#Safe House

[littlebluejaydraws]

Keep paintin', Picasso.

ID in alt text

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 14

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Stick around at the end for a special note — new SB fic dropping soon!

Word Count: 6,000

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! We return to the smut! Plus a healthy dose of fluff, angst, action, moral quandaries, and feels.

 Part 14: Safe House

Jon lied in his hospital bed, frowning hard at a computer screen. His arm and collarbone were broken, along with a few ribs. He had a private room, at least, courtesy of Vought. 

Stan Edgar strode in following a quick knock on the door. 

“Hello, Jonathan. I meant to visit you earlier,” said Stan. Jon stared at his boss, silently simmering. On his laptop played footage of the destruction wrought on the Lower West Side by a major car chase.

“How are you feeling?” Stan asked.

“Why was Black Noir set loose on my wife and daughters?” he seethed through gritted teeth. Damn how the effort of keeping still was almost as painful as moving.

“Ex-wife, isn’t it?” Stan said, raising a brow.

Jon was not amused.

“I gave the order, yes,” Stan acknowledged. “On your eldest daughter.”

Jon was incensed. If he could get out of this bed, he’d very well contemplate strangling the other man. Stan seemed to know it, but considering his personal security guards were standing near the back wall of the hospital room, he also didn’t look worried.

“Why?” Jon asked, genuinely surprised and dismayed. “She’s not a threat.” 

“Soldier Boy kept her for a reason,” Stan pointed out. “She brought him to our doorstep, with the intention of helping him assassinate me…eliminating her was a calculated risk.” 

Jon shook his head.

“But since Noir has failed, we will have to prepare accordingly,” Stan said. 

Jon glared back at him. “You think I’m going to help you?”

“I think you have a job to do,” Stan returned. “It didn’t stop you from breaking your daughter’s ribs, and very nearly her neck.”

Jon faltered, a brief regret weighing his frown. 

“That wasn’t…that was to teach her a lesson.”

Perhaps he’d gone a bit too far, but he’d only been trying to subdue you. To get you to listen to him. But you’d always been stubborn.

Stan broke him from his thoughts.

“I am not being attacked, Jon,” he said. “We are. Your daughter is a part of it.” 

“Marie and Luisa are not. Leave them out of this!” 

Stan merely rose a brow. He folded his hands behind his back and withdrew. He was flanked by his bodyguards as he left the room. 

“Rest up, Jonathan,” he said. “I’ll need you soon enough.”

The master bed was actually pretty comfortable, as you and Ben found out. 

You clung onto his shoulders after both of you were spent. You panted for breath as he held you to him with his solid arms wrapped around your waist. You two were both kneeling, technically, in the middle of the bed.

Your thighs were molded to his hips, and he was still buried deep inside you. But as of yet, you had no reason to move. You were enjoying your vantage point above him, watching him collect himself with closed eyes. 

The simple truth of it was, you’d missed him. 

Even when he was being a stubborn pain in the ass, you hated every moment you had to watch him caged, watching him start to think he may never get out.

Your hands slid around to his back. It allowed you to hold him in more of an embrace as you caught your breath. 

When his eyes opened, you met him with a smile. You slipped your fingers through his sweaty hair. Holding your free hand at the nape of his neck, you pressed your lips above his brow. Then another kiss to his scratchy cheek. His beard had gotten overgrown.

“You need a trim,” you said, letting out a breathy laugh. You kissed his cheek again. Slow, and with purpose. 

Ben let out a sigh through his nose. His eyes closed again at your gentler kisses, your touch. Maybe he reveled in this—being able to hold you back. It felt right. 

If he was honest with himself (and this time, he was), you were somehow able to ease the frayed edges of his mind. Edges that had been starting to unravel in that cell. 

And there were other things too, that he was beginning to realize, but not yet willing to cement in his mind.

So you reluctantly detangled from one another, but remained in bed. The problem was, for whatever closeness you two had just shared…you weren’t quite sure what to do now.

You hesitated to ask him just what the two of you were doing. Mostly because you didn’t want to ruin whatever this was by labeling it. 

So instead, you relaxed against his chest and pulled the blankets over you both. Ben didn’t just tolerate it; he settled a heavy arm across your lower back and over your hip. It made you smile.

“Ben…what do you want from the rest of your life?” you asked. 

You didn’t know what possessed you to ask, but you had to wonder what the end goal was for him, after the issue of Vought was settled. After he presumably kept his end of the deal and retired to South America, or Europe, or wherever he wanted to go, really. 

His hand came up to pet your hair. “I just got some of it.”

You huffed a laugh, hiding your face into his chest for a moment. You couldn’t see it, but Ben grinned at how easy it was to embarrass you, for how wanton he knew you could be.

“Come on, seriously,” you said. 

“Seriously?” he teased. 

“Yes,” you said, despite a giggle.

He let out something of a sigh. Meanwhile, his hand drew lazy patterns up and down your naked back.

“I always thought I had time,” he confessed. “To settle down. Have a family…I actually thought it would be Tess.”

That thought was accompanied by a bitter chuckle. Your brows furrowed in question. 

“Crimson Countess,” he explained. 

“Ah.” You nodded and rested a hand across his lower abs, playing with the thin trail of hair there that led south. He found it strangely soothing, if a hint arousing.

“Was it difficult killing Homelander?” you asked. 

Ben scoffed. “Just chock full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

You sat up and propped an elbow on his shoulder, so he had to look at you. 

“Not physically. Emotionally,” you said. God forbid you ask him about his man feelings, but you really were curious. 

Ben eyed you with a raised brow.

“I know he wasn’t really your son,” you said. “He was a raging psychopath and needed to go down, but was there a part of you that…was it hard for you?” 

Ben’s mood dimmed as his lips pulled into a frown. “He was a true disappointment. Barely a man.” 

That didn’t quite answer your question, but you thought you could read some of his true feelings on the matter. You didn’t think he regretted killing Homelander. But maybe he mourned the connection he could’ve had with a son. From what he’d said about Crimson Countess, you knew he wanted a real family.

That softened you. You brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes with delicate fingers. 

“He was told he was a god his entire life. That’s what happens,” you said. 

Ben scoffed at that, his gaze cutting away from you. You didn’t know what that meant exactly.  

“And you?” he asked, turning back to you. “What do you want from all this?” 

“Besides my family safe?” you retorted. But then, you considered his words. “I don’t know. I thought I knew who I was before I met you. Now I’m realizing that I can’t control anything in my life.” 

Ben raised your chin, and therefore your face up to him. 

“You can control you. You’ve been doing that since I met you.” His thumb swiped against your lower lip. “Especially this fucking mouth.” 

You smiled. “But you like that though.” 

His lips pulled at amusement, huffing in response. 

“Come on,” you teased. You moved, slipping a leg over to straddle his lap. You delved into his hair with both hands, and he let you tug his head back as he now looked up at you. 

“Admit it,” you said cheekily. “You like my mouth. Talking back to you…on you…and getting you off.” 

All while you spoke, you brushed your lips across his cheek, down his jawline, pressed a nipping kiss along his neck, below his ear. Then you returned to his lips. But you also ground down into his lap, feeling his rising length brush against your wet folds.

He groaned deep as you plied him the way you’d learned to do. And your tongue slipped into his mouth with your next kiss. He gripped your hips tight, wordlessly urging you to lower down into his lap and onto his waiting cock. But you resisted. 

“Say it,” you demanded. 

When he merely smirked, denying you control, you lowered a hand to take a firm hold of his cock. He let out a low hum of pleasure as you pumped him a couple of times, then held him poised at your entrance. 

“I’ll give you what you want,” you said, brushing his lips. “But first, tell me how much you missed this.”

His next breath came out sharp as you squeezed his cock in your hand. You knew you’d find his fingerprints on your hips and ass in the morning, but you didn’t care. Because you were about to fucking win. 

“Fine,” he said, through clenched teeth. “Maybe I’ve been craving this, more than a fix. More than goddamn sleep.” 

Ben’s eyes were dark with lust, and he thumbed at your lower lip. 

“And this fucking mouth. Gets you into all kinds of trouble, baby doll.” 

You smirked and finally sunk on top of him. His cock slid past your folds and bottomed out inside of you, making you shudder and Ben groan in relief. 

You did exactly as you promised. With your hands braced on his shoulders, you moved over him nice and slow. 

Well, nice for you. Torturous for him. 

He cast his head back to the headboard as he fought not to make you move. 

“You’re fuckin’ killing me here,” he growled.

Your mouth curved into a grin. 

“Alert the media,” you said. “We’ve got the ultimate weapon against Soldier Boy: a slow ride on his dick.”

Ben’s rich laugh rumbled out, crinkling his eyes at the corners and making you smile. You felt the impact of his laughter deep inside you, which wasn’t unpleasant. But you had mercy on him and finally picked up the pace. He grabbed a fistful of your hair for leverage while your lovely tits bounced in his face.

Then his fingers slid between you, parting your folds to rub at your clit. It made your hips stutter as you let out a mangled moan. Your inner walls started to tighten around him, earning you another muttered curse. He couldn’t help but thrust up inside you, mostly in time with your movements. 

But he got impatient.

He grabbed your hips tighter and flipped you over, with your thighs wrapped around his hips. 

“The moment I saw you, I knew I’d have you,” he gritted out. “Fuck, just like this.”

You gasped as he pounded deeper inside you. You felt like the bed was going to swallow you up. But you pressed your heels into his lower back and held on for the rest of the ride.

Within moments, Ben spilled into you so hard and fast that it took both of you by surprise. It felt hot and tingling inside you, making you shudder again. 

Thank God for IUDs, you thought. 

And when his fingers found your clit again in time with his last wild thrusts, it was enough to tumble you over along with him.

Afterwards, Ben braced himself on the headboard as a line of sweat dripped down the column of his neck. You grabbed onto his free hand while you caught your breath. His lips tugged at a smirk, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. 

“And we’re not done,” he said. “Not by a long shot.”

Ben woke to the annoying sound of coffee percolating. A normal man would have slept right through it, but thanks to his sensitive ears, he was up at… 

Christ, it’s 11 in the morning. He noted the digital clock on the nightstand and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He actually slept all night. And all morning. 

Up until recently, that had been impossible. 

He heard puttering in the kitchen, knew it was you because of your soft humming. It drew a smile to his face without him realizing. 

He climbed out of bed, showered, shaved and trimmed off the wilder parts of his beard, and dressed casually with the clothing he found in the closet. Wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do for now.

This house was also not what he was used to. It was small, and too “suburban dad” for his taste. But he guessed it was better than an underground glass prison cell.

He ventured into the kitchen, where the smell of good food made his mouth water, and the sight of you frying bacon (trying not to get burned by the sparking grease) deepened his grin.

All you wore was his discarded shirt from yesterday, presumably over your underwear as it hung around your thighs, and a pair of slippers you must’ve found in the closet. 

Maybe you heard him coming, because you glanced back over your shoulder and met him with a smile. But it soon edged into a more serious look as you turned and leveled him with your spatula. 

“Okay. I don’t want any smartass remarks,” you warned. “I did make breakfast, because I’m a nice person, but don’t expect this for every meal.” 

Ben raised a wry brow.

“Morning to you too,” he drawled. He rested a hand on your lower back as he looked over your shoulder, surveying the plate of cooling bacon, the pan of scrambled eggs, and the toast ready to be buttered on the counter, next to a jar of strawberry jam. “Looks good.”

You watched him steal a piece of bacon, your lips quirking.

“Is that a thank you?” you asked. 

He purposefully bit into the bacon instead of answering. You gave him a narrowed look, but you were still amused. 

“Even a child can say please and thank you,” you pointed out. 

Ben turned to you then and hooked an arm around your waist, suddenly pulling you tight against him. 

“All right. How about this?” he replied. His head bowed and kissed you thoroughly. He tasted coffee and jam on your tongue. A surprised moan caught in your throat, and you clung to his arms on instinct. Meanwhile, his other hand went to your hip, bunching the material of the stolen shirt.

When he broke from you, he looked down on your somewhat dazed expression and had to temper his smile. He gave you a nice slap on the ass, shocking a yelp out of you. 

You shot him a dry look.

“Is that please, or thank you?” you teased. 

Ben rolled his eyes and kissed you again, trapping you against the counter this time. But he didn’t allow himself to get carried away (yet). He swept back strands of your hair and let his fingers skim across your cheek, feeling your skin warming under his touch. 

He finally settled on brushing his thumb across your bottom lip, meeting your eyes.  

“Thank you,” he said.

It had a deeper meaning, you realized from the gravity of his gaze.

“That fucking bitch probably wanted to put me on ice the second they brought me in,” he said. 

You could only assume he meant Grace. 

“You’re probably the reason that didn’t happen,” he continued. “And that I’m here now.” 

Emotion threatened to choke you, beginning to sting your eyes. You cleared your throat and soothed a hand along his forearm. 

“You made the deal,” you pointed out. Ben shook his head.

“You were right. I want the fucking target off my back, once and for all,” he said. He touched where a smattering of bruises from the car accident colored your temple and part of your cheek with fading purple and yellow.

“But I’m getting it off you too," he said gruffly. "You want a deal? Here it is: no one’s fucking touching you again as long as I’m around.”

Your breath hitched as your heart began to hammer in your chest. You wanted to ask what that meant. You wanted to ask if, maybe, he wanted to be with you. If he…

But you lost your nerve.

“The eggs are gonna get cold,” you said in a coarse whisper. 

Ben smirked. 

“That’s really what you’re fucking worried about?” he asked, shortly before he cut off your would-be reply with a heated kiss. 

Your arms twined around his neck, almost of their own volition. He already had you by the waist, and from there he hefted you effortlessly onto a small clean portion of counter space in the kitchen. His hands burned up your thighs, underneath the overlarge shirt. When he encountered nothing but bare ass, his lips curved against yours. 

“What a naughty girl. You’re out here cooking with no fucking panties on?” 

It was your turn to smirk as you held a hand to his cheek. He did in fact trim the beard. 

“You like that, don’t you?” you remarked. 

His dark chuckle was your answer as he spread your thighs wider. Your breath came out a bit shakier as his hand went smoothly up the inside of your thigh and slipped between your folds. 

“Already wet for me, I see,” he said. His smirk only grew as you whined with pleasure at the invasion of his fingers. First just teasing inside your entrance, working you up. Your grip on his neck tightened, your nails digging into his shoulders. 

“Ben…”

“How many fucking times I gotta tell you to be patient?” 

“Ugh.” You dropped your forehead into the crook of his neck. “You are the worst.” 

His resulting chuckle reverberated in your chest and tingled down into your lower belly. Combined with his teasing, it made your inner walls tighten on nothing from anticipation…until two of his fingers suddenly sunk deep into your heat. You cried out into his ear in surprise. 

“Ben,” you breathed, but it ended on a moan as he finally began to give you what you wanted. His thumb found your clit and circled slowly while he thrust and turned his fingers inside you. You gripped at his hair, holding on tighter and tighter as your walls clenched on his hand. 

“That’s it, baby doll. I gotcha,” he muttered. Though you teased a grunt out of him when you snaked a hand between you to palm at the bulge in his jeans. If he was going to give you a good morning, you’d be sure to return the favor. 

He kept working on you, but with shaking hands you unzipped his pants and aimed to free him from those tight boxer briefs. 

Unfortunately, your cell phone ringing halted both of your plans. It was on the kitchen counter, and it vibrated across the tile next to you. 

Butcher calling…

Both of your heavy breathing accompanied the shrill sound. But when you noticed the caller ID, you gave Ben a rueful look. 

He frowned in annoyance, but he withdrew from you, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before he grabbed your phone and answered it (even if it took him two or three angry tries on swiping the green button). You put it on speaker. 

“What?” Ben grouched into the phone.

“Apologies for interrupting what I’m sure is a dewy morning after,” Butcher said with all due sarcasm. “We’ve got a lead on Neuman.”

You raised a brow at that. Tugging down your shirt back over your thighs, you answered, “Where is she?”

“She’s giving a speech at NYU this afternoon.”

You frowned. You knew for a fact he hadn’t run that by the whole team. 

“It’s not a good idea to catch her there. Too exposed. Too many people could get caught in the crossfire,” you said. 

“Her next scheduled outing is a fundraiser for the homeless. That any better?” Butcher asked with mock cheer. “At the least the college kiddos won’t be coughing up a lung because their hepatitis A’s on a flare up.”

Ben’s lips twitched at amusement, but your frown only deepened in irritation. 

“You’re unsavory, you know that?” you said, rubbing at your temple. “…Fine. We’ll catch her at the college.” 

“Wasn’t really up for fuckin’ debate,” Butcher replied. “We head out in two hours.”

This isn’t going to be easy, you thought. 

You were teamed up with M.M., Annie, and Hughie on surveillance, sitting in Frenchie’s van on one of the side streets outside the auditorium where Victoria Neuman was giving her speech.   

Kimiko and Frenchie had formed a perimeter with Butcher on the campus. After the speech came to a close, Butcher, M.M., and Frenchie had worked out where Victoria would likely be escorted out to get back to her limo. 

But you forced yourself to take deep breaths. You watched the various camera angles you and M.M. had been able to hook up to the monitors inside the van. On one of the screens was Ben in his full Soldier Boy gear, sans helmet, waiting for his cue.

You felt M.M. glancing at you, and you met his stare. His expression was tight, but mostly stoic. Still, you had a feeling you knew what he was thinking. 

“He can do this,” you said. 

M.M. shook his head and faced the screens. “You think you can fucking change him.”

“No,” you said. “But he just might surprise you.”

You weren’t trying to change him, nor were you trying to free yourself anymore. He’d caught you, in more ways than one. 

Now, you were just trying to help him. And maybe, help yourself. 

“I don’t give a fuck,” M.M. bit out. Annie and Hughie glanced at both of you in thinly veiled concern. You just quirked a humorless smile. 

“I think you do,” you replied. 

“All right, look alive,” Butcher said on the comm. Victoria’s speech was over. She was shepherded off the stage by her bodyguards while the president of NYU got up to make closing remarks. 

She got as far as the hallway leading to the back door of the auditorium before Frenchie and Butcher sniped out her guards. You watched Victoria gasp and flinch at the bullets flying all too close to her. She looked around sharply, but finding no one there, she made a run for the exit. 

That was when Ben ambushed her from the side, grabbing her from behind and shoving her through the door of the next room before she could aim her gaze at any part of him. 

Ben stalked in after her. You adjusted the camera monitors to connect to the science lab they’d burst into. Every muscle in your body tensed as you watched. 

Meanwhile, Ben was wary but not afraid as he kept his shield in front of his face. Victoria raised a hand to a her now bruised arm, but she scrambled in her navy pencil dress and heels to pick herself up. 

She looked up at the supe striding toward her, taking in his head protecting his upper body. So she focused her gaze on his right thigh, making him falter as her power made her eyes roll into her head and blast at his suit. 

The skin underneath was durable though. It felt like a nasty sunburn, one that Ben could ignore. He approached until he could grab her by the hair and turn her face away from him. She cried out, clawing back at his hand. 

He placed his shield onto the holster on his back and got a hold on the back of her neck. He forced her onto her knees while he made her keep looking at the ground. 

“Soldier Boy,” she panted. “Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Cut the fucking chit-chat. Where the fuck is Stan, that dick tease?”  

He was about to start squeezing his grip, when he was suddenly thrown into the far wall. He fell into a mess of student desks, beakers, and various scientific instruments. 

“Zoe!” he heard Victoria shout. Apparently the woman’s daughter was a supe too. A telekinetic, by the looks of it.

With an angry growl, he picked himself up and shook off the glass from his shoulders. By the time he looked up, Victoria was ushering her daughter out the opposite door. 

Ben ran after them, following them into what seemed to be another classroom. This one was full of students busy taking a test, and a professor grading a large stack of papers. Ben zipped through and ignored the gasps and shocked faces, along with a couple of kids that recognized him and immediately took out their phones. 

He also didn’t care that his elbow knocked the stack of papers to the ground (to the professor’s outrage). 

He bulldozed his way into another empty classroom, where he threw his shield at Victoria’s back. With a cry, she tripped and fell into a desk, and was separated from her daughter.

“Mom!” Zoe cried and reached out for her, but Victoria raised a frantic hand. 

“Stay there!” she shouted back at her. Her attention focused back on Ben. 

She razed at his face and chest with her powers. Ben winced as heat flared across his skin, blistering to the point of second-degree burns on his arm after protecting his face. He strode forward and grabbed her again, this time with a thumb pressing over one eye. 

“You wanna keep your fucking eyes, or you want to tell me where your father is?” he demanded. 

“No!” Zoe shouted. She raised her hands, and a violet glow of energy spread between them. Ben picked up his shield, ready to use it as a projectile against the girl. 

Until your voice sounded in the comm in his ear.

“Go easy, Ben. She’s not the target,” you warned. He hesitated, his lips twisting in annoyance. 

“Zoe,” Victoria warned. His thumb still pressed threateningly against one of her eyes. The other looked up at him, defiant. But her lower lip was trembling. 

“You really want your daughter to be a part of this?” Ben asked darkly. 

You were on pins and needles. While you watched the screen, M.M. glanced at you. 

“We need to do something,” Annie said. She had been antsy the entire time, and when Hughie tried to grab her shoulder, she shrugged him off. 

“We can’t extract the girl without Neuman seeing us,” you said. But you weren’t happy about it. 

Annie gave you an incredulous look. “So you’re okay with that psycho killing a little girl?” 

“Of course not, Annie!” you snapped. “But this is the reality of catching criminals. They rarely go down by themselves.” 

She frowned angrily at you. 

“That sounds like an excuse for murder,” she said. 

There was a tense moment, in which you and Annie stared back at one another. You eventually relented. 

“Okay, go. But stay on standby with Kimiko and Frenchie. They’re outside the classroom, 112B,” you told her. She and Hughie raced out, and you let out a breath while you turned back to the tense scene in front of you. 

“Look, I don’t know where he is,” Victoria said. “We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms.”

“Then get him on the fucking phone,” Ben snapped. 

A tear streamed down her eye, the one that briefly closed, then looked up at him. 

“He’s not a bad man,” she said. “Not…entirely.” 

Ben snorted in response. “Well, aside from trying to replace me with a bullshit knockoff, shipping me off to motherfucking Siberia. He stole from me. My life. And the bitch of the whole bunch, tried to kill me with a fucking clone, with the help of my own DNA. So excuse me if I’m past the fucking point of forgive and forget.” 

“Fine! Fine,” she said, when he started squeezing in earnest. “Let my daughter go, and I’ll help you.” 

Ben glanced up at the girl. She was frightened, with her glowing hands still poised to try and take him out. He still had half a mind to knock her out first. 

“She’s just a kid, Ben. Let her go,” you said in his ear.

After another tense moment, Ben nodded.

Annie burst into the classroom, followed by Butcher, Frenchie, and Kimiko. Annie reached Zoe with a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she shared a look with Victoria. 

“She’ll be okay,” Annie told Victoria, who nodded as more tears slipped down her cheeks. Ben held her firm by the shoulders when Butcher came with a device, no doubt provided by the CIA. It looked like a large metal band that clicked into place around Victoria’s head, covering her eyes. 

Kimiko and Frenchie led her out, while Annie and Hughie did the same for Zoe. Butcher shared an appraising look with Ben, who stared back at him coolly.

Meanwhile, you let out a deep breath. You sat back in your seat and ignored the way M.M. gave you some cursory side-eye. 

Thank Christ that’s over.

Back at Supe Affairs, Victoria gave them addresses to her adoptive father’s known safehouses. Not because they expected to find him there, but because they might find even more material to leverage against him before they attempted to arrest the man. 

 While Butcher and the rest of the team ran down the leads, you and Annie made sure Victoria’s daughter Zoe was put in protective custody, again, with Grace’s help.

Afterwards, Ben was waiting for you in the car that would bring you both back to the safe house. You rode there in silence. 

When you got inside the house and made your way to the bedroom, Ben followed you. It seemed he couldn’t help himself. His arms were crossed, and his face was tight. You waited on him to speak as you started rummaging in the dresser for a shirt and pair of jeans to change into after a shower.  

“I don’t need you yapping in my ear when I’m trying to get shit done,” he said. 

You paused in your search, and you turned to him, raising an incredulous brow. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to stick to the plan. Targeted kills only, remember? Zoe wasn’t the target.”

His frown soured. “She hit me first.”

You stared back at him. Then you raised your eyes heavenward, praying for strength. And you let out a breath. 

“She was trying to help her mother, Ben.”

“If you’re grown enough to throw a punch, you’re grown enough to take one,” he argued. 

“You’ve never hit me once,” you pointed out. “Is it different because she’s a supe? Were you really going to kill a child?”

“I never said that,” he said, glaring at you. 

“Would you have killed Ryan too?” you asked.

Ben expelled a sigh of exasperation. “Would you shut up already?” 

“No,” you refused. And you followed him into the living room when he stormed out. “You’re not going to weasel your way out of this. Would you have killed Ryan?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped. “He was Homelander’s fucking kid.”

“And that makes it all right?”

“Yeah, are you gonna say that in a few years? If he turns out just like Homelander, are you going to come crying to me to take him out?”

You glared at him. He was making a valid point you couldn’t refute, but that didn’t change what he was trying to do. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You shook your head and crossed your arms. “You’re actually justifying this.”

“Whether you want to admit it or not, a supe is a supe,” Ben said, raising a finger. “No matter how old they are, they’re a threat.”

“It doesn’t mean a child shouldn’t be protected, Soldier Boy,” you countered. “A life is a life.”

“Hey, if you want to be sanctimonious, good for fucking you,” he shot back. “But don’t tell me how to do my fucking job.”

“I’m asking you to keep your word,” you said. “For both of our sakes.”

That managed to shut him up. With a sigh, you tried to ease up by taking his hand with both of yours, holding it with care. His glove was busted, the skin underneath was red and raw. He allowed it, but he still looked down on you with reserved irritation.

You knew you didn’t have to remind him what breaking Grace’s agreement would mean, for both of you. 

“Just follow the plan,” you implored. “Targeted kills only. No collateral damage.”

After Ben came out of the shower, he went into the bedroom to change with a towel wrapped around his waist.

You were already cleaned up, a messy bun atop your head, wearing a plain shirt and some shorts, and sitting up in the bed with your new laptop. But you subtly watched him move around the room.   

You noticed the burns across his chest. You were still irritated with him, but you couldn’t help it. You set your laptop aside and went to him. 

Ben saw you coming through the large mirror above the dresser. His head turned to you just as you raised a tentative hand near the burns across his chest.

“Does it hurt?” you asked with furrowed brows. Your fingertips were light in touching his chest. 

It did sting, but it wasn’t that bad. 

Still, all Ben said was, “No. They’ll probably be gone in a few hours anyway.”

Your lower lip stuck out a little, like you didn’t quite believe him as you inspected the various burns. 

Ben eyed you. He still couldn’t fucking figure you out. 

He knew you were into him…and evidently, you cared about him. 

Still, you fought him on virtually everything. There were times when you seemed almost disgusted by him, but when he fucked you, you acted like he was the eighth wonder of the world.

Even now, that perfect damn mouth of yours was frowning while your fingers moved delicately over his skin.

“You want some aloe vera?” you asked. 

He knew by your face that you were completely sincere. It made him chuckle. You looked up at him in confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

Not unlike this morning, he picked you up (smirking at your squeal) and set you down on the dresser. His hands rested on your hips while yours laid gently on a non-burnt area of his chest.

“For someone as breakable as you, you seem to be real concerned about me,” he said. “...You’re really not afraid of me, are you?”

Your fingertips ran down his skin, unintentionally raising goosebumps. Though you considered his question with a tilt of your head. 

“Why, are you going to break me?” you teased.

Ben huffed in amusement. His lips drew near yours, hovering but not yet claiming. He wanted you to come to him this time. Wanted you to let him know if this thing, whatever it was between you two, was heading where he thought it was…

And you didn’t disappoint him. 

You reached out and framed his face with both hands, and pulled him into a kiss. For once, neither of you were in a hurry as one languid kiss turned into another. 

Your tongue slipped into his mouth, and he welcomed you with a deep, reverberating hum, along with your thighs slipping around his hips. He took a firm grip of you there, while your fingers carded through his hair. 

“Still not tired of this?” you whispered against his lips. 

He backed off enough to look at you. Really look at you. His brown hair fell above his brows, and as was your habit, you swept some of it out of his eyes. 

You read his answer there without him having to say it in words. 

So you pulled him back in.

AN: 😏 Was their reunion everything you wanted it to be? Let me know in the comments!

(And do you wanna know where we're going next?)

Next Time:

“Good morning,” Stan greeted, raising his mug. “Care for a cup? Perhaps a donut.”

“Still fucking smarmy,” Ben said. He stood in front of the man’s desk, flexing his half-gloved fingers. He glanced up at the walls of this office, this tower in the sky. “We’ve been doing this dance for a long time, you and I.”

“And yet, on entirely different tempos,” Stan replied. “How can I help you, Soldier Boy?”

Keep Reading: PART 15

Special Note:

I'm releasing a new one-shot soon, set in this story-verse called "Love Actually." It's part of @deanwinchesterswitch's Christmas in July fic event running this month!

Go here to check it out and participate (as a writer/artist or a reader)!

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[fanofspooky]

Scream Queen - Vera Farmiga

[seoafin]

pairing: vash the stampede x fem!reader warnings/tags: jealous insecure vash, you get hit on twice, vash's pov gets kinda depressing, takes place before and after and I know it’s hard enough to love me, stampede coded vash word count: ~4.3k

Vash the Stampede is a complete enigma to you.

In the span of the four hours you’ve been following after the blonde, you’ve witnessed him get bullied and dragged around by a group of children who had unanimously decided to tie him up for fun, help a distressed woman find her poisonous pet gecko, and frantically try to explain his startling similarities to the humanoid typhoon to a threatening group of individuals who had cornered him on the street, loaded guns in their possession. 

You watched him nervously laugh off their claims until they had left, one by one. Then he breathed a large sigh of relief, before meeting your eyes with a grin and two thumbs up.

He just can’t say no.

You’re still thinking about this troubling tendency of his when you slide off the rooftop, and twist through the alleys to the bar you had seen when you and Vash had first entered the town yesterday.

This time, he’s following you. He must have run out of people to help. All the way to the bar. And when you enter through the swinging entrance, you don’t need to turn around to hear the doors swing open again, not even seconds later.

Shouts ring throughout the bar, as several patrons happily greet him with a raised mug of beer and smiles. Already, he’s grown on people.

You slide onto a barstool. “I’ll have a drink,” you say, giving the idling bartender your order. The aged man proceeds to pull several bottles from the rack hanging behind him. You look over your shoulder to see Vash sitting down at a round table behind you. When he catches your gaze, he smiles, hand already lifting in an eager half wave as his fingers curl into air. 

You don’t understand how he can look so happy to see you, as if you're an old friend he’s seeing for the first time in years, every time you meet his eyes. As if you haven’t been traveling together for the last few months. You've never stayed with an individual for longer than a week or two, other than your mother, but you know for sure Vash is strange. An outlier. You don’t understand how he constantly stays happy, upbeat and optimistic. No man is that happy, upbeat and optimistic. It’s suspicious.

The acrid scent of smoke and alcohol enters your nose before anything else, and then a hulking man with a bulbous nose is sidling up close to your side, despite the empty seats next to you. You ignore him as he gives you a long look up and down. The man in front of you mixing your drink gives him a distasteful glance. 

A wide, crass grin stretches his face as he licks his lips. 

“Yer a pretty thing, ain’t ya?”

You stare ahead. He’s not even worth brandishing your gun for.

He frowns when you don’t respond, trying again. “Whatcha doin’ in here, in this part of town? A lil’ lady like you is going to get eaten by the wolves.” He leans in close, and his breath fans against your cheek. You don’t bother to hide your distaste when he indiscreetly adjusts his pants. “I’ve got a place downtown…”

You’re going to shoot him, you decide.

Your hand goes to your side, but before you can remove your revolver, a blur of red rushes into the sliver of space between the two of you, forcibly separating the man from you. With his back to you, Vash lifts his hands in an act of surrender. The man tries to no avail to move towards you in either direction, but Vash swiftly meets him every time before he can step towards you.

“We—”

“What’s yer deal!?” The man asks angrily, drawing Vash close, hands fisted into his shirt, teeth gritted. Vash is taller than the man, so to see him tuck his knees inwards to be level with the man would be almost comical if you weren’t so annoyed.

A high pitched laugh escapes through his teeth. “Ahaha! About that—”

“She yours or somethin’!?”

Your already short patience stretches thin.

Panic floods his face as he glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Of course n—”

“Then it’s none of yer business anyhow,” he grouses, leaning in close. “Why dontcha butt out, and that way nobody gets hurt.”

“No,” Vash says firmly, unusually solemn, all pretenses of distress fading in a blink. He grabs the man’s arm with a steady hand of his own. “I can’t.”

You step to the side, and point your gun right at the man’s temple, already cocked. The bar quiets, eyes on your standoff. In your peripheral you can see multiple hands on belts, ready for a shootout. Vash’s eyes go wide, mouth agape as he looks at you. Then your gun. Then at you. 

“Put him down,” you say plainly. “I’m not going to ask again.”

“Yeah, put him down Eli!” A voice exclaims. 

Others voice their agreement. 

The man blinks. Then he throws his head back and uproariously laughs, fist loosening on Vash’s shirt, letting him down with a slump. “Playing with guns, little girl? Why don’t you come on over, I’ll teach you the right way—”

You aim down, and pull the trigger.

A single shot rings through the bar. The man shrieks in agony as the bullet goes through his foot, clean. You watch him jump around on one foot, holding his other foot in his hands, crying out for help as blood gets everywhere. What a mess. The bartender only shakes his head as people begin to surround the hollering man. You think he might as well kill himself now. Not a single survival instinct. The last thing he should be doing after a bullet wound is moving around like a headless lizard.

You throw a sack of coins on the bar. The drink you hadn’t even gotten and damages to the floor. You grab Vash by the hood of his red coat and drag him out the bar as he gawks at you. You drop him outside and start towards the town’s caravan stop. In a few seconds, Vash has caught up with you, side by side.

He looks troubled. Lost in thought. 

“I didn’t kill him,” you say. Although you probably would have not even three months ago. That would have ensured you wouldn’t be bothered in the town again by a handsy drunk.

You don’t know why you feel the need to explain yourself. You figure you can’t keep silent when he’s looking at you like that , waiting for some kind of explanation that you would usually never entertain.

“Should I have let him all over me?” You ask tonelessly.

The snaps him back to attention. “No! It’s just…” he sounds unsure, almost uneasy. “You were just…protecting yourself.”

You wonder what kind of life he’s led. To be able to be the way he is. A pacifist, in this world. Someone who refuses to pull the trigger on his .45 long colt unless absolutely necessary.

“Not everybody gets to choose to not kill,” you reply, not as curt as you could be. “Some people don’t have a choice.” Not everybody has the strength to protect themselves without violence. Sometimes, it’s just survival. The choice between you or them. Sometimes, it wasn’t anything more than that. No hard feelings. The second your hands had touched your revolver, you had gained your footing in the world. The gun, the great equalizer. And in your hands, death. 

You never had a choice. And then you did.

Vash’s face falls. “I…I see.”

You find yourself searching for words, anything at all to wipe the miserable expression on his face away. “I didn’t kill him,” you say slowly. “But I could have.”

He lifts his head, blinking. “You… could have,” he repeats.

You don’t say that had the man come any closer, if he had touched you, you would’ve put a bullet in his head, right through his brain. And then you would’ve let the animals have him.

Vash slowly regains his smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But you didn’t.”

Although the smile on his lips often seems more trained than instinctual, a defense tactic, you can’t deny that in the end, a smile suits his face much more. 

“I can take care of myself,” you say, fixing your gaze straight ahead.

He hums. “I know.”

You sigh.

-

-

-

“Over here!” Tony exclaims, wildly waving at Vash for a pass.

Vash kicks the ball over, watching as the other children surround the freckled short boy, eager to steal the ball back to their side. They had divided the teams seven to three, the children citing that the team with Vash on their side had the upper hand, therefore it was only fair for the teams to be unevenly divided. Vash had no qualms with it, neither did Tony or Sonya, who had grabbed Vash by the arm (shorter frame pulling him down to her level) and declared that the next victory would be theirs.

He can’t help himself. He looks towards where you’ve been sitting by the benches in front of the town square’s fountain, watching him kick around a ball for the better half of the hour with the town kids, unmoving, except for the small curve of your lips. Vash can tell when your gaze is on him. Some eighth sense that also has him gravitating towards your orbit, unconsciously and consciously. His feet take him to you, wherever you are. Lucky for him, nowadays, he doesn’t need to walk more than a couple steps to reach you.

Usually you’d be gone, taking care of your own business while he explored the town or city, and its inhabitants, before the inevitable bounty hunter or criminal looked a bit too closely to his face, his red jacket, and made the connection. Maybe you’d stop by the sheriff’s office, flashing your identification badge, and then flip through recent wanted posters. Maybe you’d get a bite to eat. Then you’d just follow the bullets and the trail of destruction to easily meet up with him.

He never knew definitively. You had never really answered his curiosity with more than a noncommittal comment or two. It doesn’t matter now though, because now you stay with him.

The sun looks good on you. He doesn’t realize he’s staring at you until a ball hits him smack in the face and drops to the ground, leaving him with a sore, red face and a bruised nose. The kids startle to a stop, gawking at him with wide mouths. There’s silence, and then raucous laughter.

“Vash!”

“Is he okay?”

“C’mon Vash, you lost the ball!”

“It hit him in the face, did you see that?”

“That’s a foul! You did that on purpose Lock!”

“Nu-uh!”

He sees you shake your head, amused, and knows that the warmth he feels isn’t entirely from the sun.

Tony runs towards him, ball held against his chest, breathless. The blue cap he wears is askew. Vash fixes it for straight. “You alright, Vash?”

Vash runs a hand through his hair and laughs. “No harm done,” he says cheerfully. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention, sorry about that!”

Sonya looks concerned. “Don’t worry about that! It’s all Lock’s fault anyway!” She turns around, sticks a finger under her eye, pulling it down, and blows a raspberry. “You’re horrible Lock!”

The older boy returns it with a raspberry of his own, and then crosses his arms. “He should’ve been looking in the first place, instead of at his girlllllfriend!”

Sonya’s eyes are wide as he feels his face go red. He nervously tugs at the collar of his shirt. The kids gathered around him erupt into laughter again. A quick glance in your direction, and he sees the raise of your eyebrow, lips tight in suppressed laughter he wishes he was there to hear.

“Is it true?” She asks him, brown doe eyes wide. “Is she your—” her voice drops conspiratorially “— girlfriend?”

He sticks a hand in the girl’s hair and gives her a good natured ruffle as she giggles. “Something like that,” he says, despite the elation that fills his stomach, to avoid fully answering the question, as if speaking whatever fragile thing the two of you have into existence might permanently alter it. 

Girlfriend.

What a mundane word for something as all consuming as the love he feels for you. He feels as if his chest might just burst with it all. But he can say that now, call you his in some way that makes him both terrified of overstepping his bounds and even more terrified of you leaving.  

“Hey Vash,” Tony says, insistently tugging on the sleeve of his coat. “There’s a guy chattin’ up your girl!”

You aren’t happy. That he can see clearly. Your expression has shuttered as a man closes into you with a wide smirk, overtaking his view of you. The last thing Vash can see is your thoroughly unamused expression.

He’s not aware of his feet taking him towards you. He doesn’t think. All he sees is how the man rests a hand on the holster of the gun attached to his hip, as if flourishing it, and he’s moving.

“A good ole’ romp in the bed is what you need,” he hears the man remark vulgarly. “Promise, it’ll fix you right up.”

“No,” you reply bluntly.

His cocksure grin fades with a scowl. “Now, don’t be like that. Nobody likes stubborn broads. I’ll be sure to show you a good time.”

An arm reaches out to roughly grab you, but Vash reaches him first, the metal of his left hand wrapping around the man’s wrist, tightening. The man yelps.

Vash blinks at the noise. You stare, looking at him with your head slightly tilted to the side.

He tears his arm back so quickly it gives him whiplash. His hands are automatically raised in a show of harmlessness as he nervously laughs.  

He hadn’t meant to grip him that tightly .

Unless… he had.

The man’s face is bright red in anger, looking at his left arm as if it’s the devil. “Who do you think you are!?”

Vash shifts ever so slightly to keep his arm out of view. It’s been a while since he’s been so self conscious. People asked questions, and sometimes they looked at him funny. It used to hurt his feelings, the way he was looked at as an outsider, even though he was. The rest of No Man’s Land wasn’t like the inhabitants of ship No. 3, who knew his origins. His identity as a plant.

Now it’s a constant reminder of it. Of Nai. Of their first of many confrontations a hundred years ago.

He’s not human, not like the man in front of him. Not like you. 

You stand, asserting yourself into the space between him and the man. You give him a dismissive look, before grabbing him by the left hand, and turning on your heels, pulling him along. Your fingers squeeze his metallic fingers in a way that shoots sparks up his arm, right to his heart. As you drag him along the kids holler their goodbyes, and all he can do is smile, wave back, and follow. He’d follow you anywhere, he thinks, easily keeping up with your pace. To the ends of No Man’s Lands to space and back.

He wonders if you’re angry. If you’re annoyed at his intervention. He hadn’t meant to be so…forward. His body had moved before he could think. 

But…you’re…you’re his now, aren’t you? You kissed him, held his face between your hands, and smiled. You don’t smile a lot, but you smile for him. He thinks that if anything, that means the most. When he told you he wasn’t human you readily accepted it, as if you had been expecting it. Then you asked him if it hurt when Nai had cut off his arm, and when he told you he hadn’t felt much of anything, really, from the shock, because he was a plant, you had frowned and told him to stop lying. 

Now, the two of you sleep together. You let Vash hold you in his arms, and he tucks you into the crook of his neck, and you don’t even complain when he locks you in his embrace, even though you could. Even if you could leave. And on nights he can’t fall asleep, terrified that in the morning you’ll have been nothing but a fantasy, he counts your soft slow breaths in his neck until the sun rises, the seconds until you wake up and give him that sleepy smile he likes to think is reserved just for him. 

So now Vash stands closer to you than he had ever previously dared. In larger cities with crowds, he’s right at your side in the bustle taking the brunt of the jostling as you lead the way. And when there are no locals to make conversation with, no children to entertain, he trails after you, wherever your whims take you. You like heights. Rooftops. High vantage points from where you can look down. He thinks it makes you feel safer. You’ve always been aware of his presence, even though you never used to acknowledge him. Now you do. Now you let him hold your hand, and he doesn’t feel like Vash the Stampede, whose sins stare back at him every time he catches his face in a reflection, but a man hopelessly in love.

You push him up against a wall in an abandoned alley, and he relishes in the close proximity, smiling dumbly when you lean into him. He’s not expecting you to kiss him, but it sure would be nice—

Until he remembers that you might be mad. That he had accidentally hurt that man. The yelp that had been twisted out of him. The smile promptly falls from his face.

“I—uh—”

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“Of course I am,” he says cheerily, but all he can think about is that man reaching for you, the gleam of desire in his eyes (directed towards you ), and his two whole arms (one more arm to hold you with), and there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach, a wretched miserable thing that hovers a bit too close to the surface of his face. “Just fine!”

Your eyes narrow, just imperceptibly, while you scrutinize him in silence. His gaze momentarily darts away, fleeing, and then back, to see that you’re still staring at him, eyebrows furrowed as if you’re trying your best to think of something to say. Words don’t really come easy to you. Vash thinks it’s cute, that thinking silence of yours, where he can almost see the gears in your head turning as you struggle for an empathetic response after years of curt silences and dry one worded responses.

You purse your lips, bottom lip jutting out ever slightly.

Cute.

“Liar.” You glance down at his left arm, and Vash resists the urge to hide the prosthesis behind him.

A shadow falls on your face as you look down. “Is it me?”

“No!” He blurts out. Guilt churns in his gut, and he’s not sure if it’s because he hurt that man or because he isn’t sorry. He wants to say that he didn’t mean to, but that would be another lie. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him badly. Just… enough that he’d leave you alone. That he’d stop looking at you like that as if he wasn’t there. There was already someone by your side.

“I shouldn’t have hurt him,” he says finally. He can’t help himself when he adds, a touch defensively, “But he shouldn’t have been…” Vash feels a rush of heat reach his ears from your discerning gaze. “He…” almost touched you. He would’ve yanked you up, been rough with you, and just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean that it’s okay. Sometimes, he thinks you’re too used to it. Every night he counts the scars on your body with the same tenderness you’ve afforded him, that he doesn’t deserve, and he feels his heart weigh heavier.

Vash would never forgive himself if you got harmed on his watch. 

You look up at him. “He…?”

He isn’t…getting ahead of himself is he?

He loves you, and not a night goes by where he doesn’t think it. He’s loved you since the night you pulled him close and kissed him. He’s loved you since the moment he realized that the silence wasn’t so bad, so lonely, when he had someone to share it with.

He had assumed he meant as much to you as you do to him—

Your lips twitch into a small smile, and the sight stops his thoughts. You step closer and bury your face into his neck. His arms automatically wrap around you as he relaxes into your body, smiling at the ground.

“I love you,” you murmur, so soft that even his ears strain to hear it. He doesn’t even have the time to feel giddy before you pull back, reach for his neck, and bring his lips to yours.

He’s eager to reciprocate. The worry that maybe he’s holding you tightly around the waist doesn’t even strike him until a second later, but by then you’re happily exhaling into his mouth, and raking your fingernails down the back of his neck until he’s shuddering into you. 

You back him against the wall without a missed beat and he happily follows. One of your hands snakes down to his prosthetic, entwining your fingers together. He gives your hand a squeeze back and when you smile against his lips, he knows that it’s the most lovely sight he’s ever seen. The first time he had ever seen you smile, it had invoked the same amazement and wonder in him as seeing Rem’s red geraniums for the first time. 

But you aren’t a flower to be gazed at and plucked by curious onlookers. This smile is just for him. And Vash thinks, once again, for the fifth time in a day that hasn’t ended, that as much as he loves you, he also doesn’t deserve you.

He’ll tell you again tonight. This time, while you’re awake. Not…everything. Not enough that it could scare you away. Just enough, like how he likes gazing at you when the sun hits your bare frame in the scarce mornings the two of you have a bed, or the way your eyes light when they meet his, after a few hours apart. How it makes him feel…

Like a child again. Happy. The world at his fingertips. In the bed he and Nai would share, watching clips of some old earth movie underneath the covers. In Rem’s hugs, his arms wrapped around her neck, clinging to her tightly, as if she might disappear if he opened his eyes. The sound of her laughter in his ears. Lovely and fleeting.

Pressed against him, all the warmth of your body and lips, a breathy moan builds up in his throat as you have your way with him. As selfish as it seems, he wants more. As much as you’re willing to give. As much as he dares to take. He likes the way you say his name, especially when you’re in the throes of pleasure, when you’re looking down at him with so much love that he’s choking on his words, and his chest aches with it.

Someone giggles.

You separate, your lips enticingly spit slicked and swollen, your thumb tracing the underneath of his right eye. You like his beauty mark, have remarked on it more than once, the color of his eyes, and every other part of him that makes him flush from head to toe. He knows he’s not much to look at, but every part of him, except his burdens, belong to you. And if you can find something worthwhile to look at when you look at him other than disgust and horror, then that’s more than enough.

He lets his arms fall from your waist as you step away, and he already misses your closeness.

“Children shouldn’t be eavesdropping,” you say coolly, but not coldly. There’s a glint in your eyes as heads pop up from the crates towards the back of the alley. 

“We were just making sure everything was okay!” Tony exclaims, running up to you. He grins knowingly at Vash and attempts a wink.

You raise an eyebrow.

Sonya approaches, dragging Lock with her. “ And Lock wanted apologize for hittin’ Vash in the face!”

“Wha—!?” Lock sputters, looking at the girl in betrayal. “Sonya!” He squints at the ground. “...Sorry.”

Vash kneels down. “Apology accepted,” he says softly, a smile on his lips. He’s a good kid. So are all the kids in this town. Sonya with her ever present glowing smile. Tony and his mischievous wit. The blue cap he doesn’t go without. Lock and his grudges which hide a large, genuine heart. Billy and Mary and Kirk and everyone else.

Vash is almost tempted to stay a couple more nights, but he knows he can’t. Not with Nai having been spotted to the South. Another plant stolen, more fatal casualties. He has to leave before there are more. If he were a better person, he’d leave you behind. He stares at the ground.

He briefly feels the weight of your gaze. You gather the kids’ attention.

“You kids hungry?”

Tony and Sonya and Lock perk up.

“I am!” Tony says.

“You’re always hungry!” Sonya scowls.

“Are you the one with the money?” Lock asks. “Cuz’ Vash is broke.”

That draws a huff of laughter from you as Vash smiles sheepishly, pushing the worries plaguing his mind away for now. Until night falls upon No Man’s Land, and you’re peacefully sleeping in his arms. That’s when he’ll worry about whether or not he deserves to be happy with you.

Sonya reaches up to grab your hand with a big smile. You glance at him.

“Any good pizza places around here?”

[sinaminviv]

(Please reblog to keep alive!)

*Surrounding Nik in the kitchen is a smorgasbord of food he made from the scraps of a Safe House cupboard.*

Nik, calls out: BREAKFAST.

Price: Good, I’m starved. *Eyes the table full of food.* How the ‘ell did you manage all this?

Nik: R’sourceful. *Fills a plate, slides it down the counter and starts another.*

Price: *Takes the first plate and hums agreement.* True.

*Gaz walks in and whistles low at the spread.*

Price: He’s *attempts gruff Russian accent* ‘R’sourceful.’

Gaz: Nah. He’s a bloody magician.

[overseer-picard]

*nods in contemplative appreciation like a critic at an art gallery*

/////

Patrick Stewart in "Safe House"

[figgiun]

id in alt

hanging out with some good cows : ) hey wait martin what's going on over there/???? is there something,,, in the sky??? weird. anyway wanna go frolick

bonus emo cow

[reefdestro]

IG ReefDestro

[occudo]

Happy New Year!

I colored my previous sketch of these two.

Last drawing of 2022.

[justafriend-ql]

chimon representing the "can't see shit until i put my glasses on" community safe house season four ft. fourth, perth, gemini

[astralbondpro]

Safe House (1998) // Dir. Eric Steven Stahl

[agapintheskin]

it's the leg crossing in the last one for me tbh.

[hektor-world]

You are safe here ,

[seoafin]

MORGAN! that ask you answered about vash and bountyhunter mc post trigun and knives and the BABY <3 i would appreciate even the barest of crumbs from you <333

i tried.....to keep.....this short......(this takes place post trigun)

-

Nicholas is crying. 

Nicholas cries often.

He’s a baby. Babies cry. You don’t recall your memories from infancy, but you don’t think you ever cried this much. If you had been too much of an annoyance you’re sure your mother would have left you outside for the desert to claim you, subsequently forgetting about you in the days after. If anything, you suppose you're grateful for her in a way, despite everything. The secret to taking adequate care of Nicholas is doing the exact opposite of everything your mother had done to raise you.

It’s difficult, raising a child. Trying to ascertain Nicholas’ moods and keep him happy. It’s rewarding when he smiles at you in a way only a child can, full of innocent glee and joy. But you’re also not good at it. It was Vash who had shown you how to do everything, because you had been terrified of such a happy, pure thing, just as you had been afraid to soil Vash with your touch. It didn’t matter in the end. You had wanted him so much that it should’ve stopped you, but it didn’t.

You hope Nicholas doesn’t take after you in that regard.

You approached Nicholas’ care slowly and methodically. And when you fear you may irrevocably mess him up, Vash wraps himself around you until you feel better. Now, you like to think you’re slowly getting better at reading Nicholas’ capricious moods.

And right now you’re sure the reason for his distress lies in the man trying to rock him in his arms with a disgruntled look splayed across his face. He’s doing it all wrong.

“You’re not holding him right.”

There’s a stubborn crease in his eyebrows, a movement you can so easily trace against the face of the man you wake up to every morning. It’s in the mundane moments like these when their similarities become almost identical like the twins they are. It's even more prevalent now, after exhausting their abilities have turned the shade of their hair a matching dark black. The two of them could be practically indistinguishable if they wished, and it’s futile to divorce them of that, despite Knives’ crimes against humanity. In the end, the two of them are family. You don’t have to like it to accept it.

“Then please,” Knives replies, tongue sharp as he glances up at you with narrowed eyes, “enlighten me so my ears don’t have to suffer this incessant noise any longer.”

You think in the years after the plant across from you tried to end humanity, he’s grown more tolerant of people, more understanding in an almost clinical way. Vash wouldn’t have allowed him around Nicholas or you otherwise. Sometimes when he watches you, you feel as if you’re being scrutinized.

As Knives unfalteringly bears down at Nicholas, lips pursed in either distaste or frustration or concentration, his cries grow louder.

He has a pair of lungs on him, this baby.

“Lighten up,” you say bluntly. “You’re scaring him.” You think these are the most words you have spoken to each other. His lips pull back, offended. He’s not used to being criticized in such a frank manner, even after all the roaming he's done. People like him are used to being intimidating. But you don’t really have it in you to afford him any delicacy. You save all of it for Vash. He’s accepted it without insult for the most part.

The two of you don’t like each other. Knives doesn’t visit often, but when he does, Vash is ecstatic. And when night falls, Vash kisses you goodnight on the bed the two of you share and murmurs that he’ll be back soon, and the two of them sit by the light on the porch and talk about Knives’ travels. The people he’s met. The people he’s helped, although he’d never admit it. It’s repentance. In the morning Vash is so pleased he’s practically aglow with happiness. A happiness you could never deny him.

So the two of you tolerate each other. It’s not peaceful co-existence. It’s understanding built on mutual wariness and the love the two of you share for the one good thing in your lives.

You reach over the wooden crib (Vash had spent two weeks making it, all from cutting the wood to sanding it down to assembling it with painstaking detail to ensure it was safe) and adjust Knives’ arm to lift Nicholas’ head at a higher angle. When Nicholas continues to cry, you pluck him away from his uncle into your own arms.

The cry quiets. Nicholas’ face is bright red from the exertion, eyes squeezed shut, face twisted into a sour look. He sniffles in your arms, eyes squinting open to peer up at you, and it feels like the wind has been knocked out of your chest. 

His lips warble, just before another wail pierces the air.

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

You pointedly do not meet Knives’ gaze. In the distance, you hear the engine of the car pull up. Vash is back.

“Vash,” you call, expecting him to hear you from outside, and his name doesn’t even fully leave your lips before you can hear him bounding up the stairs. He likely heard Nicholas.

He brightens when he sees you and Knives, and Nicholas bawling in your arms.

“I’m home!” Vash exclaims with a wide grin that illuminates his face. He takes Nicholas from you with a kiss on your cheek.

“Welcome home.”

Knives grunts.

Vash gently rocks Nicholas in his arms. “Sweet boy,” he breathes out, eyes impossibly soft. Nicholas settles immediately, hiccuping, staring up at his father with wide eyes. “Let’s make things easier on your mama, alright?”

You don’t feel like a mother. You don’t voice this sentiment. Instead you and Knives watch as Nicholas reaches up to take Vash’s long, metallic index finger with a giggle that tells you he likes the way the light glints off the metal. And Vash looks like he might cry all over again, just the way he almost does every time Nicholas does something like laugh unabashedly. It’s pure delight straight to the heart, it’s healing.

There’s a silent, wordless agreement between you and Knives to never speak about the moments prior to Vash’s arrival.

Vash looks up, blinking away the dampness in his eyes. “I take it the two of you are getting along?”

You don’t respond. Knives doesn’t either.

Knives only says, “The child is a nuisance.”

There’s barely any heat in his words, but his eyes do slightly narrow at the now soundly sleeping Nicholas cradled in Vash’s arms.

Vash simply smiles in that soft way that makes the corners of his eyes, along with his beauty mark crease, and huffs a breath of laughter. “He’s just a baby.” He fondly looks down, at Nicholas’ sleeping face, pensive. “I’m sure Rem had her hands full with us too.”

Knives’ lips thin, face tightening in something you can’t quite name other than unspent grief. Remorse. “That…” His face falls, expression a surrender, an acquiesce. His shoulders sag. “I suppose you’re right,” he says, with a ghost of a smile. It's almost hauntingly sad. “As infants, your cries kept even me up.”

That Vash laughs at, scratching his face with a finger sheepishly. “Is that right? Gee, it's been so long, I can't even remember…But I guess he’s just like me in that regard!” Vash’s happiness is once again palpable.

It strikes you that he does. That Nicholas takes after Vash in every way from the goodness of his nature that has him joyfully entertained by a passing flying bug to the dimple in his cheek when he smiles up at you. It makes you think that you could love him, if anything, just because of that. It also breaks your heart.

But for now, you'll watch over them both, content.

[angelic37]

Christopher Eccleston spam → part 49/∞

Safe House. 2015. 1x01

[letthewhumpbegin]

Safe House (2012)