I don’t mean it the way others would if they used his name; it doesn't hold the same power with me."
She rolled her eyes at you.
"Same goes for you, Jessica; I have no desire to call you Sister Sage."
Her flinch was barely visible, but you still caught it. Again, what is intelligence if not knowing the chances of a particular outcome?
"I’ve noticed you don’t call Deep or that fire chick by their real names."
You just smiled, leaving her to solve that answer for herself, and it didn’t take long at all. You knew the exact moment she came up with a conclusion. She was quite predictable, in that regard. Maybe you should’ve been the big-brained hero instead.
And now, you really should’ve been because when you turned down the hall, catching wind of the elevator doors opening, you knew he had listened to it all.
But you didn’t say anything, and you really didn’t say anything after a simple glance at him.
He was completely drenched in blood, a look that would terrify even the toughest of men. But not you, oh no, you were very used to that. He’s done a lot worse.
Besides, you were too distracted by the fact that the blood wasn't his. Too distracted by noticing how this time was different. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual cruel smile. This time, it was genuinely happy.
Relief, almost.
It reminded you of the night you two bonded. No, not that type of bond. The bond that told you both that you weren’t alone.
He had a friend, but he wasn’t really your friend. You don’t believe you could ever consider him one. Not really, not with the things he has done.
But, still, you were the closest thing he had to a friend. You were the closest he had to an equal, a person he could relate to. Jessica carried the same intelligence (obviously a lot more), but the similarities between the two of them stopped there.
You had a similar history but different outcomes.
And that reveal between the two of you happened that night. This was way back, even before Starlight joined. Back when The Seven was in its prime.
Stillwell threw a party, something she always loved to do before Teddy became her focus. It was the usual: people in fancy dresses and suits, lots of champagne and liquor.
The difference, however, was the main focal point. Usually, given Vought’s status, all of The Seven members were the main event. Everyone was mandated to wear their hero outfits. It was a great way to advertise and get people to buy more of the products.
The theme this time, however, wasn’t about the group. It wasn’t about any of you. For the first time in a long while, John wasn’t in the spotlight.
Due to this, Stillwell banned everyone from wearing their costumes. No capes, no spandex, no leather, no masks. Just suits and dresses.
It was nice, actually. A little break from the norm. It felt good to go a night without the tight leather on your skin. You were actually surprised at how well it was received.
The rest of the members of the group seemed to be having a wonderful time as well.
Except for one.
He was standing in the corner, glaring at everyone. Madelyn had an entire argument with him about the suit. You weren’t there, but you knew exactly how it went.
His costume was a part of him. It was a symbol. It was a mask. A representation. An embodiment of who he was. Without it, he was a naked target.
Madelyn clearly did not give a single shit. In the end, the argument resulted in the two of them getting into a screaming match, causing him to storm off in a fit of rage.
So, there he was, standing alone, seething at anyone who passed him. Madelyn won; of course, she did, and she didn't even bother trying to apologize. She wasn't sorry.
She was just mad that he refused to listen in the first place.
But, hey, that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying yourself. The night was going pretty well; the alcohol was flowing nicely, and the music was just right. You were dancing and laughing and having a great time.
But, of course, things weren't always easy for you.
You weren’t expecting it to last long; you weren’t one to have good luck. You knew, deep down, that the night was going to come crashing down on you. You were just waiting for the ball to drop.
The ball dropped the moment you decided to go cheer up the sourpuss.
It was obvious the way his shoulders tensed, and his head tilted ever so slightly. He knew you were approaching. He was aware.
"Don't," he said.
He was clearly angry, and you weren’t smart enough not to push. This is where Jessica’s powers would have benefited you greatly.
You ignored his warning, walking up beside him, mocking his stance.
"You okay?" you asked, your tone soft and light, a hint of playfulness.
His eyes flicked over to you, and the glare he gave was terrifying. His eyes were so intense, and his teeth were clenched. You could see his jaw tensing.
He was a volcano, ready to erupt.
You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.
"I'm fine." Humorously enough, it sounded like the opposite.
"Really?"
He turned his head to look at you, his anger increasing by the second.
"Don’t you have anything better to do?"
You shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm choosing to talk to you."
He looked away from you, grumbling, "And why's that?"
"Because you’re ruining the party," you answered. "Miserable face and all."
He rolled his eyes. He actually does this a lot, believe it or not. It's the only expression he has besides anger that isn’t fake.
"And why do you care?"
You shrugged again. "I care about enjoying myself, and I can't do that when you're moping."
He turned his head towards you. He was not amused.
"Go find someone else to entertain yourself with.” He pointed behind him. "I’m sure Deep will be glad to show off his fish facts."
That one caused you to make the same face he had moments ago. The absolute look of disgust on your face was enough to bring a smug grin to his own.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
"Don't make me throw up, John."
The name.
It was a simple slip-up, nothing more. But, of course, it meant so much more. This was before everything, so it doesn’t seem likely that a slip-up like that wouldn’t result in consequences, but it secretly was a turning point.
He could've killed you.
He could've easily grabbed you and thrown you across the room, and no one would be able to comprehend what had happened until after you were unrecognizable.
He didn't, though.
No, instead, he stared at you, his face blank, and his mind processing. You were nervous, of course. You had no idea what was going on in his head.
After a minute, a look of realization came upon him, and you could see the exact moment the gears started turning.
Then, a simple hum fell from his lips. One said he wasn’t expecting it but was deciding whether to accept it.
Then, after a few seconds, his face relaxed. His jaw was unclenched, his eyes softened, and his eyebrows relaxed.
"Let’s have a chat."
Uh oh. That’s a code red—a sign of danger.
You were so done.
And yet, for some odd reason, you followed him. You don’t know why. It was a stupid move, in your opinion. You should've run while you had the chance. You should’ve listened and just punched fishlips or something.
You didn’t, though.
You followed him, allowed him to fly you somewhere private, and just waited. You waited for your imminent doom. You were going to die; you were sure of it.
But, for some reason, your death never came.
Instead, the two of you landed on the tower’s roof, the cold New York air hitting you hard. He had set you down on your feet and went all the way to the railing.
You stood awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around with those beams in his eyes, but they never came.
He was just looking out into the city, his back turned to you, his hands on the railing.
After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head, looking at you through the corner of his eye.
"Aren't you going to ask?"
Ask what? What was there to ask?
There were plenty of things to ask, actually, and yet you had no idea what the right thing to ask was. Because, again, even here, he was unpredictable and unreadable.
You didn't want to anger him; you knew that for sure. But you were also tired of his mind games. It was a constant battle of wit, and you were sick and tired of being left in the dust.
So, you chose something simple to say. Something easy, yet not so simple to answer.
"Are you going to kill me?"
You wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around with a smile and answered yes.
He didn’t, though. Oh no, he stayed turned, staring into the city, his eyes searching. Searching for what you didn't know.
"No."
Simple and clear.
You didn't respond, and he didn't elaborate. It was silent, and it was cold, and it was a tense moment.
But you didn't leave. You just watched him, watched his movements. The way his shoulders hunched over, his head tilting down, the grips on the railing, the way his hair slowly became unstuck due to the wind.
You always thought his hair looked better when it wasn't slicked back, but this is the first time you've ever seen it that way. It was… it was nice.
Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his head straightened. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t speak. He just looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing yours.
Even with a few strands of hair on his face, his eyes were so sharp and clear. So blue. So cold.
It felt like they were reaching deep into your soul.
It was terrifying. He was terrifying.
"Do you remember your parents?"
The question took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but then again, this whole encounter was the definition of unexpected.
"Yes. Why?"
His eyes scanned yours as if looking for a lie. Then, he turned back around, leaning on the railing.
"I can't remember mine," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if I even had them."
Oh. Oh. This was huge. This was a big one. You had to search deeply even to find out his actual name. Now, here he was, telling you of his past.
Of all people, he chose to tell you.
You didn’t know how to feel about that.
You were honored, yes. You were excited, definitely. But, most importantly, you were worried. Is this him letting you in? Or is it him preparing you for your demise?
It was an unknown territory, a field of landmines. You knew a lot about his past already, but now he was aware of the fact that you knew. He knows, and yet he is still giving you the information.
Why?
"I mean, it doesn't make sense. Everyone has parents, right? And I couldn't have been born out of nowhere. So, I must have had parents. A mom, a dad, some form of guardians."
His face was scrunched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. You could see the way his brain was working. He was really thinking about it, wondering how the pieces fit together.
He was struggling to make a connection, and he was mad at himself for not having it.
"I'm assuming your childhood wasn't the best," you said. You knew it was a risky move, joking about his past, but so far, he seemed to like the boldness and humor.
And he did, in fact, let out a snort.
"Understatement of the year."
You smiled but quickly stopped. It was a serious conversation, and smiling probably wasn’t the appropriate reaction.
Silence filled the space again, and he was back to thinking. He was trying; he was really trying. But he just couldn't.
It wasn't the fact that his parents were a mystery; he's come to terms with that. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember anything.
All he remembered was the torture, the pain, the experiments… nothing about how he got there. Nothing about the people before the scientists. Nothing about a home. And the fact that they were currently building a fake one for him made him so angry.
It was a mockery—a complete joke.
He felt all of these emotions and yet couldn't express them.
And he was frustrated. He was pissed off and tired and angry and sad and empty and-
"Did you rip off your tie?" Your eyes had caught sight of his bare neck, the black fabric missing.
It was the only way to pull him out of his head, and, to your surprise, it worked. You could see the moment he snapped back to reality, the moment he was pulled away from his mind.
"Yeah," he answered. "It was suffocating me."
You could tell.
His hair became more unkempt due to the wind. The strands of hair on his forehead were getting in the way, and it was getting annoying. Not for you, no, but for him.
For you, it was… humanizing. It made him seem a little less like a god.
He lifted his hand, his fingers gently combing through the locks. It was a struggle, a normal struggle that you've had with your own hair.
Plenty struggle with deviating the locks away from their desired location. You've had your own fair share of moments.
But this was the first time you'd seen him experience it. The first time witnessing him do something so simple and basic.
Such a human thing. It had you wondering what else he was capable of.
He sighed, his hand dropping back to the railing. Again, it is a normal thing to happen. But, it had you smiling, the corners of your mouth curving ever so slightly.
The action did not go unnoticed.
"What?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.
You shrugged. "I've just never…"
Your mind kept changing images. His hair, his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw, his nose, his ears, his neck, his hand, his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his skin…
Everything is listed in your mind, including the little imperfections and details that make him, well, him. This was the first time you saw him anything other than perfect.
The perfect monster he was, the god of all men. The man of the century, the one to take the world by storm. The strongest, the smartest, the best.
The symbol, the image, the mask.
The facade.
This was the first time you saw him as just a person. A human being. Just a regular guy.
"Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if you were…"
Normal.
The word was at the tip of your tongue. You could've said it; you should've said it. It was the truth. It was obvious.
But you couldn't.
He knew where your sentence was going, though. Of course, he did.
"If I was… what?" He still wanted to hear it. He was looking for validation, and he wanted it from you. His eyes were on you, his body turned, but there was this one odd thing.
A smile.
It wasn't his usual one. The one you were used to. The one that made everyone scared and uneasy. No, this was a real smile.
A soft, small one, but still a real smile.
A true smile. As if he knew the words you were going to say, as if he knew your thoughts, and he found them amusing.
You found him amusing.
And just because of that, you didn’t give him the validation.
"It’s fucking freezing out here," You coughed in hopes of successfully changing the subject. "I’m gonna get a jacket."
He was going to argue, but you were already walking off, telling him you’d take the emergency ladder down.
Nothing was spoken about that night. No words were exchanged.
But something had changed. Something had shifted. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it was something.
So, seeing that genuine smile again in that elevator was a shock.
He had the same face as he did on that roof. It was that smile. That one specific smile.
Capable.
That's what it was.
He was capable.
He was capable of feeling and being human. He was capable of being something other than a monster.
He was capable.
All he said to you when you walked by was a simple goodnight. Something so small, yet so big. This time, those words seemed to have a little more meaning.
So, just to raise his unsettling mood, you winked and said, "Goodnight, John."
Again, a smile.
The smile.
It was hard to continue walking, and it was even harder not to turn around. But you did.
You did it knowing you were going to have a hard time sleeping. Knowing that, no matter what, you weren’t going to forget that smile.
The demon that still had a little bit of humanity in him.
A demon that was capable.
#the homelander#homelander#homelander x reader#homelander x fem!reader#homelander x female!reader#homelander x you#homelander/reader#the boys homelander#fanfic#x reader#fanfiction#reader#the boys#the boys fanfic#the boys fanfiction#the boys fandom#antony starr#antony starr x reader#the boys x reader#the boys x you#the boys series#homelander imagine#angst#heavy angst#forbidden love#billy butcher#hughie campbell#the deep#a train#starlight
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me when 'the boys' pull up the most disgusting, grotesque and bizarrely exaggerating scene ever on screen for parody, satire or social criticism purposes (or just because, idgaf):
#the boys#the boys series#billy butcher#homelander#starlight#soldier boy#black noir#the deep#sister sage#firecracker#a-train#queen maeve#kimiko miyashiro#frenchie#mother's milk#hughie campbell#victoria neuman#the boys season 4#i'm wilding with this season rn#this is a meme blog#fanfics are secondary now
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A Game of Updog || The Boys Imagine
(Platonic) Soldier Boy x GN!Reader Featuring: Butcher, Hughie
Summary: Set in S3E7. The car ride to Mindstorm is too quiet for your liking. You decide to spice things up by trying out the updog trick on good ol' Soldier Boy.
Warning: None, just silly stuff
"Do you smell that?"
Soldier Boy, who's sitting next to you in the passenger seat, looks at you weird and starts smelling the car, "What?"
Hughie does the same in the front seat, "I don't smell anything."
"Really? 'Cause it smells a lot like updog in here."
Hughie manages to keep himself from smiling, not that you can see it, but he knows exactly what you're trying to do and will not mess it up for you. Soldier Boy, on the other hand, squints at you in confusion, "What's-"
"Oh, for fuck's sake." Butcher interrupts, also aware of your trick, and is trying to stop it. "We are NOT on a fucking road trip to the Dolomites. Can i just have a tiny bit of peace while i'm driving?"
Soldier Boy raises his eyebrows at Butcher. He seemed fine with you and Soldier Boy talking just an hour ago.
"Sorry," you tell him, "It's just... i'm bored, and the car smells like updog."
There it is again, the word he doesn't understand. Hughie was kind enough to explain new words like bluetooth and internet, so maybe this is another new thing... or it's a sensitive topic to Butcher, judging by how aggressively he reacted. Soldier Boy opens his mouth to speak, but Butcher beat him to it again.
"Fine!" Butcher rolls his eyes, "If you can't shut up, why don't we talk about Mindstorm, hm?"
"Okay." You sigh, leaning back into your seat, then turns to face Soldier Boy. "Do tell us about him."
"Well, he can read your mind." He says, matter-of-factly.
You look at him, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't say anything else. "Is that it?" You ask.
"What, don't you know him?"
"Nope," You shake your head, "I don't know much about him, or you, or any of Payback to be honest."
Soldier Boy seems surprised. He thought that his former team was popular. Perhaps the times have changed and the younger people are no longer taught about the predecessors of The Seven.
"Oh, but it's because i used to be indifferent about these things, not because you're not famous." You assure him. "You heard it yourself, the things Homelander say about you."
"Right. Anyway," He shrugs it off, "Mindstorm can get inside your head too, so don't look him in the eye."
"Where am i supposed to look, then?"
"Anywhere but his eyes." He answers with a cheeky smile.
"Okay."
"And he's also kinda strong."
"Is he as strong as updog?"
"What's updog?"
"I don't know, what's up with you?"
Finally! The moment you've been waiting for! Your eyes sparkle with delight as you grin from ear to ear, celebrating the success of your little game.
Soldier Boy only stares at you, eyes furrowed and speechless, trying to process what just happened. Hughie is looking outside the window, failing to hide a little laughter. Next to him, Butcher groans loudly, mumbling curses under his breath.
#soldier boy#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x you#soldier boy x y/n#the boys x reader#the boys x you#the boys imagine#platonic the boys imagine#platonic x reader#platonic imagine#the boys fic#the boys fanfic#gender neutral y/n#gender neutral reader#the boys#the boys tv#the boys soldier boy#soldier boy the boys#billy butcher x reader#billy butcher x you#billy butcher x y/n#hughie campbell x y/n#hughie campbell x you#hughie campbell x reader#the boys amazon
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You Call It Madness But I Call It Love
Pairing: Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV
Tropes: Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Song Inspiration For The Series: You Call It Madness But I Call It Love By Russ Columbo
Series Playlist (Spotify)🥀
Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters fluctuate between past and present, beginning in 1934. SPOILERS FOR THE BOYS S3
Chapter 1: You Shouldn't Have Answered the Door
Chapter 2: Late Night Visitor
Chapter 3: Summer Has to End Someday
Chapter 4: It's My Party and I'll Eat Cake If I Want To
Chapter 5: The Man, The Myth, The Legend
Chapter 6: Batter Up
Chapter 7: Are We Old Friends Or Old Enemies?
Chapter 8: Jealousy Doesn't Look Good On Anybody Except...
Chapter 9: Wedding Bells or Gong of Destruction?
Chapter 10: How Did It End Up Like This?
Chapter 11: I Can't Think With You Yelling At Me!
Chapter 12: My Heart Is Beating For You Constantly
Chapter 13: You Made A Plaything Out of Romance
Chapter 14: You're All I'm Dreaming Of
Chapter 15: What Do You Know About Love?
Chapter 16: Please Come Back To Me
Chapter 17: How Could I Ever Forget?
Chapter 18: First Impressions Are Often Correct
Chapter 19: I Know Who You Are
Chapter 20: You Were There
Chapter 21: Try To Understand
Chapter 22: I May Be Right Or I May Be Crazy
Chapter 23: Extreme Makeover Backyard Edition
Chapter 24: What The Past Held
Chapter 25: Are Family Reunions Always This Awkward?
Chapter 26: I Hate You, I Love You
Chapter 27: Take Me Back To The Beginning
Epilogue: True Love Is Hard To Find
Last Updated: 10/08/2024 (Series Complete)
One Shots: COMING SOON!
[Extras]
Chapter 7.5: The Only Escape (Unused)
Happy Halloween! (Takes Place After Main Series)
If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)
Taglist:
@roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303
@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs
@bughill126 @simplyfixated @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts @onlyangel-444
@lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress @my-obsession-spn
@lifeonawhim @liuope @brynanna @carpenterswife
@xxannyxx
@babyinatrench-coat1 @the-gentle-spirit @valryomen @cassieriddle713 @shaggzthatsnottheworm
@lil-soup @ej13928 @topstory21 @boywivlove
@mrsjenniferwinchester
@vivre-dans-la-nuit @megara0224 @daisy-the-quake @thesilmarillionblog @samanddeaninatrenchcoat
@livya99 @peachhiz @tinydancer40 @tinystarfishgalaxy
@jvanilly
@lunaticgurly @i-am-typing @52ndstreeet
@anna6307
@pixviee @soldiergrimes @ladysparkles78 @ahoytothestorm
@octoazzy @modiddys-blog @marmie-noir @practicallylivesonline @impala67stellawinchester
@everlove @dangerousgardenchild
(Photos on mood board from Pinterest)
#jensen ackles soldier boy#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x you#soldier boy x female reader#the boys fanfic#the boys series#soldier boy#soldier boy fanfiction#the boys amazon#jensen ackles#soldier boy/ben#soldier boy fic#the boys season 3#jackles#billy butcher#homelander#hughie campbell#the boys#You Call It Madness But I Call It Love
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Dating Headcannons for The Boys characters!
Please send requests, i need motivation
Characters listed; Hughie, Butcher, M.M, Frenchie, Kimiko
Warnings; Mentioned drinking and cannon typical violence/language. Also i’m barely on season 2 please bear with me
Hughie;
- He’s so so sweet about your relationship
- He gets you flowers for no reason other than he saw them and thought you’d like them
- He has thousands of reminders so he won’t forget anything, from a drink you liked to your anniversary he will have it written down.
- Later on in the series he gets protective and cautious about the relationship, scared someone (homelander) will mess it up by hurting you
- He’ll probably push you away a bit to try and protect you but after you knock some sense into him he’ll be back to normal
- Loves park/library dates, going on a picnic during the summer and to the library when it’s to cold out.
- He will do so much for you (flowers, gifts, dates etc) and insist it’s nothing but will cry (happy tears) if you do the same
- Don’t get me wrong tho, he’s still a bad ass (sometimes). He just dosnt want you to think differently of him because of it, he’s hurt people, killed people, and he honestly isn’t too keen on focusing on it. Even if you two are in the same line of work.
- And if you two don’t work together he tries to keep his ‘work’ life and dating life separate, very separate.
“You’ve never told me what you do for work, maybe i could stop by and meet your co-workers.”
“Uh, actually, i don’t think that’ll work.”
“Why not? is everything ok there or something?”
“I-, uhm, work alone, so i don’t even have coworkers for you to meet really, it’s really boring infact you’d probably fall asleep just from me talking about it hahaha.”
- You find out like two days later
Butcher;
- Little shit
- I mean that affectionately
- His pet names will range anywhere from “Darlin’” to “Fucker” and i WILL stand by it
- He’ll probably introduce you to his work before he does his dog
- But his dog is the big ticket, you meeting Terror is essentially his way of proposing before proposing
- He’s protective but not in the “i’ll watch your every move” more in the “im teaching you how to use every weapon to ever exist” way
- Honestly work would probably come before you for a while before he sucks it up and actually makes an effort
- Dates will be at the most shity bar imaginable, unless he’s apologizing for something then he’ll take you to the nicest place he can and put on a suit. (it’s the Cheese Cake factory and he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt under his jacket but he’s trying)
- Unlike Hughie he will introduce you to his work at some point, granted it would still be a while before he did but he would at some point.
- He’s sweet in his own way
“Darlin’, look what i got ya.” And it’s a Garfield shirt a size to big but you still wear it anyways
MM;
- Definition of husband material
- remembers anything and everything after being told one time
- makes you baths with rose petals and candles and all that stuff if you mention you’ve been tired lately
- Takes you out to the movies and a nice restaurant at least twice a month
- Good gods he’s sweet to you
- He knows how to cook/bake and will make stuff for you all the time
- My guy will make a meal from your culture and practice making it almost daily just to give you a taste of home.
- He really loves back massages and cuddling after a long day
- Put on some crappy reality show for background noise and nap together
- He wants you as far away as humanly possible from his work, will literally say shit like “everyone at work has the plague you can’t visit” as a joke to try and change the subject
- Chances are you won’t find out
- His favorite flowers are tulips and nothing will change my mind about it
“Baby what are these?”
“Tulips, I bought them from a street market on 11th today. They’re your favorite, right?”
“Gods, sweetheart you’re perfect.”
Frenchie;
- When you two meet you both think it’s just going to be a one night stand
-…then it’s two nights, then three, then a week, then you start spending more time at his place than your own. One day you guys just realize you’re moved in and dating
“Are we dating?”
“…Was there anything else we could be mon cœur?”
- honestly i don’t think you two would get together if you weren’t working together, or at least you were also into some shady shit
- But overall you guys have a strong relationship, one gets hurt the other kills someone, someone is hungry the other is already cooking, stuff like that
- He also cooks but it’s only french food, it’s like a super power. He can cook any french food effortlessly but literally anything else he messes up
- If you are french he’ll be super happy someone else will appreciate the same stuff in a similar way
- If not then he’ll be happy to share stuff with you, teach you some french words and tell you about stuff he grew up with
- Honestly he’s just happy someone (other than Kimiko) will listen and take an interest
Kimiko
-I have a confession to make, Kimiko is my favorite and i have a very blatant bias towards her
- Kill anyone you want bby i don’t care ill always like you
- Anyways, It probably takes you a while to get close enough to her that she’ll consider dating you
- Once y’all get to that point i don’t think you could break it tho
- I think she would like constant minimal physical contact, like hand holding or leaning on each other
- I think she’d be pretty protective over you, like someone looks at you wrong and she wants to maul them
- Learn sign language with/for her she will love it
- Draw with her, get her supplies, like those alcohol markers i’m sure she’ll love them
- Honestly i don’t think she’d be big on pet names, she wouldn’t object to it but i don’t think she’d give you one first
- Cook for her, i just think it would be sweet and she deserves it
“I got you some of those markers you’ve been looking at for a while.”
Thank you, this is nice
- Please she’s perfect i love her
#the boys#the boys x reader#the boys x male reader#The boys x female reader#the boys x you#fanfic#cranberry writes#male reader#gn reader#x reader#reader#x female reader#x male reader#reader x hughie#hughie campbell#hughie campbell x reader#billy butcher x reader#frenchie x reader#Mothers milk x reader#Mothers Milk#kimiko x reader#kimiko the boys#the boys fanfic#the boys headcannons
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maybe a frenchie x supe!reader? there’s not enough frenchie fics out there! like maybe they don’t get along but they’re forced to work together?
A Wild Fix: Part 1
Pairing: Frenchie x Reader
Summary: You, Wild Card, a 27 year old Supe newly signed by Vought, are recruited by Billy Butcher following an incident in Vought Tower. With the help of The Boys, you vow to destroy the corrupt system that wronged so many. But will your mission be tainted by your constant bickering with one of your new team members?
Word Count: 1.9k
Warnings: Violence, drug use, Homelander (Obviously), mentions of drug use, questionable French
Notes: I absolutely LOVED this request. I slept on it once I saw it because I had so many ideas and I didn't know where to start...but my goal is going to be a 3-5 part series! I'm going to try my best to keep each part under 2k, maybe 1.5k each? No gender was specified in the request so I'm gonna keep it as a GN reader!
From the outside...Vought as a whole seemed like the shiny pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that every Supe had striven for since the company's creation. But you? You knew the truth. Only 24 hours into your career as a member of The Seven, you had been subjected to more violence than you expected from a group that was supposedly supposed to save people. Your first meeting with the rest of the group had gone south quickly once you questioned one of Homelanders statements, and stood your ground when he told you to back down. Before you could even blink, you were pinned against the wall, with a firm hand pressed against your neck, constricting your breathing. In that moment, you understood that being compliant was the only thing that would secure your status as living. So that's what you did, you nodded your head and said “yes sir.” Needless to say, you left that room with the fear of god, no, the fear of The Homelander, choked into you…But you knew you couldn’t sleep here. So you booked a hotel room for the night, hoping maybe the receptionist wouldn't notice the bruises on your neck.But while you walked there, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hugged yourself to keep the cool night air out of your jacket, you were approached by a man named Billy Butcher. The two of you had a lengthy conversation outside of the hotel regarding the truth behind Homelander, The Seven, and Vought as a whole. Then he made you an offer you couldn’t refuse: a chance to get back at Homelander. A chance to bring yourself justice, as well as bring justice to the others he had hurt in his desperate pursuit of ultimate power. Of course…you agreed.
You had kept in touch with Butcher the following week on a burner phone he had given you, knowing that Vought had most likely bugged all of your personal technology…and on your next day off? You met him at a location that was unknown to you, one you would soon come to be familiar with. As he ushered you down the wooden stairs of the unknown building, you weren't met with the most reassuring of environments. Drug paraphernalia, along with various illegal weapons, and full ammo boxes littered the expanse of the rather unwelcoming looking hideout. You stopped at the bottom step and pointed to a literal stack of plastic bags containing what you could only assume was coke.
“That’s…” you swallowed, “That’s coke.” Butcher, who had been guiding you down the stairs with his hand on your lower back, laughed and shook his head.
“That’s right, love. Bags of coke.” Billy said with a small chuckle as he patted your back and stepped onto the broken concrete floor of the basement, greeting the others that inhabited the space. The first person you noticed was a rather lengthy looking young man who looked to be around the same age as you with slightly curly brown hair. Admittedly, you thought he dressed like a twelve year old. He was seated on a questionable looking couch, next to an older man with a bigger build and a darker complexion…who looked like he could snap you in half with little to no effort. Your gaze then flickered further into the room, and your gaze landed on a man who was around the same height as you. Not exactly tall…but not short either. The man in question had a buzz cut, a piercing on his left ear, and was wearing an orange and black tie-dyed shirt, along with cargo pants. He was seated on one of the tables that housed various pieces of drug paraphernalia, and was seemingly using a business card to arrange lines of coke on the back of an old phone book that sat on his lap.
“Well boys…here they are. This is Y/N L/N.” Butcher interrupted your silent evaluation as he addressed the room. He walked back to your side and put a hand on your shoulder, moving to point to the younger man on the couch. “That poor bastard there is Hughie,” he moved to the man next to him, “that's MM,” and finally…he pointed to the man sitting on the table. “That’s Frenchie.” Frenchie pulled his head away from the phonebook, white power dusted on his nose.
“Bonjour-” He said, cutting himself off with a sniffle as he wiped the coke from his nose. Oh, that's why they called him Frenchie. You narrowed your eyes, the greetings of the two other men falling on deaf ears as you looked Frenchie over. Clearly something important had been said during the duration of your staring, because you were knocked out of your thoughts by a firm nudge to the shoulder by Butcher.
“Oi, Hellen Keller! Are you up for it or not?” Butcher asked. He realized you hadn’t heard him and narrowed his eyes with a sigh. “We’re going to meet up with an info plug…You can either come or stay here with Frenchie.” You sort of just panicked and blurted out an answer, not wanting to ask any dumb questions about the info plug.
“I’ll stay…with uh, Frenchie.” You said. As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You weren’t an overly judgy person, you really weren't…but you couldn’t help but feel a bit of trepidation regarding staying alone with a man who had done coke off the back of a dirty phone book within the first minute of you meeting him. Butcher smirked when he saw the look of regret on your face.
“Right then. We’ll be back, love.” He said, gesturing for Hughie and MM to follow him out. “Make yourself at home.” With that, the three made their way up the stairs, leaving you alone with Frenchie. You took the moment of awkward silence that followed them leaving to look around the basement, your feet glued to the floor of course. The walls of the space were composed of a skeleton made of wooden posts, which were filled in with a mixture of red brick, and the same color of concrete that the floor was made of. The walls in question were littered with spray painted tags of many different colors, most of which you couldn’t read, due to the fact that they were in a different language, but they were oddly beautiful nonetheless. The lighting in the room, just a few hanging light bulbs, added to the strange ambiance of the room.
“You are Wild Card…Yes?” The silence was broken by Frenchie, who was still sitting on the table, but now facing your direction. You turned to him and nodded, albeit awkwardly.
“Yeah…Yeah. That's me. Just call me Y/N, though.” You said, trying your best to give a convincing smile.
“Y/N…” He nodded as he repeated your name, “Oui. A good name.” He looked at you for a moment, almost waiting for you to respond. When you didn't, he pursed his lips and blinked. “Remind me, Y/N…What are your powers exactly?” You sighed when he asked that. It was always strange explaining what exactly your powers were.
You were called Wild Card for a reason. While you were powerful…using your powers was sort of like playing a game of russian roulette, only with the gun pointed towards the other person. You could do a multitude of different things, along with the constant of your strength, speed, and agility. You could create different balls of explosive matter, you could manipulate and use the moisture present in the air for multiple different attacks, along with a few other niche things. The problem was…you never knew which would happen beforehand. All you could go off was the feeling you felt in your palms. You weren’t exactly the most reliable Supe abilities wise…but every one of your random attacks was extremely powerful, making you a good person to throw into the mix if things aren't going well for the rest of your team, which is why you were a valuable member to add to The Seven.
“Uhm…Have you ever played Uno before? Like the card game?” You asked. Frenchie nodded. “Well it’s kinda like when you put a wild card down in Uno, and you get to pick a color…Except you pick the color blindly.” Frenchie sort of stared at you for a moment, before he started laughing. You tensed up when you heard him laugh, but you tried to laugh along, due to the fact that you couldn’t tell if he was laughing with you or at you. “Forgive me, mon cher-” He stifled a laugh before continuing, “that is the silliest thing I've ever heard.” At that comment, you frowned, taking a step back even though you were across the room from each other.
“Silly? It’s not silly at all…I’m pretty powerful, all things considered-”
“But you just use it blindly?” He asked with a chuckle. “What happens when you want to shoot a fireball or something, but you summon a child’s teddy to your hand instead?” That ticked you off. Who the hell was he to insult your powers? He was a druggie, and didn't even have any.
“How can you sit there and insult me when you were doing lines off the back of a 30 year old phonebook when I walked in?” You asked, your words coming out a bit more spiteful than you had intended. Frenchie narrowed his eyes, but tried to shake off his anger. He wasn’t fond of fighting with people over small things, especially not when intoxicated.
“Ah…I see…” He said with a chuckle that you could only describe as pathetic, “All Supes really do have an ego, don't they?” He asked, hopping off the table he was sitting on.
“Hey! You've known me for five minutes and you're already making assumptions about me?” You balled your fists and took an accusatory step forward. Frenchie raised a brow.
“And I’m safe to assume that you’ve already painted this image of me in your head like some sort of druggie asshole?” Damn. He got you with that one. But alas…You were too prideful to let him have the last word. You scoffed.
“Maybe I’ll change my opinions when you’ve done something other than do drugs and laugh at me.” You said with a roll of your eyes. You weren't a conflictive person…But the last few days had been long and hard, so you couldn't exactly help it.
“Ditto, mon amour.” He said, his face painted with an absolutely infuriating smirk.
“Fuck you.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know nothing about me.”
“Eh bien, va te faire foutre toi aussi.” He said, almost matter-of-factly, mocking your current stance. You didn’t speak French, but you could only assume he had said something insulting back. Well, fuck you too. You were about to spit something back, but thankfully, Butcher came walking back down the wooden stairs, an eyebrow raised.
“Everything's alright down here, love?” He asks, the look on his face a mix between suspicion and curiosity.
“Yeah. Everything is fine.” You said, your tone strained. Butcher then looked over to Frenchie, who simply gave a thumbs up before leaning down to do another line off the phonebook. You huffed and rolled your eyes. You were too exhausted to say anything else.
The nerve of this man.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I think it's safe to say this mini series is going to be lots of fun! I love Frenchie as a character, and it was really fun to come up with a fun Supe persona for the reader! I hope you enjoyed, and stay tuned for part 2! I'm also working on a taglist form so keep an eye out for that! Adieu!
Masterlist
#the boys fanfic#theboys#frenchie x reader#frenchie the boys#mothers milk#billy butcher x reader#billy butcher#the boys fandom#the boys fanfiction#hughie campbell#hughie campbell x reader#homelander#vought#homelander x reader#gn reader#lgbtqia#writer#mini series#mm x reader#kimiko the boys#mm the boys#billy butcher the boys#the boys hughie#homelander the boys
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Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr
Series Masterlist
Author's Note: Me, reading more and more smut the further we get into the story: I’m studying. I’m improving my craft. It’s for the people. Chapter Title from Coming Down by Halsey
Word Count: 23k
Chapter Summary/Warnings: You have a revelation. Nasty fucking smut. Just so much smut. And usual warnings.
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst, pining, smut
Read on A03!
Chapter 14 - Chapter 16
This was bad. This was really, really bad.
You loved him.
You loved Ben.
You totally, completely, wrathfully and comfortably loved Ben.
That’s what this was. This eternal feeling of need and want and safety. Love. For Ben. Infinite and indestructible love. No way around or over or under it. No way to talk or twist yourself out of it. You loved Ben. With every bloody and broken part of you, you loved Ben. You burned because Ben was there. He didn’t even have to burn with you, because that’s how strong your love was. You would burn for him, and it would be an inferno that carried you both. He would burn with you though, because he was an idiot. Your idiot. Your idiot, because you loved him.
It had pushed so close to the surface, when Violet had almost said it for you. That you only silently communicated with people you loved. But you’d rationalized. You’d been doing that with Ben for months now. Love had nothing to do with it. You just understood each other. That was all it was. Not love. Just the implicit knowledge that Ben had you. Got you.
Then he’d held you again. He’d moved you and danced with you, still touching you so gently. He had been everything around you, the song, and the rhythm, and his chest rising and falling as your head had pressed into it. And it was all so painfully obvious that it was love. You loved Ben.
You loved his stupid face. His stupid, handsome, stoic face that starred in your dreams. It was a little mean, actually, that he was so attractive. That his jaw was sharp and his lips were full and his eyes were pretty and green and boundless. It would be unfathomably easy to just get lost into his eyes forever. So easy it was downright cruel. Nobody should be allowed to have eyes like that. To look like that. But Ben did. When he slept his face would grow slack and peaceful as his lips parted and his hair fell across his face, and you’d always need to brush it away so it didn’t have a chance to wake him. When he was focused his brows would knit and his eyes would grow intent, and you’d always need to be the thing he was watching and picking apart. When he scowled at stupid things his nose scrunched slightly and all the lines on his face deepened, and you’d always need to run a hand over them until he smiled again. Because Ben’s smile was the most amazing thing you’d ever seen. It was so rare, because he’d wink and smirk and grin all the time—and it would always make you want him more—but his smile was rare. The wide, toothy, carefree smile that made his whole stupid face happy and brighter than any star. And when he laughed with his smile, he might as well have just shot you. It would make your heart stop, ruin and implode your world, and spill your heart out of your chest faster.
Nobody’s laugh had ever sounded as powerful and consuming as Ben’s. He made a lot of sounds that drove you insane—grunts and moans and snorts and low growls that always moved through you—but his laugh, his real, full laugh, was like a song. Full and deep and loud, filled with genuine amusement and digging into your brain. It moved mountains, it parted oceans, it made you warm and happy and love him so much more. Impossibly more. Because it meant he was happy, and he was the most handsome, idiotic, amazing person in history when he was happy. And it made your whole world solid and clear to feel his joy, made you feel just a little more real yourself when it was you making him happy. When he laughed at your joke or completed a task you’d set for him or you did something for him. Just for him. To make him happy. You’d do anything to make him happy. If he was happy he might stay with you, so you’d do anything. There were frighteningly few lines you wouldn’t cross for him. You’d be more worried about it if you didn’t trust him so completely. If you weren’t full of so much faith that Ben wouldn’t throw you across those lines, or even bring you anywhere near them. You wouldn’t love him if you thought he would. He might not love you, but he understood you, and understood what things you’d never do. And you’d make that enough. You make him staying with you and caring for you and keeping you safe worth his time. You’d keep holding his head and healing his PTSD, even when he bitched and moaned about not needing it. Because he was noticeably less paranoid, more often at ease. He didn’t have as many nightmares anymore, you didn’t feel the drums pound inside him when someone said Russia or sleep. It was the very least you could do for him, when he chased away your nightmares just by existing in your orbit. By surrounding you with his body and smell and making you fly out of your mind with desire, chasing away every shadow in the night and stifling every hateful part of you.
He was everywhere around you. Everywhere you looked was just Ben. Everywhere you looked would always be Ben. That was one of the more detrimental parts of living with him, was that every corner of your home was Ben. The fridge was full of strawberry cream cheese and the freezer had three pints of malt vanilla because he’d tear through one in a day. There were apples instead of oranges on the counter because oranges were a goddamn disgusting ass of a fruit. The carpet in your bedroom was there because Ben asked for it, and the bathroom had a razor because Ben needed to shave. His shield rested at your bedroom door, and there was a page bookmarked in your cookbook for pancakes. His clothes were mixed in with yours, so even when you wore one of your shirts they smelled like him, and when you showered you had to stare at his half-used shampoo that was evidence. Evidence Ben existed here, with you.
He was woven all through the world as well. You saw Ben everywhere in the world. You’d look at the map of the United States hanging in the dining hall and frown at Florida. You’d eat lunch with Annie, and she’d serve you strawberries and your whole body would start to search for him. You’d glance out a window and see the sky and a voice in the back of your head would go Blue. Pussy fucking color. You’d never be able to go outside again. Because you’d look at the grass and the trees and the bushes and only think Ben. Ben’s eyes are green like that. You’d never be able to do a lot of things again, especially if you lost him. Nobody would be allowed to address you, because it would just make you think that Ben had said your name better. The sun would have to stop shining because sunshine wouldn’t be allowed to exist anymore, and everyone would have to stop swearing because nobody would do it as well as he did. And nobody would touch you again. They wouldn’t do it like Ben did it. They wouldn’t wreck you just with hands on skin or names hummed into mouths. If someone held you, it wouldn’t be like you were holy. They wouldn’t be everything.
It wasn’t healthy. You weren’t stupid, you knew it wasn’t healthy. But you didn’t care. Healthy was a privilege. Healthy was for people who budgeted out their months and worked semi-stable jobs and had been born half-sane. Healthy was for people you could get their heart broken and have enough of themselves left to heal it. Healthy was for people who had a heart that was capable of remolding to fit in place with a new, different one after the heartbreak was over. Your heart was for Ben. It didn’t fit anywhere else. It could either be in your chest, or in his hands. It wouldn’t survive anywhere else. You’d survive without Ben. If you lost him, the world would keep spinning and your heart would keep beating and you’d heal after a very, very long and lonely time. But that would be it. It would just be you. No one else. If Ben left you’d let him and mourn it for the rest of your life, alone. If he went back to sleep, you’d burn everything to wake him up, and not just because you’d promised. Because you wanted him awake and happy and holding you. You wanted him. You needed him. You loved him.
And now you have to live with that. You’d have to learn how to love Ben like this. In this way that sat in your brain and made everything clear as your whole body was wrapped in some kind of cocoon, some sort of shield that kept you warm and alive because you loved Ben. You have to learn how to love him in this infinite way and never let it show.
You’ll keep going like you have been. Because you’ve loved him for a long time, if you think for just a second about it. You don’t know when it began, and you’re a little afraid to search for the exact moment where it became something of no return. The turning point, the moment that made your thoughts and feelings about Ben change from understanding and friendship into love. Horrible and loud and glorious love. Because it feels a lot less recent than it probably should be. It doesn’t feel like something that happened last week, or two weeks ago, or even a month. If you concentrate and comb through the past maybe you’d find when this became love, but it doesn’t really matter. Because it feels old. It feels like it’s something ancient that was dormant and now will never stop raging inside you. Just because you’re aware of it now doesn’t mean it wasn’t strong and fixed like this before.
So you’ll love him like you have been. Because you have been. Nothing needs to change because you have been loving him in secret for a while, it’s only just no longer a secret from you as well.
The only difference is now that chorus of Ben that runs through your brain all the time is followed by I love you. You wake up the morning after Violet’s visit, with Ben’s body heavy and secure over yours—his head pressed into your neck and his snores reverberating through your bones—and your mind goes Ben. Ben, I love you. You lay there for a while, waiting for him to wake up because you could. You had all the time in the world to lay in bed with the man you loved, letting his hands drift in sleep to the hem of your shirt and his legs tangle thoughtlessly in yours. To let your brain go Ben, I love you over and over until he made that small grunt that always preceded his waking.
Ben’s eyes open slowly, looking at you from underneath his eyelashes, and even those are pretty. You’d never stood a chance.
“Mornin,” he grumbles, and you smile at him.
“Good morning, Benjamin.” Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper. Already, acting normal is not going well.
“Benjamin?” He drawls, smirking up at you. “The fuck did I do to earn a Benjamin this early in the day?”
You wrinkle your nose at him, pushing your knee up into his gut. “It’s your name. Am I not allowed to call you your name?”
“Not when I’ve barely opened my damn eyes.” Trying to knee him was fully ineffective, because he's completely unaffected and now your calf is brushing against his half-hard cock. And he’s still looking at you. “You only call me that when I’ve pissed you off. Tell me what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything.” Ben, I love you. “You’re doing something, right now. But I was just saying your name.”
He narrows his eyes at you. “Then say it again.”
“What?”
Ben grins, shifting up on his arms and hanging over you. His face only a slight movement from yours. “Say my name again. My full name.”
“Why-“
“Because I want to hear it when you’re not mad at me for some shit reason.” His breath is moving from his mouth into yours. “Say it.”
You swallow, his lust sitting somewhere with your own in your chest and throat, but still manage to say, “Ask nicely.”
“Brat.”
“I’ll never say your name again-“
He kisses you, sloppy with his tongue falling into your mouth and his hand coming up to cup your face. He’s groaning your name, and his voice is so deep and he smells like pine and his body is warm and he tastes like mint-
You push up on his chest, gaping at him slightly. “Did you fucking brush your teeth?”
He scowls. “Shut up.”
���No, you brushed your teeth!” You grin at him, feeling the closest thing you’ve ever felt to embarrassment course through him. It’s sore and hot, crawling along his skin as he avoids your gaze. “I can taste it, Benjamin, so don’t even think about lying to me.”
“I wasn’t goddamn going to lie to you.”
“Because you’re not a pussy.”
“Because I’m not a fucking pussy.”
“But you brushed your teeth?”
Ben’s still glaring at you, but there’s nothing cold or sharp behind his eyes, or in his body. You can feel more of a sour annoyance, like he’s mad he got caught. “Brat.”
“Cunt.” You whack his chest lightly. “Are you just not going to admit it? Or am I going to have to get up and check your toothbru-“
You choke on your words as Ben drops back to your neck, sucking a line up your jaw.
“Ben-“
“I fucking brushed my teeth,” he growls into your ear, and somehow it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “Are you happy now?”
You want to say yes, or very, or Ben, I love you, but all you can manage is a strained, desperate sound that’s half-sigh and half-moan.
“Good. Now say my name and I’ll-“
You’re moving so fast to grab Ben’s face and pull him back against yours that whatever he was about to promise you is lost in a groan down your throat. You don’t care, because it can’t be better than this. It can't be better than Ben over you, his hand kneading the skin at your hip and his teeth making your lips swell. It can’t be better than the heat of him around you, the power of his hunger in you.
It’s so easy to moan, “Benjamin-“
He’s gone, hauling himself off of you in a second, so fast you can’t grab his arm and yank him back down.
“You asshole-“
“If you had let me finish my fucking sentence,” Ben grins down what’s meant to be your murderous glare but—based purely on his amused expression and teasing tone—is more likely a pout. “You’d have heard the part where I’m making you breakfast now.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you grumble. “Get your ass back down here.”
Ben hums. “No.”
“Benjamin-“
“There she is,” he leans down, pulling you up just enough that he can kiss the top of your head. “That’s how you always fucking say it.”
Before he can draw back up again, you grab his wrist with one hand, pushing your jaw up into the air to try and move his mouth to yours. He lets you, kissing you far too sweetly for the thirst to be overflowing like this, for the ache between your legs to be growing painful.
When Ben moves away once more, he presses another kiss to your forehead and all your thoughts become clear. It’s only Ben. Ben, I love you.
“Pancakes?” He mumbles against your skin, and you nod.
“Of course I want pancakes, but you-“ His mouth is gone again, hands still holding your face as he draws to his full height. “Ben-“
“I’m going to pick you up.” He says firmly, watching you carefully. It’s not a question, but he doesn’t move. Towering over you, waiting for you to prompt him. You nod, and the rough feeling in his chest pulses slightly as his arms drop under your knees, pulling you up into him.
“I hate you.” Your tone, quiet and gentle, isn’t convincing. Your movement isn’t convincing, arms wrapping around Ben’s neck and body leaning into his hold.
He chuckles, “No, you don’t.”
And you don’t. You love him. But you still glare at him, and revere in the complete concrete safety of Ben touching you. The strength of his body, the power of his resolve coursing through your bloodstream. The way you barely jostle against him when he walks down the stairs, how carefully he sets you down. How—once the coffee is brewed—he pours your mug first and places it in front of you. Shooting you a sharp glare when you start and stand up to help him.
“Get your fucking ass back in the chair, Sunshine,” he snaps. “I can cook my goddamn self.”
“I know,” you walk over to his side, holding his glower with an overly sweet smile. “But I want to cook with you.”
He’s still frowning, looking you up and down. “Why.”
“It’s fun,” you shrug. Ben, I love you. “You get mad at some really stupid shit. I’ve never seen someone snap a bowl in half before, I didn’t know you could snap a bowl in half.”
“It was broken already,” he grumbles. “Wasn’t fucking mixing the batter.”
“That’s not how bowls work, and you know it.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut up and get the milk or sit the hell back down.”
You smile at him, wide and light, and start to turn to the fridge. You don’t even take a step before Ben’s hand catches the top of your arm and spins you around, his lips crashing into yours in a long, needy, marked kiss. Walking you back into the kitchen counter, going and going until you’re breathless and moaning his name.
He smirks against your lips, sucking slowly on your top lip before moving away. Staring at you with the lust shining in his eyes. The lust and another, louder, fiery thing that’s roaring somewhere near his lungs. He says your name, voice hoarse, and you think it might kill you. “You’re a real fucking pain in my ass.”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I can really tell how hard all this is on you.”
He groans, because your words were carefully chosen. “Fucking hell-”
“Is there a problem, Pretty Boy?” You smile at him, and he rolls his eyes.
“You’re lucky you’re beautiful.” He kisses just the tip of your nose, and your whole body sings. “Get the milk.”
“Cunt,” you mutter under your breath as he walks away, and his laugh echoes through you. Ben, I love you.
This will work. You’ll love him like this. Keeping your lines set in stone rather than sand, because as much as you need him to walk back over to you—to pick you up again and just fuck you—you can’t. Knowing you love him made it easier to not chase after him, easier to stop yourself from giving him everything as you were now certain he couldn’t return it. But it made you want everything so much more. So you had to keep your head on your shoulders, and let him call you beautiful and kiss him until he was hard and you were wet, and never let it go further. You can love him like this. And it will be fine.
You master it, over the next three days. You get in stupid fights about nothing—Ben uses an abominable amount of toothpaste per brushing for someone who probably hasn’t done any sort of dental care in almost a century—and they either end with you winning, Ben’s tongue down your throat, or some combination of the two. And your brain always goes Ben, I love you, and you turn it into a whack of his arm or a wordless moan into his mouth or against his skin. You snark at him, and he chuckles and teases you, and instead of climbing on top of him and grabbing his face in your hands and screaming Ben, I love you, you make him laugh. You savor the sound as it fills the apartment, and squeeze your thighs together because everything this insufferable ass of a man does turns you on. It was a problem before, and now it might be starting to actively hinder your life. You’re training with him—Ben has insisted you learn how to coordinate fire in with your combat so you don’t rely wholly on your power, saying any supe worth their goddamn salt can do more than just party tricks, Sunshine—and your task is to knock him down.
It’s not going well.
“You did this better when you hated me,” Ben taunts, side-stepping you again.
“Fuck you.”
He laughs. “Maybe I will, once you’ve earned it.”
You scowl, lunging at him again. This time, when Ben doges, he moves right into the column of flame you’d risen in his path.
“Fucking Christ-“ He jumps away, shooting you a glare and snapping your name.
You don’t let him keep going, rushing another wall of flame at him. You’d learned to control the temperature—hot enough for Ben to feel, not hot enough for it to burn—and he takes a stumbling step back.
“That’s more fucking like it,” he’s grinning now, fists up. “Keep it coming, at this rate you’ll get me down by April.”
You flip him off, wrapping your hand in fire and throwing a punch right at his stupid, handsome face. “I’m going to wipe the floor with you Pretty Boy.”
He fakes left, the fire shooting up to block him in the wrong spot when he ducks right, under your arm. You recover fast, but Ben’s already grabbing you by the hook of your elbow, pinning you against his chest.
“Those are some big words,” he mutters, lips brushing your ear as his arm snakes around your waist. “For someone who can’t even land one damn punch.”
You angle your head back and kiss him. Rough, sudden, and harsh. It catches him off guard, and his grip loosens just enough for you to turn and jump up. He catches you as your legs wrap around him—you knew he would—and growls into your mouth as your hands pull at his hair. You keep going, Ben matching every bite of his lips with a bite of yours. Every groan you pull from him makes him harder and harder against you, makes his hold on you like steel and his hunger start to burn in your body. You lean your chest forward slightly—still holding his mouth against yours—and he moans. Ben moans, and your whole plan almost goes entirely out the window. The only thing that keeps you on track is the fact that if you don’t move now he’ll moan again and not a thing in the universe could stop you from fucking him.
You shove down on Ben’s shoulders, your whole body going up in flames. It does the trick, and Ben loses his balance just enough for you to push harder. Make him drop down to the floor as you straddle his chest, grinning triumphantly at his adorable, befuddled frown.
“I win.”
The disbelief and shock dies in Ben fast, and suddenly the hunger is bigger. Everything in him is bigger. Hunger and affection and a strange feeling that makes you light-headed and giddy.
“Dirty fucking trick, beautiful.” He says, smiling widely up at you as his hands find your hips. “Don’t think that’ll work on the average opponent.”
“Worked on you,” you say smugly, and the feelings somehow grow in him. In you. It makes you blink, your whole body consumed by it, and you don’t see or feel Ben grab your wrists until it’s too late and he’s flipping you over.
He’s above you, he’s everything, and nothing in you wants to try and get him away. You’d won already, and even if you hadn’t you can’t think of a way out of this. Not when his face is so happy, not when you can feel all of him. His body and his desire and his care.
“Fucking brat,” he mutters, mouth lowering just over yours. “Too smart for your own damn good.”
“You love it,” you mumble. I love you.
Ben snorts, and your whole world is just that sound. Content and moving through and around you. Just Ben, kissing you until your back is arching off the floor. Picking you up and dropping you both on the couch, going and going until you’re both out of breath. Then just touching you. Thumbs tracing circles on your skin, head resting against yours, all just Ben.
You look up at him, and he’s watching you. He’s always watching you. You don’t ever want him to look away. You move your hands up into his hair, palms pressed against his head, and his brows raise.
“I feel goddamn fine,” he drawls your name. “You don’t have to keep fucking doing this.”
“You had a nightmare last night,” you glare at him. “I decide when I stop doing this.”
Ben scowls, but doesn’t move your hands away. Sulking as your grip tightens and you set to work. You’re grateful for it, because his nightmare had scared you. It had been the first in a while, and while he hadn’t fallen into the drums and exploded, the pain he’d felt was still sitting in your bones. The strained sounds of suffering and fear that he’d made were rattling around in your head. It was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to make those sounds. Ben wasn’t made to make those sounds. So you’d keep doing this until he never had to make them again. It wasn’t hurting you at all anyway, you felt fine. Were shadows a little darker in corners and sounds a little louder at night? Maybe, but you were fine. And this wasn’t about you. It was about Ben.
It was about how soft his hair was in your hands, and how handsome his face looked when it was relaxed. It was about making him keep looking at you. All the time.
“We have dinner in an hour,” you say after a while, mostly to try and drown out the song in your head of Ben. Ben, I love you.
“I know,” he grunts. “It’s the same time every fucking night.”
You wrinkle your nose at him. “Someone’s grumpy.”
“Shut up.”
“What, not looking forward to Butcher’s nightly interrogations about if we’re fucking yet?”
Ben smirks at you. “You’d think he’d realize that the moment we start fucking we’d stop coming to dinner.”
“We’d still go to dinner-“
“You wouldn’t leave the bed for a week,” his voice is low, taunting, and your nails start digging into his scalp. “Longer if you wanted.”
Ben, I love you. “Someone’s real cocky.”
“And one day,” he winks. “You’ll find out why.”
You snort, even as your whole body starts to feel like putty. “Okay, Pretty Boy.”
“Are you fucking doubting me?”
“No,” you scoff. “Before we met, about 85% of the things I heard about you were that you were an asshole manwhore. I don’t think I ever doubted that you could fuck.”
“An asshole manwhore?” Ben scowls. “Who called me an asshole manwhore?”
“I think that asshole manwhore was Butcher.”
Ben grunts, “fucking pussy.”
“If it helps,” Ben, I love you. “You are an asshole manwhore. But you’re also the most aggressively caring person I’ve met.”
“Aggressively caring?”
“You give a shit about me. More than anyone ever really has. In a very violent, mean, asshole manwhore way.” Ben, I love you. “But it, it means a lot.”
“You mean a lot,” Ben grumbles. “And of course I give a shit about you. It’s not like you don’t give a shit about me.”
“Yeah but that’s not my point-”
“Sunshine, just take the fucking compliment.”
You stick your tongue out at him. “Asshole.”
Ben winks, still watching you. So full of lust you might pass out from it. “You need to shower.”
“You need to shower.” You mutter, and he grins.
“We could do it together-“
“Fuck off,” you mutter, face heating and eyes moving to stare at his forehead. Looking at him right now—with his face alight and the hunger and want painting his every feature—would be counterproductive. “Once I’m done with this you’re showering, without me, and then we’re going to dinner.”
“You’re going first.”
“Ben-“
“I take longer showers than you,” his tone is firm, and you can feel his eyes on you. “So your options are going first and having warm water, or going second and freezing your beautiful fucking face off.”
“But-“
“You could always just shower with me,” he continues, and your eyes drop back to his against your will. They’re bright, and so green, and boring right through you in a way that makes you think he can see your thoughts. See the way your whole mind is just going Ben. I love you. “Eliminate the damn problem altogether.”
“Shut up,” you mumble, and Ben chuckles, pulling your hands down from his head.
“Then you should get a fucking move on,” he says your name, eyes never leaving yours. “Don’t want to be late to our stupid dinner, do we?”
“Cunt.”
He kisses your knuckles, and your whole brain is Ben. “Brat.”
You shoot him one last glare as you stand, and try not to let your whole body feel cold without him as you climb up the stairs. You turn the shower handle so steam fills the room and the water is scalding. It doesn’t hurt, heat never hurts anymore, but the sensation still exists. You know it’s hot, you know it burns and would’ve hurt before, but now it just feels good. It would’ve, once, been used to wipe your head clear of him, used to chase the thoughts of Ben away into the water and down the drain at your feet. But now it just amplifies them. You don’t know how long you can keep this up, when everything Ben does is like a river that sweeps you up into him, that’s started to smooth rules you’d carved into stone about not going everywhere with him. It’s only been three days. Three long days of knowing you love him. How you managed this before you knew is a mystery, how you didn’t know for so long is even more baffling. Maybe it’s because you didn’t understand that love could feel like this. You’d been in love before, sure. And it had swept you away and made you smile, but it had never been a part of you. It had never been something that felt bigger than you, something that was only building and building by the second. You’d only fallen in love after sex, after months of casual dating and messing around until it grew deeper. You think you might have loved Ben before he even kissed you. You think you might love Ben until the universe is wiped away in fire.
You think the fire might be yours. You think what might destroy the universe is this love for Ben, pouring out of you until it’s everywhere and still only a fraction of what he is.
And it’s only been three days.
You’d had forty-five minutes when you’d entered the shower. Wallowing in the fog and warmth of the water might’ve taken up five. Ben took half-hour showers, but you could cut it down to twenty-five if you really got on his ass about it.
Ten minutes was more than enough to get yourself off.
The good thing about the rain showers was that they were relaxing. The bad thing was that there was no removable shower head to work with, but you could improvise. You lean back against the wall, planting your feet firmly on the floor as you arch your hips, angling them so that the water falls right between your thighs. You move your fingers down slowly, and part the lips of your pussy so that your clit is exposed to the air and the stream of the shower lands steadily against it. The effect is immediate, your whole body seizing for a fraction of a second at the sensitivity before you adjust, completely relaxing against the wall. All your thoughts are wrapped in the steam, wrapped in the sensation of the heavy beat of falling water on your clit, and you don’t even try to stop the moan that escapes your mouth.
Ben. If you were a little weaker—or stronger—it could be him doing this. He could be holding you up against his muscled chest instead of you leaning against tile, it could be his rough hand squeezing your breasts instead of your own, and he could be devouring your high, needy sounds into his body. Holding your chin up so he can lean over you and kiss you until you feel like you’re going to pass out. Wrapping his arm over your hips to keep them from bucking as his hand dives between your legs. Rubbing large, strong fingers over your clit in a fast, mind-numbing pace and rhythm. Head lowering so he’s sucking on your neck as he moves down, down, down and plunges inside you, palm still bumping your nerves as he moves in and out at a brutal pace. Going and going until you’re screaming his name, muttering filth and praise against your skin, bringing your over the edge-
Your legs almost give out when you cum, and as your wits return you realize your own fingers have stilled inside you, and your throat is aching. You were screaming his name.
Any hopes that he might not have heard are dashed when you exit the bathroom and Ben’s sitting on the bed, smirking at you.
“Have fun?”
“Shut up,” you mutter, walking around the bed to where your phone is plugged in.
“There better still be hot water-“
“If there’s not,” you glare at him. “Then maybe you won’t take a year to shower. For once.”
He winks. “You’re real mouthy for having just been screaming my name, Sunshine.”
“Fuck you.”
“I could’ve. If you’d let me in the damn shower.”
“Well I didn’t,” you stick your tongue out at him. “So haul ass.”
He leans across the bed, grabbing your forearm and yanking you down with a yelp. You land right in his lap, and the lust in him is so strong that, combined with how your whole body is still alight from your orgasm, you don’t even think to squirm away as he kisses you until you’re grinding against his thigh.
“This fucking needy already?” He hums, nipping at the corner of your mouth. “I’ll have to make it two damn weeks.”
I love you. “Benjamin, you dick-“
He chuckles, gently rolling you off his body. “The moment you say the word, my dick is all yours.” Ben smirks at your slack expression, kissing your cheek before growling in your ear. “But you’re going to have to beg for it.”
When he stands and walks into the bathroom, leaving you panting slightly on the bed, you realize this is going to kill you. It’s only been three days, and this love for Ben is going to kill you.
How some people do this for years will never cease to amaze you.
Nobody’s caught on yet. Tonight, just like the past three nights, dinner will be weird, but normal weird. The biggest thing that changed was two nights ago, when Ben called Annie Annie instead of Starlight for the first time. The reaction had been similar to the switch from Cocksucker to Hughie, with everyone starting slightly in their seats before rushing to continue the conversation and gloss over the change. You’d asked him, later that night when you’d returned to your room, what had done it.
“Done what?” He’d grumbled.
“Don’t play stupid, Ben-“
“I don’t know what you’re fucking taking about.”
“Yes, you do.” You’d narrowed your eyes at him. “What made Annie earn name privileges?”
He’d glared at you, but grunted, “She’s not being a damn bitch anymore. Finally got off her fucking high horse.”
You’d nodded and dropped it, but didn’t miss the way he didn’t glare at Annie when she talked to you anymore. Now, as you walked into the dining hall with his arm hanging over your shoulders, he even gave her a curt nod when she smiled at you, and no rush of angered protectiveness surged through him.
Annie had asked you, the day after Violet left, how the meeting had gone. You’d been standing downstairs at the doorway, and Ben had been upstairs, but there was no way he hadn’t heard. Annie’s voice had been slightly hushed, and the door had been closed, but Ben had the ears of a moth. You’d told him that once and he’d shaken his heard, grumbling about you being a too fucking hot for a walking encyclopedia. But he did. He heard everything. There was no way he hadn’t heard Annie.
And he’d called her Annie that same night.
When you drop across from Annie and Hughie, Frenchie and Kimiko are nowhere to be seen—despite a jacket you recognize to be Frenchie’s tossed on one of the seats—and MM and Butcher are shuffling over from the kitchen doors.
“Where’s-“
“Kimiko’s making Frenchie listen to some songs she just found on Spotify.” Annie smiles at you with a shrug, and you smile back. “It’s a lot of J-Pop and showtunes.”
“If it’s Kimiko showing them to Frenchie, he’ll love them.” You lean slightly across the table, Ben sitting silently at your side with hand resting on your lower back. “What’s on the menu?”
“I dunno, we just got here.” Hughie cranes his neck to look at Butcher and MM. “Hey guys-“
“Pizza.” MM sits next to Hughie, angling his plate for display. “They got Hawaiian, pepperoni, cheese, and broccoli.”
You nod, starting to rise from your seat, but Ben pulls your wrist slightly. “I’ll get it.”
“Okay, can you get-“
“I know what you fucking want.” He mutters, and you blink at him.
“Really?”
“We have pizza every damn Friday,” Ben shrugs, standing. “You always chose the same thing.”
He stalks past Butcher, still standing with a scowl at the head of the table, and pushes roughly through the doors.
“He’s, uh, he’s right.” Hughie’s staring after Ben, a small frown on his face. “They do give us pizza every Friday.”
“Like we’re fuckin babies,” Butcher’s holding his plate with white knuckles, glowering the two remaining seats. Next to Annie, and next to you.
“Babies don’t eat fuckin pizza, Butcher.” MM mutters. “It’s bad for their guts, and they can’t chew it.”
“It’s more like we’re teenagers,” you nod. “My high school cafeteria definitely had pizza Fridays.”
Annie hums. “Actually, mine did too.”
“That makes three,” Hughie takes a large bite of his pizza, a little cheese hanging out his mouth, and you all look expectantly at MM.
He sighs. “Mine did as well.”
“Well ain’t that just bloody fantastic for all you.”
“Butcher,” Annie sighs. “Just eat your pizza or go sit alone.”
This happens every night. Butcher stands at the table, making jeering comments until someone—usually Annie or MM—tells him to sit and eat, with them or by himself. He always sits down, usually next to Hughie or MM, sometimes next to Frenchie, once next to a very stiff bodied Ben and once next to a wide-eyed Kimiko. Never next to Annie. Never next to you.
You think tonight will be the first night he sits alone, right up until he’s marching around the table and sitting down at your side so aggressively it shakes the bench. The shocked silence only lasts a second before Hughie jumps frantically into a conversation about some movie he and Annie watched last night at MM’s suggestion, you and Butcher both refusing to look at each other.
The kitchen doors swing back open, Ben reappearing with two plates in hand. His eyes narrow when he sees Butcher at your side, a scowl overtaking his face. The fuck is he doing?
Sitting, apparently. Your shrug is so small that anyone except Ben wouldn’t have caught it. Don’t say anything about it. I think he’s like a reverse Tinkerbell.
Ben raises his eyebrows. The fuck does that mean.
If you give him attention, he dies.
Snorting, Ben sits back at your side, and you grin at him as he slides your plate in front of you before dropping his hand to your thigh. Letting it rest there as you glance at his serving—five slices of pepperoni—and then yours. He’d gotten it right, and you blink up at him.
He frowns. What?
Ben, I love you, is what you want to tell him. You even know what that face would look like. A full smile, all teeth and joy, with your eyes shining with all your love for him as you just look at him.
But you only give him a smaller smile, still happy, but not everything. Thank you.
Don’t. He squeezes your thigh, rolling his eyes. Never fucking thank me.
You wish Ben would let you thank him, but a small part of you knows it’s a mercy he doesn’t know he’s giving you. You’d never stop thanking him if he didn’t get all grumpy when you did. You’d thank him for every stupid, handsome smile and every brush of his skin against yours and every teasing jab that meets and spars with yours. You’d thank him for holding you under the table for the whole dinner, Butcher eating at your side without a word. You’d thank him for leaning back slightly when Kimiko sits at Annie’s side so you can talking to her in sign about the music she’d been showing Frenchie. You’d thank him for staying silent and grounding when Butcher launches into a briefing, despite everyone’s glares.
“Grace says Edgar’s almost ready,” he’s looking around, meeting everyone’s eyes to ensure they’re listening. “We got a plan for when he makes good.”
“A plan?” Annie frowns. “Can you be more specific-“
“No.”
You’d thank Ben for rolling his eyes at you. Fucking pussy probably doesn’t even have a fucking plan.
I’m sure we can improvise. You shrug, and he scowls.
You always have to improvise. If they want you to keep fucking improvising for them, they better start paying us both what we damn deserve.
You raise your brows at him. We? When have you ever improvised for them?
This whole plan was my goddamn idea.
That’s a plan. It’s the exact opposite of improvisation.
Brat, Ben grins at you. We’re a package fucking deal. They want your services, they pay us both.
You wrinkle your nose at him. I did not agree to that.
I go where you go, beautiful. Ben winks.
You’d thank him for the flush of your face, and the smile you have to physically fight off your face.
You’d thank him for clearing both your plates when Butcher’s doing the same so you don’t have to be alone with Butcher beside you, and you’d thank him for bringing you back a fistful of chocolate when he returns from the kitchen with his own full pint of ice cream. You’d thank him for holding your hand all the way back to your apartment, and up the stairs, and into bed. You’d thank him for kissing you until you’re scraping at his back, and for doing that annoying thing where he tells you you’re tired and you suddenly are.
You’d thank him for staying—at your side—every day, every time you so much as saw him. You’d thank him for humming terribly as you drift off to sleep, you’d thank him for the way his heart pounds softly against his chest until the world is dark and peaceful.
The world had taken a turn. You’d been somewhere that was full of sunlight and life, Ben holding you against him, and suddenly it was dark. So dark you couldn’t see your own hands. Your body is lit in flames and it’s somehow still so very dark. And cold. There’s wind and it’s freezing your skin and guts, even as you burn. You call for Ben, your voice turning from nervous shouts of his name into screams. Loud, panicked screams for Ben to find you, to shout back and tell you he’s there, that he’s okay, that he’s searching for you as well.
There’s only silence, your name swallowed in a vacuum of the cold darkness. And it’s silent and cold for so long. So very long where you’re burning and can’t find Ben. He’s in danger, you know, you can feel it. Something’s keeping him from you, because that’s the only reason he wouldn’t be roaring for you to return to him. And he’s in pain. You’re certain he’s in pain. Ben is in pain, somewhere in the dark, because you can feel something ripping you open and flaying you alive and drowning you. Something is drowning you. Something is drowning Ben. And it’s all you can feel, for a long, long time, until a voice sounds through the world, screeching in your ears.
Run.
You’re gone. You’re sprinting through nothing and it’s like falling. There’s no end, and it’s so fast, and where’s Ben. You have to go faster, you have to find him. You have to crash into whatever that’s doing this, causing this pain, and destroy it. You have to find it, you have to find him, and you can hear something. Breaking through the fire around you and your own screams for Ben, there’s something running at you. Behind you. Faster than you, gaining pace, a cruel cackling sound that’s becoming louder and louder.
There’s a light. Far away there’s a warm light that’s growing and growing with drums. Loud, heavy, bloody drums. It’s Ben, chest alight as the drums become all you can hear. He’s facing you, and the danger behind you is closer, closer, closer as Ben grows brighter, brighter, brighter.
The danger tears past you. It’s not going for you anymore. It’s headed for Ben. Faster, and the drums aren’t loud enough, and there’s a fraction of a second where you could’ve held it back. Where it ripped through the space between you and Ben and you could’ve struck it down. You could’ve redrawn its attention to you.
But Ben is doing what you should’ve done. His eyes lock with yours, right as the danger hits him. And suddenly there’s nothing, not pain or danger or drums or any sign that Ben was ever there. Just cold nothing.
The world floods with light.
Fluorescent, blinding, painful light. Everything smells like hand sanitizer and the air is too clean. Artificial.
When you can see again, everything in you dies.
You’re back. You’d swore you’d never to go back. To this white room with the too bright lights and everything deep cleaned so there’s no proof. No proof you exist. You’re just another decoration in this horrible, horrible place.
It’s changed though. There’s no longer a steel door with a small slat that meals were once pushed through. There’s nothing. Not even glass. You could just walk out, right into the lab.
The white room and the lab had been different though. You’d never existed in both at the same time. And this lab isn’t the same as yours. At the surface level, it’s an identical copy with bleached floors and a lot of tools that make your blood run cold. But the vials are all full of nothing. Just air. There’s a large one, connected to an IV that doesn’t run into a body, but a tube.
A large, metal tube. More like a box. With a single clear panel that’s just too high for you to look into. You don’t need to though. When the box shakes slightly, something in you pulses and thrashes against your chest and you know. When the box is still, and the thing dies out a fraction of a heartbeat, you know.
Ben is there. Asleep in the box. And you’re burning everything to try to get him out, but the box isn’t even shaking again. It’s still and silent as you scream, and it echoes through the ashes and smoke around you. You’re burning the world and everything between it, but Ben is still asleep. Gone.
You hadn’t been smart enough. You hadn’t been fast enough. You hadn’t done whatever it took, and now Ben was gone. You’d failed him.
You’d failed Ben.
You’re still burning when you wake up. You’re still screaming when you wake up. Your voice is hoarse, your throat feels raw, but you can’t stop screaming. The world is on your back, pushing down on your shoulders and snapping your spine in two. You’d failed him, you’d lost him, and now Ben was gone-
“I’m right fucking here,” the most familiar voice in the world moves through your body, saying your name, but all you can think is Ben. He’s gone.
You’d lost him.
“You didn’t lose me,” it’s the same voice. Low and forceful. “I’m here,” it’s saying your name. You need to listen, because it’s making your name sound important. Like it’s the only thing in the world worth saying. “I’m right fucking here.”
That’s Ben’s voice. As you’re coming down you know it’s Ben voice, because he says fucking like that. You think his voice was built to say fucking, with the spitting sound on the f and the deep growl of the uh. The speed at which he tears through the king.
Ben’s here. You didn’t lose him. He’s here. Suddenly you can feel him all around you, and it’s not just the feeling of his resolve like a shield around you that’s pulling you back down. It’s him. It’s just Ben. It’s the heat of his body, the way he’s holding you with real, strong hands. It’s the sound of his voice, and the rumble of his heart where you think your head is pressed into his ribs. It’s the smell of him. Pine and vanilla and Ben. All Ben. Real, with you, not gone.
Your screams turn into sobs, and your breathing grows faster until you’re lightheaded. Until gentle, calloused hands are on your face, pulling you back from where you’ve buried yourself.
Ben’s face is drawn, focused, and the frown on his face isn’t at you. It’s for you. You can feel the way in which his anger is blowing, and it’s up and around and everywhere until he can find something to turn bloody and beat to a pulp. But for now he’s holding you. Searching your eyes for his answer.
“Fucking breathe,” he says your name again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
You sob again, hands flying up to keep his on your face. In case this is another lie. In case your mind is truly that hateful and would do this to you again.
“I’m not going fucking anywhere.” He hisses. “You need to know that, Sunshine. I’m never going anywhere without you.”
Your breathing slows, and the blood pounding in your ears with it. Soon it’s just Ben. You and Ben.
He must read it on your face somewhere—that you’re here, in your mind, without the fear and panic—because he kisses your brow, still holding your face as he speaks. “What happened.”
You shake your head. “Just a nightmare.”
“You haven’t had a nightmare like that since damn Neuman.”
He’s right. You’d had bad dreams, one or two, but not nightmares. No fire had torn through this room before, Ben hadn’t had to bring you back from some sort of ledge on this mattress.
“I don’t know where it came from,” you whisper. “I’m sor-”
“No apologies.” He pulls your face up just a little further. “You’re okay.”
Not a question. “I’m okay.”
Ben grunts, thumb drawing circles on your cheekbones. “Swear it.”
“Promise.” You pause, looking up at him. Ben. Ben, I love you. I can’t lose you. I can’t fail you. I can’t fail anyone, but if I fail you it’ll destroy me and the world. “Ben?”
He hums your name, and you run your hands from over his to hang off his forearms.
“You trust me?”
“Of course I fucking trust you.”
“Can you promise me something?”
Ben grunts. “What.”
“I don’t know what Butcher and Mallory are planning,” your voice is still choked, and it hurts to speak. But you keep going. You have to keep going. “But if it falls through, I need you to promise that you’ll let me do what I need to do.”
“What the fuck are you talking about,” Ben’s hold on your face tightens, and you swallow.
“If whatever Butcher and Mallory have-“
“That’s not what I’m asking.” He’s irritated. You can hear it in his voice, you can feel it on his fingertips. There’s something else, the bitter thing has wrapped around his throat, combined with something bellowing inside his chest. “What the fucking hell do you mean what you need to do.”
“To finish this,” it’s painful to look at him. It’s painful to see his jaw clenched and mouth frowning when he’d been gone from you, even if it hadn't been real. It’s painful to see the intensity of his gaze when you’re asking this of him. “To do what needs to be done.”
“What needs to be done?” Ben hisses. “If you don’t speak more fucking clearly, I’m not promising you shit. If you’re talking about your god awful plan-“
“I’m not,” you squeeze his arm, and he relaxes slightly. The bitter thing becomes easier to breathe through. “Just, what I need to do.”
“That's not nearly goddamn clear enough.” Ben says your name, and his voice is becoming strained. There’s gruff pain to it, like someone is trying to claw out of his airway. “What will you possibly fucking need to do.”
You can’t answer. Because you don’t know. You don’t know what the plan is, how it could go sideways, what will need to be done. You’re not even certain you know if you’re talking about the mission or not. But you need to be able to do it. Whatever it is that needs to be done, you have to do it. You have to be able to keep Ben here, you have to save Ryan Butcher, you have to kill Homelander, this has to be over. You’re so tired. Whatever needs to be done to just rest, for the world to rest, you need to be able to do. And you can’t let Ben stop you, or hold you back. You can’t let him take all the danger for you, it’s not fair. You love him.
But you can’t say that. So you say, “I don’t know.” No lies. “But I need you to promise me you’ll let me do it.”
“No, I’m not promising that when I don’t fucking know what-“
“That doesn’t matter,” you’re begging now, head shaking frantically between Ben’s hands. You don’t care. He needs to give you this, he needs to understand and promise. “It doesn’t matter what it could mean, Ben. I just, please, I need you to promise, please promise-“
He pulls you forward. Back into his chest until the drum of his heart makes breathing easier again. When he speaks, his voice is everywhere. Around your body and making a home in your brain. “It fucking matters. It always fucking matters. I’m not promising something fucking stupid like that.”
Your hands fist against his shirt, word muffled. “Please. I need, Ben, please.” You’re not crying anymore, you’re trying to climb into him. To keep the safety and everything of Ben around you, even as you push. “I need to help, I need to help, I can’t be useless, I need to help and it needs to matter-“
“Shut up.” Ben has one hand in your hair, one wrapped around your back and resting on your hips. It’s the way he’s holding you so diligently—as if this is his whole purpose, to touch you—and the way his voice and body are wholly devoid of anger, and how it all makes your brain clear to Ben, Ben I love you, that makes you fall silent and let him continue. “You matter. You’re helping more than any other fucking pussy in this damn building. And you are the least useless person I have ever fucking met. So I’m not promising that.”
You pull your head back through sheer force of will, because you need to look at him. Even if it’s painful. “Please.” You could use a favor, you have a few left, but it needs to be Ben that promises. He needs to understand, you need him to mean it. “Please, Ben. I need you-“ a sob wracks your body, and you almost leave the sentence there. You need Ben. You love him. “Promise. Please promise, I need you to promise. Just this,” you tug at his shirt, and your body is smoking. When you pull back his skin is redder, but he hasn’t flinched. Only holding you, only watching you. “Just this one thing. I’ll never ask you for anything again. Please.”
He stiffens. For the most horrid, long moment of your life, you think you’ve shown too much. You think you’ve said the thing you’d promised not to say, found the line you’d been trying to toe so carefully. That keeps him beside you and never wondering why you’re clawing so desperately to do so. You don’t know which part of your pleas were the thing, which part turned your cards around for him to see and which card is going to be the one that makes you lose him-
“Fine.” His words are through gritted teeth, and you can see the tick of his jaw, but he’s nodding once, roughly, and you know you haven’t misheard him. “I promise.”
His voice is so hollow. You’ve never heard Ben’s voice hollow before, and it’s wrong. “Swear it?” You whisper, because you need him to look less like a statue. You need him to move with a chuckle or a frown or an eye roll.
You get a small twitch of his mouth. That’s enough. “Fucking swear it.”
“Thank you,” you breathe. And Ben doesn’t stop or correct you about it. He lets you burrow back into his chest, pulling you up a little farther so he can shift back against the headboard. Your head lies somewhere between his ribs and stomach, arms around his torso, and he just stays there. Real and solid, and you’re no longer sure whose heart is pounding. You just know it’s steady, and that Ben is here.
He holds you until the sun rises, and well after. You don’t want to move, you can’t move, so Ben just holds you. Holds you until you tug at his arm and ask quietly for coffee. Then he kisses the top of your head and hauls you up from between his legs to against his chest.
“I’m going to carry you,” he grunts, and you just curl further into him.
When he sets you down on the couch he kisses the top of your head before walking to the kitchen, and you sink into the cushions. You don’t know how long he’s away—away meaning five feet away, shuffling loudly around the kitchen—but only when he returns to the couch, sinking into the spot by your feet, do you realize how cold you’d grown.
“Thank you,” you mumble as he passes you a mug of coffee.
“Don’t.”
You smile softly, staring at the dark liquid in the cup. “Are we doing fire later or-“
“You are not fucking training today,” Ben snaps, and you look up to find him glaring at you. “Or doing your stupid brain magic.”
“Brain magic?” Your smile feels a little more real, and you’re not going to fight with him about training or healing. You’ve battled with him over more pointless things, but you’re just so tired. So you’ll just tease him, pushing and pulling with him about nothing.
Ben gives you a flat look. “What would you call it, smartass?”
“Healing.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
You give a small giggle, and Ben’s whole face is still stoic, still drawn, but there’s less tension along it. “Grumpy old man.”
“I said shut the fuck up.”
“Make me.”
The speed at which Ben sets his own mug on the coffee table and climbs over you is truly remarkable. “You know very well,” his voice is gruff, the weight of his hunger crashing through you. “That I am not a fucking old man.”
“Well,” you hum, grinning widely up at him. “Just in terms of chronology, you are an incredibly old man-“
It’s amazing how good he is at this. How Ben is so easily capable of dragging you up from the worst pits and holes of your own head and throwing you into this thirst. How fast he can make your mind go from spinning and finding every nook and cranny or your life, your self, that is evil and hopeless, to just singing Ben. Ben, I love you. It’s why you don’t fight back when he falls onto you, his arm around your waist pulling you up into him and his mouth destroying your whole body in the most amazing way. He’s only against your own lips for a second, and the moment you open for him, moaning his name, he’s gone. Biting and sucking along your jaw, and your neck, up to your ear to tug it between his teeth, then down to your collarbone. Going until the sounds rising from your throat aren’t Ben or please or fuck, but only incoherent whines. Then he’s back on your mouth, and you give everything back to him. Your hands in his hair, your legs wrapped around him as you grind up, and your tongue running along his lips. Trying to get him as impossibly close as you can without crossing the line.
You say it. You know somewhere in the haze, your brain still slightly hazy from the pain of the night and your will weakened by all of him, you say it. Ben, I love you. It comes out a high, breathy whimper, but you know that’s what it was supposed to be. You know he doesn’t pick up on it, because nothing in him changes. He doesn’t waver or push further, he just goes the same as he had been. Letting you try and devour him as he does the same. So you moan it again—this one from somewhere deeper in your chest—because you’re allowed to say it like this. You’re allowed to say Ben, I love you, when it’s just another plea for him that he can’t understand the power of. Just like how you’re allowed to try and make him part of you when there’s not a chance he will be.
He hisses your name into your mouth when you yank his hair hard enough for his head to move up. His beard scratches along your cheeks and lips, but it’s Ben, so it’s everything. And he lets you drop down to his neck, lower, biting into his shoulder slightly. You don’t break skin, you’re not that strong, but he groans against your ear as your teeth scrape his skin and that’s enough. It’s more than enough—it’s the whole world—when Ben starts to knead at your skin under his hands, and he’s still making sounds that echo through your blood and bones. It’s everything, when he pushes you further down, down, moving his mouth back to yours and burying you between him and the sofa. Safe. Strong. Real.
Ben. Ben, I love you.
He’s hard. You can feel him bumping against your lower thigh, and it makes your moans louder. It makes your legs tighten around him, trying to move him up into you without you telling them to. You find another thing you’d thank Ben for, when he stops this for you. It makes you feel a little empty, but he doesn’t leave. He just drops his lower body down, pinning you to the couch so that you can’t keep bucking up into him. Resting his forehead against yours until your breath is steady, and your brain can manage to control your body.
“Better?” Ben mutters, and you blink up at him. It is better. Everything is better now.
“Better.” You whisper, and he nods. “If we’re not training today, what-“
“I need to clean my shield. We’ve got dinner with the Pussy Brigade. I have to shit. You said we’d watch something called The Mummy a few nights ago. And you have your stupid fucking lunch with Annie and Hughie.”
You grin at him. “In that order?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he kisses your nose, and you think this might destroy you more than anything else could. How easy this is. To love him, to let his voice move through you and settle your nerves. To let him just touch you all the time in the most simple and boring and mind-numbingly good ways. “Go get dressed, Sunshine.”
You push up on your forearms, grabbing Ben around his neck and pulling him down to you one last time before he can stand. One longer, gentler kiss, where neither of you are trying to take it further, take it right up to the edge. Just kissing him because you love him, because you can. Because he’s real.
Ben carries your mugs up into the kitchen, and you climb up the stairs, allowing yourself to turn back and look at him once. The most attractive, stupid man you’ve ever seen in your life. Glaring at the mugs as he dumps the now-cold coffee in the sinks. Turning on the sink to wash them with so much force you’re surprised the knob doesn’t snap off. But still doing it. His handsome scowl and rough movements not stopping him from doing it. You love him. You love Ben so much. It’s everything. There’s been blood on his hands and darkness in his head and life that should be unforgivable, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s become the most dependable, insufferable, important person in your life. Not when you love him like this. Not when you know he’s trying. In his own angry, violent, and sullen way, Ben is trying so hard. You’re not sure why he’s trying, or if he even knows he’s trying, but he is. He’s washing the mugs without you asking, because that’s what he does. Everything for you, without you needing to ever ask. And you’ll never stop loving him for it.
Annie’s early for lunch today. She collects you around eleven, mentioning that she and Hughie have something planned for the afternoon as Ben opens the door, snapping at her that she's too fucking early. You tell Ben to let it go—you’ll be gone the same amount of time regardless—and he does his angry, half-pouting frown about it but kisses you lightly and sulks upstairs.
“Something?” You tilt your head at Annie as you walk down the hall.
“What?
“You and Hughie have something planned?” You almost nudge her shoulder like you would with Ben but stop yourself. “Did you just not want to tell Ben, or is it-“
“My mom.” Annie says softly, staring down the hall. “She agreed to visit last week. Mallory’s bringing her today.”
“Oh, shit.” You want to hug her. She looks like she needs some sort of comfort. So you give her your most reassuring expression, holding your hands behind your back. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Annie sighs. “I mean, I asked her to come. But I haven’t talked to her since-“
“Firecracker.” Something clenches around your heart. Something that is all bones and burnt flesh.
Something grabs your wrist, and you freeze. Anxiety and tension and exhaustion run through your body—it’s different from your own—and you realize it’s Annie’s. She’s touching you on purpose.
When you look at her, she’s watching you carefully. You blink at her, eyes wide, afraid to move. Afraid to ruin this and make her let go.
“I never thanked you for that,” Annie’s voice wasn’t joyful, but it was lighter. Even as the anxiety tightened around your skull.
“For what?”
“Killing that bitch.” She gives you a small, close-lipped smile. “I don’t ever really condone murder, but if anyone deserved it, she did.”
“I didn’t mean to,” you say before you can stop yourself. You’re not a sadist, this might be a test, maybe Annie’s not really grateful but trying to see if you’re remorseful. “It was an accident.”
“I know. I’m still thanking you.”
“Oh.” You swallow, trying not to give the emotions you can feel through Annie’s hand any attention. “You’re welcome.”
Annie nods, and just before she lets go something like relief spins through her.
Hughie made pancakes and eggs. Well, Hughie tried to make pancakes and eggs. He burnt the eggs, twice apparently, so now it’s pancakes and a fruit salad. It’s still good—you add honey to the fruit, as well as strawberries and syrup to the pancakes because you’re a masochist and miss Ben—and sit at their dining room table. Annie brings out hot chocolate, and it’s comfortable. Especially after Annie tells Hughie you know about her mom visiting, because any nervous tension dissipates into the air and it’s fully, genuinely comfortable.
All three of you silently agree not to talk about family, because none of you have amazing relationships with your mothers, Hughie’s wound from his father’s death is still open and fresh, and fear still occasionally grips your heart that Homelander will find Violet and use her against you. So, you talk about frivolous things instead. Annie and Hughie want your opinion on a hideous throw pillow Hughie bought. You burn it, and Annie laughs as Hughie sighs, grinning as well. You debate with Hughie about Billy Joel songs, because his love for the man makes him blind to the fact that We Didn’t Start the Fire is just a truly terrible song. You win by pulling out a video of Billy Joel himself echoing your point, and Hughie throws his hands up in mock exasperation. Annie asks you if you need any help buying decorations for your apartment, or continuing to decorate, full stop, given your roommate—she hesitates before labeling Ben, and you don’t blame her in the slightest—not exactly being the most aesthetically oriented man in the world.
“Ben’s actually been shockingly helpful,” you shrug. “He chose the rug in our room, and aggressively vetoed plates with his face on them.”
Hughie gapes at you. “Plates with his face on them?”
“Limited Edition Soldier Boy Dining Set, manufactured and sold by Vought International,” you grin, and miss Ben more. This is really becoming a problem, that you get this dopey just thinking about him. “I thought his jaw was going to break.”
Annie and Hughie exchange a glance, and Annie says slowly, “What, what exactly is going on with you guys?”
“What do you mean?” You know what she means. You’re just hoping you can get out of this conversation if she’s not willing to say it.
“You live together, you sleep in the same bed,” Annie watches you carefully, and it’s an active effort to hold her gaze. “You kiss-“
“Make out,” Hughie corrects. “I’ve never seen two people make out like you two do. And that’s how you make out in front of us.”
“Well-“
“He’s right,” Annie cuts you off. “You make out. And do heart-eyes at each other all the time. But you’re,” she pauses, looking to Hughie for help.
“Not fucking?” He offers nervously, and Annie nods, turning back to you.
“You’re making out, but not fucking.”
You glance between them. “Is that a question?”
“Kinda,” Hughie mumbles. “It’s just confusing to see, if you’re really not fucking.”
“We’re not.”
“Okay,” Annie sighs. “But you do get how that’s a lot more confusing, yeah?”
You tap your fingers on the table, wondering if you do it loud enough Ben will hear and come save you from this conversation. “It’s complicated. We’re just, we’re not fucking.”
“And he’s,” Annie frowns. “He’s not-“
“No.” Your voice is a little harsher than it maybe needs to be. But it feels appropriate. Ben wouldn’t do that. “He’s not. I mean,” you bite the inside of your mouth, searching for the words. “I was surprised as well. I still don’t fully understand why he’s not trying to get me to do more. But, I don’t know. He’s not.”
“I’m not,” Hughie says, so simply for how both you and Annie are looking at him. Like he’s grown a third head. “What?”
“What are you talking about?” You frown. “You’re not what?”
“Oh, uh,” Hughie blinks at you. “I’m not, I’m not surprised.”
“Surprised?”
“It’s like,” Hughie looks at Annie, likely for aid, but her expression is just as befuddled as yours. “It just makes sense to me. I dunno.”
“What makes sense to you?” You push, because you need to know what he means. What he’s trying to say, in case it’s what you think.
“I mean, in all this fucked up shit,” Hughie stumbles over his words, rubbing the back of his neck. “You two seem to get each other. In a weird, kinda gross way. I think Soldier Boy would give you the moon if you asked for it.”
Annie nods cautiously, and suddenly you’re the only one still lost in this conversation. “You’re right, I don’t think he would’ve agreed to that deal with Mallory if it was just like, physical.”
“Deal with Mallory,” you say, looking between them in jerked, half-controlled movements. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“When we brought him to make the deal with Edgar,” Annie frowns. “And Mallory told him that-“
“You don’t know,” Hughie cuts Annie off, scanning over your frown and overly tight posture. “I don’t, I don’t think he told you.”
“Told me what.” Your voice is rising into panic. “What didn’t Ben tell me?”
“Um, I don’t know if it’s our place-“
“We agreed to stop pushing you into dangerous positions, like Tek Knight’s club.” Annie’s voice is blunt, but her face remains hesitant. “If he stayed in line.”
Something cold is freezing your bones. Everything’s a little blurry. It’s a labor to speak. “Or?”
“Um,” Hughie takes over for Annie, even as he looks at her reluctantly. “He’d go back to sleep? That part wasn’t our idea-“
You raise a hand, and Hughie falls silent as you stare ahead into nothing. Everything is becoming sharp, your blood is rushing hot and wild through you, and you’re regaining control over your thoughts. And all of them are circling around the same thing.
“I need to go,” you stand, pushing the chair back. “Thank you for lunch, and uh, good luck with your mom.”
Annie calls your name after you, but you’re gone. There will be time for guilt later, and you’ll apologize for your abrupt departure. Right now it’s about the thought in your head, pushing up your throat so violently that you’re yelling it the moment your door slides open, before your even fully through it.
“Why would you do that?!” You almost scream into the apartment, before you can even see him. “Benjamin, why the fuck would you do that?!”
He sits up from the couch, just a handsome, stupid head frowning at you. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
You stalk over to him. “What fuck possessed you to do that? To fucking agree to that?!”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking abo-“
“Mallory!” You’re screaming now, and he’s standing up, glaring at you. You hold your line, you’ll continue to hold it until he explains. “Why the fuck would you agree to that?”
Ben’s shouting your name, and if you weren’t so blinded by your anger you’d focus on the strain in his voice. “You need to stop speaking in fucking riddles! What the fucking hell has got you losing your damn mind?”
“They’re going to put you back under!” You’re hugging into yourself, nails digging your skin. “If you step out of line Mallory and Butcher are going to put you back under!”
“That was always fucking true-“
“No it wasn’t!” You think you might start to cry. You can’t pull rank. “That was never true! If you stepped out of line I would handle it! I would make the call! That was the whole fucking point! Why didn’t you fucking tell me-“
“What the fuck could you have done?!” Ben snaps, and you can see his fists clench as he marches around the couch to tower above you. “It wasn’t a fucking secret! And I wasn’t going to step out of their stupid goddamn line-“
“But why would you do that?” You scream, refusing to touch him, even to shove him. If you touch him you’ll crumble. “Why would you agree to let them threaten that just to keep me away from stupid fucking shit that doesn’t matter?”
“It matters more than anything.” He growls. “Stop fucking saying that it doesn’t.”
“No, it really doesn’t!” You feel so small. You’re caving in, shattering in a way that’s worse than when he didn’t care, when this was about trust and not about losing him. Ben being taken away from you. “I’m fine! You didn’t need to do that!”
“That’s real fucking easy for you to say, Sunshine!” Ben roars. “You don’t have to fucking watch you break. Again and again over the worst fucking plans in the world when those fucking pussies throw you to the goddamn wolves and in front of their shitty fucking trains! I have to! I’m the one that has to watch you be fucking afraid!”
“But why would you do that,” you’re definitely crying now. But you keep screaming, even as your voice becomes raw. “I’m always fine-“
“Because it fucking kills me! You are fucking everything to me, and every time you break its the worst thing I’ve never fucking seen!” You don’t think your heart is beating anymore, not as his voice grows louder. “Because I can never just fucking fix it, and you always break. And I mean it more than you can possibly fucking imagine when I say that I will do whatever it fucking takes to keep you safe! I’d rather go back to Russia right fucking now than just stand aside like a fucking pussy and let you keep breaking!”
Ben’s face contorts, and you think he’s only just realized what he’s said. What it means. But he doesn’t take it back, doesn’t walk away, and you won’t pull rank.
“Do you think,” you hiss through tears, fear building and morphing into some sort of love-born fury. “That it wouldn’t fucking destroy me if you went back under? That I wouldn’t do fucking anything to get you back to me?”
“That’s not fucking the same.”
You almost laugh. “It’s the exact same-“
“No, it’s not.”
“I adore you, Benjamin!” you scream. “Every good, and bad, and ugly part of you, I fucking adore you.” His whole body stills, and you keep going. You say everything but the thing. “And I made a promise as well. I might not be going back to Homelander, but you aren’t going back under. You’re not burning without me right there, by your side. It is the exact fucking same, because you are fucking everything to me!” You take a deep breath, trying to bring yourself down as your words become pleading. “There are so many beautiful things in the world, but I’d destroy them all to keep you awake. To keep you here. So don’t say it’s not the exact fucking same.”
You can feel him. You’re not touching him—you're still trying to cave into your own body—but as the last words hang in the air you can feel Ben. This is hunger, not thirst. This is something rioting around and clawing out of your chest, not the love that’s resting for him in your head. This is Ben, not you.
This is Ben and you. Together. He’s not leaving. You’re not leaving. You’re everything to him and he’s everything to you.
Ben. Ben, I love you.
You almost say it. You’re seconds from saying it. It’s going to fall out of you and the only way to stop it is Ben. And you lunge at him just a fraction of a second before it’s too late.
He catches you. He always catches you. And when you slam your lips into his, he doesn’t hesitate.
This is different. This kiss is different. You can’t distinguish Ben from you anymore. Touching him has completely razed whatever remainder of a line existed, and now it’s just us. It’s you and Ben inside your body, even if everything around you is Ben. Kissing you with his tongue and teeth, pulling your lip into his mouth, making deep sounds from his throat that make you grind against his muscled torso. Sounds spurred by your hands pushing him further into you by his jaw—his beard rough against your fingers—and pulling at his shirt until the only space between your bodies is two thin stretches of fabric. One of his arms was secured below your thighs, holding you up with a hand on your ass, squeezing and making you moan into his mouth. The other is holding you under your own arm with a hand on the back of your neck, fingers pulling light at your hair. Touching you with a reverence. Always with a reverence, a furious care that makes you feel safe. Always with an attentive fire and ardor running through your blood. Ben’s blood. Someone’s blood who you can taste on your teeth because you think you might have bitten his tongue slightly, but Ben didn’t pull back or flinch so now there’s a slightly metal flavor that mixes and fades with Ben. Salt and coffee and strawberries and Ben.
You need more.
Whatever he’ll give you. You’ll take it. You’ll take every single part of Ben he’s capable of offering and plant them in you, grow them and tend to them until he pulls them out so that the roots remain. You need him. You love him.
“Ben-“
“All the way?” His words roll through your body, down and into your core.
You only whine into him, and suddenly he’s moving. Walking backwards, mouth never leaving yours. Holding you tight enough that you can’t continue to rub against him, looking for friction. You’re desperate for it, the sounds escaping you growing louder and louder as his steps offer you something, and then giving a needy, long moan when you manage to adjust just enough to bump against his cock. Still in his pants, hard and long. Then Ben spins, slamming you between his body and the wall, hoisting you up by his hold on your ass and thighs so your faces are level. At some point you’d begun to scrape at his back, and he chuckles as you start to grind against him once more.
Ben’s holding your face firmly, angling you for his mouth to devour yours, grinning against your lips.
“What do you want, beautiful.”
You run your nail back up between his shoulders, unable to break skin but trying to sink into him. “Please.“
“Please what,” even as he teases you, Ben’s never separating from you. You’re not sure how either of you are breathing, whether the lightheaded feeling is from Ben or just lack of oxygen. If it’s the way all your air is trading between your lungs and Ben’s, or the way he’s started to rut up into you. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you. But you have to use your words.”
“Ben, just-”
His head drops down to your neck, finding the one soft spot that makes you whimper and focusing all his efforts on it until your grip on his hair is tight, your sounds a string of pleas. Then he moves up, right to your ear. “Beg. Say my name and beg and I’ll give you the fucking world.”
“Ben,” You look down at him, and you don’t think anything could’ve prepared you for what you see. He’s staring at you, and every part of his face is alive. His lips are parted, and his eyes are almost black, and he’s relaxed. Full of lust and hunger but so completely at ease in every feature of his handsome face. “Please.”
“Please what.”
“Fuck me.”
A low growl escapes him, and his cock twitches against your thigh, but he still doesn’t move. “Whole thing.”
“Benjamin,” You grind back against him. “Fuck me now.”
That snaps something in him. Ben’s mouth crashes back into yours, and he doesn’t even have to push before you’re opening for him. Nipping at his upper lip, letting him take whatever he asks for. Anything that keeps him doing this, dropping a hand down and back up through your shirt. Ben’s hand is dropping down and back up through your shirt. Squeezing your breast once, then—when you make a high sound—leaning away from your mouth and doing it again. Then once more, running his thumb over your nipple slowly, so focused you’d think he’s doing surgery.
He looks back up at you, watching him, breathing heavily with a little bit of droll falling from your mouth. “You like that?”
You nod, head pushing back against the wall when he does it again. “Ben, you ass-“
“That’s not very fucking nice, Sunshine.” He leans forward, pushing you further into the wall and bringing his lips just over yours, moving back every time you try to bring him closer. “Manners.”
“Fuck you,” the moan from your mouth is captured by his, sucking it down with another whine into him. “Ben-“
“You never begged,” he says your name against your mouth, moving against your breast once more. “Fucking beg.”
“Cunt-“
“I’ll get there.” He chuckles as you buck into his chest. “But you have to tell me that you want this.”
Somewhere in the daze of Ben’s hands and his mouth and the power of him, your love for him somehow grows again. Becomes something purer and more sweet than it had been.
Ben, I love you. “I want this,” you breathe. “I want you.”
He grunts, and he twists your nipple between his thumb and forefinger once before starting to run his hand slowly and lightly down your stomach.
“Ben, please-“
Your words become a strangled whine when Ben bites your lower lip gently at the same time his hand drops into your shorts. Palm pressing against the ache through your underwear.
“Ben-“ He starts to rub in circles, fingers dancing lightly against your slit through the fabric. “Fuck-“
“You have too much clothes,” he mutters, and you moan.
“Too many-“ He pulls his mouth away, and you bury your head into his shoulder. “Ben-“
“Fucking smartass,” you can hear the smile on his voice, feel the amusement running up his spine and colliding with whatever is bouncing around his ribs. “You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, you asshole-“
Ben kisses you again, and your protests turn into a long noise of want. He chews at your lip for a second before moving away once more. “I’m taking off your shorts. I can do it fast or careful. You don’t get both.”
“Please-“
He presses his hips back with a groan, forcing you to stop grinding. “Words.”
“Fast-“
The choice had barely left your mouth when Ben was ripping them off your body. Tossing them on the floor without a thought before looking back up at you. Raising his brows in a silent question as his hand rested between your thighs, over your underwear.
“Yes,” your nods are frantic, bordering on pathetic. But he’s so close. “Ben, please.”
He runs his hand over you once, still not just doing it. “So fucking wet, just through the damn fabric.” he smirks at you. “All for me, brat?”
You whimper, trying to drop all of your weight into Ben’s hand as you clench around nothing. He knew what that word would do, there’s no way he didn’t. Not with his smug expression and the way he won’t let you bring his lips back to yours. “Cunt-“
“Answer my damn question,” he growls your name. “Or I’m not fucking you.”
It’s a bluff. You know it’s a bluff because you can feel how vast and insatiable his hunger is. You know it’s a bluff because, as good as a liar Ben is, he’s rock hard against you and keeps bucking up when you kiss his neck. You don’t call it though. You just meet his eyes and hiss, “It’s for you, Ben. Now are you going to fucking do something about it?”
You see Ben’s grin for only a second before his mouth is pushing your head against the wall with the force of his kiss. You feel him tear off your underwear in one, fluid movement, and the cold of the air has barely hit you before his hand is back. And everything is just Ben.
He’s teasing you. The base of his palm is bumping against your clit, but never for more than a second. His fingers are running between you, over you but never in. You’re going to kill him. You’re going to wipe that smug and cocky grin you can feel against you off his perfect, handsome stupid face-
“You think I can make you cum just like this?” Ben hums against your lips, pulling his head back just a fraction. “Without even properly fucking touching you?”
“Fuck you, Benjamin.“
“I know you want that,” he drawls your name, rolling his palm one firm time, and your hands start to scratch across his neck and shoulders. “But you need to tell me if you think I can make you cum on just my fucking fingers.”
“Cunt.”
“That’s what I’m asking. Do you think I can make your pretty cunt cum here, without even fucking you like you deserve?”
“Like I-“ Ben pushes one finger in ever so slightly, and stills it completely. You take a long breath. “Fucking dick. Like I deserve?”
His lips bruise against yours, and his palm fully presses against your clit. Rubbing once, twice, fingers still not moving. “Like the beautiful fucking brat you are. Until all your fancy words are just my name and you’re so fucked out you couldn’t even think to be worried about dumb fucking shit. Until you’re fucking stupid.”
His finger sinks all the way in, and you press your forehead against his, arms fully wrapping around his neck. “Do that.”
“Fucking words, Sunshine.” He growls, pulling out slowly, and you shake your head desperately against his.
“Ben, please-“
His finger pushes back in, fast, and you don’t know if you moan or scream or whine because Ben is eating any sounds that leave your mouth. Moving his finger faster and faster until you’re trying to chase it when he pulls away, his deep groan rumbling through you when your thighs brush against his cock, still in his pants because life is unfair.
“That’s more fucking like it,” he grunts, moving his head down in sloppy kisses to your neck. “Want some fucking more, beautiful?”
“Fuck, yes-“
He latches onto your neck—sucking in a way that would leave a mark if either of you were capable of being marked—and just as the second finger pushes in his palm finds a pattern. A steady rhythm that turns whatever remaining sanity you had into just Ben. Ben, I love you. You impossible asshole, you’re everything in the fucking world. Ben.
He’s not letting you over the edge. Every time you get close he slows just enough and rises back to your mouth. You might have been here for a lifetime, or just a millisecond, but it’s all just Ben. Hissing your name against your skin and making everything just good. This is so good. Why did you deny yourself this? Why did you ever deny yourself Ben when he’s making everything so good like this. So warm and easy and so fucking good.
“You're so fucking tight,” he hisses in your ear, and you try and tug him closer by your legs. Try and make his dick just brush against you. “Think you can do three?”
You cannot do three. You think three might kill you in the best possible way. Ben’s huge, his hands are rough and broad like every other insufferable, amazing part of him, so three would make you explode. But he’s watching you with so much hunger, so much adoration as you pant and whimper his name, and he’s still not just fucking you, so three will have to be a suitable substitute until he stops toying with you. You nod, and he chuckles against your skin.
“What did we say about words-“
“Just fucking do it, Benjamin, now-“
You are going to die. This love for him is going to kill you, and the murder weapon will be the way he’s finding every single thing that makes you scream his name like he’s been studying for it. How his fingers get so deep in you and find that spongy, electric part every single time he plunges back in. Crooking against it for just long enough to make you moan before yanking his hands back down and pressing his palm against your clit until you're keening, before repeating in all again. You’re going to turn into just flames that sing the same song of Ben over and over.
“Want to fucking cum?” He mutters against your lips, and you whine again, high and needy and barely a breath.
“Ben, yes-“
“Beg.”
“Asshole-“ you choke on your own words, because he’s going faster, it’s all going faster, and you can’t think of anything outside of Ben. Ben, I love you.
“Fucking beg.” His words echo through your body, and you’re vaguely aware of smoke rising around you. But he’s not stopping, if anything there’s a vigor to him now. A brutal, rough pace that’s just one move away from making you find release. A move he won’t make until you ask for it.
Dignity is overrated. Dignity is for people who don’t have Ben making them feel like the whole world is just him, touching them like he’s touching you and groaning their name like he’s growling yours.
“Please, Ben, please.” You make yourself look at him fully, hungry and cocky and watching you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he’s so handsome and stupid and Ben and you love him- “Fucking please-“
Any sounds or screams or moans of Ben are captured in his mouth when he presses you so far back against the wall with a kiss you think you hear it crack. When he twists his fingers in you and his palm draws one long, heavy circle over your clit and everything is reborn inside you. It’s just Ben, Ben, fire and life and love and Ben. Your orgasm hits you like a train, your vision going white and your hands trying to pull Ben further against your body. He’s still in you, fingers resting inside you as you clench around him, palm rubbing slowly against you until you fall back to earth, back to him.
You blink at him, mouth hanging open and all of your mind and body completely made of love and need for him. Everything is full of Ben. There’s a thick cloud of smoke through the room, but he’s so close it doesn’t matter. You can see him, his jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. His whole face is made of—if you know anything about him, and you do—devotion. Ben pulls his fingers out of you slowly—never breaking his gaze from yours—leaving you empty and sensitive and trying not to just start grinding against where you can still feel him, somehow harder in his pants. Then his fingers rise into his mouth, and he sucks on the wetness still falling off of them, and any attempt at control is gone. His gaze is lidded as he tastes you, and you start trying to pull him down to you with scrambling movements against his neck.
He doesn’t budge, only grinning at you as you whine again. “Fucking needy, beautiful.” He brings two fingers—the same ones that had just been in his mouth—to brush against your mouth. Pressing them lightly until your lips part. “Taste.”
You let him push his thumb into you, and you become a woman on a mission. Sucking and licking at his fingers until you can feel him twitching against your thighs, going with a fervor until he’s groaning and pulling them away with a pop. When you lean forward to kiss him gently he lets you, taking every moan you give him with a squeeze of your skin under his hand and a trace of your cheekbones with his fingers.
When he rests his head against your shoulder, you’re both breathing heavily and Ben’s words are hissed against your skin.
“I’m going to fuck you for a whole year,” he grunts your name, rutting up against you. “And I’m going to make you fucking scream and beg for two.”
You’ve never been more on board with a plan in your life. You’re going to tell him. You shouldn’t, not when it might make this go away, not when you just got this, but you want to. You want him to know that when he fucks you for a year the only thing you’ll be thinking is Ben. Ben, I love you. You want to be able to moan it into his mouth and against his skin and around his cock and scream it when he makes you cum, in a way that he can hear and know about.
Your mouth falls open, your hand moving to his face to pull him up to look at you, and the door to the apartment bangs open.
Ben’s faster than you, but in your defense most of your thoughts and instincts are being covered by the daze of your orgasm. He doesn’t drop you or turn you, but slides you down his chest and twists you around so your arms are wrapped on his torso, your feet back on the ground. When he whips around you realize he’s blocking your half-naked body from view, keeping you secure against him with a hand on your forearm. Stupid, handsome, perfect, safe fucking man.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ben barks, and you lean around him to see Butcher in the doorway, smirking at the scene before him.
“Well, Gov,” Butcher drawls. “I was coming to congratulate you on your awful fuckin plan working, let you know Edgar delivered, but now,” he winks at you. “I’m just chock full of other questions.”
“How did you get in?” You ask with a frown. “Only I have a keycard.”
“Mallory unlocked all you cunts doors for me,” Butcher shrugs. “We got a meetin, I’ve been sent to collect you since you weren’t answering your fuckin phone.”
You flush, because your phone is indeed long forgotten somewhere near the couch. “Can we have five, please?”
“What, only five?” Butcher’s mocking smile turns to Ben. “You that fast, gov? Because I can give you ten if you wanna take care of your,” his eyes flick down. “Problem.”
You can feel Ben’s anger, and tighten your grip around him until he looks at you. Don’t kill him, please.
Why the fuck shouldn’t I.
You give him a small smile. Murder is a crime. Also, it’ll ruin the mood.
Whatever, Ben rolls his eyes, but you can see the tug of his lips, feel the amusement dart through him.
“You two done?” Butcher snaps, and you both look back to him with frowns. “Care to have an out-loud conversation, share with the fuckin class?”
“No.” You give him a sickly sweet smile. “Are we meeting in the cafeteria?”
Butcher nods with a grunt, and you sigh.
“Can you please leave so I can get dressed?”
“I’m waitin outside, and if you two horny twats aren’t outside by then I’m coming back in.”
“Fine. Go.”
Butcher slams the door behind him, and you squeeze out from behind Ben to start to run upstairs and put on clothing that isn’t completely destroyed. You pause though, doubling back to Ben and pulling his face down for one last, long kiss.
“We’ll fuck later,” you whisper against his lips, and he grunts. “Thank you.”
You yelp as Ben picks you up, carrying you up the stairs in long, quick steps. “Stop fucking thanking me.”
You smile at him, all teeth and joy because you fucking love him. “Make me.”
“Brat,” he snorts, kissing you again as he lowers you onto the bed. “Keep it up and I won’t let you cum again.”
“You don’t let me do anything.”
“You’re real fucking sure of that,” he taunts, marching over to the dresser to toss you a new pair of underwear and sweats. “But you sure were goddamn begging me less than ten minutes ago.”
“Cunt,” you mumble, catching the clothes. You don’t have a good comeback, because your brain is still a little addled, and you can see that Ben’s still hard, and nothing about his deep voice and word is making you less horny.
“You love it.” He stops above you again, watching with heavy eyes as you pull the clothing on.
I do. I love you, dumbass. “Shut the fuck up.”
Ben laughs, pulling you up the moment you’re dressed. “Later. Later we can shut each other up as hard as fucking possible.”
“Deal,” you whisper, because he’s holding you so lightly and close to his body and it’s not helping. “Ben?”
He raises his brows at you, a small frown on his face. You think he can hear the nerves in your voice. “What.”
“Edgar-“
“We’ll make it work.” He says firmly. “Whatever it is, whatever stupid shit Mallory and Butcher are planning, we’ll make it fucking work for us.”
“You promised-“
“And that won’t fucking matter, because we’ll make it work.”
“Ben,” you squeeze his hand, tangling his fingers between yours. You feel him everywhere now, all the time—the clenching in his chest and around this throat and the sour taste of it—and that might be something to worry about later. But for now you just want to touch him. “Please. Just say you promise.”
He sighs, jaw ticking, but nods. “I swore it. I meant it. But that doesn’t fucking mean-“
You kiss him, and every part of his body falls into yours as the grip against your hands loosens. When you pull away, smiling at him, he’s looking at you with that same devotion. “Thank you.”
Ben grunts, slinging his arm around you as you walk back downstairs. Kissing the top of your head once, and this is right. This is you and Ben and it’s right. It’s everything, and he’s yours. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anything and now, for whatever amount of time he’ll give you, you’re his.
—————
Ben had learned there was a hierarchy in the promises he made Her. There weren’t many—neither of them threw around those words with ease or carelessness—but his promises of staying here and no more lies were secondary to keeping her away from Homelander. There was nothing as fucking important in the world, and that meant that Ben would let Her do what she needed to do—like he’d promised—but not if it meant she went back to Homelander. He’d have done anything to keep Her safe before, he’d have gone back under if it meant she’d be free, and now Ben was fucking certain he’d goddamn die before he lost Her like that. If he had any fucking say in anything at all, nothing was ever going to break Her again. If she tried to throw herself in front of him to take whatever bullets Homelander or Mallory were aiming at them, Ben would be faster. He’d move to let them hit him first.
He’d let Butcher hit him with a goddamn bomb to keep Her safe. Because She was fucking perfect, and Ben wasn’t going to allow anything to hurt her again. She was leaning into him as they walked to the dining hall, and Ben might have to take a detour to the bathroom to get himself under fucking control if She kept tugging and tapping at his hand around her shoulder. Her hair was still messy, and her lips were still a little red, and Ben could still fucking taste her, lingering in his mouth. And that was his shirt. She was wearing his fucking shirt, and holding his hand that had just been inside her, and chewing the inside of her mouth that had just been screaming his name. The Thing didn’t need to tell Ben She was perfect. He had fucking eyes, and a fucking brain. And a very hard dick that was becoming slightly painful, straining against his pants for Her. For Her beautiful face and the perfect sounds she’d made when she came. On his hand.
Ben didn’t have to hold himself back anymore. He didn’t have to keep waiting until She was keening against him and moaning his name before ripping himself away from her. Before he came in his jeans from just the feel and taste of Her mouth like a fucking teenager. He could fuck Her, she’d let him fuck her, and he was going to. Ben was going to fuck Her so hard and good that she might stay with him and keep looking at him forever. He was going to make Her cum until she said Ben, I adore you again. Until She told him she wanted him again.
That had made the Thing roar inside of him. Her perfect, breathless, needy voice telling him she wanted him. Nothing could take that away from him now. She fucking wanted him. People had wanted him before. Countless forgotten pretty faces had wanted Ben. But none of them had been perfect. And none of them had said it like She had. They had wanted the power of him, they had wanted Ben to fuck them and give them more than he cared to. All those pretty faces had wanted to be the one’s on billboards and red carpets with him, to fuck Soldier Boy and be a good enough fuck that he decided to keep them. When She said he wanted him, it wasn’t just to fuck her. There had been something that made the Thing climb into Ben’s brain and consume him in Her voice.
She wanted him. She wanted every part of him. She had every part of him, She’d had it for what felt like a lifetime, and he’d never have taken it away from her. When She one day left Ben, she’d take every part of him that was worth a fucking thing with Her. And no one else would ever get to have him, not like She did. Not like he was going to give Her. Ben was going to fucking worship every perfect part of Her, until he could maybe ask her to stay with him and there was a single goddamn chance She might say yes.
Every member of the Pussy Brigade looked up when they entered the Dining Hall. Butcher had marched in brisk, pissy fucking steps ahead of Her and Ben, and apparently hadn’t been just bitching when he’d grumbled that everyone was just waiting on them.
“Is everything okay?” Starlight was watching Her, under Ben’s arm, nervously. “You weren’t answering your phone-“
“The cunts were fucking,” Butcher snapped, stopping next to Mallory at the head of the table. “In the middle of the goddamn room.”
Ben bit his tongue, because She has to handle this. He needed to hear what She told her pussy fucking team, so he could figure out what she wanted from him.
“It’s our apartment, you ass,” She glared at Butcher. “It’s not like we were in the hallway.”
“So you admit you were fucking, Love?”
“Not yet.” She shrugged. “Some dickwad fucking cunt interrupted us.”
“But,” Cocksucker looked between them nervously, not fully meeting Ben’s eyes. “You were going to fuck?”
She sighed. “This really doesn’t feel like an important conversation to have right now.”
“It’s not,” MM grunted. “I’m already gonna to need to wash out my fucking ears. Any more and I’m going to have to cut them off.”
Ben disagreed. He thought they all needed to fucking know, that this was the only conversation worth having right now. Ever. She wanted him, and every single pussy fucker in the world should know that. But She shot him a small look, important meeting, don’t be a fucking idiot, Pretty Boy. And Ben let Her pull him onto the bench.
Later, he’d fuck Her until she screamed so loud everyone could hear it, hear his name and Her moans falling out of her perfect mouth.
“Can we get started?” Mallory stood—arms crossed with a thin scowl—at the head of the table. “Or do you need another ten minutes to discuss your sex lives?”
“Jesus, no.” MM snapped. “Just fuckin talk, Grace.”
“Stan Edgar sent files over to me last night, and we’ve just finished clearing them for use,” Mallory launched into her explanation with the most monotone, boring voice Ben had ever fucking heard. “Butcher and I have been working on a plan-“
“What are the files?” Starlight asked, raising her hand like a damn child. “Will they work?”
“They’ll work a fuckin charm,” Butcher winked. “They’re everything we could’ve bloody asked for, times two. Keep goin, Grace.”
Ben felt Her relax slightly against him, along with Butcher’s eyes on them both. Cold, tense, but not mocking. For once in his goddamn life, the pussy seemed to have some sort of mind to not be an instigating piece of shit, and he was better for it. Ben would’ve thrown a stray plastic fork into Butcher’s eyes and ripped off his dick if the asshole had said even a single fucking detail of Edgar’s files. A single detail about Her.
“Thanks to Marvin,” Grace gave MM a small nod. “A-Train has agreed to clear a path for us into Vought tower. We’ll ensure Homelander is away, dealing with something else, and retrieve Ryan Butcher.”
Ben could hear the tapping begin, and covered Her hand with his.
She looked up at him with a frown, What’s wrong?
This is going to fucking work. Ben held Her gaze. You’re going to be fine.
She smiled at him, and every time she did it like that—gentle and comfortable—the Thing doubled in size. I know.
“How are you going to get Homelander away?” Cocksucker asked with an anxious frown. “I mean, this might not be quick and if he arrives back at the tower-“
“Frenchie,” Butcher nodded at the French Prick. “Will be causing a diversion.”
“By diversion,” Starlight said slowly. “You mean-“
“A massive, glorious fucking explosion.” The French Prick grinned. “It will be impossible for the Homelander to ignore.”
“No.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Her lean forward across the table, shaking her head. Why the hell was she talking. Why could Ben hear her damn thinking. What the fuck was she planning-
“No?” Mallory asked, looking at her with slight curiosity. Saying Her last name in clipped words. “Please elaborate.”
“He’s on alert, right?” She looked around the table. “After Neuman, he won’t just fall for something like that. Especially not with Sage whispering actual coherent thoughts in his ear.”
“Maybe,” Mallory nodded, still looking at Her. Ben needed Mallory to stop looking at her like that. Like she was a fucking toy. “But it’s our best bet, and we’ve already lost too much time to waiting for Edgar.”
“I have an idea-“
“No,” Ben cut Her off with a grunt. He knew what type of ideas She always had. Mallory and Butcher always knew what type of ideas she had. Genius, stupid fucking ideas that always worked—so everyone went along with them—and always put her in the line of fire.
“No?” She glared at him. “What do you mean no?”
“You lost your idea privileges a while ago, Sunshine.” Ben snapped. “So no.”
“Oh, fuck you Benjamin.” She kicked him under the table and looked back at Mallory. “Ignore him. I have an idea.”
Ben gave Mallory his most menacing, violent scowl that the woman knew signaled he wanted to kill someone. But she ignored him, giving Her a nod. “Go on.”
“He’s looking for me. Let’s show him what he wants.” She took a deep breath, and every fiber of Ben, from the Thing to his brain, was telling him to shut Her up now. Before she said what he knew she was going to. “Let’s show him me.”
The room was silent, and blood was roaring in Ben’s ears. He glared around at the Pussy Brigade daring any one of them to speak.
MM was the idiot who volunteered for Ben to kill him first.
“The hell you mean show him you,” MM said Her name slowly, and the fact that he didn’t seem to be agreeing to it was the only thing that kept Ben rigid in his seat.
“Bait,” She answered, quiet and soft and Ben was going to kill someone- “Offer him me. Draw him out to a fight to get me. He’ll go, and he’ll leave Ryan behind. He didn’t want Ryan to meet me until I was-“ She made a small choking sound, and that was it.
“No.” Ben said firmly, daring anyone to fucking disagree with him. “There’s not a chance in fucking hell you’re doing that.”
“You’d go with me,” She looked at him with wide, sharp, desperate eyes. “Please, Ben. It would work.”
“Doesn’t fucking matter if it would work. They,” Ben jabbed a finger at Butcher and Mallory. “Swore you weren’t doing stupid fucking dangerous shit anymore.”
“We did promise him that,” Starlight says Her name gently. “Promised you. That’s, doing that’s too far. Too risky.”
“It would work,” She was pleading, and if Ben didn’t know better he’d think she fucking wanted to die. “You wouldn’t be giving me to him. We’d escape. We’d go in public, Homelander would see it, we’d keep him there until Ryan was out, and then we would escape.”
“How?” MM frowned at Her. “The motherfuckers got X-ray vision and super speed. He won’t just lose you in a crowd.”
“He won’t lose us. We’ll,” She paused, fingers tapping under Ben's hands. “We’ll call him. We won’t go in public, for a fight, that was dumb. We’ll call him, tell him I want to meet him, play right into his fantasy. Annie and Hughie will come with us, because he can’t kill either of them without ruining the narrative. We’ll keep him there until Ryan’s out, then Frenchie will do the explosion. We’ll play it off as a mistake, bad timing, and he’ll go to investigate. By the time he realizes what’s happened, we’ll be gone."
“That’s still a dumb fucking plan,” Ben growled Her name. “What if he doesn’t go. What if he tries to fucking take you.”
She looked at him, Her beautiful face so sad and determined. “He won’t.” I won’t let him. You won’t let him.
“It’s a good idea,” Mallory mused. “Where would you meet him?”
“Old Starlight Fund,” She turned back to the group. “Ben will call him. He’ll take a call from Ben. And then I’ll take the phone and tell him I convinced you to let me see him.” She looked fucking sick—her heartbeat panicked in her chest—and it made the Thing twist inside of Ben. Made Ben sick. “But that you won’t let me meet with him without you there.”
“The Starlight Fund was where they wanted that first meeting,” MM said to Mallory. “And it’s right fuckin across from the tower. He won’t think we’re trying anything in his backyard.”
“We’ll vote-“
“No!” Ben almost roared. “You fucking pussies goddamn swore-“
“Ben,” Her voice was gentle, too fucking gentle. To perfect and kind for this goddamn fucking bullshit, for how fast her heart was inside her. Trust me. Her face pleaded. Just please trust me.
This is fucking insane, Ben glared at Her. Even for you, this is a fucking stupid, insane plan.
You promised. She flipped her hand under his, folding her finger between his. You promised me you’d let me do what I needed to.
You don’t fucking need to do this.
Yes, She gave him a small smile. I do, Ben. You know that. Please.
Ben cursed himself in every vulgar, lewd and angry way he knew. “Fine.” He grunted aloud. “But if anything,” he hissed around the table. “Goes fucking south-“
“It won’t, Gov.” Butcher winked at him, but there wasn’t anything crude or sneering in his voice. “We’ll get you both home in time for a nice fuckin dinner and dessert.”
Mallory sighed. “Ready to vote?” After several nods from around the table, she continued. “All in favor?”
Her hand shot up just as fast as Butcher’s, Kimiko’s close behind them and the French Prick’s right after. For one long second, Ben watched MM frown at Her. Studying Her, before looking at Ben and narrowing his eyes. He looked back at her—hand high in the air and feature determined—and MM’s hand went up. Five fucking idiots in favor.
“All against?”
Ben raised his hand, and She glared at him. Benjamin-
I won’t fucking stop you, Ben glared right back. But I’m not in any form of goddamn favor for this shit.
She sighed, and Ben glanced around the table to see Cocksucker and Starlight both raising their hands with him. Three people who seemed to give a single shit about Her.
Too fucking little to stop this.
“Alright,” Mallory nodded. “We’ll move tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Hughie blinked. “Don’t you, uh, need to plan-“
“We wasted too much fuckin time, Lad.” Butcher shrugged. “A-Train’s ready, we move tomorrow.”
“Are we fucking done here?” Ben grunted, and barely saw Mallory’s nod before he was standing, hauling Her up with him, and marching out of the door. He heard her call some goodbyes—running after him with Her heartbeat unsteady—and pulling Ben’s arm until he slowed down.
“Are you mad at me?” She whispered, and he shook his head. He wasn’t, he was furious with himself. For being a weak fucking pussy who was allowing this to happen.
Nothing’s going to hurt Her, he reminded himself, reminded the Thing to try stopping it from tearing his tissues and guts apart. No fucking thing is allowed to hurt Her. I’ll be there. If it comes to it, I’ll do whatever it fucking takes to keep Homelander away from Her. Even if she hates me for it.
“Then can you look at me?” She pleaded, and Ben couldn’t help himself. He glared down at Her, and felt a twist in his stomach at the desperation in Her eyes. “I’m sorry-“
“Don’t,” he snapped. The only thing worse than Her being sad and weak and broken was Her apologizing. Thinking she was a problem for him, and not the most perfect thing in the fucking world. “I’m not fucking mad, Sunshine. I’m just-“ He ground his teeth, pushing the words out between them. “I fucking hate this.”
“I know you do,” She took a small step forward. “But it’ll be fine. I promise.”
It would be fine. Because Ben wasn’t going to allow it not to be. So he just picked Her up into his arms—if She kept moving so hesitantly and tentatively around him he’d fucking explode—and carried her down the hall. She didn’t push against him or protest, only wrapped Her arms around his neck as Her heartbeat slowed.
“Ben?” She asked, voice muffled by where she’d pressed into his shoulder, her warm breath fanning against his skin.
“What.” He glanced down at Her—perfect face turning up to him—and the Thing clenched inside him at her nervous expression. “Are you-“
“I’m okay,” She shook her head slightly and Ben grunted, unable to hide his stupid relief. “I, um,” She swallowed. “Do you-“
“Spit it out,” he muttered, hunching slightly so She could scan the badge. She’d needed that—needed not lose Herself in a spiral of her too quick head—because she nodded, fingers scratching light against the nape Ben’s neck. She took a deep breath, and Ben turned to push the door with his back.
“Do you still want me?”
She was the smartest fucking person Ben had ever met. She was a goddamn genius, it was insufferable and impossibly fucking hot how smart she was. How clever she was, how well she understood other people. Which is why Ben snorted aloud, because for the brilliant woman she was that was such a stupid fucking question.
“Ben-“
“Of course I still fucking want you,” Ben scoffed, walking up the stairs. “You have no fucking idea how much I want you. I’ve wanted you through a lot of your stupid plans, another one isn’t going to make me stop fucking wanting you.”
Nothing could make me stop wanting you, Ben’s head hummed in time with the Thing. If I ever stop wanting you, it’s because I’m fucking dead.
“Oh,” She mumbled, and Ben wished She would just look at him so he could figure out what she was thinking. “Good. Is that why-“
“I’m not fucking you,” Ben drawled Her name as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Not tonight.”
“Okay,” Ben glanced down to find the saddest look he’d ever witnessed on Her face. If the Thing wasn’t fucking whining at the sight of it, he might have been smug about her looking so morose at the idea of not fucking him. “That’s fine.”
“I’m not fucking you,” Ben grabbed her chin, gently with a firm hand. To make Her look at him. “Because I want to take time when I fuck you. I want to make you scream and make it hurt when you sit down. And you need to be able to walk with full damn mobility tomorrow. So later. When I can keep you in bed for a decade without anyone fucking interrupting.”
Her heart sped up, and Ben smirked at her. “You started with a week,” She told him, even as she leaned into his hand. “Then it became a year. Now a decade?”
Ben winked. “If you want a century, just fucking ask, beautiful.”
“Cunt.”
“Brat.”
She looked over him, eyes resting where Ben knew she could feel his dick straining against his pants. “What about hand stuff?”
Ben snorted. “I’ll allow it."
“Oh, well if his majesty allows it-“
Her words turned in a yelp as Ben tossed Her onto the bed, grinning down at Her. How fucking perfect she was, looking up at him with wide, pretty eyes that were so soft. For him. Right now, every part of Her was for Ben.
He started to lean down, planning to move across the bed until he over Her. Test what different sounds She would make in a bed instead of against a wall. But She sat up before he could, crawling across the blankets with her perfect fucking ass in the air. Drawing up on Her knees when she reached Ben at the foot of the bed, smiling at him with all such an ease and adoration. She adored him.
Ben grabbed Her face between his hands, her back straightening as she grabbed at his shirt. Yanking him closer. Ben attacked her mouth, revering in the way it fit so well against his, the way she tasted like honey and chocolate and Her. That taste of Her he’d gotten early, that wasn’t sweet but strong. The best thing he’d ever had on his tongue, a little weaker in her mouth but still there. The proper fucking taste of pussy. Of Her. Ben didn’t think he could live without it now that he’d had it.
But there would be time to deal with that later. Right now everything was Her. The way she moaned into his mouth, and one of her hands tracing down Ben’s chest to palm him through his pants.
He pulled back with a grunt of Her name. “You don’t-“
“I want to,” She chased his mouth, but paused. Look up at him with some sort of apprehension that made the Thing itch. “But if you don’t-“
“Don’t be fucking stupid.” Ben snapped. And he was going to add something about this not being about him right now. Something saying how this was about Her, about making her understand how perfect she was and making her scream his name again. But She nodded with a hum, and squeezed Ben through his pants and suddenly that really didn’t fucking seem worth saying anymore. He’d say it later. If She wanted this—wanted him like this—he couldn’t deny her. Ben wouldn’t be able to deny Her his whole fucking brain or heart or lungs if she asked for them. And what type of fucking pussy would he be to deny the most perfect woman in the world his cock.
“Off, please.” She nodded to his pants, and Ben almost chuckled because she could’ve called him every vulgar name under the sun and he still would’ve taken his pants off. A please was in no way damn necessary.
“Fine,” he pulled down his pants, watching Her carefully as his boxers followed. “But after this, beautiful, it’s my fucking turn.”
She swallowed, staring at Ben’s dick—now fully exposed—and Ben had never felt so smug in his fucking life. A lot of women had been impressed by him, but none had looked at him like that. Like they needed to touch him. Ben had never needed to touch them. Not like he was pretty sure he’d have died somewhere in the next few seconds if She hadn’t looked back up at him—with parted lips and a flushed face that Ben needed to burn into his eyes so he’d never stop seeing them—and kissed him so eagerly that he groaned.
Then She started touching him, and Ben realized he had been right. As he tangled his hands in her hair and started buck into her hand—trying to keep his mouth on hers so she would catch every sound she was causing him to make like he’d eaten hers—Ben knew this would kill him. She would kill him, because nobody should be allowed to so fucking perfect in every possible way. Nobody should be capable making him feel like this with just their hand, just by stroking him and somehow finding such a painfully good fucking pace. Nobody should be allowed to read him well enough that they adjusted for every rut of Ben into their hand, to make him feel like he was high. But She could, because she was perfect, and was trying to kill him. She had to be, or she wouldn’t be pulling back to look at Ben like she was, with something so deep and impossibly caring in her eyes as she pulled him apart. He was supposed to look at Her like that. She was the one supposed to be wrecked. Ben didn’t get wrecked.
But it’s not like She liked listening to him. Or allowing him to just follow the rules he’d set for himself decades ago. Every single thing Ben had known and understood she’d destroyed, then rebuilt, just by smiling at him and never wavering. Like she was now.
So Ben buried his face in Her neck—finding the spot that he knew would make Her feel half of what he felt—and started to fuck her hand. Faster, faster until she moaned, and he grinned against her.
“When you’re done,” Ben started to kiss up Her neck until he was growling in her ears. “I’m going to make you scream. Got it?”
She nodded, and the small sound she made just made Ben go faster.
“You’re so fucking good,” he kept talking, because Ben hadn’t missed that every time Ben spoke She’d fall a little further into him, her free hand tugging at his hair. “Your hand’s fucking made for this, beautiful.”
“Ben-“
He grinned. There it was. If anyone tried to say his name again—in a way that wasn’t breathless and passionate and falling from their mouth—he’d rip their tongue out. “So fucking perfect.” He pulled Her closer, one hand cupping the back of Her head and the other kneading at the soft skin of her stomach, arm fully around her waist. She squeezed him just fucking right, and Ben hissed against her skin. “Fucking perfect. Too fucking good at this, too fucking beautiful, too fucking-“
She turned Her head, moving Ben to her lips, just as she moaned down his throat and made one, long movement—nails running lightly against his balls with another squeeze—that did it. Ben groaned Her name into her wide, perfect mouth, swearing as he jerked forward. She didn’t stop, didn’t pull back, just stayed exactly where Ben needed her until the bare parts of her legs were covered in cum. Ben’s cum. On Her.
Ben kissed Her roughly, waiting right up until she whined to pull his mouth away slowly. Panting slightly, he kissed the top of Her head and waited for her to look up at him.
“My turn.”
He didn’t wait for Her to speak before leaning over her, moving her down until she was flat on the bed below him. Letting her grind against his chest and wrap her legs around him, moan his name and claw at his hair and back, for just long enough to build Her up and up. Ben moved his hands down from her face to her thighs, squeezing once.
“Please,” she whimpered into his mouth, and the only sound better than that was what followed it. “Ben.”
He gave Her one last, wet kiss, and dropped down to the edge of bed, kneeling on the floor and using his hold on her thighs to pull Her forward. As Ben hooked her legs over his shoulders—tossing her underwear and shorts away into some corner of the room—he saw Her sitting up on her elbows, frowning down at him.
“We said hand stuff, Benjamin.“
He raised his brows at Her. “Do you want me to stop?”
”No, but you’re cheating-“
Ben didn’t give her an opportunity to keep talking. He’d have a long time—if he was lucky—to listen to Her talk about whatever she fucking wanted. Right now he needed to make her scream.
It was almost immediate. Ben dove forward, sucking on Her clit one long time, and she whined, high and loud.
“Fuck, Ben-“
That was good. He liked that. Ben liked everything about Her, but that—the sound of Her feeling good with his name—was one of the fucking best things he’d ever known.
She needed to do it again. He needed to find every way she could do it. This was his fucking job now. Everything else could fucking wait until she came all over Ben’s face, until she felt so good she’d never be in danger of breaking again.
So Ben set to work. Sucking and licking and goddamn eating Her alive. Tracing rough patterns with his hands against her thighs and ass, bracing an arm over her hips to keep her still. To allow Ben to fuck her with his tongue until the taste of Her, that real, powerful taste was drowning him as she screamed his name. He’d die for this. She wouldn’t have to kill him because he’d give everything to keep Her like this forever. To keep her blissfully whining and moaning, to make her never have to feel fear again because she was too busy being tended to under him. For there to be even the slimmest fucking chance that She’d want him to do this forever. Want him forever.
For now, though, Ben would settle for this. He’d settle for him being the one who made Her squirm in this moment. Ben got to see this, Ben got to cause this. Right now She adored him, right now she wanted Ben. Nothing else. Just Ben.
So he’d give Her everything he had.
He focused fully on Her clit, puffed and red, and dedicated himself to it. Pulled it into his mouth until her screams turned to breathless begs and sounds that might be Ben’s name—tangled with other noises he didn’t understand—and then let his teeth brush it, groaning against Her at the same time. She managed to scream one last time—hoarse and deafening and the most amazing sound in the fucking world—as She came. Squeezing around his tongue as Ben lowered to taste it all, as she pushed up into his face to give him it all. Back arched off the bed and thighs trapping Ben against Her as if he was so much of a fucking pussy idiot he’d even damn think to try and leave.
When She was done—shaking and breathing heavily as she relaxed fully around him—Ben rose up, wiping the remaining wetness clinging to his beard with one hand. Watching Her, pulled apart and reaching for him, just him. So thoroughly wrecked at his efforts, heart hamming against her chest. So fucking beautiful.
Ben started to walk to the bathroom—quickly pulling his pants back on—but She made a needy sound for her throat that made him pause.
“Are you-“
“Where are you going?” She whispered, and Ben felt the Thing rip inside of him. Torn between making Her smile and taking care of her.
“Getting a towel.” He grunted, still rooted in place. “Need to clean you up.”
“No,” Her voice was hoarse, and she was starting to sit up. “I’m fine, just stay-“
That won the war inside of him. Ben crossed back to Her in two long steps. Dropping next to her on the bed and rolling her onto his chest. Lying with her until her heart slowed, her breaths became easy against him.
“Ben?” She whispered into the air, the room having fallen dark at some point. Ben hadn’t noticed really, unable to be fucked to pay attention to anything but Her, against him. Safe and happy and warm.
He hummed Her name, and waited for her to continue.
“When it’s over, I’ll go with you.”
Time stopped. Everything stopped. Nothing fucking mattered except Ben knowing exactly what She fucking meant. If it was what he thought—fucking hoped—she meant. “With me?”
“Wherever they send you off to, when this is done. I’ll go with you.”
Ben nodded slowly at nothing, trying to act like he was unaffected. Like the Thing wasn’t bellowing and scraping at his ribs and brain, trying to tell him something really important, make Ben tell Her something important, but he couldn’t figure out what it was-
“If you, um, if you still want that.”
He blinked, glaring down at Her in the dark. “Did I ever fucking tell you I didn’t?”
“No, but you haven’t said anything-“
“You’re coming with me,” Ben said, firmly. She wasn’t allowed to think anything else, not if She wanted this. Wanted him. “Nothing in the world will goddamn stop me taking you with me, not if that’s what you’re choosing.”
“I chose that,” Ben could feel Her smile against the base of his neck. “I chose you.”
The Thing needed something. Something earth-shaking and impossibly fucking vital for Ben to know if he was going to keep living. Something She had to know or Ben might explode.
“I’ll let you fuck me on the beach,” She hummed, and Ben just decided to ignore the Thing. She was more important. “And in the ocean and in a bed and wherever else you want.”
“Wherever I want?” Ben chuckled into the dark. “Dangerous fucking promises, beautiful.”
She yawned, and Ben kissed Her head as her voice turned sleepy. “That’s the point, Pretty Boy.”
As She pulled herself further into him—breathing turning slow and body relaxing further under Ben’s hands—Ben said Her name softly.
“Yeah?”
“If this doesn’t work,” Ben said slowly. “I want to fucking leave anyway. If we don’t get the kid, me and you are gone, Sunshine. We’ll go wherever you want, and we’ll go together. Somewhere with a beach for me to fuck you on, or somewhere in the mountains so you can scream even louder. But we’ll be gone.”
She sighed, but didn’t protest. Ben had expected Her to push back—tell him they had a job and responsibility and had to finish this—and even as he’d thought the words he’d known she’d tell him no, but she didn’t.
“I’ll think about it,” She said after a long, silent minute, and Ben wasn’t sure if it was Her or the haze of the sleep overtook her only seconds later. He didn’t know if she’d even remember him asking, or was just too tired to try and convince him that they couldn’t just leave.
But Ben decided to believe Her. To allow himself to think that she’d really consider it. Either way she’d go with him. No matter what, she’d stay with him. That was all that fucking matters.
It was the steady beat of Her heart, paired with the lingering taste of her and sound of Her wanting him, that allowed Ben to sleep soundly through the night.
End Note: I’ve made the unprecedented and totally out of left field executive decision to make Ben a top. Crazy. I’m sure this is really shocking news, but we’ll get through this like we always do. Together and horny.
Leave a comment, if you want! Any and all thoughts, feedback, jokes, and predications are always welcome, and will make my day. Also I'm thinking of giving you guys a playlist? Idk lemme know if that's something you'd want. Thank you so much for reading, and see you soon <3!
If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Taglist
@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties
@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur
@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo
@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry
@sadpods @ahoytothestorm
#soldier boy x reader#the boys#soldier boy#Enemies to Friends to Lovers#slow burn#angst#x reader#reader insert#romance#canon typical violence#canon divergent au#billy butcher#annie january#smut#fluff#hughie campbell#soldier boy x you#soldier boy fanfiction#the boys fanfic#soldier boy smut#soldier boy x female reader#jensen ackles#jensen ackles characters#homelander#pining#idiots in love#kimiko the boys#marvin milk#supe!reader#female reader
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The Boys/Gen V Masterlist
Hughie Campbell
A Classic Sick Fic: You’re sick and Hughie forces you to let him take care of you.
Sam Riordan
Don’t Be Embarrassed: You take care of Sam and he takes care of you.
#the boys fanfiction#the boys one shot#the boys hughie#the boys fanfic#the boys#hughie campbell fanfiction#hughie campbell fanfic#hughie campbell x reader#hughie campbell#sam riordan imagine#gen v sam#sam riordan x reader#sam riordan#gen v fanfiction#gen v fanfic#gen v amazon#gen v#gen v prime
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I don't go here but I'm educated enough to know that Hughie tops.
#my babygirl#homelander#antony starr#the boys#fine i'll create my own content#homelander fanfiction#the boys fanfic#homelander x hughie#hughlander#the boys hughie#hughie campbell#my brother in christ look at the size difference#and homie is even wearing the suit wtf
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undercover ; billy butcher
fandom: the boys
pairing: billy x reader
summary: you have to go undercover as butcher’s wife to vought’s annual supe celebration - prompt (that i don’t remember where i saw it, i’m sorry!): “I bet you one hundred dollars that you’re hard right now.” *he stands up and drops $100 on the table*
notes: i wrote this in one day and you can tell!!! it’s so rushed, i’m so sorry, but also i’m just hot for this man and refuse to stop??? let me know what you think!
warnings: swearing, very small alcohol consumption, very light smut, and a bit of harassment from an unwelcome dude
word count: 6496
“You have a thing for Butcher?” Hughie gasps, the apartment door swinging open as he steps inside.
Annie’s eyes grow wide, her hand covering her mouth to try and hide her cheeky smile. You scowl at her before turning to Hughie, his face a comical mixture of disgust and amusement.
“What have I said about eavesdropping on movie night, Hubert?” you demand, calling him by the stupid nickname you know he hates.
He rolls his eyes, “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I texted Annie to say I was on my way home. It’s not my fault you’re practically shouting about the fact that you want to fu-”
“Hughie,” Annie giggles, “be careful.”
“Hey,” he says, turning to her, “I’m just repeating what I heard.”
You hold your face in your hands and groan, sinking back into the soft couch cushions and praying that they might open up and swallow you into a different dimension.
“I’m sorry,” Annie sighs, “I honestly just lost track of time.”
Hughie drops his keys and wallet on the kitchen bench alongside two plastic bags that wreak of cheap Chinese food. Your stomach grumbles at the smell, and you reluctantly pull yourself off the couch before dragging your feet toward the kitchen.
“So,” Hughie says with a grin, “how long has this been going on then?”
“Nothing is going on,” you state, “and it’s certainly none of your business.”
“Oh, come on, it’s not like I’m going to tell anyone,” he begins helping you unpack the bags of food, “besides, I had a sneaking suspicion. You do kind of look at him like-”
You pull a butterknife out of the draw and point it at him, “Like what?”
He freezes, his hands flying up on either side of his head in surrender.
Annie laughs again, “Okay, you two, cut it out.”
You put the knife down and retrieve three full sets of cutlery before setting a stack of bowls beside the containers of food. Hughie serves himself first before Annie fills her own bowl and you last, already shovelling mouthfuls of noodles into your mouth as you move back toward the couch.
“You know,” Hughie says between mouthfuls, “if you wanted to talk about it, I might be able to help.”
You scoff, “Yeah? How?”
He shrugs, “I don’t know, talk to him.”
“And say what?” you drop your fork into your bowl, mocking Hughie’s voice as you say, “Hey Butcher, do you think Y/N is hot, because I know she dreams about fucking you.”
He scowls at you, “I can be subtle.”
Annie giggles, hiding her face behind her bowl as Hughie casts his glare toward her.
“I appreciate your concern, Hughie,” you say, “but I think I’ll just stick to fantasising about him in the shower.”
His expression morphs into disgust as he begins choking on his mouthful of food, his face turning bright red. Annie’s laughter fills the room, and you join her while Hughie struggles to compose himself.
To your surprise, and relief, Hughie agrees to keep your little secret to himself. He doesn’t even make a stupid face the next day when the three of you arrive at the boys’ current hideout, finding MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, and the man himself huddled around the dining room table.
“Righ’ on time,” Butcher says with a grin, “let’s get to it, then.”
You knew he was excited about this next mission, if you could call it that. Everyone was, in fact, because thanks to Annie’s excellent intel, you were all attending Vought’s annual ball. A night of celebration to thank the mighty Supes for keeping the streets safe, or as Butcher liked to call it, Vought’s annual wank-fest.
“Your invitations are all sorted,” Annie says, pulling a small handful of envelopes out of her bag. “Hughie came up with all your aliases, so please stick to them, or you’ll be kicked out in a heartbeat. Security is tough at this thing, and there’ll be no talking yourselves out of a bad situation.”
She looks pointedly at Butcher, but his smirk only widens.
“Frenchie,” Hughie says, “you’re going as a member of the tech team, so you’ll be behind the scenes and keeping an eye on the cameras for anything suspicious.”
Frenchie rubs his hands together excitedly, taking the envelope from Annie and tearing it open.
“Monsieur Felipe Lavigne, senior security technician,” he announces, reading the ID card aloud.
“MM and Kimiko, you’ll be with me,” Hughie goes on, “we’ll be posing as press on behalf of the city council. There’s a huge group of council members and associates, so all we have to do is blend in.”
MM takes two envelopes and passes one to Kimiko.
Hughie turns to you, “I originally had you listed as press too, but then decided it might be smart to double down on Butcher’s alias, give him another level of cover, you know?”
You frown, tilting your head sceptically as he hands you and Butcher an envelope each.
“You’ll be attending as prospective stakeholders, invited by corporate to bask in the glory of Vought in the hopes that you’ll invest in their cause,” Hughie explains. “An affluent couple from upstate New York, recently immigrated from Britain after growing bored of your rich English lifestyle.”
You’re almost positive your brows have reached your hairline as you stare at the envelope in your hands, your trembling fingers struggling to pull the ID badge out.
“Brooklyn Williams,” you read aloud.
Annie shoots Hughie a look, promising that he would be paying for this later, and you realise that he must have made this decision in the past twelve hours without consulting her.
“William Williams,” Butcher says, frowning at Hughie, “really?”
Despite being the target of several unhappy stares, Hughie chuckles.
Frenchie snickers too, “At least you will not forget it, eh?”
“Smart move, Hughie,” MM speaks up, “Butcher is the one most likely to be caught, but with Y/N in tow, he might think twice about putting himself in danger.”
Butcher rolls his eyes, “Do none of you ‘ave any faith in me?”
Hughie, Frenchie, and MM respond in unison, “No.”
The seven of you spend the next two hours going over the details of your aliases and the agenda of the function. It’s going to be a huge event, which meant little risk of actually running into Homelander or anyone who might recognise any of you. Annie won’t be able to help on the night, being one of the spotlight attendees, but that isn’t what’s was making you nervous. You’re going to have to spend a good five hours pretending to be married to Butcher, the one man you desperately want and the one man you were trying very hard not to fall in love with.
After what feels like forever, Frenchie announces that he is going to get dinner and Annie bids you all goodbye to check in at Vought tower. Hughie sets his laptop up at the desk in the corner of the lounge room while MM excuses himself for his nightly facetime call with Janine.
Kimiko turns to you, signing a question about what you were all going to wear on the night.
“Annie helped me organise some things,” you reply, gesturing toward the suitcase by the door. “You should try it on now, and if you don’t like it we can find something else.”
You know Kimiko isn’t a fan of cocktail attire, and you definitely didn’t want her walking into the dragon’s den worrying about the way she looked or if she’d be able to fight should the need arise.
“What ‘bout me, love?” Butcher asks, his signature smirk curling the corner of his lips.
Your cheeks burn under his gaze, “You don’t get a choice, you’ll be wearing a suit.”
He chuckles, “I do love a stubborn woman, must’ve been why I married you.”
Your pulse thrums in your ears, and you fail to think of a sarcastic retort, instead turning away in the hopes that he hasn’t already noticed the bright colour in your cheeks.
Kimiko drops the case on its back with a thud, unzipping it quickly and throwing it open to pull out each of the bagged costumes. There are four suits of various styles with varying accessories, and two dresses. She stands holding the one labelled with her name, dragging the zip right down the middle and revealing the soft black fabric of her dress. It isn’t quite full length, hemmed just below the knee in a pencil skirt style and devoid of any embellishments. A simple black dress with long sleeves, fitted but flexible.
She grins, signing to you that it is perfect and thanking you for not putting her in anything ridiculous.
“We chose two pairs of shoes too,” you say, “in case you don’t want to wear the heels.”
Butcher strides toward the suitcase and picks up the last bag, but you follow him, quickly snatching it out of his hands before he can pull the zip.
“My dress can wait until the night,” you hold it behind your back for good measure, “I’m still not sure about it.”
He quirks one brow, “You’re not wearin’ latex, are ya?”
You roll your eyes before turning on your heel, taking your dress into your room and tucking it into the back of your closet. You fall back on your bed, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths as you try to calm your erratic pulse. It’s just one night, you can hold it together for one night, right?
The next two days pass in a blur of preparations and planning, and before you know it, you’re staring at the dress hanging in your closet with a towel wrapped around your body. Your hair is clean and curled, pulled into a half up do with twisted gold pins creating the illusion of diadem just below the crown of your head. You took a little longer to do your makeup than usual, out of practice in the art of winged eyeliner and false lashes, but in the end, you were proud. Now, the dress.
Your fingers are numb as you pull the zipper down, revealing the red silk material of the gown that Annie convinced you would be a good idea. You blame her for this just as much as Hughie.
“Come on, Y/N,” MM calls through your bedroom door, “we have to go.”
You sigh and throw your towel aside, hurriedly pulling the dress off its hanger. The material is cool against your skin, sliding easily over your curves and fitting your body like a tailor-made glove. You twist awkwardly to secure the zip before turning to the mirror.
The dress is floor length, a few inches of the red silk pooling at your feet, with a long slit reaching scandalously up to your left hip. The straps are about an inch thick, and the neck cowled, showcasing your breasts and the perfect amount cleavage. The silk hugs your torso, and you’re a little startled at just how good you feel in this dress.
Another knock at the door has you rushing to slip into your beige heels, and you check that your underwear are pulled high enough to not be seen in the slit of the dress before opening the door. MM’s jaw drops.
“Holy shit, Y/N.”
You blush, “Thanks.”
Being the gentleman he is, he tears his eyes away from you, offering you his arm with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.
In the lounge room, Kimiko is helping Frenchie with his tie and Hughie is struggling to secure his suspenders to his trousers. Your breath catches when your eyes land on Butcher, dressed in a classic and perfectly fitted black tux. He has even trimmed his beard and styled his hair, still a little dishevelled but holy shit, does the sight of him make your mouth water.
“Damn,” Hughie says when he sees you, “nice dress.”
“Nice suspenders.”
He chuckles, “Are we ready?”
Butcher turns to you, his jaw going slack and his eyes dark. Your chest squeezes, your lungs struggling to draw enough breath as your head spins from the lack of oxygen.
“Ready,” MM says beside you.
“Good,” Hughie tucks his ID badge into his shirt pocket, “I’ve organised two cars, one for Y/N and Butcher, and the other for the rest of us. Once we’re there, we can’t slip up, keep your masks up and don’t even look at anyone you think might recognise you.”
You check your small black clutch for your ID badge and phone.
“Earpieces are too risky tonight,” he continues, “so keep your phones on you, and if one of us is out, we all abort.”
Kimiko checks her own purse and the boys check their pockets before you all shuffle out the door. Hughie, MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko exit the building first, leaving you and Butcher alone in the lobby.
“You ready, sweethear’?” he asks, gazing at you with the same dark eyes as before.
You nod, “As I’ll ever be.”
After a minute, you exit the apartment and climb into the awaiting car. Butcher greets the driver as the car pulls away from the curb, and you take the chance to pull your phone out, typing out a quick message to Hughie.
‘I’m going to kill you.’
Your phone pings before you can put it away, and you quickly turn it to silent before reading his reply.
‘You’re welcome ;)’
A warm hand on your bare legs startles you, the heat sinking into your blood and making it sizzle through your veins.
“You sure you’re alrigh’?” Butcher asks.
“Yeah,” you mutter, “just nervous.”
His thumb rubs soft circles on your thigh, sending shockwaves of desire right to your core.
“Nothin’ to be worried ‘bout, love, I’ve got you.”
Your eyes almost roll back in your head at the sound of his deep voice. He truly does not know how much he does have you, all of you.
“Thanks, Billy,” you whisper, your voice unsteady.
His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of car ride, and your pulse refuses to settle. Anxiety and desire tangle in your stomach, twisting it into loops and winding the knot in your core even tighter than it already was.
Eventually, the car stops, and you both thank the driver before climbing out. You’re not at the main entrance of the building, but there is still a ridiculous number of security guards standing around, and barriers preventing anyone without an invitation from getting within twenty feet of the door. Butcher wraps an arm around your waist to guide you forward, his warmth shielding you from the cold night air.
“By the way,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you look fuckin’ delectable in that dress.”
Another wave of heat washes through your veins, and it takes every ounce of focus for you to not stumble up the walkway. Two security guards step forward as you both flash your ID badges.
“Mr. and Mrs. Williams,” the guard in front of Butcher says, scanning the barcodes on the badges, “welcome to Vought tower.”
The security guard in front of you is younger than the other, his blonde hair slicked back and his mouth etched into a sleazy smirk as his eyes rake up and down your body. He winks as he steps aside, and Butcher notices, his expression twisting into a scowl.
Just as you reach the doors, Butcher’s hand slips from your waist to your ass, squeezing it as he dips down and plants a hot kiss against your neck.
“Fuckin’ perve,” he mutters, before guiding you through the doors and down the corridor.
Your mouth is dry and your knees wobbly, but you move with practice and manage to appear cool and collected as you step into the huge event room. It’s extravagantly decorated with drapes of sheer fabric hanging from the high ceilings and a huge crystal chandelier in the centre. There are dozens of round tables, all set with fine silver-wear and obnoxious centrepieces made of red and white roses.
“Nice to know where all our money will be going if we decide to invest, darlin’,” Butcher says with a cheeky grin.
You giggle, letting him guide you through the clusters of elegantly dressed attendees toward where you assumed your table would be. You don’t remember ever finding out that piece of information, but you assume either Hughie or Annie told Butcher while you were still reeling about having to play ‘happy couple’ with him.
You listen carefully to snippets of conversations as you pass, waiting for anything interesting to catch your attention. Butcher stops at an empty table and pulls out a chair, you smile in thanks before taking a seat, quickly shuffling forward to avoid flashing everyone due to the ridiculously high split in your dress. Butcher notices though, chuckling to himself as he takes the chair beside you.
Before you can speak, he places a hand on your bare leg and squeezes, knocking every thought right out of your head.
You gasp, “I-It’s hot in here, is it hot in here?”
“I think that’s jus’ you, sweethear’,” he replies with a wink.
The room quickly fills with guests, conversations growing louder and drowning out the soft music playing over the speakers. Eventually, a woman takes the stage and the room falls quiet, listening to her lengthy introduction about how grateful Vought were for this night and how wonderful it is to be able to celebrate America’s finest superheroes. You can barely hear her though, your ears filled with the thrum of your pulse as Butcher’s fingers draw patterns on your leg. Your core aches, and you shift in your seat only to feel the dampness between your legs.
When the room erupts into applause, Butcher’s hand freezes, and you turn to see Homelander striding onto the stage, his hair blinding beneath the bright spotlight.
“Hey,” you whisper, placing a hand on top of Butcher’s, “you okay?”
He turns to you and his scowl relaxes, a soft smile pulling on his lips. “Yeah,” he replies, “I’m good.”
You slip your other hand beneath his, praying that he doesn’t notice how sweaty your palms are as you play with his fingers beneath the table. Although you had started in the hopes of calming him, you find your own sense of relaxation in his touch, focusing on the feeling of his skin as Homelander drawls on about Vought and The Seven.
After what feels like an eternity, he finishes his speech and the room cheers again. The woman returns to the microphone to announce the first course of food before music and conversation fills the air, and you turn your attention toward the centre of the table. Butcher grips your hand as you attempt to move it, entwining his fingers with yours and only allowing one of your hands free.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you two at one of these events before,” the woman beside you says.
She’s older but extremely elegant, with a pendant around her neck that you don’t doubt costs more money than you’ll ever get to see in your bank account.
“We’re new in town,” you reply, your voice very slightly lilted, “just moved from London’s east end, actually.”
“How charming,” she places a hand against her pendant, “I’m Lucille, and this is my husband, Jack.”
The podgy man beside her nods, his cheeks and nose bright red as he guzzles from his glass of champagne.
“Pleasure to meet you,” you say, “I’m Brooklyn, and this is my husband, William.”
You cast a glance at Butcher, only to find his eyes already locked on you, sparkling under the soft yellow lights. He has dopey smile on his lips and an emotion you can’t discern floating behind his gaze. Your stomach flips.
“You do make a charming, if you don’t mind my saying,” Lucille says.
You nod, your cheeks tingling with warmth, “Thank you.”
“So,” her husband, Jack, speaks up, his voice gruff, “what brings you here?”
You wait a beat for Butcher to reply, but he only watches you with that same expression.
“To be totally honest with you, I’m not sure,” you reply with a half-hearted laugh, “we have been thinking about investing, but I do wonder why a company of this immensity even needs investors.”
Jack chuckles, “You’ve got that right, seems greedy, doesn’t it?”
Lucille frowns at her husband before turning back to you, “We don’t do it for them, we do it for our grandkids, for their future. In the hopes that they will have a future, a safe one. This world is a nasty place.”
“You’re not wrong about that,” you sigh.
She nods, “That’s why it’s important to protect what you love, and hold on to it.”
Butcher’s hand squeezes yours, making your heart thump violently within your chest. You turn to him and meet his eyes, the fire in your veins blazing with a new intensity and heating every inch of your skin.
“I-If you’ll excuse me,” you stammer, pushing your chair back, “I need to use the bathroom.”
Butcher nods as you stand, and you can hear Lucille strike up new conversation while you weave between the tables toward the exit. Fresh air fills your lungs the moment you reach the foyer, and you pull your phone out of your bag, finding Hughie’s contact name with trembling fingers.
‘If I survive tonight, I WILL kill you.’
You hit send and turn toward the bathroom, almost stumbling when you see the same blonde security guard who had been stationed at the doors.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, his slimy smirk loading the question with innuendo.
“I’m okay,” you reply, “thank you.”
He steps forward before you can move, “You sure? You look a little flustered. Perhaps a step outside might help? It does get awfully hot in here.”
The first spark of fear rattles up your spine.
“I appreciate that, but I just need to use the restroom,” you say.
His smirk doesn’t falter, “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’d be more than happy to escort you. Can’t have a stunning woman such as yourself wandering the streets alone.”
You force a polite smile onto your face as you step around him and hurry down the corridor toward the bathrooms. With one subtle glance over your shoulder, you see him watching, still standing at the end of the hall looking almost predatory.
“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, turning sharply into the first stall.
You close the toilet lid and sit on top if it, holding your head in your hands and counting your breaths. After a minute of trying to wrangle your wild thoughts, you decide that Butcher is either a fantastic actor or… in love with you. Your heart aches to agree with the latter, but your brain fights for reason, reminding you that you’re in an incredibly sensitive situation and he is only acting like this to keep up the façade.
You sigh and stand up, panic piercing your chest when you remember the pushy security guard waiting for you in the foyer. You find your phone again, tapping on Butcher’s name and quickly typing out a message.
‘Don’t freak out, I’m totally fine, but I need you to come get me. Foyer.’
You count to thirty before exiting the stall and washing your hands, pleasantly surprised by your reflection in the mirror, aside from the deep red splashed across your cheeks. You walk calmly out of the bathroom and down the corridor, ignoring the spike in your pulse when you see the back of the security guard still standing there.
He turns around at the sound of your footsteps, a smirk curling his lips. “Hey gorgeous, are you-”
“There you are,” Butcher calls, striding toward you.
He wraps an arm around your waist, his hand splayed across your lower back as he presses your body against his. You don’t have time to respond before his lips capture yours. Your knees almost buckle, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as his mouth moves against yours and your mind goes completely blank.
He pulls back ever so slightly, his forehead still touching yours as he whispers, “I missed you.”
The feeling that bubbles in your chest makes your heart want to explode.
“Better get back in there,” he says, carefully releasing you.
You nod, unable to summon a single word as he looks at you like that, his pupils blown and his lips swollen from the kiss. He takes one of your hands in his and pulls you toward the doors before casting a menacing scowl over his shoulder at the security guard.
“Did he touch you?” he asks, his voice low.
You shake your head, “No.”
“Good.”
“Wait,” you tug on his hand before he can walk through the doors.
He frowns as you pull him to the side, into an alcove beneath the grand stairs that lead up to the private rooms above the event hall. He doesn’t resist when you press him against the wall, your hands on his chest and your body covering his. You look up at him through your thick lashes, and you can feel a soft groan rumble through his chest.
“I’m not sure we were convincing enough,” you whisper, before surging up and pressing your lips against his.
His hands hold the back of your head as he tilts his own to deepen the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips and making you whimper. Your ears fill with the erratic thrum of your heart and the soft moans from the man in front of you, making you forget about everything that isn’t him. The fire rushing through your veins collects at your core, burning with need and making you clench as his hands wander down your back to cup your ass.
Time loses all meaning as you tangle your limbs with his, your body throbbing almost painfully. You have to stop yourself from clawing at his clothes, every desire within you craving to tear his suit apart and absolutely devour him.
Eventually, your lungs begin to burn, and the short gasps between kisses aren’t enough to appease them, so you pull away. His pupils are huge, consuming almost all of the colour in his eyes as he studies your face with a small smile.
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs.
You open your mouth to tell him the same when someone clears their throat, and you both snap toward the sound. Hughie is standing a few feet away, his ID badge now on a lanyard around his neck and a notebook in his hand. His face looks pained, struggling to contain what would be a hysterical laugh if you weren’t all supposed to be undercover.
You stumble back from Butcher with wide eyes, your mouth trying to form words but no sound comes out.
Butcher straightens his jacket and clears his throat, “Sorry, mate, as you were.”
Hughie takes a deep breath and turns toward the room, and you have to commend him for his self-control.
Butcher looks down at you, “D’you think that was convincing enough?”
You giggle, “Maybe a little too convincing.”
He smirks and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping at the smeared lipstick. You know you must look like a wreck, your makeup smudged and your face blotchy and red, but you don’t care.
“Better get back in there before you get me arrested for public indecency,” he says, taking your hand in his.
You laugh again as he leads you back into the room, guiding you through the throngs of people and toward your table. Lucille greets you with a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she surveys your flustered state. Butcher sits and shuffles his chair closer to yours before placing a hand on your thigh, much higher than where it was before.
“It’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Lucille whispers to you.
You frown, “What is?”
“That love and passion,” she replies with a grin. “He just adores you, I can tell. Don’t ever let go of what you two have, it’s rare.”
You try to hide your smile, but it’s almost impossible. “I won’t.”
You’re not sure what you’ve missed but you assume it was Annie’s speech as the chatter around you is filled mostly with her name. The woman from before returns to the stage to rave some more, though you don’t bother trying to pay attention. Butcher is watching you with hungry eyes, filling your head with filthy thoughts and absolutely soaking your panties.
“So, Mrs. Williams,” he says, his voice low, “got any plans after this?”
“Not really,” you reply, “but I do think there’s a toy in the top drawer of my dresser calling my name.”
He swallows thickly, “Is that so?”
You nod, “I’m feeling a little wound up.”
“Perhaps I could help you unwind,” he whispers, “think I’d do a better job than that fuckin’ toy.”
“That’s a bold statement, are you sure?”
His fingers dig into your thighs with enough pressure to bruise, making your whole body jolt.
“Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure.”
His hand slides up your thigh and you part your legs instinctively.
He smirks, “Good girl, so responsive.”
The burning in your core pulses, sending white hot waves of desire up your spine to cloud your mind. His fingers brush the crotch of your panties, barely a touch but enough to make you sigh softly.
“You’re soaked,” he whispers, “so ready for my c-”
Cheers erupt throughout the room, drowning out his voice and startling you out of your stupor. His hand slides back down your leg and his smirk breaks into a devilish grin when you look at him with a scowl.
“Sorry, love,” he says as he retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket.
You take a moment to collect your thoughts, drawing steady breaths and trying to focus on anything but the man beside you. He chuckles at his phone before tucking it back into his pocket.
“Was that your mistress?” you tease.
He raises his brows, “Is that jealousy I’m hearin’?”
You slide your hand up his thigh, stopping just below his crotch to squeeze.
“You tell me, do I have anything to be jealous of?”
His voice is almost a groan, “Never.”
“Good.”
You slide your hand over his crotch, relishing in the way his whole body tenses before you pull back and fold your hands in your own lap. He sighs and takes a generous gulp from his glass of champagne, grimacing at the taste before leaning toward you with an arm over the back of your chair.
“You’re a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”
You turn to him, your face barely an inch from his, “Oh, baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
He leans back in his chair, his jaw tense but his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“You fond of that dress?” he asks casually.
“This old thing? Nah.”
He nods once, “Good, because I’m goin’ to fuckin’ destroy it.”
The woman sitting on his other side chokes on her mouthful of champagne, casting an abhorrent glare toward the two of you before completely turning her back. You have to swallow your laughter, averting your gaze to your lap as Butcher chuckles quietly.
You feel your purse vibrate at the same time that Butcher reaches for his pocket. You pull your phone out and check the messages, finding several from Hughie.
‘We’re here to WORK, not fornicate.’
‘I just spent five minutes laughing to myself in the toilet.’
‘The shows closing soon, we should leave before the crowds. Unless you and Butcher are busy ;)’
“D’you think you can make it out of here without your knees bucklin’, love?” Butcher asks with a smirk.
You tuck your phone away and twist in your chair so that your legs are toward him, parting them slowly. The red silk slides against your skin and the split opens with your legs. Butcher’s gaze drops, his whole face turning red as his eyes grow wide.
“I bet you a hundred dollars that you’re rock hard right now,” you whisper, leaning forward.
His jaw twitches as his gaze moves to your chest, and you smirk before twisting toward Lucille.
“We’re going to duck out before the masses, but it was lovely meeting you,” you say, “and best wishes to your grandkids. They’re lucky to have such incredible grandparents.”
She smiles at you, her eyes watery, “It was lovely meeting you too, dear.”
Her husband grumbles a farewell and you smile politely at the rest of the table who you hadn’t bothered to meet before turning back to Butcher expectantly. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the way he shifts in his seat.
“Pleasure meeting you,” he nods toward Lucille and Jack.
He pushes his chair back and stands up, drawing a hand out of his pocket and dropping two fifty dollar bills onto the table before stepping back. A grin breaks across your face as you snatch the money and stand up, taking Butcher’s outstretched hand and letting him lead you out of the room. You almost stumble at the pace at which he drags you through the crowds, not stopping until you’re through the foyer, out the doors, and a good distance from the building’s entrance.
“You owe me,” he growls, yanking on your wrist so that you fall into his arms.
“Take whatever you want,” you whisper, “I’m all yours.”
Another rumble vibrates through his chest, and the knot of anticipation in your stomach twists tighter.
“Good, you’re here,” Hughie calls, his feet slapping against the pavement as he jogs toward you.
Butcher’s hold goes slack, and you take a reluctant step away from him as MM and Kimiko follow a few paces behind Hughie. The cold air nips at your bare skin, making you shiver.
“Where’s Frenchie?” MM asks.
“On his way,” Hughie replies with his phone in his hand, “and the car is close.”
You startle at the feeling of material falling around your shoulders, and glance up as Butcher steps in front of you, his arms guiding his blazer over your trembling body. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him through your thick lashes as his lips curl into a soft smile. He moves back to stand at your side and wraps one arm around you, pulling you against side.
Hughie’s grin is so wide you want to slap it off his face.
“Not a word,” Butcher mutters.
Hughie chuckles, “I didn’t say anything.”
MM is clearly amused, and even Kimiko is giggling when Frenchie comes jogging up behind them.
“Did I miss something?” he asks, his brows raised as he looks from Butcher to you.
“Car’s here,” Hughie announces, and you all step toward the curb.
Hughie climbs in the front seat and greets the driver before texting rapidly on his phone, no doubt messaging Annie to let her know you were all safe and heading home. Kimiko and Frenchie shuffle toward the back of the van, and MM grumbles when neither you nor Butcher volunteer to join them. He squeezes between the two of them on the backseat before Butcher helps you into the van, and you take the single seat behind the passenger as Butcher falls into the last seat behind the driver.
You shrink into his jacket, enveloping yourself in his scent and relishing the warmth that his body had left behind. His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of the trip, studying your face, lingering on your lips, and moving up and down your body over and over again.
The drive feels much longer than it should, but the car finally pulls up outside your apartment block and you all pile out. Frenchie begins rambling about pieces of information he overheard, and MM fills in some of the gaps with snippets that he picked up in the press crowd. You almost feel guilty that you did nothing but dry hump Butcher and chat with an elderly rich woman, but that guilt washes away the moment you step inside the apartment.
“Bed, now,” Butcher tells you, tugging you by your hand toward the master bedroom.
“Y/N,” Hughie calls before you can disappear, “I thought your bedroom was that way.”
You turn to him with a frown, finding that stupid boyish grin stretched across his lips as the rest of the room watches you with amused faces.
“I’m not going to sleep, Hughie,” you say, before turning to Butcher, “I’m not tired.”
You catch a glimpse of his disgusted expression before you turn and rush into Butcher’s bedroom, followed closely by the man himself. His hand catches the collar the jacket and pulls it off of you as you step toward the bed.
“Not tired?” he asks, starting on the top button of his shirt.
You sit on the edge of the bed and kick your heels off. “Not at all.”
“Good.”
In two strides, he’s right in front of you, using his knee to nudge your legs apart so he can stand between them. His eyes trace up your bare leg, stopping where the red material reveals an inch of your black panties, and he sighs.
“So,” you say, leaning back with your hands on the bed, “what do I owe you?”
His self-control snaps and his hands yank at the opening of his shirt, ripping the rest of the buttons apart before he shrugs it off his shoulders. He straddles your hips and pushes you back, his lips assaulting your neck as you writhe beneath him.
“You said, I could take whatever fuckin’ I want,” he mutters against your skin.
You only moan in response and he sinks his teeth into your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise before soothing it with his tongue.
“I’m gon’a take all of you,” he growls, “but first-”
He sits back suddenly, his fingers making quick work of his belt and the fastenings of his trousers.
“I made a promise to this dress,” he finishes, before gripping the material on either side of the slit and ripping it.
You gasp as the silk falls loose around your body, tearing right up to the neck and cleaving the dress apart entirely. His eyes rake over your bare skin as he licks his lips and drops onto his hands to hover over you, grinding his hips down and eliciting another moan from your mouth.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighs, “you’re gon’a kill me with those pretty noises, sweethear’.”
“Butcher,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I need you.”
His elbows buckle and his body falls on top of yours as his lips capture yours in a searing kiss.
“You have me,” he murmurs against your mouth, “you’ve got all of me.”
END.
#billy butcher#the boys#billy butcher x reader#butcher x reader#karl urban#one shot#oneshot#homelander#hughie campbell#starlight#mm#mothers milk#frenchie#kimiko#the female#fanfic#fanfiction
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𝘖𝘪. Ladies and gentlemen, The Boys are back 💉🩸
#the boys#the boys tv#the boys season 4#billy butcher#homelander#hughie campbell#annie january#starlight#kimiko miyashiro#frenchie#mother's milk#marvin milk#the boys amazon#me and the rare once a year fanart that’s not celebrating a follower milestone and not a fanfic illustration 🫨 surprise~!#could I have put Terror 🐶 in there? yeah but I wanted to get this out before 6/13/24 when the first 3 eps premiere#but finally I can say I’ve drawn everyone in the gang now (😔 so sorry mm & frenchie; you are now here for my second group illustration)#yes billy’s holding a vial that says Supe Virus and Hughie’s wearing F*ck Vought sneakers#my art#featured#phoenixtakaramono#I'M SO READY#the boys fanart
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Super Hearing
Homelander x Reader
Word Count: 927
Summary: You forget Homelander has super hearing, while trying to explain something to your friend in a crowded coffee shop.
Warnings: None.
Masterlist
Sandra’s voice drones on and on about the way climate change is ruining everything. You sip on your tea with a disgruntled look. She promised shopping and gossip, not channel five news. Your attention is caught when the bell beside you chimes. Letting everyone know a new customer walked in.
Your eyes widen in shock, this is the last place you’d expect to see him. The Homelander, at Starbucks. It helped that he had his son with him, his eyes ,almost as wide as yours, look at the extensive menu. This must be his first time. You look at his childlike wonder and remember being 14 and ordering cake pops with Sandra.
You look across from you and your jaw drops. “Sandy! Look who it is!” You whisper. She rolls her eyes, not fond of him. “God, please let the earth swallow me whole.” She says, dramatically resting her head on the table.
“You know I can’t stand him, or any supe for that matter.” She says rolling her eyes at your excitement. “Well. You know how I feel, I respect him, the good he does far out weighs the bad. He’s earned being a cocky ass.”
Speaking of ass, you take the time to admire his, he was wearing his suit, but no cape, must be too dramatic for errands with a kid. Someone blocked your view. A stereotype of a woman stands behind him, tapping his shoulder with her bottle tanned hand and long fingernails. “Can I get a picture?” You swear her voice sounded normal but it shot hot streaks through your veins, filling you with an annoyance.
“Sure thing.” He says, plastering a fake smile on, that looked like it hurt. He leans over for the picture, keeping a foot of space between them, even though it was obvious she wanted him to wrap his arm around her for the picture. You scoff, “He’s here being a dad to Ryan, why even bother him with pictures?”.
You see as the barista throws herself at Homelander as he orders for Ryan. She’s leaned halfway over the counter, her top buttons recently undone. “Look how tense he is right now, he probably never catches a break from women.” You say, never taking your eyes off him.
“I bet he has a new one of them in his bed every night.” Sandra says, downing the rest of her black coffee. You shrug your shoulders, it was probably true, you’d be one of those girls too, if you had the chance.
Sipping your tea once more you watch as they stand at the end of the counter, not immune to restaurant wait times. “I just know those girls can’t take care of him like he needs.” You feel bad for him, “They want a big strong supe to wreck them, I bet all he wants is to be cared for, genuinely.”.
Sandra laughs at you and it breaks your attention from the tall man. “As if it would be you.” She laughs again when you shoot her a confused look. “You’re so not his type, skinny blondes seem more in his range.” She says.
Your friends words hurt, but you knew they were true. You could sit in the corner fantasizing about him all day, it wouldn’t change the fact the he would never approach a girl like you. “What’s so wrong with dreaming?” You say, giving your friend a fake laugh to let her know you wanna change conversation topics.
Sandra pulls her phone out when ‘beez in the trap’ starts filling the small Starbucks dining area. “Hello?” She says, and you take the chance to look back over to the supe. Except he’s not standing there anymore, you see Ryan waiting by the front door and before you know it, blue fills your vision. Homelander is at your table, a paper business card in his hand.
You’re dumbfounded for a minute, wondering what it could possibly be. You look up to his face and meet his eyes. They glimmer as if he didn’t expect you to dare make eye contact with him.
“Can I help you, Sir.” You say, not wanting to say the wrong thing and embarrass yourself. Sandra groans from across the table, while still having the phone pressed to her ear, you don’t owe him anything and yet here you were serving yourself up.
“I hope so, call me. That is, if you like cocky asses.” He drops the card on the table and turns towards your friend to give her a grimace, letting her know how dissatisfied he was with her. He walks away without another word. Leading Ryan out of the trendy coffee shop.
Your face turns beet red, he heard you. If he heard you calling him names, then he heard how much you want him, a glimmer of pride sparks in your chest, she was so wrong, maybe you are just his type.
Sandra slides her phone into her purse, silently fuming. “Are you serious right now? We’re supposed to be having a girls day, not picking up guys.” She says, annoyed with everything you do. You wonder if she’s even your real friend.
“We were supposed to go shopping, not sit in Starbucks and talk about ice caps melting.” You shoot back, not letting her bully you any more.
Sandra gives you a look of surprise, like she didn’t expect you to talk back to her. “I think I’m gonna go.” You say, leaving her open mouthed at the table. You had to go celebrate yourself, alone.
#the boys#the boys diabolical#homelander#homelander x reader#homelander x you#homelander x y/n#john gillman#the boys fanfic#the boys fic#fanfiction#billy butcher#hughie campbell#supes#supe x reader#homelander fanfiction
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Pitch Black Therapy || The Boys Imagine
(Platonic) Hughie Campbell x Supe!GN!Reader
Summary: After escaping the asylum, the boys went on their respective missions, leaving you, Lamplighter, and Hughie in Mallory's safehouse. Hughie gets curious about you and your power.
You were told to stay in Mallory's house with Lamplighter and Hughie while the others went on their errands. It was a strange situation, considering that you and Lamplighter used to be on opposite sides in the asylum. He never harmed you specifically, but you could hear all the screams and crackling of fire whenever he had to burn someone, which made your headaches worse back when you were stuck in the cell with those bright lights. You would often glare at him, but he couldn't tell, because you always had a pair of sunglasses on ever since the escape.
If glaring at him felt good, it felt even better to not see him at all, so you made yourself comfortable in the kitchen for a while, until Hughie came.
"Hi." He said with a smile. "Not sure if i've officially introduced myself before, but i'm Hughie."
"Oh, hey," You reached out a hand towards him, offering a handshake, "I'm [Y/N]."
At first, he was taken aback by your normality. Whenever he introduced himself, it usually brought out a hostile reaction for some reason. He was just trying to be nice, but people didn't seem to like it, and now finally someone appreciated it.
You both sat on the kitchen stools in silence while you drank a can of soda, only accompanied by muffled voices of the TV in the other room.
He glanced curiously at you a few times, and finally gave in. "Hey, uh, you always wear those sunglasses. Are they, like, your trademark style or is there something… else going on?"
You chuckled, almost choking on your drink, "Man, i wish it was a style choice. But no, it's a side effect, i suppose. Everything's too bright for me."
"Sounds terrible." He grimaced. "What kind of power do you have that does that? Is it, like, night vision or something?"
"I do have night vision, but my power is... well," You paused for a moment, trying your best to find the correct words, "I can blind people."
"Blind people? Turning people blind?"
"Pretty much." You finished your drink, and threw the can towards the trash bin, but missed. "I can generate darkness and submerge people in it, causing them to not be able to see anything." You walked over and picked up the can, dropping it into the bin. "It also works on cameras and stuff."
"Whoa. That's cool... but scary, but... cool."
You then turned around to face him. "Do you want to see?"
"I think the question should be: do i want to 'not' see?" He joked, which earned a small laugh from you. "That seems horrifying, to be honest."
"You know, actually, i heard that there's people who pay to experience having all sensory inputs removed. They say it's therapeutic." You said, pretending to try to convince him as you returned to your seat. "You don't wanna try some pitch black therapy? Free of charge."
He shook his head dramatically, "Nope, no way."
"Alright, alright." You put both hands up, a playful gesture of backing down. "But seriously though, i think you should try once, so that you're not too shocked if i have to use it in the field later."
He thought about it for a moment, it actually made sense. "You're probably right."
"Great! I'll go for five seconds, how does that sound?" You clasped your hands together, ready to start.
"Woah, hold on, you seem way too excited about this." He chuckled.
"What can i say? I'm new to this too."
"Right." He nodded. "Five seconds is enough, i think."
"Okay, on three. One. Two. Three." You released your hands, and a pitch black substance appeared from between them, expanding instantly until it engulfed the whole room.
One second in. Hughie jumped a bit in his seat, frantically looking around for any source of light. Two seconds. You could see him panicking a little. Three. He brought his hands right in front of his eyes and waved it, but he could see nothing. Four. He put his hands back on the kitchen counter, relieved that it was still there. Five. The room turned back normal.
He seemed a bit disoriented, suddenly being able to see again.
"You alright?" You asked, feeling a little bad.
"Yeah, no, it's just... i thought it would be a regular kind of darkness, where i could still see a little bit of movement or something, y'know? But i couldn't see anything at all. Like, if i had to experience that for the first time while we're out there? I'd probably get a heart attack or something."
"Yeah..." You smiled apologetically. "Sorry."
"No, it's fine, you were right, and that was pretty awesome. Not therapeutic at all though."
You gave a small laugh, which Hughie returned.
#hughie campbell#the boys hughie#hughie campbell x reader#hughie campbell x you#hughie campbell x y/n#hughie campbell imagine#the boys x reader#the boys x you#the boys x y/n#gender neutral reader#gender neutral y/n#gender neutral insert#the boys imagine#the boys fic#the boys fanfic#platonic x reader#platonic imagine#platonic the boys imagine
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