#ben 10 series smut
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therealmofamorus · 1 year ago
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Original Male Stud AU
These three ladies convincing Ben to give up the stupid challenge and have fun with them.
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Ben stopped and stared at three pairs of gigantic tits with stunned look.
Ben:…it’s a stupid challenge anyway.
NAME: Benjamin Kirby "Ben" Tennyson, aka Ben 10
STATUS: FAILED
DURATION: 4 Hours and 6 Minutes
REASON FOR FAILURE: Can’t reason three pairs of super gigantic mommy milkers tiddies
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queenendless · 2 months ago
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SMUGLY
A/n: SHORT 🔞 PIECE. Watching video of Vtuber Shoto simping over Dill from Cat Boys Paradise is basically me dying to go hard on this green eyed bastard. I ❤️ him. Also, @catgirlxox this is for you and our fellow Ben simp gurls~!
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Your touch starved, sexually deprived self wants to wipe that smug ass look of his smug ass face. His precious, adorable, beautiful face. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME! And this young man lover of yours is more than willing to fulfill your urges. This cocky, stubborn, showboat that is Ben would be gluttonous for his favorite drink besides smoothies.
"Imma about to bust a nut all over~" Your breathless, heated words made him stand upright and leak like a waterfall. His muffled whines were stuffed from your just as gushing pussy, sucking and slurping like the ever parched man that he truly is. Your unhinged, pitched moans got him writhing beneath you. "Don't ever stop, beloved~ Never stahp~!"
Stroking and clawing at that thick veiny cock of his had him groaning harshly, kneading and clawing at his handful grasp of your phat cheeks smothering his already beet red face, pulling them apart enough to spread your folds farther, angling that skillfull tongue to hit from a new point, all to traverse each inch of you inside. As per usual.
Gorging down that meatstick fully, your neck throbbed as your throat got stuffed, suckling on that head with much gusto. Your hand kept their support on his hip as you went up and down his dong, manhandling his nutsack with gusto. His orgasmic yells reverberated through you as he squirted his thick creaminess for you to chug down. Your own muffled aroused moans around his dick you stroked feverishly came from his tongue hit that special bundle of nerves persistently had you busting down all over his face and neck, drowning him in bliss.
"Fuck, angel~" Benjamin Kirby Tennyson – your beloved Ben – panted out as you finally got off him, sliding him right outta your mouth, letting you both breathe, your cum coating his brusied lips, his eyes hazy with lustful endearment, as your face leaned down to his heaving one, kissing him breathlessly, smirking through it all.
"Whose smug now~?"
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zepskies · 3 months ago
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Series Masterlist - Lost on You
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Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader
Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who's the predator, and who is prey.
Song Inspo: “Lost on You” by the Cubaneros (originally by LP)
AN: Oh, here we go! Get ready for another Boys AU. And in the immortal words of Cher, we're actually turning back time, to the '80s, no less.
Series Tags/Warnings: **18+ only! It's the world of The Boys, so angsty and messy, with morally gray and downright charcoal characters, including Soldier Boy, of course (and even the reader herself). **Smut, language, misogyny, violence, drug use, and other chapter-specific tags.
Chapters:
Part 1: Siren Song
Part 2: Foolish Game
Part 3: A Deal is a Deal
Part 4: Better Shape Up
Part 5: Eminence Front
Part 6: Drowned and Spellbound
Part 7: Welcome to the Jungle
Part 8: For Whom the Bell Tolls
Part 9: Free to Be You and Me
Part 10: I Need a Hero
Part 11: Heroes and Monsters
Part 12: A Fire in the Blood
Epilogue: As Good as It Gets
Series complete!
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🎙️ Listen while you read:
The Lost on You Playlist: YouTube || Spotify
Lost on You Playlist Posters
"Interrupt the flow, they better not dare..."
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Ko-Fi Me ☕
Join My Patreon 🌟
Soldier Boy Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Soldier Boy Tag List:
If you would like to follow along as I post each chapter, please follow my side blog @zepskieswrites with notifications on so you don't miss out. 💚
@spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @adoringanakin @rizlowwritessortof @chernayawidow
@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78
@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms
@foxyjwls007 @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like
@waynes-multiverse @my-stories-vault @syrma-sensei @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28
@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings
@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy
@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad
@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @lifeonawhim @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky
@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles
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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 months ago
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No Love Lost Series Masterlist
Read on A03! - Listen to the Playlist!
Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff.
Series Summary
Three years ago you were normal, the only demons you had to fight were your own, and you the most you knew of Vought and the Boys were what you saw on TV. But then you met Homelander at a stupid party, and woke up the next morning in a cell.
After almost two and a half years of you being Homelander's little project, Soldier Boy was woken up only go rouge and be put back under. Somewhere in there, you escaped. And before Queen Maeve went underground, she told William Butcher about the Anomaly, a powerful supe who recently escaped Vought captivity and may have an agenda against Homelander.
One month later, the Boys found you.
You spend the next five months helping them best you can, though your control over your powers is weak and your fear of Homelander makes you useless in combat. But you get an idea. A stupid, dangerous idea that turns you into Soldier Boy's keeper, giving him a second chance to take down Homelander, you hanging over his shoulder, a threat should he want to go nuclear again. It's exhausting and frustrating, and you might kill him and yourself as soon as this is over, but you said whatever it takes.
And this is what it takes.
Author's Note
This story is non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being;
1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so.
2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad.
Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask!
Navigation Key
❤️‍🔥 = Smut
🚩 = Additional Warnings
Chapter List
Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress 🚩 Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence 🚩 Chapter 8 - I Just Find My Way Back ❤️‍🔥🚩 Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 16 - Let It Flood ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir Chapter 18 - Something In The Static ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back 🚩 Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You Chapter 23 - Wherever You're Going ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 25 - All I Know ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 26 - I’ve Loved Everything About You That Hurts ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 27 - Just A Shot Away (11/12) Chapter 28 - Something That I'm Supposed to Be (11/19)
Bonus Footage (Standalone Chapters)
Dying’s Up to Me - A Prologue. Takes place 6ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩 Back to Here - Request! They get horny at the dining table, and Butcher takes it personally. Takes place in Chapter 14. It's So Simple - You make Ben do icebreakers. He's a little bitch about it. Takes place in Chapter 14. Just Your Time - You give Ben internet lessons. Takes place in Chapter 14. As Much As I Do - Request! Ben finds you dancing, is immediately very normal about it. Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15. Calling Your Name - Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. ❤️‍🔥 I Skip My Pride - You share some music with Ben over text. Takes place in Chapter 22. The Only Place That I Call Home - It's team game night, and everyone is sick of you and Ben's shit. Takes place in Chapter 24. ❤️‍🔥 Can't Help Myself - Request! Ben has a breeding kink, and you're incredibly horny, so it works. Takes place in around Chapter 24 and Chapter 25. ❤️‍🔥 Anywhere Else Is Hollow - A halloween special episode! Takes place in Chapter 25. It Was Smiling Down (11/8) A Call To Motion (11/15)
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oceandolores · 3 months ago
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 10
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"𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦,"
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summary: joel need to take you away
warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.
CHAPTER 10
masterlist of the series!
previous | chapter 9
next | chapter 11
The church was filled with the low hum of whispered conversations, the soft rustling of fabric, and the faint creak of wooden pews as everyone settled into their seats. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and the distant, lingering notes of the organ that had played earlier in the evening. The Millers had arrived early, securing their usual spot near the back. Tommy sat at the edge of the row, closest to the aisle, with Maria beside him, cradling little Luke in her arms. Ellie sat next, her gaze darting nervously between the people around her and the silent figure of Joel at the far end.
Joel’s eyes were fixed ahead, but they saw nothing. He was lost in the labyrinth of his own mind, where the echoes of the past few days reverberated endlessly. The shower had done little to wash away the stain of his actions, the memory of the blood, the bodies buried deep in the place that only Joel who knows. He had done it all for you—to protect you, to keep you safe—but now the weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating, as if the very walls of the church were closing in.
Ellie, sensing the tension radiating from him, leaned closer. “Are you alright, Joel?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Joel’s reply was curt, clipped. “Yes,” he muttered, though his tone was distant, his mind clearly elsewhere.
Ellie hesitated, then ventured another question, her concern for you evident. “How is uh...how is she?”
Joel nodded stiffly, his gaze still locked forward. “She’s getting better,” he said, though the words felt hollow, as if he were trying to convince himself more than Ellie.
"Is she going to perform?" Ellie ask again.
Joel nodded, Ellie frowned, her brow furrowing in worry. “And you’re gonna let her? She’s…”
Before she could finish, Joel cut her off, his voice a low growl. “Ellie, that’s what she wants.”
Ellie fell silent, her lips pressing into a thin line. She nodded, but the unease lingered in her eyes. She knew something was wrong, something beyond what Joel was willing to admit.
Meanwhile, Tommy and Maria exchanged puzzled glances. The opening prayers were supposed to have started by now, yet the pulpit remained empty, the service delayed. Tommy craned his neck, scanning the room, before catching sight of Joe, one of the church officials, passing by.
“Joe, what’s going on?” Tommy asked in a hushed tone. “Why hasn’t the prayer started?”
Joe leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial. “The prayer was supposed to be led by Pastor Ben, but no one’s seen him since last night.”
At the mention of Ben’s name, Joel’s heart skipped a beat. The blood drained from his face as a cold dread washed over him, the weight of his deeds crashing down on him anew.
Tommy frowned. “So who’s going to lead?”
“Reverend Gibson,” Joe replied. “He’s on his way.”
Tommy nodded, then turned back to Joel, his expression curious. But Joel was already lost in his thoughts, his mind racing. He should have known better than to kill Pastor Ben. He should have known that Ben’s absence wouldn’t go unnoticed, that people would start asking questions, that suspicion would inevitably follow. But what choice did he have? If he hadn’t silenced Ben, you would have been taken from him. They would have torn you away, locked him up, or worse. The thought was unbearable, a dark void that threatened to swallow him whole.
His mind spiraled, chaotic thoughts twisting and turning, each more desperate than the last. The church felt like a cage, the air thick and suffocating. The walls seemed to close in, the eyes of the congregation boring into him, as if they knew, as if they could see the blood on his hands, the bodies buried in the floor, hidden beneath layers of cement. Every creak of the pew, every whisper felt like an accusation, a judgment passed down by the very God he no longer believed would forgive him.
A sudden movement broke through his thoughts. Your father emerged from the shadows behind the pulpit, his presence commanding the room. Joel watched him with a cold detachment. As Joel scanned the room, searching for you, his eyes fell on your mother instead. She sat across the aisle, her head bowed low, a wide-brimmed flowered hat obscuring her face, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders in a way that seemed… off. It was as if she were hiding, trying to shield herself from prying eyes. But you were nowhere to be seen.
Something's wrong...
A knot of unease tightened in Joel’s chest. As your father began to speak, calling the congregation to rise for the opening prayer, Joel’s gaze flicked back to your mother. She seemed fragile, almost broken, her posture slumped, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. And still, you were not there. The absence of your presence gnawed at him, fueling the growing fear that something was very, very wrong.
The congregation rose, a sea of bodies moving in unison as your father’s voice echoed through the church, strong and commanding. But beneath the surface of his words, there was something else—a venomous undercurrent, a cold, sharp edge that sent a shiver down Joel’s spine.
As your father began the prayer, his eyes locked onto Joel’s, a dark, knowing gaze that chilled him to the bone. The words of the prayer dripped with sanctimony, each phrase a thinly veiled condemnation, as if the prayer was a weapon aimed directly at him.
“Lord,” your father began, his voice resonating through the sacred space, “we ask for Your divine mercy on this day, for those who have strayed from Your path. For those who have allowed sin to corrupt their hearts, who have tainted the innocent with their filth.”
Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, each word a blow that landed squarely on his conscience. He felt the weight of your father’s gaze, the burning intensity of it, as if your father knew, as if he could see right through him, into the dark, hidden places where Joel’s secrets festered.
“Grant us the strength, O Lord,” your father continued, his voice rising, “to cleanse ourselves of the impurity that has seeped into our lives. To protect the pure from those who seek to defile them, who seek to drag them down into the mire of sin.”
Joel’s breath caught in his throat. His mind raced, a whirlwind of fear and guilt. The congregation around him bowed their heads, their voices murmuring in unison, lost in prayer. But Joel couldn’t focus on the words, couldn’t find any solace in them. All he could do was scan the room, searching for you, his eyes darting from face to face, desperately trying to find you. But you weren’t there. Where were you?
As the gospel music swelled, your father’s voice grew louder, more forceful, the words taking on an almost sinister tone. “Lord, forgive those who have fallen into darkness,” he chanted, his eyes never leaving Joel’s. “Forgive those who have allowed the Devil to take hold of their hearts, who have corrupted the pure souls entrusted to their care.”
The words cut deep, slicing through Joel’s defenses, each one a dagger of guilt and shame. He felt trapped, as if the very walls of the church were closing in on him, as if the pews themselves were rising up to choke him.
“Lord,” your father’s voice was a roar now, a righteous fury that echoed through the sanctuary, “cleanse us of this filth! Burn away the sin that has corrupted the pure! Purge us of those who would defile Your children, who would drag them down into Hell!”
Joel’s head spun, a cacophony of voices swirling around him, all merging into one oppressive sound.
He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Something was wrong.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
You were not there. And the fear that gripped him was unlike anything he had ever known.
He looked up, his eyes finding your mother across the aisle. She sat with her head bowed, her blonde hair spilling out from beneath a wide-brimmed hat, her shoulders trembling. Something was different about her, something was off.
And then Joel saw it—the bruise on her hand, the way she seemed to be hiding, shrinking into herself, as if trying to disappear.
It hit him like a freight train.
He knew
Your father knew about him and you.
Without a doubt, that your father knew. He knew about you and Joel, about the darkness that had crept into your lives. And he was using this moment, this prayer, to condemn Joel for it, to cast him out, to damn him in the eyes of God and man.
And he realize your father must had done something to you.
He must had discovered the truth and taken his rage out on you. The thought of you, hurt, suffering, because of him, because of what he had done, was too much to bear.
Joel’s blood ran cold as he realized why you weren’t there, why your mother looked so broken. He should have known. He should have never let it come to this. He should have protected you from this.
Suddenly, the world seemed to slow, your father’s voice droning on, filled with fire and brimstone. “GOD WILL BURN YOU IN HELL FOR YOUR SINS!” he thundered, his eyes piercing through the crowd, locking onto Joel’s.
The truth was clear now—your father knew everything. And he was punishing you for it.
Panic surged through him, and he bolted from the pew, his heart pounding in his ears.
He had to get to you. He had to save you.
As he moved, a ripple of shock spread through the congregation, heads turning, whispers rising. Tommy called after him, “Joel, wait!”
But Joel didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He was almost to the doors when your father’s voice rang out, echoing off the stone walls with a terrible finality.
“JOEL MILLER, YOU WILL BURN IN HELL AND WILL NEVER SEE THAT PATHETIC LITTLE GIRL AGAIN!”
The words hit Joel like a physical blow, stopping him dead in his tracks. He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto your father, who stood at the pulpit, his face twisted with righteous fury.
“What did you do to her?” Joel’s voice was low, dangerous, as he took a step toward your father, his fists clenched at his sides.
Your father sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “She’s been corrupted by the likes of you. But no more. You’ll never see her again.”
Joel’s vision blurred with rage, his body trembling with barely controlled fury. “What did you do to her?” he demanded, louder this time, his voice reverberating through the church.
The room was deathly silent now, all eyes on Joel and your father. Tommy stood frozen, while Maria held Ellie close, shielding her from the escalating confrontation. Ellie’s eyes were wide with fear, her hands shaking as she gripped Maria’s arm.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!" Joel's voice thundered and echoed through the church, sending a wave of fear rippling through everyone inside.
Your father, undeterred, raised his Bible high, his voice booming through the sacred space as he pointed at Joel. "This man is a predator! He has corrupted my daughter’s soul, defiled her innocence! He is the Devil’s servant, sent to drag her down into the depths of Hell!"
The words sliced through the air like a blade, each one a sharp, stinging cut. Joel’s heart raced, his mind a storm of fear and fury. He had to find you. He had to get to you before it was too late.
“Where is she?” Joel’s voice was cold now, deadly, as he took another step forward, his eyes never leaving your father’s.
Your father’s expression was one of righteous satisfaction, a sickening smirk curling his lips. “You’ll never see her again,” he repeated, his voice a cruel taunt.
Joel snapped. With a growl of pure rage, he turned and bolted for the doors, shoving his way through the shocked congregation. He had to get to you. He had to save you.
“Don’t you dare, Joel!” your father’s voice thundered after him, but Joel was already gone, bursting through the church doors and into the day.
The truck was parked a few yards away, and Joel sprinted to it, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He yanked the door open, jumped in, and slammed it shut, the engine roaring to life as he floored the gas pedal. The tires screeched as the truck tore down the road, heading straight for your house.
His mind was a maelstrom of fear and rage. He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t lose you. The thought of what your father might have done to you was unbearable, a black hole of terror that threatened to swallow him whole. He couldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t let it happen.
The truck careened around the corner, the tires skidding on the pavement as Joel pushed it to its limits. The house came into view, and Joel’s heart leaped into his throat. The lights were off, the windows dark, but there was no time to hesitate.
Joel slammed the truck into park and jumped out, sprinting to the front door. His fist pounded against the wood, the sound echoing through the empty street. As he shouted your name, his voice raw with desperation.
There was no answer. The silence was deafening, the fear clawing at his insides. He had to find you. He had to get to you.
With a growl, Joel threw his shoulder against the door, the wood splintering under the force. The door burst open, and Joel stormed inside, his eyes scanning the darkened rooms. He called your name again, his voice breaking with fear as he kept calling your name.
He moved through the house, tearing open doors, searching every room, every corner. But you were nowhere to be found. Panic gripped him, a cold, suffocating terror that made it hard to breathe. What had your father done? Where are you?
He shouted your name again, his voice echoing off the walls. And then, faintly, he heard it—a weak, broken whisper, calling his name.
“J-joel…”
The sound was coming from above. Joel’s heart leaped into his throat as he looked up, his eyes landing on the attic door. It was slightly ajar, a faint light spilling out from the crack.
Without a second thought, Joel grabbed a broom and slammed it against the attic hatch. The door creaked open, and the stairs unfolded, descending slowly to the floor. Joel was up them in an instant, his heart pounding in his ears as he reached the top.
And there you are.
You are huddled in a corner, your body battered and bruised, your clothes torn and soaked. You were shivering, your arms wrapped around yourself, tears streaming down your cheeks.
“Joel…” your voice was a broken whisper, filled with so much pain and fear that it nearly brought Joel to his knees.
He crossed the room in three strides, falling to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. “… oh God, baby…”
You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as a sob shook your fragile frame. “J-joel, h-he knew...h-he knew,"
Joel’s heart shattered into a million pieces as he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he dared. “It's okay, it's okay, babygirl,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry… I’m here now, I’ve got you… I’ve got you…”
You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shirt as if you were afraid he might disappear. “Please… please don’t leave me…”
“Never,” Joel swore, his voice rough with determination. “I’m never leaving you."
“We’re getting out of here, right now,” Joel said as he cupped your face, "We're getting out of here," he said again with his voice a low growl, laced with urgency. He knew he couldn’t leave you in this hell any longer. The sight of you, broken and trembling, ignited a primal need to protect you, to keep you safe at any cost. This was it—the moment you both had been waiting for. Now or never. If he didn’t take you away now, they would take you from him forever.
Joel lifted you gently, cradling you in his arms, but even the smallest movement made you cry out in pain. The agony shot through your body, sharp and unforgiving, as fresh blood began to seep from your stomach. The memory of your father’s sharp rings flashed in your mind, the brutal force with which he had punched you, leaving you gasping for breath, your vision blurring from the pain.
As Joel carried you down from the attic, your mind drifted back to how it all began. Your father had found out, and his rage was beyond anything you had ever known.
"Father, what's going on?"
You remembered his cold, calculating eyes as he cornered you, the terrifying calm in his voice when he asked if it was true. You had tried to deny it, to protect Joel, but your father saw through your lies. His fist came down on you like a hammer, relentless and punishing, driving the air from your lungs with every blow. You had screamed, begged for mercy, but it only fueled his fury.
He grabbed your hair, yanking you to the ground, dragging you across the floor as you kicked and pleaded. The fear was suffocating, every nerve in your body screaming in terror. Then, with a cruel twist of his hand, he forced your head into the toilet, pressing down as the cold, filthy water filled your mouth and nose. You thrashed, struggling to breathe, panic consuming you as you felt yourself slipping away.
Your mother had been there, witnessing the horror unfold. For the first time, she stepped in, her voice trembling as she pleaded with him, "NO! NO! STOP IT! LEAVE HER ALONE!" Her voice was desperate, raw with the anguish of a mother watching her child being destroyed.
She lunged at your father, punching him, clawing at him to get him away from you. For a moment, you felt a glimmer of hope as her hands pulled him back, as if she might actually save you. But your father's rage was all-consuming. His eyes turned to her, dark and menacing, and he sneered at her audacity.
"You dare to defy me?" he spat, his voice low and venomous. Without hesitation, he lashed out, his fist connecting with your mother's face in a sickening thud. She cried out, stumbling backward, her hands flying to her face as she tried to shield herself from his wrath.
"MAMA!" you screamed, your voice hoarse and broken, as you watched her crumble to the floor. The sight of her, fragile and bleeding, filled you with a new kind of terror, one that twisted your insides into knots. The man who people had known for the good saint preacher, always been the pillar of the community, the preacher who stood in front of the congregation and preached love and righteousness, was now a monster, capable of such cruelty.
Your father turned back to you, his face twisted in a grotesque mask of anger, and you knew then that there was no escape. The beating resumed, more savage than before, as he sought to punish you for both your sins and your mother’s rebellion. Each blow was a declaration of his power, a reminder that you were nothing but a wayward daughter who had to be corrected.
The pain was relentless, each hit driving you deeper into a state of numbness. You were barely aware of anything anymore, your world reduced to the searing agony that radiated from every inch of your body. The only thing that kept you from slipping into unconsciousness was the thought of Joel, the hope that he might somehow save you from this nightmare.
Your father locked you up in the attic as he forced your mother also to attend the sermons.
Now, as Joel carried you down from the attic, the memories of that clung to you like a shroud. The pain, the fear, the helplessness—it was all still there, just beneath the surface, waiting to consume you. But with Joel, there was a glimmer of hope, a promise that maybe, just maybe, you could escape the hell that had become your life.
Joel's grip on you tightened as he moved through the house, his mind racing with a singular focus: to get you out, to keep you safe. There was no time to think about anything else—your belongings, or even the consequences. All that mattered was getting you away from here, away from the nightmare that had become your life.
As he carried you on his shoulder, your fragile body resting against him, Joel moved with determination. But as Joel reached the front yard, a few neighbors emerged from their homes, their faces etched with concern and confusion.
"Joel? What's going on?" one of them asked, their voice hesitant, unsure of the scene unfolding before them.
Joel didn’t answer. His focus was unwavering as he placed you gently in the back seat of his truck, his hands trembling slightly as he ensured you were secure. But just as he turned to get in the driver’s seat, the sound of tires screeching to a halt cut through the day.
Your father’s car pulled up abruptly, and both your parents emerged, your father’s face a mask of fury, your mother’s a picture of desperate panic.
"JOEL! DON’T YOU DARE TAKE HER AWAY!" your father roared, his voice thick with rage. He stormed towards Joel, grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him back, the force of his anger almost palpable.
But Joel was ready. He had been holding back for too long. The hatred, the disgust he felt for this man who had caused you so much pain boiled over. Without hesitation, Joel swung his fist, landing a solid punch on your father's jaw. The impact sent your father stumbling back, his eyes wide with shock.
"You make me sick," Joel snarled, his voice low and filled with venom. "You disgust me. You beat your fucking daughter, terrorized her, and for what? To prove you’re some righteous man of God? You're a hypocrite, a fucking monster hiding behind a collar!"
The two men squared off, anger radiating from both of them. You could hear the scuffle from inside the truck, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to process what was happening. The sounds of fists connecting, grunts of pain, and harsh, angry words filled the air.
Meanwhile, your mother was at the window of the truck, banging on the glass, her face wet with tears. "Please, please don’t leave, don't leave me!" she cried, her voice cracking with desperation. "Please, sweetheart, don’t leave me alone!"
Your mother’s pleas tore at your heart. You love her—of course you do—but you knew deep down that staying with her meant staying in a place where you would never be truly safe. She had let this happen. She had watched as your father hurt you, and even now, when she tried to intervene, it felt like too little, too late.
Through the glass, your mother’s eyes locked with yours, her hand pressed against the window as if she could reach through and pull you back to her. "Please, baby, come back to us. We can fix this. We can make it right."
"Mama, I can't," Tears blurred your vision as you looked at her, the woman who had given you life but had been unable to protect you. You could see the regret in her eyes, the guilt that she had let it come to this. But as much as it hurt, you knew you couldn’t go back home. Not now. Not ever.
Joel, still grappling with your father, caught sight of your mother trying to coax you out of the truck. "Stay away from her, Evelyn!" he shouted, his voice laced with a protective fury. He couldn’t let your mother take you back into that house, back into the arms of a man who would destroy you.
Your father spat blood from the corner of his mouth, glaring at Joel with a hatred that could have burned through steel. "You can’t take her from me! She’s my daughter! You think you can just steal her away, like some kind of hero? I’ll call the cops, you bastard! This is kidnapping!"
Joel didn’t flinch. "She’s not safe with you," he growled, his voice cold as ice. "You don’t deserve to call yourself her father. You’re just a coward who uses God to justify your own cruelty."
Your father lunged at Joel again, but this time Joel was ready. He dodged the attack, shoving your father back with all the strength he had left. "You're torturing her all this time!" Joel screamed, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.
But your father only sneered, wiping the blood from his lip. "She’s my daughter. I did what had to be done. And you—" he pointed a trembling finger at Joel, "—you will never see her again. Not after what you've done."
Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, the realization hitting him like a freight train. He turned to you, your pale, tear-streaked face visible through the window, and knew he had to act fast. He couldn’t let your father take you away, couldn’t let him continue to hurt you.
As the chaos of the confrontation swirled around you, you clung to the small shred of hope that Joel represented. You couldn’t go back to your parents, couldn’t return to the hell you had endured for so long.
Joel turned back to your father, his voice low and dangerous. "You’re never going to touch her again. I’m taking her away from here, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me."
With that, Joel broke away from the fight, rushing back to the truck. He threw open the door, and with one last glance at your parents—your mother sobbing, your father still seething—he climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut.
Your father lunged forward, pounding on the hood of the truck as Joel started the engine. "Don’t you dare take her away from me!" he roared, his voice cracking with rage and desperation.
"JOEL!" Your father screamed. and then your mother scream your name.
But Joel didn’t look back. He floored the gas pedal, the tires screeching as the truck sped away, leaving your father’s furious shouts fading into the distance.
Joel’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he sped away from your house, his knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. The echoes of your father’s enraged shouts and your mother’s desperate cries still rang in his ears, but he couldn’t afford to think about them now. He glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing you curled up in the backseat, tears streaming down your face as you clutched your aching body. His heart broke for you, the pain in your eyes more than he could bear.
He reached back with one hand, his fingers brushing against your trembling shoulder. "It's okay, baby, I’m here," he murmured, trying to soothe you even as his own heart raced with fear and anger. "We’re getting away from here, I promise. No one’s going to hurt you ever again."
Joel’s mind was racing, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of plans and possibilities. He knew he had to get you out of town, away from the danger that lingered in every shadow of your parents’ home. But he couldn’t just run, not without Ellie. She was his daughter, his reason for living, and he couldn’t leave her behind. Not now, not ever.
"We're going to Tommy’s first," he said, his voice firm, as if saying it out loud would make it all the more real. "Ellie and Tommy will be there."
When he finally pulled up in front of Tommy’s house, Joel took a deep breath, his mind already calculating the next steps. He turned to you, his gaze softening. "I’ll be quick, baby. You stay here, okay? I’ll lock the doors. I won’t be long."
You nodded weakly, trusting him despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. Joel leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before locking the truck doors and rushing towards the house.
Inside, chaos had already erupted. Tommy and Maria were in the living room, both of them looking bewildered and concerned. Ellie was there too, sitting on the couch with wide, anxious eyes, clearly sensing that something was terribly wrong.
"What the fuck happened, Ellie?" Tommy said to Ellie then suddenly Joel's there making everyone's head turned.
"Joel?!" Tommy exclaimed as his brother burst into the room, his voice a mix of shock and confusion. "What the hell is going on?!"
But Joel didn’t answer. His focus was solely on Ellie, his heart aching with the weight of what he was about to ask her. He crossed the room in quick strides, taking her hands in his, his eyes filled with desperation.
"Ellie," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "we’re leaving. We have to go. Right now."
Ellie’s eyes widened in shock. "What?!" she gasped, looking up at him as if he had just said the most impossible thing in the world. Tommy and Maria were just as stunned, exchanging worried glances.
"Joel, what the fuck are you talking about?" Tommy demanded, stepping closer to his brother. "What happened?!"
But Joel barely heard him. His grip on Ellie’s hands tightened, his voice urgent. "Ellie, listen to me. I can’t go without you. I need you to come with me. Please, we need to go now." He could feel time slipping away, the danger drawing closer with every passing second.
Ellie looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes. "Joel, this is crazy," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Behind them, Tommy’s voice grew louder, more insistent. "Joel! Explain to me what’s going on! What the hell have you done?"
But Joel’s attention was locked on Ellie, the girl who had become his world. For the first time, Ellie saw something in Joel she had never seen before—tears, brimming in his eyes, threatening to spill over. His voice broke as he spoke, the weight of his emotions finally crashing down on him.
"I can’t leave without you, Ellie," he pleaded, his voice raw. "Please, come with me. I can’t lose you too." His voice breaking.
The room fell into a stunned silence. Tommy and Maria stared at Joel in disbelief, the realization of what was happening slowly dawning on them. Tommy’s voice, once filled with confusion, now carried a note of horror. "Joel… what are you going to do with her?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as Tommy saw you in the back of Joel's truck. "What have you done to her, Joel?!"
"You can’t just take her away from her family…" Tommy said to Joel about you...
Joel finally tore his gaze away from Ellie, his eyes filled with a fierce, unyielding determination. "You don’t understand, Tommy," he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. "Her father’s been beating her, torturing her for years. I’m not taking her away from her family—I’m saving her from them."
Tommy stared at him, the shock evident in his face. "Joel… why? Why are you doing this?"
"Because I’m fucking in love with her!" Joel finally admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of the truth. The room went silent again, the confession hanging in the air like a dark cloud. Even Maria, who had been silent until now, gasped softly, her hand covering her mouth in disbelief.
Tommy’s eyes widened, his gaze shifting from Joel to the truck where you sat, tears streaming down your face. The realization hit him like a freight train, and his expression softened with a mixture of shock and sorrow. "Jesus Christ, Joel," 
Joel’s grip on Ellie’s hands tightened as he turned back to her, his eyes pleading. "Ellie, please. I can’t do this without you. I need you to come with me. I can’t lose you too, i can't,"
Ellie’s heart ached at the sight of Joel like this—so desperate, so vulnerable. She knew how much he loved you and how much you loved him, how much he had sacrificed for you, but she also knew that this was a line she couldn’t cross. Going with him would only complicate things further, would make an already impossible situation even worse.
Tears welled up in Ellie’s eyes as she shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "No, Joel. You have to go… without me."
Joel’s eyes widened in disbelief, his heart shattering at her words. "No, no" he whispered, shaking his head. "No, I can’t leave you behind. I can’t."
Ellie reached up, cupping Joel’s face in her hands, her own tears spilling over. "You have to," she said softly, her voice filled with both love and sorrow. "You’ve done so much for me, Joel. But now, you need to do this for her. She needs you."
Joel’s breath caught in his throat, his emotions a tangled mess of love, fear, and despair. He knew she was right, knew that he couldn’t drag Ellie into this any further. But the thought of leaving her behind, of saying goodbye, was almost too much to bear.
"I’m so sorry, Ellie," Joel choked out, his voice breaking as tears finally spilled over. "I’ve failed you…"
Ellie shook her head, her heart breaking at the sight of Joel so torn. "No, Joel," she whispered, pulling him into a tight embrace. "You’ve never failed me. You’re the best father I could’ve asked for. And if you’re happy with her, then I’m happy too."
They held each other for what felt like an eternity, the weight of the moment pressing down on them both. Finally, Joel pulled back, his eyes red and swollen from the tears. He looked at Tommy, his voice hoarse. "Take care of her, Tommy. Please. I’ll come back… I promise."
Tommy nodded, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Just… be careful."
Joel turned to Ellie one last time, his heart breaking as he forced himself to let go. "I love you, kiddo," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
"I love you too, Joel, Please, be safe." Ellie replied, her voice trembling.
With one last, lingering look, Joel turned and walked out of the house, each step heavier than the last. As he climbed back into the truck, his hands shaking, he glanced over at you, his heart aching for the pain you were going through.
He started the engine, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, but one thing was clear—he had to protect you, had to get you somewhere safe. Ellie would be okay. She was strong, resilient. But you… you needed him now more than ever.
As the truck pulled away, Ellie watched from the window, her heart breaking with every passing second. She knew she had done the right thing, but that didn’t make it any easier.
And as Joel drove away and he look back to see you now fell asleep, his mind filled with a mix of sorrow and determination, he knew that this was only the beginning of a long, uncertain journey.
***
You slowly drifted back to consciousness, your body heavy with exhaustion as you lay in the backseat. The world outside the window blurred past in streaks of darkness, illuminated only by the occasional flash of headlights. You blinked, trying to orient yourself, the events of the morning slipping in and out of focus.
Your eyes found Joel at the wheel, his broad shoulders hunched forward, the lines of his face etched deep with a blend of determination and fatigue. The soft glow of the dashboard lights cast a warm, almost ethereal hue over him, and for a moment, he looked like a guardian angel—battle-worn but unwavering, carrying you away from the life that had suffocated you for so long.
You noticed the blood on his forehead, a stark reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. But even with the traces of violence on him, there was something steady, almost serene, about the way he drove. The road ahead was uncertain, but with Joel, you felt a fragile sense of safety, a new kind of freedom that was both exhilarating and terrifying.
In that moment, you realized how much he meant to you. He had pulled you out of the abyss, saving you from the dark clutches of your father's wrath. He was your protector, your sanctuary, the one who had finally put an end to your suffering. You were free now—free from the oppressive walls of that house, from the constant fear and pain. Joel had given you that, and you were forever grateful.
"Joel…" you called out, your voice weak and trembling as you tried to sit up. The word barely escaped your lips, but it was enough to make him turn his head, his eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror.
He slowed the truck and pulled over to the side of the road, the tires crunching against the gravel. The world outside was still and quiet, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had just passed.
Joel quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the truck, his footsteps echoing as he hurried to your side. He opened the back door and knelt beside you, his eyes filled with concern.
"Hey," he said softly, his voice a mixture of relief and worry. "How are you feeling?"
You tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "Better…"
He reached out, gently touching your bandaged stomach, his hands warm and careful. "You’re safe now," he whispered, more to himself than to you. "I’m not gonna let anything happen to you."
You nodded, the weight of everything hitting you all at once. Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming sense of freedom. For the first time in as long as you could remember, you felt like you could breathe, like the world outside that small town was finally opening up to you.
Joel looked at you, his expression softening as he brushed a tear from your cheek. "We’re gonna be okay," he assured you. "I'm here to protect you, I won't let anything happened to you,"
You believed him. You didn’t know where the road would lead, but with Joel by your side, you felt ready to face whatever came next. He had saved you from a life of misery, and as you stared into the darkened horizon, you knew that you were never going back. The past was behind you, and a new future awaited, one where you could finally be free.
As you tenderly wiped the blood from Joel’s forehead, your fingertips brushed against his skin, feeling the warmth of his touch and the resilience that lay beneath. His brown eyes, deep and weary, met yours with a mixture of exhaustion and unwavering resolve. In that moment, you saw not just the man who had rescued you but the protector who would guide you through this new chapter of your life.
The road stretched out before you, an endless ribbon of possibilities unfurling in the fading light. With every mile that passed, you felt a sense of liberation that was both exhilarating and profound. The past was receding like shadows in the rearview mirror, and the future, though uncertain, was bathed in the golden glow of hope.
As you leaned in and kissed Joel, the touch of your lips against his was like a silent promise, a moment of shared solace and longing fulfilled. It was the kiss you had needed—a gentle, lingering connection that spoke of gratitude and the deep bond that had formed between you. When you pulled away, the world felt a little lighter, and the road ahead seemed a bit less daunting.
“What are we going to do now?” you asked softly, your voice carrying the weight of your newfound freedom and the uncertainty that lay ahead.
Joel’s gaze shifted to you, his expression thoughtful. "We'll figuring it out, but for now we’re heading to Bill and Frank’s place,” he said.
“They’re old friends of mine. They might be able to help us. The town’s probably a mess right now, and your dad might’ve called the cops. We’ll stay with them for a few days, get cleaned up, and figure out our next move.”
You nodded, accepting his plan with a quiet resolve. The idea of moving forward, of having a temporary sanctuary, gave you a sense of security. “I want to sit up front with you,” you said, determination in your voice. “I’ll be by your side.”
Joel raised an eyebrow, concerned. “Are you sure? It’s a long drive to Bill and Frank’s—about five or six hours. You could rest in the back.”
“No,” you insisted. “I want to be right here, with you.” you said. Joel gave a reluctant nod, acknowledging your request.
***
The road unfurled before you like an endless ribbon of possibility, stretching into the darkening sky, where twilight wove a tapestry of deep blues and fiery oranges. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving a trail of molten gold that shimmered across the landscape, as if painting the world in hues of promise and potential. The truck's engine hummed steadily beneath you, a comforting rhythm that matched the steady beat of your heart, now full of a mix of relief, fear, and hope.
As Dolly Parton's Wildflowers played softly on the radio, its melodies seemed to resonate with the very essence of your soul, each lyric a reflection of your journey. The song spoke of wild, untamed beauty, of a spirit that refused to wither in the face of adversity. It was as if the music was a kindred spirit, understanding the depth of your longing for freedom, for a life unbound by the suffocating constraints of your past.
The breeze that streamed through the open window carried with it a whisper of the freedom you had yearned for, rustling your hair and cooling your flushed cheeks. You felt the wind as a living thing, a gentle reminder of the fresh start you had just begun. It tangled in your hair, a wild, carefree dance that matched the liberation swelling inside you.
Joel sat beside you, his presence a steady beacon amidst the chaos of your emotions. The lines etched into his face told stories of hardship and sacrifice, but in the dim light of the truck's cab, his eyes held a fierce protectiveness and a glimmer of something softer—a promise of safety and a new beginning. His brown jacket, speckled with the day's dust and traces of blood, seemed to mark the end of a grueling battle and the dawn of a new journey.
As the lyrics floated through the cab, they spoke of a life spent in the shadows of others, yearning to break free and bloom in a space of its own. “The hills were alive with wildflowers and I, was as wild, even wilder than they…” The words seemed to echo the very essence of your heart. You were that wildflower, once confined by the oppressive garden of your past, now blooming freely in the open expanse of the world. Your past life, with its stifling expectations and cruel constraints, had faded into the distance, replaced by the exhilarating unknown of the road ahead.
The sunset's final light painted the world in a breathtaking array of colors—crimson and gold blending into a soft violet haze. The sky was a canvas of possibilities, stretching infinitely above you, as if inviting you to write your own story against its vast backdrop. The landscape outside the truck was a blur of darkening silhouettes and shadows, but the interior was bathed in a warm, golden glow, a sanctuary of hope and new beginnings.
Joel’s rugged hands gripped the steering wheel with a steady determination, his profile etched in the soft light. You could see the strain and exhaustion in his features, but also the unwavering resolve. His sacrifice was monumental, his risk immense, yet his focus was solely on the road and on you, a testament to his commitment to your safety and future.
The lyrics of the song spoke to your very soul: “I had no room for growth, and I wanted so much to branch out…” The words mirrored your own desire to escape, to find a place where you could thrive, where you could grow without being smothered. The journey was not just a physical escape but an emotional and spiritual liberation. With each mile that ticked by, the weight of your past seemed to lift, carried away on the wind like the echoes of a distant storm.
Joel’s gaze occasionally flicked toward you, his eyes softening with a tenderness that spoke volumes. In those brief moments, you saw the depth of his commitment, the profound love he held for you. His sacrifices were etched into the lines of his face, and the determination in his eyes was a promise—a promise to protect you, to build a future together, no matter how uncertain it might be.
The sun continued its descent, casting long shadows across the road and creating a dramatic interplay of light and dark. It was a visual metaphor for your journey—a transition from the harsh light of your past to the hopeful glow of the future. The world outside the truck seemed to fade away, replaced by a dreamlike quality as you embraced the freedom you had longed for.
As the song reached its poignant chorus—“No regret for the path that I chose…”—the words resonated deeply within you. There was no room for regret in this new chapter of your life. The past was behind you, a closed chapter that had brought you to this moment of liberation. You felt a profound sense of relief, of having chosen a path that, while fraught with challenges, was yours to navigate with Joel by your side.
You reached out, your fingers gently brushing against Joel’s arm. The touch was tender, a silent gesture of gratitude and love. He looked at you, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the dashboard lights, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The road ahead was uncertain, but with Joel beside you and the freedom of the open road stretching before you, the future seemed filled with infinite possibilities.
You leaned against the seat, letting the wind play with your hair and the music wash over you. The world outside was a blur of colors and shadows, but inside the truck, with Joel and the song as your companions, you felt a deep, abiding peace.
In the fading light of a southern sunset, you and Joel embark on a journey of liberation. The road was a symbol of your new beginning, a path that would lead you to a future of your own making.
With Joel by your side, you knew that you were ready to face whatever came next, together, as wild and free as the wind that carried you toward the horizon.
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cheynovak · 5 months ago
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Echoes and Shadows - Series
Soldier boy/Ben - Fanfiction
My masterlist is getting too long... So, I decided to make a new lists for my series.
* = implied smut or sexual tension
**= 18+/smut
--    
In the 1950, Soldier Boy had to train a train a young girl supe named Y/N, she had a "nice girl next door" persona. Soldier Boy hated it at first, until they started to work together, he seemed to start to like this kid.  
Years passed and Y/N didn’t seem to age a lot either. To her it seemed that Ben started to respect her. The two of them worked together just fine until his team Payback was assembled.  
His relationship with Crimson made her feel alone, and her bond with Noir made him jealous.
-- 
Echoes and Shadows
Echoes and Shadows pt2 *
Echoes and Shadows pt3 *
Echoes and Shadows pt4 *
Echoes and Shadows pt5 *
Echoes and Shadows pt6 *
Echoes and Shadows pt7
Echoes and Shadows pt 7.5 **
Echoes and Shadows pt 8
Echoes and Shadows pt 9 *
Echoes and Shadows pt 10 *
Echoes and Shadows pt 11 *
Echoes and Shadows pt 11.5 **
Echoes and Shadows pt 12 Final
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velarisnightsky444 · 2 months ago
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Scorched Shadows: Part 9
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Eris x AzrielsSister!Reader
Summary: Y/N is the younger sister of Azriel. She has shadows just like him, and is also a spymaster for Rhys. When she meets Eris, she initially hates him, but after a bargain is made between them, things begin heating up.
cw: mentions of amarantha's abuse and sa of rhys, mentions of traumatic childhood, angst, mentinos of wing clipping, smut
a/n: im going to start keeping track of the years, just know this is x years since the series started, not since they've been under the mountain
Series Masterlist
Part 8 || Part 10
»»————- ♔ ————-««
Year 14
It was your tenth Starfall under this mountain.
It killed you that you couldn't be above ground, watching in the Night Court.
And since Amarantha loved to torment Rhys on this specific day, you weren't even able to spend the time with him. It churned your gut knowing what she was doing to him at this precise moment, her cruel way of ruining his favorite day of the year.
Being trapped Under the Mountain here only reminded you of the cell you'd spent the first six years of your life in. And in the hour you were let out of the cell, you were rarely allowed to go outside. In the rare occasions you were allowed sunlight, it was always late afternoon.
Six years without seeing a sunrise, a sunset, the stars, or the moon. You never thought you'd have to go so long without the sky again. But here, in this mountain, you'd gone even longer.
You remembered the first time you'd seen the stars. You were six years old, and Rhys's mother, Selene, had just rescued you from your father's keep. Azriel had been staying with them for a week at that point, but Selene had come for you when she learned the conditions you were being kept in.
You didn't talk, had never spoken a word in your entire life, and wouldn't for another five years. But Selene was doing everything she could to get you to open up.
After a few hours of trying to get you to let her hold you, she took your scarred hand, cooing comforts when you flinched. She led you outside, and told you to look at the sky.
When you saw the Night Court sky, filled with the most beautiful stars, your tears stopped. You gasped, eyes wide as you took in the view. And you had finally let her pick you up, as you stared in wonder.
"I am going to take care of you, sweet girl," she had said to you. "You will never suffer again."
And you still held those words close to your heart. Even long after she had died. And you hadn't suffered since; at least, not as horrifically as you had as a child.
Your first Starfall had been special. While it could be seen from all of the Night Court, Selene insisted that the best view was in Velaris. It was your first time visiting the City of Starlight.
She had sat you in her lap, the two of you sitting on the balcony of the House of Wind. Your brothers ran around under the stars, laughing and playing. But you just watched the stars shoot through the sky, feeling safe in Selene's arms.
You sniffled, wiping tears from your eyes as you stared at your bedroom ceiling, reminiscing on better Starfalls. You couldn't even bring yourself to go to the revel tonight.
The door opened abruptly, and you flinched, sniffling as you wiped your eyes.
You met Eris's harsh gaze, but before you could think, he had slammed the door behind him and was on top of you.
You decided to allow the distraction, not wanting to think about your family any longer.
Something was bothering him. You knew by the way he entered, not bothering with a greeting. You knew from the slight furrow of his brow, the unusual messiness of his red locks, and the fire in his eyes. You hated that you'd learned to read him so well.
Eris pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, his other creeping under your skirt. He hummed in approval when he noticed that you were bare beneath it.
"No underthings? Were you waiting for me?" he murmured into your ear.
"No, I was expecting another male," you uttered from beneath him, wanting only to rile him up. "Dawn Court. Quite handsome."
Your words worked, a growl leaving his lips as he wrapped his free hand around your throat. You gasped, mouth opening slightly as he squeezed.
"I don't know if you think you're being brave by provoking me, but all I see is a dumb fucking whore, trying to get herself punished," he snapped.
You gasped for air as he let go of your neck, your head light in a way that made you feel euphoric.
Eris was rough from the start, fucking you so brutally. You could tell he was upset about something, and he was taking his frustration out on you.
You found that you didn't mind. Eris was an arrogant prick. But despite his appetite for cruelty, you knew that if you ever told him to stop or be less rough, he would listen. He wouldn't hurt you. In the past decade, you had learned that.
Not that you had grown to trust him, or care for him. But still, knowing you were safe with him was a small comfort.
You tried to control the cries leaving your lips as he fucked you, but he was drilling into you so hard, you couldn't. You cried out from under him, his cock hitting the deepest parts of you.
"Eris," you whined, trying to rip your wrists from his grip so you could touch him. But he held tight, snarling at your attempt.
Eris only went harder, deeper, if possible. And as you become a mewling mess of sobs under him, his stress seemed to disappear.
"If you want to cum, you better start begging," he warned you.
"Please, Eris, please," you begged, used to the degrading act that he made you perform every time. You hated to admit that you loved it.
"You want to cum?" he taunted you.
"Yes, Eris, please let me," you sobbed, still fighting against his strong grip.
"Then go ahead," he granted.
You came together, just as you always did. You assumed your bodies were so in tune due to the mating bond. The mating bond that you tried to ignore. But it was hard when you were spending so much time with him. Fucking him. It made that bond in your chest sing. And you hated that. You hated him.
When the pleasure was done, he sat up, pulling his trousers back up. You pushed your skirt back down, and sighed as you suddenly remembered what you were trying to forget.
Your family. The family you were betraying by sleeping with the cruel male in front of you.
And at the thought, you burst into tears.
Eris froze in the doorway, turning so slowly to face you. You couldn't read the expression on his face, but you were sure it was judgement. He'd likely never cried a day in his life.
"Are you . . . " he trailed off, scoffing at himself as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "Are you alright?"
"What's it to you?" you sniffled, trying to wipe the pathetic tears from your eyes.
"I just fucked you, and now you're crying," he pointed out, striding back over to the bed. "I'd like to know if I caused this."
"No," you denied, shaking your head. "I just . . . I miss my family. That's all."
"Lovely to know you're thinking about your family after sex," he taunted. You groaned at him, pulling your knees to your chest.
"I was thinking about them before you came in," you admitted, hiding your face in your knees. "It's Starfall tonight. A wonderful holiday back in Night. And it makes me think of them."
You weren't sure why you were opening up to him. You realized you had no one else to open up to. You truly were desperate for companionship.
"Do you fly?" he asked quietly. You glanced up, meeting his amber gaze.
"What?"
"Your wings," he said, gesturing to them. "Do you fly?"
"Yes," you said, nodding. "I love to fly."
"Being stuck down here, unable to fly," he mused, glancing around the desolate room. "That must be miserable."
"It is," you admitted with a shrug. "But nothing compared to what my fellow Illyrian females have had to endure."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Illyrian females get their wings clipped when they come of age," you explained to him. "I was very lucky. Rhys's mother took me in at a young age, and she protected me. She saved my wings. But I've always felt guilty for it. And I won't fly if I'm in Illyria. It feels cruel. As if I'm rubbing it in the faces of the clipped females."
"And Rhysand allows this?" he bristled. You felt a surge of anger at him for assuming the worst of your brother.
"No," you denied. "He outlawed it as soon as he became High Lord, but it still happens. Though, not as often. But with him being down here for so long, I can only imagine it will pick up again."
"You lesser fae can be barbaric," he scoffed.
"Us?" you demanded, sneering at him. "You High Fae are worst of all. You're the ones who kept humans as slaves, kept us lesser fae as servants."
"I never kept any slaves," he scoffed. "Even before the war."
"So you speak for all High Fae?" you snapped. "You are still a cruel bastard, slave keeper or not."
"Is that why you let me fuck you?" he demanded, seeming irked by your words.
"I don't know why I allow it," you confessed, scoffing. "It's desperation from being so lonely down here. And it's the mating bond, betraying me."
"What terrible fate to be mated to such a cruel bastard," he sneered.
"It is a cruel fate!" you snipped, glaring at him. "What luck that I am mated to the male who left my cousin bleeding out in the forest, left her to die!"
He was on his feet in an instant, a snarl ripped from his throat.
"We are done with this conversation," he declared as he reached the door.
"Good."
»»————- ♔ ————-««
Scorched Shadows Taglist: @the-sweet-psycho @hnyclover @lilyevansstudygroup @esposadomd@fxckmiup@lilah-asteria@a-court-of-mischief-and-madness@sourapplex @when-you-cant-think-of-anything @i-know-i-can @mp-littlebit @paintedbyshadows @kristijenner19 @kitsunetori
Eris Taglist:
Comment to be added to the Scorched Shadows or Eris taglists!
»»————- ♔ ————-««
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romana-after-dark · 10 months ago
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Room's on Fire Masterlist
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Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader
Summary:
Years after the world fell apart, various communities have established themselves, one of which is ran by four men who claim to be divine.
When they decide it's time to and heir to be born, they chose a virgin from their cult and make her their wife. Reader is offered a choice, of course. She doesn't have to marry them. But if she doesn't, the savior won't be born. She choses to become the Madonna. She is wed to all four of them, and moved into their home where her body is open to use whenever her husbands desire (free use au), in the hopes of getting her pregnant. It doesn't matter whose baby it ends up being, because they are all part God, so it doesn't matter... right?
Warnings for full fic, if anything is added or really emphcized it will be in additional warnings.
THIS IS A DARK FIC THOUGH SO BE WARY! I CAN'T PROTECT AGAINST EVERYTHING.
DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT
DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.
Unknown amount of chapters right now.
Chapter 1: Pilot: Delta finds their Madonna Chapter 2: The wedding Chapter 3: Aftermath of the wedding FishBen: Symptom of Being Human Chapter 4: Pope is not pleased. Chapter 5: Jonah lore, Madonna gets through to Frankie Chapter 6: Madonna gains Frankie's heart, Santi is jealous Iris: Rey and Iris find pockets of time Chapter 7: Fun with Ben: wining Pope back Chapter 8: big announcement to the community
Non canon Frankie Madonna Chapter 9: Madonna’s blissful ignorance to the world around her. Chapter 10: There's a lot Madonna doesn't know.
Chapter 11: Things start to crumble around Madonna
Chapter 12: It's all too much for Madonna
Chapter 1 3: Santiago’s true colors come out
Chapter 14: Jonah tries to show the truth
Chapter 15: madonna begins to learn her power
Chapter 16: Frankie and Ben reflect
Chapter 17: Ben shows his true colors
Chapter 18: Iris makes her stand
Chapter 19:
Chapter 20:
Bonus Content
not necessary for the series. Pieces in the main list are suggested as they add depth and sometimes small plot points.
"Can you peel my orange?" Jonah smut
Jonah Hanson character ai
ROF characters Star signs
Jonah x non-Madonna reader x Marcus flashback commission
Art
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By @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog
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By @survivingandenduring
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Lil comic by @my-secret-shame
As I said, a lot of themes and dynamics ended up accidentally similarly to Watch Your Step by the amazing @charnelhouse Some was because that fic is what developed my characterizations of the boys. Some was totally incidental, like Pope and readers relation to art. It's different though, a much different series, but I wanted to tell y'all that she s PUBLISHING WYS AS A NOVEL NOW, Its called Cardinal Sin's and I'll link it right here!
How to keep up with the story!
Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates
Follow @romana-updates and/turn on notifications
Follow the tag Rooms on fire
THANK YOU FOR YOU'RE SUPPORT!
Please remember to reblog, and I love comments/asks, anon or not, and would love to see engagement and theories!
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padfootagain · 7 months ago
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Masterlist - Requests are closed - The tag list is closed
Hi everyone! We are back with a posting schedule, woohoo!
I'm going to post a Hozier series for the upcoming weeks! The series IS COMPLETE! It is done, written, finished, even proofread!
I'll take the upcoming weeks to finish my Ben Barnes x reader series Something Good, and it will be included in the next posting schedule (for all my fellow Bin Bons fans, I'm still here, I'm working on it...)
I'm so excited to see what you guys think of this new series for Andrew! I hope you will enjoy it!
05/05/2024 - Chapter 8 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
09/05/2024 - Chapter 9 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
12/05/2024 - Chapter 10 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
16/05/2024 - Chapter 11 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
19/05/2024 - Chapter 12 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
23/05/2024 - Chapter 13 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
26/05/2024 - Chapter 14 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
30/05/2024 - Chapter 15 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
02/06/2024 - Chapter 16 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
06/06/2024 - Chapter 17 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
09/06/2024 - Chapter 18 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
13/06/2024 - Chapter 19 for Only an Almost
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
16/06/2024 - Chapter 20 for Only an Almost : last chapter
Hozier x fem!reader, Friends with Benefits AU, no explicit smut but sexual themes so 18+ only, new series
Summary : Andrew has been in love with you for years, but has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.
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cxsmicbaby · 1 year ago
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something nice - 1
CHAPTER ONE OF A SERIES 
pairing : miguel o’hara x fem!reader
word count: 4.1k
warnings : smut at the end! cursing throughout. enjoy :)
you and hobie play a prank. miguel doesn’t like it, but he can never stay mad at you. 
                                                      𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪
“And then... my uncle died.” 
“Mmhm.” The smell of hot coffee grows stronger. It’s mere inches away.. I just have to suffer through this for a moment longer. 
“And I realized. I’m not even real! I’m just a clone of the real Peter. And that totally destroyed me.”
“Oh wow,” I say, nodding. Ben, or Scarlet Spider, continues to go on about his tragic backstory, somehow still managing to flex his biceps as he begins to well up in tears. 
Finally, the spider in front of me finishes filling their mug and it’s my turn. God, if I had to stand in line with this melodramatic asshole for a second longer I think I would’ve tried to cut my own ears off. He’s still talking as I fill my cup with coffee, but this time I’m not listening. It’s probably some variation of the same things I’ve been through, anyhow. I wonder how Miguel is able to sit through thousands and thousands of these things whenever he recruits a new spider. He’s not a very patient guy. 
Miguel. He walks through the lobby at 5:30am, every morning. I woke up early today so that I would run into him. Not like I said anything to him; I walked past him, smiling, and he just grunted. Just about what I expected. But I still woke up early to see him. I feel a little stupid thinking about it. I’ll probably do it again tomorrow. 
“Yeah, Ben, that really sucks. Maybe you should see a therapist.” I turn and give him a pat on the shoulder, smiling as genuinely as I can. He nods, and wipes his teary eyes. This guy cries way too easily. 
I swing off into the main lobby. Thank god, I can be free. I don’t know what the plan is today, but I’m always up for an adventure. 
“Oi!” I hear, and behind me Hobie is swinging forward, his mask already on. That must mean there’s something happening. Regardless, I’m always happy to see him. He’s probably the only person I really talk to here; other than Miguel. 
“Hey! Got anything for me?” I ask, as we land on a free platform. Hobie pauses for a moment before he starts digging around in his pockets, and pulls out a bag of my favorite snack from his universe; unfortunately, it doesn’t exist anywhere else, so I depend on this not-so-dependable guy to bring them for me. 5/10 times he actually remembers it. 
“What’s with the drink? I thought you hated coffee,” he asks, plopping himself down on the edge of the platform. I do the same, and we watch as the spiders swing and climb all over the place, like a jungle gym. Every time I take a step back from this whole thing like this, it always amazes me. Just a few weeks ago, I was stuck in a universe where I was the only one, and now I’m in a place where everyone is just as corny as me. It’s lovely. 
“I do,” I start, taking a sip of it. I fight the way my lips threaten to purse in disgust. “I needed a pick me up.”
“Ah.” Hobie pulls at a loose thread of his shirt and smiles deviously. “Up all night thinking about Miguel, huh?” 
Hobie is far too observant for my liking. There’s nothing that gets past him, which is great for combat, but not great for me. 
I swallow hard, and shake my head. “No. And you should stop saying shit like that! What if someone overhears? They’ll think something weird is going on.”
“Like?” Here we go. 
“Like. They’ll think I’m in love with him or something. We’re just friends. He’s cool. I’m cool. Everything’s cool.” I sound like an idiot, and I know Hobie thinks the same when I hear him laugh. It’s like I’m a fucking teenager again, gossiping about my crush in the locker-room. I hated high school. 
“Cool, cool. Everything’s cool,” he teases, mocking me. 
We’re both quiet, basking for a moment in the odd sort of peace that comes out of this chaotic place. 
Hobie snickers softly, shaking his head at something that he’s thought of. “Heard some of the others talking bout how Miguel’s pickin’ favorites. Guess who’s the favorite?”
I sigh, and down the rest of the disgusting black liquid. “Whatever. I’m not his, uh. His favorite. He talks down to me like all the rest.” 
Hobie is quiet. That’s rare. When I look over at him he’s just staring down, a weird sort of smile still on his face. His fingers are drumming against the platform. 
“Hey, what’re we gonna do today? Please say you’ve got something fun.” 
That seems to get him, because his head perks up and that teasing expression is replaced by one of excitement. Thank god. If I had to talk about Miguel for another second it would not have ended well—I tend to get a little loose with the things I say the longer I’m forced to talk about them. 
“Something fun, eh? I’ve got something fun. But only if you’re up for it.” 
I smile. “You know I am.” 
Compared to a lot of the others, I’ve been here for a very short time. Still, I’ve learned the ins and outs, the dos and the don’ts. Like, do listen to what the higher ups (and Lyla) say. Don’t make fun of Miguel’s tediously slow entrance on that weird platform thing. Do make friends. Don’t be an ass. And for god’s sake, do not pull any pranks. 
The thing about spider people; we tend not to really listen to rules. 
Hobie and I are perched on a bar above the lobby. We’re trying to figure out the best way to go about things. Me, I think he should take charge, but he seems to think nobody really likes him, so they won’t listen. He thinks they’ll all fall in line with my beguiling feminine charms and do whatever I say. I think that sounds like bullshit, but I don’t really wanna do the other thing, so I agree to it. 
I drop down smack in the middle of a group of spider-people in a conversation. Immediately, I put on the most panicked expression I can muster and start running around frantically. 
“Jessica’s gone into labor! I repeat, Jessica is giving birth at this moment! Help her get back home so she can go to a hospital... or something!” I shout, trying to get as much attention as I possibly can. Of course, everyone loves Jessica, so everyone starts rushing to her aid. None of them actually know where she is, but they just launch into help-mode, as Spiderman does. Soon, the lobby is basically empty. Sometimes, I think about how gullible I must be if I’m really just a variation of this same person. 
“Coast’s clear,” Hobie calls, dropping down from above. “We don’t have a lotta time, gotta make this quick.” 
I frown. “We? But you said all I had to do was get them out!” 
“Yeah, that was a lie.” Hobie shrugs and tosses me a spray can. “Now, you gonna help or not?” 
The idea of getting caught spraying painting the building Miguel has built specifically for us makes me queasy. The idea of being caught doing anything that would make him upset makes me queasy. But if I back out now, then I just made a fool of myself for no reason. I don’t mind looking stupid, but it’s gotta be for a reason. 
I sigh, and reach up to tug my mask over my face in case someone realizes that Jessica is not even here right now, and decides to come back. I mean, not like I would really be hiding much, considering everyone knows what my suit looks like, but there’s no harm in it. 
The moment I pull it down, the room is doused in red light and an alarm starts blaring. Fuck. 
“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me, mate,” Hobie groans, tossing his head back in frustration. “That old man did not just sound the alarm ‘cause we’re pulling a goddamn prank. Might as well do as much as we can before the rest of ‘em come back.” 
That does not sound like a good idea. If Miguel is angry enough to turn on the alarm that signifies intruders, he will definitely not like us continuing in spite of his obvious warning. But Hobie’s already swinging up, spraying bright purple in a strangely elegant ribbon across the walls. I start to hear footsteps, but they’re far enough away that I think I have some time. So, despite my better judgement, I follow Hobie, tagging wherever he’s painted with a green design of my own. Gotta admit, it looks pretty dope. That assuages my fears somewhat and I find myself letting go a little, whooping in excitement as I swing around the lobby. 
Then, I hear it again. Footsteps, but I know these very specific footsteps. Heavy, fast, angry. My stomach drops and I land, turning to Hobie to see he’s still painting away. He probably hears it too, he just doesn’t care. I wish I could be as carefree as him. Especially when it came to this sort of thing. 
But I can’t. In fact, once Miguel actually appears in the room, hair slightly disheveled, face twisted up in an almost scary amount of anger, I freeze in place. God, he’s fucking fuming. His eyes sweep the room like we just painted Miguel Sux! in somebody’s blood. And then his gaze lands on me, and I feel myself shiver; in fear, in anticipation, in... something else. 
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Miguel bellows, and that catches Hobie’s attention. Before he can say anything else, the flake is gone. Typical Hobie. Saving his own ass. I can’t even really be mad at him, because if it weren’t for the annoying way my feet were sticking to the ground I would’ve done the same. 
The alarm shuts off, and the room goes deadly quiet. I’m still staring at him as he approaches me, his chest heaving as he takes deep breaths, probably trying to calm himself down. He needs to see a therapist, I think, but don’t have time to even smile at my own quip before he’s looming right above me. 
“Do you get joy out of causing this type of shit? Out of wasting everyone’s time?” Miguel spits, and I know I’m supposed to be hurt by what he’s saying, but god if I don’t wanna just pounce at him right here, right now. 
So I keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t seem to like that. His fists are clenched tight at his sides as he studies me. 
“You know, if I knew you were gonna be such a fucking nuisance, I would never have brought you here.”
Ouch. That one sort of hurts, so I take off my mask and I look up at him, trying to keep my composure. I frown. “It was just some harmless fun, Miguel. No need to get so mean about it.” 
That was not the right thing to say, apparently, because his eyebrows furrow even deeper. Before he can open his mouth to say something that will probably make me cry, I force a smile and swing up to the wall. 
“And it looks great! Don’t you think this place is too... I don’t know. Sterile? Everyone’s gonna love it.” I hope he can’t hear the way my voice is trembling. When I hear my words echo back to me, I’m relieved to find that I sound quite confident. I’ve always been good at that, faking like I know what I’m doing. I think that’s a Spider-man thing. 
Miguel doesn’t speak. He crosses his arms over his chest and inhales deeply, hanging his head. 
“You are going to clean this shit up. Understood? And when I find that little shit Hobie, I’m gonna tell him the same thing.” 
I think that’s the closest I’ll get to him saying he isn’t really that mad about it, and that’s good enough for me. I swing back down to stand in front of him, and this time when I smile, it’s real. 
“Are you sure? I’m telling you, it looks super—”
Miguel’s eyes narrow and I feel my stomach twist. “Don’t test me.” 
I straighten up and salute him, fighting the urge to run as Miguel’s eyes burn into mine. “Yes, sir!” 
I swear to god, he almost smiles, before he just shakes his head. 
“Don’t do shit like this again. I won’t go so easy on you next time.” 
                                                       𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪
“You don’t let yourself have anything, do you?” 
Miguel pauses. He finds himself looking up at you, despite the desire to remain stoic and focused and uninterested. It’s always hard to do that, with you. 
“What?” he says, his voice slightly biting. He means it to be. He wants to scare you away so you will leave him alone, finally. It’s been mere weeks since you joined them, and in those weeks, you have made it your mission to annoy him more than anyone ever has in his life. It’s like you live to bother him. He should hate it more than he does. 
He should hate your stupid fucking pranks and your dumb, unfunny jokes. But he doesn’t. He knew it was you today, even before he got to the lobby, but for some reason he wasn’t that mad. And then the fact that he wasn’t mad about it made him mad about it, and he was mean to you. He wants to apologize, but that’s not like him. Everything he does or feels when it comes to you is a contradiction to the person he has built himself up as. The whole thing is just so muddled up he’d rather ignore it. 
You sit on a metal box to his left, swinging your legs back and forth as you scrutinize him. Miguel doesn’t like how you always have this knowing look on your face, like you’re waiting for him to discover something you’ve already found out. Frankly, all the Spider-people have that sort of glint in their eyes, but with you it’s different. He bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself not to look away. 
“I mean, you don’t let yourself have anything nice, or fun. The closest you get to letting yourself feel happiness is those empanadas you make me bring you.” 
You smile at him, and he thinks to himself that he wishes you would do it more, but the moment the thought passes he stamps it out with a frown. 
“And even then, you always scowl when you eat them.” You cancel out his grimace with a little laugh that makes Miguel fucking furious.
“You know, it’s not in your best interest to keep talking about this. If causing a useless ruckus is fun to you, then yeah, I don’t fucking do that.” He practically spits it, and swivels his head to focus again on his work. He doesn’t know if he wants you to apologize or if he wants you to just go. Apologize? He’s kidding himself. You would never. 
He can’t help but listen carefully for your movements, wanting to hear if you’ll leave or not. But he hears nothing, and he turns again to see you just sitting there, swinging your feet. Still smiling. 
“What are you still doing here? Don’t you have shit to do?” Miguel asks, narrowing his eyes at you. He notices that his tone lacks the sting he meant it to deliver and chooses to ignore it. 
You boost yourself up from the box and stand. “Not really. Can’t I just stay? I won’t make any noise, promise.” 
Miguel frowns deeply. “That’s impossible.” But he doesn’t tell you to leave. 
You sigh, your body swaying side to side. Miguel thinks its a subconscious thing you do when you’re standing; most people would just be still, but he’s noticed that you cannot possibly remain perfectly in place for more than a few seconds. 
“Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna get some sleep. You should too.” You send him a small wink and turn, walking off toward the exit. You stop briefly, turning to face him with an expression he can’t quite read.
“And, uh. Sorry about today,” you call, and he says nothing. You turn again and he watches you leave. 
Everything has changed since you showed up, and if anything can be taken from his obsession with anomalies, it’s that Miguel hates change. Especially when it seems like there isn’t much changing for anyone but himself. 
It was him that found you. He went on a mission to a universe he had not yet traveled; a rare occasion, because it wasn’t to destroy an anomaly, but because something was telling him to go. It wasn’t like a voice, or even a sense. More like a feeling. There was something there for him to discover and so he went without saying anything, hoping he’d be back before anyone noticed. 
Miguel found you on the roof of a museum. You were sitting on the edge, swinging your feet back and forth, just staring into the streets. You had your mask off, which he remembered thinking was incredibly stupid, seeing as it was still light out. Your suit was nothing to gawk at, nothing too different than the hundreds of others he had seen, but for some reason he knew it was you he was supposed to find. You, he had been called to. For what, he didn’t know.  
You noticed him before he intended you to. When you saw him, you didn’t look shocked, or scared; you looked happy. No one had been happy to see him in a long time. 
“How long you been standing there?” you asked, turning your body to face him. You crossed your legs and watched him approach, staring up at him like he was someone you knew, someone you had been waiting for. 
Miguel was quiet. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. 
“You know, one of us is gonna have to change.” And you laughed hard at your own dumb joke. Your laugh made him uncomfortable, how truly happy it sounded, how real it felt. You seemed like you hadn’t yet experienced the tragic things that came with being a Spiderman. You seemed innocent. Like you needed to be protected. 
And by god, you were beautiful. The suit didn’t leave much to the imagination. 
The thought startled him and he stayed quiet.  
“Your suit is super cool. Kinda cyberpunk.” You stood and you watched him carefully, walking slowly around him in a circle. Miguel’s eyes followed you, his body on guard as if you were going to suddenly lunge at him. 
“Why aren’t you... surprised?” Miguel finally said, his tone accusatory. But you didn’t seem to notice, and if you did you didn’t mind. You stopped in front of him and stuck your hand out, inviting him to shake it. 
“Welcome to Earth-72, Miguel. I’ve been waiting for you.” 
And that’s how he found out about a Dr. Strange, and how you knew about Miguel already; in fact, you were expecting him. The idea made him irrationally angry. Someone like you, obviously flippant and probably reckless, with knowledge about something as dangerous as the multiverse? You were most likely new to your abilities, to the mask. You were too naive and carefree not to be. 
But Miguel was wrong. You had long been bitten, lost your uncle, your sister, your best friend. You just seemed to lack that bitterness that he saw in the others, in himself. You were happy. 
Like most things, that also made Miguel angry. 
You begged him to let you join the Spider Society. You said you had known about it for a while, and you dreamed of being apart of it, of something bigger than yourself. Your words exactly. He was slightly impressed by that, but didn’t show it. In fact, Miguel wanted deeply to say no. But he didn’t, for reasons he’s not quite sure of himself, and that’s how he ended up with a permanent, relentless distraction. He was starting to wish he never brought you back in the first place. 
If you were more like him, he thinks, he probably wouldn’t have this problem. But you’re not. You’re almost the exact opposite. It drives him fucking crazy.
Miguel shook his head, grunting in frustration at his own inability to focus. It seemed even when you weren’t there, he was plagued by the thought of you. 
And think about you he did, for hours on end, sometimes. When he would lie awake in bed, his body aching from the strains of the day. He wouldn’t be able to close his eyes, because the image of you was always waiting for him. Smiling, laughing. Looking up at him with those eyes of yours. He would find himself imagining what it felt like to be close to you. Your skin would be soft, he knew. Your lips would be softer. Your hands, calloused by years of fighting, swinging, winning, losing. How they’d touch him. How they’d hold him. 
How he would touch you. Make you feel good. Make you think about him, just like he thought about you. Make you want him. 
Miguel always lost himself in thoughts like that, and he was usually able to bring himself back to reality. When he got back to his room that night, though, he felt as though he couldn’t push it down. He didn’t let himself have anything nice. And god, did he want something nice. 
The water ran over his taut back, soaking his hair and running down his cheekbones. One hand, splayed against the tile wall, and the other by his side, just inches away from an itch he is fighting not to scratch. His cock is aching. He swears he can see it pulse with every second that passes, every drop of water that lands on his shaft, veins prominent and throbbing. 
Miguel imagines that you’re there with him. That you stand in front of him, and that instead of the wall it’s you he’s touching, your skin slick with water and sweat. That your hands are on his chest, your nails scratching him just the slightest bit, and god, those eyes, staring into his like he’s the only thing that has or ever will matter to you. 
When he finally wraps his hand around his cock, it takes his breath away. 
��Jesus,” he whispers, slowly stroking himself, gripping so tight he’s sure his fingertips are white. It’s not enough. 
Miguel closes his eyes, and immediately he pictures you. He feels almost guilty to think of you this way, on your knees, with your lips wrapped around his dick. But he can’t stop. His breathing grows heavier as he imagines you taking him deep into your throat, gagging on him, your nose brushing against his pelvis. He thinks about what he’d say to you. How he’d tell you how good you were doing, how perfect you were. He grips himself impossibly harder and is unable to stop himself from relentlessly jerking his cock, his hand pushing so hard against the wall he’s afraid it’ll crack. 
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice breathy and deep. More water drips onto his shaft and immediately he thrusts desperately into his own grip, envisioning that it’s you, spitting on him before you take him in your hand, running your tongue over his tip, looking up at him. 
He thinks about what you’d say to him. He knows he would be too big for you. But you’d try to take him all, because that’s what you do. He’s sure your hand wouldn’t even wrap around his entire length. And you would tell him how big he was, how beautiful you thought he was. You’d probably tease him too, about how quickly he’d been reduced to a mess, how eager he was. He’s surprised at how close that thought brings him, and he has to bite his lip to keep from letting out a shameful moan. 
When Miguel comes, he says your name. It’s not loud; it’s more like a plea, a prayer. His body caves in on itself and he shudders with the force of it, his legs trembling ever so slightly as he tries to bring himself back to reality. He stands there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, feeling a little ashamed at how quickly he finished. He hasn’t had the time to do anything like that in so, so long. He hasn’t let himself. 
He washes himself off and gets out of the shower. 
When Miguel lies in bed, he’s haunted by the thought of having to see you tomorrow, knowing what he’s done. And then he grows angry. You did this to him. And you’re not even trying; you’re just there. What a nuisance you are. 
He tries to close his eyes, but he finds himself plagued by you still. 
                                                      𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪
CHAPTER TWO
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bookworm551 · 10 months ago
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Take the Edge Off | Part 9 | Stitches
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Summary: After a failed mission, Miguel needs to patch you up.
A/N: well, new year, new chapter (finally). I’m getting real close to finishing up this series, maybe 2 more parts. This took forever bc I needed a filler and had no idea what to do, and this is also the longest part so far. At least I know where to go from here, so I should have the next part up relatively soon 💀
Warnings: smut (duh), canon-typical violence, wound care
10.2k words
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10
You had grossly underestimated how difficult catching Ghost would be.
The main issue was finding him. He was smart, and he seemed to realize that anytime he spent too much time in one dimension, you and the team would pounce, and like water in your hand, he always managed to slip away. The closest you came to catching him was about three weeks after your bet, and it was an absolute shit show.
"Fuck me," you grunted under your breath when another explosion knocked you into the wall. Ghost came from a universe with hammerspace, and every new dimension he traveled to, he managed to store away more and more dangerous equipment. Now, you were there in some alleyway, half your team missing, fighting off a barrage of missiles, bombs, and sharp projectiles.
Across from you, Ben was tangled in a net trap, and Malala was groaning on the floor as she recovered from an intense electrical shock. Clenching your jaw, you leapt off the wall at Ghost. You were getting aggravated by how difficult this was. Why couldn't he be a regular villain and let you catch him?
Anticipating your move, Ghost jumped out of the way. You webbed him and yanked him toward yourself. Rather than fighting your pull, Ghost flew at you and pounced on your form, knocking you flat on your back. He drove his fists into your ribs, and you cried out as electricity coursed through your body. He held his fists, adorned in makeshift gauntlets, to you as you lay paralyzed by pain.
"Where's the big guy?" He asked you, his voice low and silky. "He's always a good time." You weren't even able to breathe from the shocks pulsing in your ribs, but before you would've been able to answer him, your attention was captured by the sight of a yellow portal to your right.
For one dreadful moment, you thought it was Ghost's escape. His slippery nature was due to the watch he had stolen from Ben all those months ago, and it seemed almost impossible to keep him in one dimension long enough to catch him.
To your tremendous relief however, Miguel's muscular form flew out of the portal, knocking the anomaly off of your body. You took a ragged breath as the two men tumbled to your side. "Oh! Here you are!" Ghost laughed, pushing himself off the floor to face Miguel. "We were just talking about you."
Miguel turned his head for a moment to assess your form still gasping for breath. "You're late," you wheezed to him as you rolled onto your side to stand up again. You'd been here fighting alongside Ben and Malala since the alert from Lyla had gone out, and Miguel was only just now showing up. You didn't even know where Jess and the others were.
Seeing that you were well enough to give him sass, Miguel turned back to face Ghost, shooting a web that Ghost easily avoided. "You missed," he teased, but he was quickly eating his words when Miguel yanked the dumpster he had webbed instead and slammed it into the arrogant anomaly.
While Ghost was still recovering from his hit, Miguel threw his containment unit device at Ghost’s form. It slid right next to him, but a microsecond before it deployed, the anomaly rolled away, causing the orange force field to envelop nothing.
"Interesting," Ghost stated, sounding genuinely fascinated as he observed the glowing orange cage. You huffed in irritation, finally managing to sit up now that your muscles weren't spasming anymore. As much as you usually enjoyed banter with your enemies, you were not in the mood.
Miguel lunged after Ghost, who pulled another weapon seemingly out of nowhere and fired a spray of spinning razors at him. Miguel began twisting through the air, managing to evade every blade with expert precision.
Unfortunately for you, your screaming muscles weren’t able to move quite as fast as you needed. You leapt through the air to try and dodge the razors, but midair, one clipped you right in the shoulder, cutting deep from the front of your shoulder down almost to your back.
You cried out in pain, slamming hard into the ground as you fell. The wind was knocked out of your lungs, and you lay there struggling to breathe while hot pain blossomed in your shoulder.
Hearing your pained cry, Miguel froze, his body automatically turning to find you. You lay there a moment before moving to roll onto your good side. You pushed yourself up with a groan, and you were surprised to find Miguel at your side and pressing you back down to the floor. “Don’t move,” he urged as he gently held you down.
Even though his face was hidden, you could see he was examining your wound. “I’m fine,” you grunted, moving to sit up again. Miguel must’ve seen that you weren’t too terribly wounded and watched you carefully while you sat up off the ground before finally saying, “Okay.”
Together, you turned back to face Ghost. He was standing with a curious look on his face and an unsettling smile on his lips. “Now, that is interesting,” he said. Before either of you could move at him, Malala came swinging in a blur and knocked the anomaly off his feet. “I’m getting real tired of his gabbing,” she muttered, sounding as aggravated as you felt.
Ghost didn’t stay down for long. “It seems I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he observed. He quickly typed something into his watch, and a portal opened up beside him. “No!” Miguel snarled, leaving your side to lunge after him. You also stood up, grinding your teeth in pain as you leapt after him.
To buy himself time, Ghost threw down two small capsules that flashed brightly, making you balk. When the sun spots faded from your eyes, there was still a thick cloud of smoke around you, causing you to cough weakly. Your eyes scanned the alley for your rival, and you found him scooping up the containment unit device Miguel had thrown.
You flung yourself at him, trying to web the device from his hands. Hitting his arm, you pulled him forward with all your strength. He flew at your body, but when you raised a hand to hit him with your bad arm, pain flared from your shoulder and caused you to stumble, and you only managed a weak punch.
Seeing your pain, Ghost pulled a knife out of who-knows-where and severed the line between you. Scrambling away, he jumped for the portal and fell inside it just as Miguel tried to catch him, and within a breath, the portal to an unknown dimension closed.
“No!” Miguel shouted in frustration, his fist punching the wall where the portal had been mere seconds ago. You let out an aggravated breath. This was the closest you had ever been to catching Ghost, so frustratingly close that it made your chest burn in anger.
There was a tense second where nobody spoke. You could see that Miguel was breathing hard. At your side, Malala stood up with a heavy sigh and moved over to help Ben who was still entangled in a net.
Miguel whirled on you. “What happened?!” Miguel shouted at you. You gaped at him incredulously. “You’re asking me?!” You shot back angrily. “Where the hell were you when the alert went out?”
Miguel’s mask retracted to reveal his scowling face. “We had him!” he snarled, ignoring your question and directing his anger towards you.
Your frustration boiled in your chest. Not only had Miguel been late to the call, but his accusatory words were some of the first that he had spoken directly to you since he added you to the team. It had been weeks since you had spoken to each other. It seemed as though since your last encounter, he had been avoiding you. Your interactions had been brief and relevant only to the mission, and you hadn’t even spent any time alone together since you had been added to the team.
“Yeah, we had him,” you repeated angrily, your own mask retracting. “We had him until you stopped going after him.” His face contorted into a scowl, and his figure towered over you. “You had plenty of time to incapacitate him,” he argued.
You scoffed. “Yeah, I had plenty of time waiting for you to show up,” you shot back. “And as soon as you do, you turn your back on him.”
“You were hurt,” he stated sharply. His eyes fell to your shoulder, and you thought that some of his anger dissipated from his face. “You are hurt,” he corrected himself, his voice still sharp but a bit less angry.
You almost scoffed again, but when you looked down at your shoulder, you grimaced. Your suit had retracted around your cut, exposing the deep slice in your shoulder. In your adrenaline-fueled state, you had only briefly felt it, but now, seeing it slowly oozing blood, the pain was suddenly very noticeable.
"Shit," you sighed under your breath. You were used to dressing your own wounds, but this one was in a spot that was going to be difficult to treat. "I'll be fine," you said dismissively.
Miguel seemed to compose himself a little bit. He closed his eyes with a deep sigh before looking back at your shoulder. "You need stitches," he said.
You rolled your eyes. "I said I'll be fine," you repeated firmly. "Don't be stupid," he replied in a flat voice. "And don't try to tell me you can do it yourself." You closed your mouth and huffed. That's exactly what you were about to say.
"Fine, I'll get Jess to do it," you stated in exasperation. "Happy?"
"Like hell you will," he muttered, typing something into his watch. A portal opened beside you, and Miguel looked back at you, irritation still evident on his face though perhaps not so much as before.
"What?" You asked expectantly. He shot you an impatient look. "Go," he told you sharply. You shifted your stance defiantly, stubbornly remaining where you were. "I don't want to go with you," you argued. He sighed in exasperation. "Would you stop being so damn stubborn and go through the stupid portal?" He snapped.
You stared up at him in contempt. His demanding tone and harsh mannerisms made you feel resistant to accepting any of his help. After ignoring you for weeks and snapping at you during this failure of a mission, he was the last person you wanted seeing you in pain.
You both continued staring at each other, each refusing to look away first. You felt blood oozing down your back, and the pain was really starting to radiate in your shoulder. Miguel stared at you with a deadpan expression, knowing it was only a matter of time before you would give in.
You realized with a wave of aggravation that he was going to win your staring standoff. With a sigh, you grit your teeth together and looked down in defeat. "Fine," you muttered sourly. Pushing past him, you walked into the portal and didn't bother looking back to see if he was coming.
You weren't quite sure what you were expecting on the other side of the portal, but you were somewhat surprised to find yourself standing in Miguel's room. It was just as you remembered it from weeks ago— simple, neat, and barely used.
From behind you, Miguel stepped into the room, not even sparing you a glance before heading to the bathroom. You hesitated for a moment before reluctantly following after him. He pulled out a large black bag onto the counter space filled with all sorts of medical equipment. He was laying out materials for suturing as you walked in.
"Sit."
You scoffed in annoyance. "I know you know how to say please," you grumbled. He didn't respond, turning to his sink to wash his hands rather than answering you. If you had been in a pettier mood, you wouldn't have moved until he asked nicely, but you were in pain and ready to get it over with, so you pushed yourself up onto the counter by the sink and waited for him.
Miguel pulled a pair of gloves over his hands and inspected your wound carefully. "Your suit," he said flatly, indicating that it was in the way. Sighing, you let your suit retract just enough to reveal half your torso for him. It didn't matter that this man had seen you completely naked on several occasions, you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you undressed now, even if he was only going to stitch you up.
Miguel began with wiping away the blood from the skin around your wound. You flinched hard. The pressure he used was light but still painful, and you closed your eyes to fight the grimace that was trying to show. It took you a second to realize that this was the first time he'd touched you in weeks.
Despite your irritation towards him, you couldn’t help but notice how closely he was standing to you. From the corner of your eye, you watched his face as he worked diligently to take care of you. His eyebrows were slightly scrunched as he focused his attention on your skin, and there was only the sounds of his soft, steady breathing in your ear.
When he was satisfied with how your skin looked, he sprayed antiseptic on it before asking, “Do you want something for the pain?” You considered it for half a moment before shaking your head. You had managed stitches before, and it wasn’t as painful as some other shit you’d experienced before.
He waited to see if you’d change your mind before lifting the threaded needle with his forceps. Despite your resolution against painkillers, you ground your teeth as the needle punctured your skin. "Sorry," Miguel murmured softly as he pulled the suture through your skin. He was obviously trying to work as gently as possible, but pain was inevitable with suturing.
Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you tried your best to ignore the pain, but with how slowly he was going and how thick the tension was, you knew you were going to need a distraction.
"Are you sure we couldn't have just used butterfly stitches?" You asked sourly as he pulled the thread again. "Yes," he replied firmly. "This is deep. You got lucky, too. If it had been just a few inches over, the blade would've hit your neck, and you'd need a lot more than sutures."
"It wasn't luck," you replied pointedly. "It was skill." Miguel gave a disbelieving snort as he pulled the thread tight. "If you really had skill, it wouldn't have hit you at all," he mumbled.
You huffed indignantly. "Oh, please," you began, "don't pretend like you haven't had to take a few hits before. It's practically in the job description."
Miguel didn't reply as he pierced the needle through your skin again, causing you to wince at the pain. You thought he was going to make some sharp bullshit retort about how he didn't get as hurt as you, but instead, he just sighed.
"This was too close," he murmured at last.
Your defensive attitude softened considerably at his words. Studying his face closely, you realized that he wasn't being critical, he was being protective. With your new understanding, you almost felt bad for being angry at him.
"I've had closer," you told him wryly. He frowned. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He asked in a dull voice. You gave a small huff in amusement. "It's supposed to show you that you don't have to worry about me," you explained earnestly.
He didn't say anything to you as he continued sewing up your cut. The sting of the needle caused you to wince again, and you tried to think of something to talk about to distract you from the pain.
"At least I don't have to fix up my suit," you said at last, hoping he would pick up the conversation. Miguel hummed before replying, "It's almost impossible to destroy unstable molecule fabric."
You raised an eyebrow at him. "Well if it was impossible to destroy, wouldn't it protect me from even getting cut?"
"That's not how it works," he told you flatly.
"So then how does it work?"
He gave a short sigh, indicating to you that he was not in the mood to entertain your curiosity. Nevertheless, he did. "The molecules work almost as a form of energy," he explained. "They assess the host molecules and change with them. The suit learns your body and reacts with it."
Another stitch was added, but you didn't feel it quite as much as before.
"When you were cut, it didn't destroy the suit," he continued, "it interrupted it. Your skin was damaged, and the suit left it exposed because your wound isn't the default for the molecules."
You studied his face as he spoke, a smile slowly growing on your lips. When he had finished explaining the science of the suit, he seemed to feel your stare and glanced down at you, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.
"Nerd," you said at last.
That seemed to pull him out of his grumpiness somewhat, and he turned his attention back to your shoulder. "You asked," he mumbled, but the sharp edge that was in his voice was gone.
"So then how does the suit retract into my web shooters?" You asked, genuinely interested in knowing more about the fascinating technology you wore everyday, and it definitely helped distract you from the pain.
"Since the suit can take on an energy form," he explained, "it can be stored in the web shooters as a form of data." You stared down at the web shooters on your wrists. It was amazing that such an unsuspecting piece of technology housed such powerful energy.
"They look just like my old pair," you noted. Miguel nodded, his eyes never leaving your shoulder as he worked. "I know, that's what I was aiming for," he said, "but I was thrown off by the web cartridges you use."
You smirked. "Pretty cool, right?" You said proudly. "I built a system that condenses the water in the air and converts it into a hydropolymer to supplement my web supply. It's not as strong as my original formula, but it saves me from having a web block."
Miguel's eyebrows lifted somewhat as he listened. If you hadn't known better, you could almost say he was impressed. He must've noticed your staring because he turned his eyes to meet yours, and his face softened.
"Nerd," he said.
You smiled in return and rolled your eyes. "Whatever," you mumbled playfully. His lips widened fractionally, and his eyes returned back to your shoulder. You felt more relaxed now. The anger and irritation you were feeling before had disappeared as soon as you saw him smile.
"How's it looking, doc?" You asked after a moment, trying to turn your head to see his progress. “Don’t move your head,” Miguel said and nudged your face with the back of his wrist. "And you're not going to be doing any swinging for the next few days.” Your eyes snapped up to look at him. "It's not that bad," you argued weakly. "I'll be fine."
Miguel gave you a stern look. "In your shoulder, it is that bad," he said. "If you tear this, it's going to scar even worse than it's already going to now."
You rolled your eyes again. "Well, you know better than most that this isn't my first or worst scar," you argued, "and it probably won't be my last." It was true. Your body was covered in scars large and small, old and new, and this was just another addition to your collection.
Miguel didn't reply to you. He had worked steadily from the back of your shoulder to the front, but the closer he got to your neck, the worse the pain felt. You did your best to remain neutral, but you couldn't help the small grunt of discomfort that sounded in your throat. Miguel heard it and asked gently, "Do you want something for the pain?"
You shook your head in response. "I have my own stuff," you told him before a crooked grin pulled on your lips. "But you know what I've heard is a natural pain killer?" You added slyly.
Miguel heard the mischief in your voice, and he looked back at your face with suspicion. "What?" He asked carefully.
In a sweet tone, you answered, "Kissing."
Miguel gave you a disapproving look, but you caught the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I told you not until we get the anomaly," he said pointedly.
You weren't discouraged by his assertion. "I just want to see if it works," you told him innocently. "It's an experiment."
"With an ulterior motive."
"The motive is to get rid of the pain."
He still wore a skeptical look, so you tried again. "It's for science," you explained, batting your eyes at him. After weeks of not touching him, you longed to feel his body against your own.
Miguel was unconvinced. He gave an unimpressed hum and pulled his needle through your skin again. It seemed he wasn't going to budge. Heaving a large sigh, you continued, "But if you don't want to participate, maybe I'll find someone else who does."
Miguel pulled his stitch tight, making you wince. "I bet you think that's funny," he said in a flat voice.
"I bet you don't," you shot back.
"Because it's not."
"Well," you began slowly, hesitating as you wondered if you should even start this conversation with him. You’d thought a lot about him the past few weeks, and barely seeing him for weeks now had made you realize that being a casual fling wasn’t what you wanted anymore. "I know you've expressed many times that this isn't a relationship,” you said carefully, “so I don't really see what the issue is."
Your heart was beating a little faster now. Your words opened the door to a conversation that you were both eager and terrified to have. You wanted desperately to know how he felt about you, about whatever this was between you. You were also nervous that he didn't feel what you felt or want what you wanted.
At your words, Miguel's face darkened. He stayed quiet for a second before he resumed suturing. "If that's what you want," he muttered at last.
There was a tense silence that settled between you. You stared up at his hardened face, trying to determine what he was thinking.
"It's not," you replied quietly, "but being on this break got me thinking."
"About?"
"About how I feel about this whole arrangement."
The tense silence returned. Miguel's eyes were fixed determinedly on your shoulder, and his eyebrows furrowed as he listened to what you said.
"You want to end it?" He asked, his voice level and neutral.
"No," you said a bit too quickly. "It's just..." you trailed off, trying to think of the best way to tell him what you wanted. Doubt nibbled at your mind, and you wondered if this was even a good idea at all.
Miguel noticed your apprehension, and he stopped sewing your wound to give you his undivided attention. His dark eyes met yours, and he was so close to you that it caused your heart to flutter.
You looked away to regain your thoughts. "I know that this is supposed to be a casual thing," you began slowly. "And I know what you said about time and relationships. I just..." you sighed, shifting uncomfortably on the counter. "I don't want to be just a diversion for you, a mindless distraction that you can pick up or put down as you please."
Your face burned as you spoke, and you couldn't bring yourself to look at his face. Miguel murmured your name softly, and you closed your eyes to keep from seeing his reaction.
"If that's still what you still want, that's fine," you continued quickly. "I'm not trying to force you into something you don't want." You sighed as you opened your eyes again. "That's just how I feel," you finished quietly.
Silence enveloped you, suffocating, nerve-wracking silence. After a couple heartbeats, you forced yourself to look up at Miguel. He was still staring at you, but instead of wearing an awkward or even condescending expression as you had expected, his face was soft, almost thoughtful.
You stared at each other quietly for a moment longer before he finally turned his gaze back to your shoulder. Picking up his hands again, he began working on your sutures without reply.
Your stomach tightened anxiously at his silence, and you felt a wave of disappointment wash over you. You didn't feel the pain of your wound anymore now that your mind was racing with what you just said and Miguel's utter lack of response.
"It's not that I don't want it," he said at last. "Because I do."
Your eyes shot up to his face as he spoke. His gaze was still fixed on your stitches, but you could see clearly that he was thinking about what you just said.
"Then what is it?" You asked quietly.
Miguel took a moment to respond, his hands never ceasing their work. "I built my whole life around what we're doing here," he began slowly. "When I say I don't have time for a relationship, it means I can't give you the time you deserve." He glanced over at your face briefly before returning back to your shoulder, his eyes growing distant.
"The last time I let myself get close to someone, I hurt a lot of people," he added quietly. "More than I could ever make up for." He paused for a moment and sighed. "I just don't want to see that happen to you," he said softly.
Your heart ached. You remembered what he told you, how his actions triggered the destruction of a universe. The burden of his past still clearly weighed on his conscious, and you didn't know what to say to him to comfort him.
In the silence following, Miguel tied off the last stitch. With a pair of scissors from the kit, he snipped the line. You looked down at the neat row of sutures that held your cut closed. His work was precise, and you knew it was miles better than what you could've done by yourself.
Miguel was cleaning up his materials, clearly trying to avoid eye contact with you as he did. You watched for a second before taking a deep breath.
"You know, I've learned a lot of things since I was bitten by that stupid spider," you began, breaking the silence around you. "First, pain is unavoidable." You pointed to your shoulder's fresh stitches. "Case in point," you said wryly.
Miguel didn't react to your weak joke. He continued packing his materials away, but you could tell he was still listening to what you were saying.
"My second lesson," you continued, "was that I would always be alone."
Miguel paused, and his eyes turned back to your face. "There was nobody who knows what it's like to be me," you explained. "Nobody who knew what I've sacrificed. I had nobody to trust with this secret life, and the longer I did this, the more I regretted being Spider-Woman."
You stared down at the web shooters adorning your wrists as you contemplated your own words. You had never told anybody this before, not even the other Spiders. You had suffered so much by yourself, and only now for the first time did you feel like you could share your life with someone.
"But when I came here," you continued quietly, "it all changed. Suddenly, I was surrounded by people who did understand, who also felt how I did." You paused again, and you finally looked up at his face. His eyes were watching you with a look of understanding and sympathy that made your throat tighten unexpectedly.
Your eyes broke away from his stare again, and you stated quietly, "When you offered me a place here, I wasn't alone anymore."
Miguel nodded softly. "That's what I wanted," he replied. "A community for people like us." You tilted your head up at him and studied his countenance. "Then why do you still act like you're doing it alone?" You asked.
He sighed uncomfortably, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning against the sink counter. "In a lot of ways, I am doing it alone," he stated quietly. "Everyone here enjoys doing the missions, seeing all the new dimensions, and meeting new Spiders. I'm the one who has to do all the damage control, the recruitment, the dirty work." He sighed again and muttered grimly, "I don't always like what I have to do."
You raised an eyebrow at his melodramatic statement. "You know, it would probably be more enjoyable if you actually interacted with the other Spiders," you told him with a pointed look.
Miguel huffed a short breath. "I'm not trying to get close to anyone," he stated firmly. That made you pause and tilt your head in interest. "Then what am I?" You asked, a curious smile pulling at your mouth.
His gloomy expression lifted somewhat as he looked at you. He uncrossed his arms and planted them on the counter on either side of your body, and he stared at your face thoughtfully. You stared back, waiting for an answer.
"You," he began slowly, "were a distraction to take the edge off." You hummed thoughtfully in response, wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closer. "And now?" You prompted, your eyes falling to his lips.
"And now," he echoed, "you're the person I bring back to my room to stitch up because I don't trust anyone else to do it."
You smiled at him, and your stomach fluttered at how close he was to you. You wanted so badly to kiss him. Your lips yearned for the feeling of his mouth against yours.
"I guess that makes me pretty special," you replied smugly.
A glimmer of reluctant amusement shone in his face, and he tilted his head in mock consideration. "I think 'special' is a stretch," he stated coolly. You placed a hand over your heart dramatically. "Ouch," you gasped. "And you wonder why I joke about going to other people."
He raised an eyebrow at you. "I don't wonder," he stated. "I know exactly why you do it."
"And why is that?" You asked coyly.
Miguel shot you an unconvinced look. "Because it gets under my skin, and you know it," he replied. You smirked, unable to deny the truth in his statement.
"If that's true, then that would make me a horrible person," you told him.
"You are a horrible person."
Your smile widened, and with your good arm, you raised your hand to his chest and let it slowly wander up to wrap behind his neck. "Then why do you like me?" You asked innocently.
Miguel was looking at your lips now, and there was a hint of playfulness in his face. "'Like' is a strong word," he said thoughtfully. "I think 'tolerate' is more accurate."
You rolled your eyes with a smile. "Damn, is there anything in the first aid kit for a broken heart?" You joked. He couldn't stop himself from smiling softly at your theatrics. "You're ridiculous," he said.
You hummed, pulling him closer to your face. "You love it," you insisted. His nose brushed against yours before he repeated, "I tolerate it." You chuckled and gave a careful shrug. "Same difference," you said before pulling his lips down against yours.
You couldn't resist smiling against his lips as you kissed him for the first time in weeks. You were savoring every sweet second of his body against yours. His mouth moved slowly against your own, and he snaked an arm around your torso, making your face glow with a faint blush.
His words echoed in your head. It's not that I don't want it. So, he did feel the same way you did, or at least, to some degree he did. The thought alone made your stomach flutter, and you ran your fingers through his hair while trying to memorize how his lips felt against yours.
When you finally broke apart, you still wore a smile on your face as his forehead rested on yours. "Oh wow, that does help with the pain," you commented. The pain had subsided considerably when his mouth was pressed against yours.
Miguel chuckled and kissed you again briefly. "Consider your experiment a success," he said. You hummed thoughtfully. "I would be an irresponsible scientist if I didn't repeat my experiment to prove its validity," you argued, earning a smile from him before you pressed your lips to his again.
It felt so good to kiss him, especially after the shitty failure that was today's mission, and the warmth of his body melted all your troubles away from your mind. You didn't care about the mission or your injury. He was here with you, everything else could wait.
With your fingers still running through his hair, you grabbed a fistful of jet-black strands and deepened your kiss, pushing your tongue into his mouth with a sigh. His hand on your waist tightened while he grunted softly into your mouth.
Breaking away from your lips, Miguel murmured your name in a low, warning voice. "Hmm?" You replied innocently, looking up at his dark eyes through your lashes. "We had an agreement," he said.
"Yeah, when I was on the team," you told him. "But you just said that I need to lay off for a few days..." you gave him a pointed look, "...which means I'm technically off the team for a few days..." you pulled his face back down to yours, "...which means that our agreement is null and void."
With that, you pressed your lips to his in a deep kiss before he could argue back. It was a weak argument, and you knew it, but you didn't want him to challenge it. You wanted him to want you.
His grip around your waist tightened as he pushed against your tongue with his own. You couldn't help the small moan you gave as his passion began to show, and all the longing you'd been feeling for Miguel the past couple weeks began welling up inside you.
Your lips separated for a moment. "Treacherous," he murmured breathlessly against your skin. You hummed, blinking your eyes open to look at him. His face looked restless, and you knew he was hungry for more.
"So I've been told," you replied smugly as you moved your lips down to his neck. Miguel gave a deep sigh at the feeling of your kisses on his sensitive skin, skin that felt warm and soft to the touch.
In your growing desire for him, your teeth gently nipped his bare flesh. Miguel sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation, his fingers gripping your waist tightly as he whispered your name again. You smiled deviously as his reaction, and your legs wrapped around his hips to bring his body flush against yours.
"Give me more," you mumbled against his skin. Miguel took a second to respond, his breathing ragged as he tried to keep his composure. "You're hurt," he argued weakly. Based on his strained voice, you knew he had all but given in to the craving of your touch. You raised your head up so that you could look him in his dark, restless eyes, noses brushing gently as you were both panting lightly in anticipation.
"Then make me feel better."
That was all you had to say before he kissed you with the hunger of a touch-starved man. He pulled you off the sink in one swift movement, holding you upright with your legs still wrapped around his waist, and walked out of the bathroom to where his bed was waiting for you both.
Finally, you thought. The tension between you these past few weeks had been torture. Seeing each other around HQ after your last encounter and not saying a word in passing was aggravating, and you had been longing for the moment when you could wrap your arms (and legs) around him again.
When his legs hit the side of the bed, he lowered you carefully down onto it. You still had your good arm wrapped around his shoulders, and when he placed you on the top of his bed, you hissed in pain and clung to his body. The edge of your stitched-up wound had touched the comforter, making it sting. 
"Maybe not like this," you said with a light chuckle.
A flash of concern crossed Miguel's face when he realized your pain, and he moved to roll off of you. Still holding yourself close to his body, you rolled with him and found yourself straddling his lap.
With a smirk, you hovered your face over his. "Much better," you stated smugly. Miguel was still assessing your face for any traces of discomfort. "Are you sure you're up for this?" He asked. You shot him a look. You would've thought he was trying to find a way out of it if it weren't for the fact that his fingers were unconsciously trying to move your hips against his hardening cock.
"I've been craving you for weeks," you whispered against his lips. "It would take more than this to keep me off of you." His face gave way to a smile at your words, a true smile that filled his whole face. Fuck, he looked so good. The way he lit up with you knocked the wind out of you, and you could've stayed there forever just admiring the beautiful smile he had before he raised his head to kiss you.
You leaned into him, growing hot with desire. Your suit, so attuned to what your body wanted, retracted all the way back to your web shooters. Miguel's hands traced across the skin of your torso as his tongue slid against yours, and his suit also disappeared from his body.
Feeling his skin against yours set your heart racing. His fingertips felt electric as his hands wandered up your back to unclasp your bra. Careful not to hit your new stitches, he removed it from your body, taking in the sight of your bare body with a lustful expression before lowering his head to take one of your breasts in his mouth.
You sucked in a sharp breath as he moved his mouth sloppily over your skin. Leaning into him, you ran a hand through his dark hair and grabbed fistfuls of the strands. You missed this, the feeling of him exploring your body. It was so much more than taking the edge off now. It was almost like a form of worship.
"Feeling better?" He murmured, tilting his head up to watch your enraptured expression. "Mhmm," you hummed, a lazy smile pulling at your lips. "But don't you dare stop."
Miguel smirked. "Wasn't planning on it," he replied in a low voice. As he spoke, his hands slid down your body and began pushing your underwear down over your ass. Leaning forward, you lifted your legs to allow his hands to remove your last piece of clothing.
You were breathing hard in anticipation now. You placed sloppy kisses on his chest, his neck, practically any of his tanned skin that you could reach. From his throat, the softest little moans sounded in response to your touch, and each fueled your desire. In your desperation, your teeth grazed his skin again.
His breath caught in his throat, and his fingers dug into your skin. You smirked, enjoying his reaction to your teasing. "You like that, don't you?" You observed slyly. Before you could give him the opportunity to respond, you bit down on the muscle at the base of his neck, not enough to be painful but enough to leave a mark.
He moaned loudly, an unrestrained sound that demonstrated the power you had over him. You released the skin between your teeth before moving them up his neck and biting him there, gentler than before. You were fairly certain he stopped breathing for a moment as you bit down on his soft skin. When the moment passed, you let go again, moving your mouth up and nipping his earlobe.
Miguel was practically paralyzed by your touch, and you could feel his heart racing wildly under your hand. He was completely at your mercy, unable to stop you even if he had wanted to.
But you knew he didn't want you to stop.
Still holding a fistful of his hair, you pulled firmly and tilted his head back to expose his neck to you. Letting his earlobe slip out of your teeth, you moved your mouth to his jaw, placing a kiss on the skin there before gently biting it.
He groaned your name. There was a desperate edge to his voice that made your cunt ache for him. When you moved your lips up to his, he kissed you with such fervor that it was less like he was kissing you and more like he was trying to devour you, like being completely pressed against you wasn't close enough.
"I need to...be inside you," he gasped, his lips still trying to kiss you as he spoke. He sounded as breathless as you felt, and when you opened your eyes to look at him, his eyes were hungry with his desire for you.
Maybe if it hadn't been so long since you'd been together, you would've prolonged the teasing, exacerbated his frustration, but you found that you were also desperate to feel him inside you. Every inch of your body burned for him, and you knew he burned for you, too.
Settling back down slowly on his lap, you allowed Miguel to guide your hips to his cock. Your forehead rested against his, and you gave a small gasp when you felt the tip tease at the entrance of your pussy. Giving Miguel another messy kiss, you lowered yourself down his length.
God, he felt good.
Your head lolled back as he stretched you out so perfectly for the first time in weeks. Miguel released a hot breath against the skin of your neck, his hands holding your hips tightly as he slid into your tight cunt.
"Oh, fuck," he whispered. "I've missed this."
If you had been in a clearer state of mind, you would've pointed out it was his own damn fault for making the stupid rule in the first place. But right now, the only thing on your mind was that you needed to move your body against his.
Raising your hips up again, a loud groan spilled from your lips. You'd almost forgotten just how big he was. His cock was buried deep inside you, setting every nerve on fire. Every muscle in your body tightened with the feeling of his dick sliding out of you, and your hands, one still in his hair and the other holding onto his back, curled tightly as you clung to him.
You moved back down again, your eyes closed tightly with the sensations of riding him. Miguel's hands gripped your waist tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as you moved slowly up and down the length of his cock. His breathing was shaky, and so was yours. Neither of you said anything as you took the time to reacquaint yourselves with the feeling of each other's bodies.
You soon grew impatient with the slow pace you were keeping. You raised your hips off of his lap with greater need, grinding your pussy down hard against him as you did. Miguel's reaction was immediate, and you heard a growl deep in his throat. His hands encouraged your pace and eased some of the effort off of your knees.
The sound of your ass smacking against his lap filled the air, and combined with the sounds of his heavy panting, it only fueled your lust-crazed mind. Blinking open your eyes, you looked at Miguel and found that he was staring up at your face. A shimmer of sweat gleamed on his forehead, and his lips were parted as he breathed hard.
Your eyes locked with his dark gaze. Even as you continued to move along his length, you couldn't help but feel utterly paralyzed by his stare, so brazen and intentional, completely in awe of you. It made you feel powerful, revered.
Loved.
You managed to break out of your paralyzed stupor and crash your lips down on his. Now, you were the one who felt as though you couldn't be close enough to him. Even with his cock pumping in and out of you with ever-increasing speed, you wondered if there was anything that could satisfy your need for him.
Your pace was uncontrollable now. Small, whining moans escaped your mouth with every rise and fall of your hips. Miguel's fingers dug into your waist tightly, and he grunted as he pulled away from your lips.
"Wait," he gasped quietly.
Your eyes snapped open, and you froze. Was something wrong? Were you doing something he didn't like?
Miguel's face struggled to compose itself. "You need to slow down," he finally said. You stared at him for a second before you understood what was happening.
A wicked grin grew on your face. "Why?" You asked deviously. Miguel shot you a glare, his chest heaving. "You know why," he grunted. "Just slow down."
Still wearing your devilish smile, you started moving your hips again. "I don't want to," you told him, your words sounding almost childish as you choked back a whine. Miguel cursed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought against the pleasure your cunt brought him.
"Wait, wait," he groaned again, trying to hold you still. Now, this was a power trip if you'd ever felt one. You knew you were only a few moments away from causing him to unravel. Now, he was begging you to ease up because he knew he couldn't last against you.
You grabbed his jaw in one hand, forcing his face to look up at you. "Why should I?" You demanded to know. He was panting hard, and his eyes seemed hazy and unfocused.
"I need to take care of you first," he managed to breathe. You huffed an amused breath. He never failed to get you off, and despite the fact that you were more than happy to finish him off in record timing, you were inclined to let him take over for you.
Miguel placed a soft kiss to your lips. "Let me take care of you," he pleaded in a whisper. "Let me taste you."
The thought alone of what he could do with his tongue was enough to make you moan. Instead of replying, you kissed him hard before lifting your hips up off of him entirely. You felt a twinge of regret from the loss of his cock inside you, but when he slowly rolled you over, the rush of anticipation quickly replaced it.
Miguel pulled you to the edge of the bed, careful not to cause your stitches to hit the comforter. With your good arm, you were propped up by your elbow while he slowly moved down your body. He placed tantalizing kisses on your throat, your collar, your breasts, your stomach, practically every inch of your body he could see. With every kiss, you felt like your body was slowly being set on fire, and you moaned impatiently as he slid off the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms under your thighs the way he loved to do.
When his mouth finally landed over your pussy, you nearly fell back against the bed. A cry of pleasure tore from your throat. The hand you weren't leaning on came up and grabbed his hair while you squirmed in his grip. His lips were sealed over your pussy. He was alternately sucking at your clit and circling it with his tongue. You struggled to breathe as he continued working at a careful pace.
"Miguel," you gasped, your thighs flexing beneath his hands.
Miguel moaned against you, his movements growing faster and faster. His head pressed firmly against you. Your heart was pounding furiously in your chest as you tried to keep your arm from buckling. His tongue moved expertly against you, lapping hungrily at your swollen clit. You tugged at his hair as you tried moving under his arms, but his grip kept you in place.
Your head fell back with a long whine. You knew at the rate he was going that you weren't going to last long. He was all too familiar with the way your body worked, and he knew exactly where to focus his efforts to get you off.
Lifting your head up again, you blinked your eyes open to look down at him. Half of his face was blocked by your arm, so you released the hold you had on his hair, letting your hand trace the edge of his face. His dark eyes were gazing up at you intently, watching your every reaction.
Letting your hand fall away from his face, it rested on your thigh as you let out another high-pitched moan. Without stopping his tongue, Miguel released his grip on your leg and took your hand in his. You looked down at him and squeezed his hand while he continued swirling his tongue over your pussy.
"Don't stop," you panted, your stomach tensing from his movement. He tightened his grip in two quick pulses, and even though his mouth never left your cunt, you could practically hear the words he was thinking—I won't.
Your legs were shaking now, and you barely had the strength to keep yourself up off the bed. Pleasure was taking over your body and coiling at your stomach. Miguel knew you were close by the quickening of your breath and the tightening of your grip, his tongue maintaining its steady pressure.
Finally, with a loud cry, your body began trembling under his touch. You squeezed his hand hard as you came against his mouth. The feeling of ecstasy burned in every part of your body while you struggled to breathe from the pleasure that had now completely overwhelmed you.
Miguel eased his pace to lazy circles, his eyes alight with smug satisfaction. You writhed under his mouth, growing restless from the overstimulation you were beginning to feel. "Oh, fuck," you gasped, moving your hips to escape his warm tongue. He let you move away from his face, releasing his grip on your hand and thigh.
Miguel pushed himself off the ground and began crawling over your body. "See?" he said in satisfaction, sounding out of breath. "I'll always take care of you." You moaned again, still trying to recover from your high. "Careful O'Hara," you managed to say. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
He smirked down at you, his lips and chin glistening with your wetness. Pushing forward, his body forced yours down. You wrapped one arm around his shoulders, clinging to him to keep from laying on the bed. "Not like this—my stitches," you whispered.
Miguel froze for a second before placing a hand behind your back to help you up. "How do you want it?" He asked quietly. You took a second and bit your lip as you considered the myriad of ways he could fuck you.
"Like before," you decided finally.
His subtle smile returned, and he rolled off of your body and onto the bed. Pulling yourself up, you straddled him again, though perhaps not so fast since you were still hazy from your orgasm. His hands guided you back down to where his cock was waiting for you.
Miguel rested his head on your good shoulder as you lowered yourself slowly back down on him. His hot breath fanned against your skin as he groaned at the feeling of your wet pussy around him. You let out a strangled gasp, feeling yourself stretch out again for him. You moved slowly, still halfway stuck in the stupor his mouth had left you in, and everything was still so sensitive for you.
Gradually, you began moving again. Miguel's arms wrapped tightly around you, pressing his body up against yours. His skin felt like fire—burning, consuming, enthralling. You rested your head against his as his strong arms helped lift you up and down his length.
"You feel so fucking good," he grunted quietly against your cheek. "You don't understand...what you do to me." Your nails dug into the skin of his shoulder as he spoke. The movement of his cock inside you made it difficult for you to formulate a response, but you managed to choke out, "Tell me. Tell me what I do to you."
He groaned softly. "You drive me fucking crazy," he muttered. "I can never focus when you're with me—," he groaned again, "—but I can never stop thinking about you when you're not." His arms were moving you up and down faster as he spoke, and you could tell he was fucking out his frustration. "The way you smell," he continued breathlessly, "the way you feel, the way you look when you're cumming all over my cock."
You gasped sharply, the combination of his words and his increasingly desperate pace rendering you speechless. "I want to have you every second...of every day," he murmured in your ear. You were panting hard against his skin while his cock continued driving deep into your aching cunt.
"Then have me," you whispered so quietly that he wouldn't have heard it over the lewd sounds of your fucking if it hadn't been said directly in his ear. "Have me every day."
He groaned, and turning his face, he captured your lips in a kiss. The taste of your pussy still lingered on his mouth, and you moaned softly against his lips. Everything felt so good, and when you broke away from your kiss, you looked deep into Miguel’s eyes and whispered, “I’m yours.”
And just like that, Miguel's body tensed, and with a long moan against your skin, he came inside you. You stilled as he held you tightly against his body. Beside the sound of your heart beating furiously in your ears, there was only your heavy breathing to fill the silence between you.
You could've stayed like that forever, feeling his strong arms wrapped around your body, hearing his breath against your ear. Your body still buzzed with pleasure, and there was nothing in your mind except that cursed phrase you fought so hard to ignore, the one that whispered to you constantly in the back of your brain every time you looked at Miguel.
I love you.
Over and over, it echoed in your mind, begging to be spoken. You'd heard it nagging in your heart for a while now, and you had tried your best to ignore it. Even after weeks of next to no contact, your feelings hadn't wavered for him.
Now, as you sat there wrapped in each other's arms, you felt those words ringing louder than ever, and for one dreadful moment, you thought you might say it out loud.
No—no, you couldn't. A bolt of fear yanked the words off your tongue. You couldn't jeopardize this. It was too precious to you. Even if this was all you could have, the occasional fuck, sleeping together knowing that he would always have to leave for something more important than yourself—wasn't it better than nothing? Wasn't it better than before when you were all alone? Especially now that he admitted to feeling something real for you, you couldn't ruin it with those three words.
Miguel finally moved when he turned his head toward yours. Your noses brushed against each other for moment as you both gasped for breath before your lips pressed down on his. You moaned against him softly. Still holding your body to his, he leaned back against the bed, bringing you down with him so that you lay on his chest.
After your breathing began leveling out, you shifted, allowing his cock to pull out of you with a groan. You slid off his chest onto your good shoulder with your body still pressed against his. You lay there like that for a while in comfortable silence, enjoying the feeling of each other's warm skin.
"It's been too long," Miguel sighed, finally breaking the silence. You smiled. "And whose fault is that?" You asked as you looked up at him. A small smile formed on his lips. "You were the one who swore you'd catch Ghost," he pointed out. "Is it my fault for believing you?"
You scoffed. "It's your fault for making that stupid rule in the first place," you argued. There was a quiet chuckle that rumbled in his chest. "It's called compromise, sweetheart," he said smoothly. "I can't let you have everything you want."
You tried to keep a straight face, but his snark caused your lips to quirk upward. "And why not?" You demanded to know, propping yourself up onto your elbow to look deep in his eyes.
Miguel looked at you with a subtle smile still adorning his face. "Because then everyone is going to complain about how I favor you over everyone else," he replied evenly. "And then, one by one, they'll all leave until it's just you and me."
You hummed thoughtfully. "That doesn't sound so bad," you said, settling back down next to him. "Just you and me against the multiverse."
He hummed as well. "Just you and me," he repeated, and in his voice, you could hear him imagining it, the two of you together across every universe.
You had imagined it before, too. You and Miguel, together, always, through everything. It was such a sweet dream, and yet the truth was the bitter chaser that always followed your longing—different dimensions, different lives. What future could you have together?
If Miguel was thinking the same thing, he didn't say it. He seemed content to just lay with you in silence while his fingers gently caressed your arm.
After a moment, you sighed. You could feel Miguel's head turn to look down at you in curiosity.
"You know, I meant what I said before," you told him softly.
"Hmm?"
"About being more than just a fling you can ignore outside of the bedroom," you explained.
"Ah."
You felt his head turn back up to stare at the ceiling, but his fingers still brushed against your skin. "I mean, is that what you still want?" You asked, lifting your gaze to look at his face. "Be honest."
There was a beat of silence before he quietly answered, "No."
You waited, hoping he would say more. He sounded almost reluctant in his reply, so you could tell there was more to it.
It was Miguel's turn to sigh. "I don't—I don't want this to be casual either," he began slowly. "I want it to be real, but I can't give up my work here. I won't. And one day, you'll hate me for not putting you first."
You scoffed lightly at those last words. "I could never hate you," you told him. There was a slight pause before he muttered, "Don't be so sure."
It could've been a joke, but the way he said it was so serious, it made you pause, and looking up at his face, you found there wasn't any traces of humor. You pushed yourself up a bit to face him better. His eyes moved back to you, and you held his stare for a moment.
"I could never hate you," you repeated in a soft, earnest whisper. Miguel didn't respond, he only watched you carefully before a tiny, sad smile pulled at his lips, looking as though he wanted to believe you.
"Careful," he murmured. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
You smirked at him and leaned in close. "I'll try my best not to," you said before closing the gap between your lips. He kissed you gently before pulling away to say, "And I'll try—about what you want, I'll try."
Your heart leapt, and there wasn't anything you could do to contain your smile. "Thank you," you whispered before kissing him again. You could feel him grinning against your lips, and his arms pulled you close. When you broke apart, you settled back down next to him.
"If they all start complaining though, I'm blaming you," he said. You chuckled. "Fair is fair," you replied. "If they don't like it, they can leave." He huffed in amusement. "Until it's just you and me?" He asked.
"Until it's just you and me."
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therealmofamorus · 1 year ago
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Ask, Original Stud, 🎃: The incest cousins, Ben and Gwen.
Ben:
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Gwen:
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queenendless · 2 months ago
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What if Ben had a harem of female splixson s/os
To be honest, I wanna write a Ben x Harem piece but I wanna do it using the OCs or self inserts of my girl friends cause we’re a Ben simp group and all. Appreciate the suggestion though.
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zepskies · 1 month ago
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Lost on You - Part 10
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Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader
Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.
AN: And we’re back! In today’s episode, we have a very special guest. 😉
Also, just so you guys know, my podcast interview with the Idling in the Impala podcast is now live! For all the timestamps of key moments, fic recs, and SPN writer shoutouts, see this post (you'll find the link to the video there too).
Song Inspo: “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak
Word Count: 6.5K
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, angst, drug use, PTSD, violence, and another big reveal…
🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist
🎙️ Series Masterlist
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Part 10: I Need a Hero
Revenge could wait for one more day.
It all can wait, Ben thought. Despite how vehement he was yesterday, today, he was reminded of how good it felt to sleep in a warm bed with a beautiful woman. 
He laid there behind you, on his side. He’d woken up to the sound of music somewhere downstairs, maybe in the dining room.
What time is it? It was hard to remember to keep track of that now, even with the digital clock on the nightstand. It was only midnight, but to his body, it felt like morning.
You were dead asleep. Occasionally you let out soft hums, and other semi-arousing sounds. His lips tugged upward.
Still moans in her sleep.
He drew down the comforter and sheets slowly from your back. He was greeted by smooth skin, except where some marks had been made permanent. His fingers traced carefully over a rough, scarred patch of skin above your hip, as if you had been tased there repeatedly.
His jaw clenched. He could still remember the sounds he used to hear—your screams through the walls of the compound. He remembered when you eventually stopped begging for it all to stop.
“You’re saying this is my fucking fault?!” he said. “Yes! It is your fault. Because you’re too much of a mean, callous, arrogant, entitled, selfish, fucking asshole to see that everybody hates you!” you spat. 
For so long after that day, he hated you. He told himself that he didn’t give a shit about whatever was happening to you, because you clearly didn’t give a shit about him.
But the long months wore on to longer years, alone in the dark. Too often, your words would rattle through his head, reach through his chest with ragged claws. No matter how much he fought it, all he had time to do when he was alone, was think.
He vacillated between stubborn, angry indignation, and rethinking every interaction he had with you, with Countess, the rest of the team, and beyond. Slowly, he allowed himself to retrace his steps. If only in his mind, he began to regret certain things…at least where it came to you.
Ignoring you was both harder and easier, since he couldn’t see you.
That all changed a few days ago.
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Eisenstein returned to his cell, but this time he wasn’t alone. Two guards held you bound and gagged. You were just as shocked to see him as he was you.
It felt like he was suspended in time.
He saw the signs of aging in your face, but it didn’t matter. Even now, you were beautiful.
The spell of it broke when they threw you down onto the metal table usually reserved for him. He saw now that they had you in a straitjacket to keep your hands covered. The anger built inside him, almost incandescent in his veins.
“What the fuck is this?”
 The doctor held a glass syringe in his gloved hand. He drew closer to you with slow, measured steps.
A realization soon dawned on Ben, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. He saw your terror, the way you wordlessly pleaded with him, asking for help with your eyes.
Part of him still hated you, but he couldn’t take it. He wouldn’t allow this sick bastard to hurt you again. Not right the fuck in front of him.
You were still his.
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His hand traveled down your bare shoulder, over the gentle slope of your side, and down the curve of your hip under the covers. You shifted and hummed, edging toward wakefulness. Ben settled in from behind, protectively embracing his body around yours in a perfect fit. He began kissing along your neck, slowly.
“Hmmm I’m sleeping,” you said, keeping your eyes closed. He smirked. His lips became more insistent, along with his hand spanning your thigh.
“Wake up, then,” he said. He teased the shell of your ear with his tongue, dragged your earlobe between his teeth. You shivered.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you retorted, smiling.
Ben huffed. “Yeah, keep being a fucking brat. That’ll get me to stop.”
His beard rasped against your skin as his lips found a path down the column of your throat. Acquiescing to open your eyes, you sighed, tilting your head back to give him more room. Meanwhile, his cock pressed insistently against your ass.
You smirked and shifted your hips, grinding back against him. “Maybe I like working you up.”
“Oh yeah?” He moved your thigh over his to spread your legs for him. There the warm, blunt tip of his cock pressed at your entrance, nudging you open with shallow thrusts. You moaned in response, reaching back to slip a hand in his hair.
You were a wanton little thing, he thought, even as he reached around to bury his fingers in your pussy. Already finding wetness between your folds, he gathered some of it and rolled your clit smoothly between his fingers. You gasped his name, your hips bearing down against him.
He took the opportunity to sheathe himself all the way inside you, until his hips were snug against your ass. You made a sound of pleasure that had his balls clenching on reflex. Your voice was a curse, even without your powers.
For once, he fucked into you slowly, with long, unhurried strokes that still managed to rock the bed. Ben was surprised the frame and springs hadn’t given up yet.
“You’re fucking mine, you hear me?” he said, close to your ear. He punctuated his words with deeper thrusts. “Say you understand.”
“Yes,” you agreed on a gasp.
“Yes, what?” He laid more tantalizing kisses along your neck and jawline. “Tell me.”
“I’m yours,” you said, in a coarse whisper. Ben claimed your lips in a kiss, before he kept moving inside you in languid strokes.
You were a moaning mess, your eyes squeezed shut. You grabbed at your breasts and kneaded them yourself, rolling and pinching your nipples. He strummed more insistently on your clit, until he felt your inner walls finally start to throb around him.
Your orgasm hit you in a slow, long wave as you pressed your face into your pillow. And you clenched so impossibly tight on his cock, it triggered his release as well. His arm curled around your middle and pressed you tight against him as he uttered a sharp grunt. He finished hot inside you, panting heavily into your neck afterward.
“Well, good morning,” you quipped, despite trying to catch your breath as well.
Ben’s hazy reverie broke into a chuckle. He dropped a lingering kiss onto your shoulder.
“It’s the middle of the night,” he corrected.
You shrugged. “Whatever.”
When he pulled out of you, you shivered a little. He rolled onto his back, and regardless of the mess in the sheets, you turned over to rest your elbow on his pillow, leaning over him.
“I should probably tell you something,” you said.
He eyed you in suspicion. “What now?” 
You smiled and laid a hand on his chest, dragging your nails through the fuzz there.
“My family’s from Brooklyn, not a small town in Indiana,” you confessed. "Made it up to make me seem more...down to earth. Doe-eyed and likeable."
Ben’s brows shot up. He took a moment to process that information, then he shook his head.
“Fucking figures.” His arm lowered to curl around your lower back, caging you against him.
“I grew up in a brownstone that we had to share with two other families,” you said.
“So you were broke.”
“Yep. When I was born, my family spent all their savings to contract with Vought, to give me Compound V,” you explained. “Their plan was something like, if I became a famous superhero one day, I’d bring us out of our shitty life.”
Ben sighed, shaking his head. “So they pimped you out to Vought.”
“Essentially,” you said. You paused. He could see it was difficult for you, but you talked more about your life—the expectations from your parents, the training, the grueling schedules and the robbing of your childhood. 
“When my mom died, I…I realized just how much they took from me,” you said, gazing up at him. “Isn’t that horrible?”
Again, Ben shook his head. His hand had been caressing up and down your back, but it stopped now. Part of him was still reluctant, but he told you about the biggest lie of his life. That he hadn’t grown up poor or struggling. That his father practically owned half of Pennsylvania, and Ben had been a spoiled rich kid. He’d also gotten kicked out of boarding school after starting a fight.
“My father said I wasn’t worthy of his name,” he said, with a wry turn of his lips. “So I went out, talked to some of his golf buddies in the War department, and got myself into the Vought program. I became Soldier Boy.”
You listened with rapt attention. Not interrupting him, just giving him the time he needed to find his words.
“When I came home after the war, my mother was just as proud as she’d ever been,” he recounted. But he didn’t smile. “My father took a good look at me, maybe for the first time in my life. And you know what he said?”
You gave him a questioning look, silently prodding.
“He said I took a short cut. ‘A real man wouldn’t have cheated,’” he said.
When he eventually met your gaze, you at least didn’t look pitying. Just understanding.
“I guess we both have daddy issues, huh?” you said.
Ben shook his head. Then he eyed you. “You don’t look that surprised by all this.”
You smiled, a little sheepish. You stroked your thumb across his chin.
“I can sense when a man is lying to me, remember?” you said pointedly. “I clocked you a long time ago, pal. Mostly any time you told some fake war story... You didn't fight in the war, did you?”
He frowned in offence, even though you both knew he couldn’t deny it.
"I was there," he said.
You gave him a knowing look. "Ben."
"I fucking would've, all right, but by the time I got there it was pretty much..." He waved a dismissive hand. His brows were crunched along with his worsening frown. You felt his embarrassment, and as a result, his agitation. You were glad to finally get the truth in his own words, but you didn't want to work him up in that way either.
You tried softening him with a kiss to his cheek. You rubbed a soothing hand over his arm.
“So what do you want to do when we get our lives back?” you asked, purposefully changing the subject. “After the whole payback thing.”
Ben sat up with you against the headboard. His upset slowly faded away with your ministrations, your gentle touch, and his expression fell into contemplation.
“I always thought I had time, but uh…I thought I’d eventually settle down. Have a couple of rugrats of my own. Raise a family,” he said. “Thought I could do it better than my old man.”
You tilted your head at him with a certain measure of surprise. Out of everything he might’ve said, that one didn’t occur to you. Although, with his upbringing, you supposed it made sense. You smiled.
“You might have a few of those out there somewhere,” you said.
He chuckled. “I've always thought so.”
He looked at you in a way he hadn’t before, a bit gentler, with something else you couldn’t name. Your face warmed as something fluttered in your lower belly.
“So tell me then. What do you want?” he asked.
Once you worked through that bit of nerves, you thought about his question. It took you longer than you thought it would to come up with an answer, but when you did, it was the most honest thing you could think of.
“I want to be happy.”
He paused, not expecting that answer. Then he nodded, with a short hum.
You sighed. “Okay, if you really want to go after Vought, I think I have an idea of where we should start.”
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I can’t believe it. This thing still fits me pretty well, you thought. You twisted in the mirror to examine yourself in your old black and violet supe suit, though you didn't bother with the mask.
Meanwhile, Ben was already with your generous host, sat with widespread legs on the couch while he smoked a large blunt. His smoke coiled out lazily.
“You gotta believe me, I didn’t know what they were planning,” said Arthur Cohen. AKA: The Legend. He had been forced into a chair, though Ben hadn’t bothered tying him up. The man knew better than to make a false move. He was a decade older, and lucky for him, even wiser.
His penthouse apartment in New York looked more or less the same. Hit records and old successful movie posters adorned the walls, like a true has-been.
“Yeah, you said that fifty fucking times already,” Ben snarked. “What you haven’t said, is why.”
“To be honest, I never asked,” Arthur said. His expression soured. “Stillwell and Stan Edgar shivved me out of that decision, those uppity fucks. Then they got me fired on some technicality.”
“Allegations of embezzlement, or so I heard,” you said, reentering the room.
Arthur raised a finger. “Not true. That money was well earned backpay.”
You rolled your eyes.
“You know I know you’re lying, right?” You approached the men and crossed your arms. “What’s the lay of the land now?”
“Well, Stillwell’s the new me. Stan’s the new CEO. They disbanded Payback after you disappeared. The others are either working new gigs or are in early retirement. But I heard Vought’s working up to creating a new team.”
You nodded and shared a glance with Ben. He looked a little too chilled out right now. Apparently, Arthur had the good stuff.
“Before we jump into the frying pan with this, I want to go see my family,” you said. “Would you…want to go with me?”
Ben blew out more smoke, gesturing at Arthur. “I’ll keep this one company until he finds our old team. Make sure he doesn’t fuck off to Rio.”
You felt the sting of disappointment, but you sighed and agreed.
“Just…wait for me to get back before you go anywhere,” you said. You saw Ben prickle a little at being “told” what to do. You lowered down to his lips.
“Please?” you said, plying him with a kiss, and a gentle squeeze of his hand. “I’ll be back soon.”
He tightened his hand on yours. His gaze drew over you, briefly with more clarity through his high.
“Fine,” he said. “Be careful.”
You nodded with a smile, giving him one more kiss goodbye.
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Your father was the longer drive north than your brother’s house in Queens, so you headed up to find the former first after borrowing a car from Arthur. According to him, your father had moved upstate to Albany after your “death.” 
Now, you understood why.
He lived in a two-story house on a whole acre of land, complete with three cars, a pool, and oh yeah, his new girlfriend. She looked good hanging off his arm in Atlantic City, as you saw from a picture on the wall—after you broke into the house, that is. To be fair, they’d left the sliding glass door open in the backyard.
Your dad was dressed like he just got home from the golf course, walking over from the kitchen to the living room. He dropped his glass of wine in shock when he saw you standing there, admiring the only framed picture of you, your mother, and Chris on one of the display shelves. Glass shattered across the hardwood floor.
“Hey, Dad,” you said. You turned to him, not bothering to hide your disdain.
He gaped for a few seconds as he tried and failed to make his mouth work. He pointed at you with a shaking hand, your name finally falling from his lips.
“It’s a beautiful place,” you said. You gestured widely at your surroundings. “It’s nice to see that you finally got what you wanted.”
He tried to go to you, to embrace you, but you held out a hand. Your lips trembled as you fought the onslaught of your emotions. If he touched you, you might not have been able to control your actions.
“Did you give any of the settlement money to Chris and his family? Or did my death just make you rich,” you asked.
Your father’s eyes closed. He released a heavy sigh before he was able to meet your gaze again.
“He wouldn’t take any of it,” he admitted.
Your tears stung in your eyes as you smiled a little. “Sounds like him.”
“Where have you been?” he asked. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”
Again, he tried to get closer to you, and again, you held him off.
“The only thing I need from you is to keep doing what you’re doing,” you said. “Keep living your life like you no longer have a daughter.”
With that, you stalked out of the house and shot out the door, back to your car, no matter how much he called out after you. You got into the driver’s seat and beat the wheel once, twice, venting your frustrations. But you forced yourself to take in deep breaths to calm yourself. You wiped the tears from your eyes.
He wasn’t worth it.
You wondered if you should go see Chris though. Would it be safe for him and his family? Was Vought watching them as a contingency, if you ever escaped?
You weren’t sure. You rucked through your purse lying in the passenger seat for the weird “cell” phone Arthur had lent you. You wanted to check in with Ben first, before you went anywhere else.
You started to dial, but a gloved hand shot out and injected a needle into your neck. You startled at the sharpness and the feeling of a chemicals rushing through your body. Your eyes darted to the rearview mirror.
All you saw was a blurry, black mask.
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Meanwhile, Ben was fucking plastered.
He had been ever since you left yesterday morning. In his unrest, he’d moved on to a handful of whatever opiates Arthur kept in his medicine cabinet.
Christ I’m fucking bored.
He glanced down at the phone in his lap. The one Arthur gave him, along with a list of numbers that had been taped to the fridge. The first number on the list was the cell phone you were carrying. Ben read the rest of them.
Pizza place. Chinese. Swedish massage—hmm, there’s an idea. Handy man. BEST escort service…
Ben rose a brow. An inebriated smile curved his lips.
“What makes it the best escort service?” he asked, and loudly. Enough that Arthur came over from where he’d been making calls in his office, trying to find the rest of his former teammates’ whereabouts.
Arthur raised a brow at him. “You sure that’s a good idea right now?”
Ben shot him a terse warning look. The other man raised his hands.
“Eh, I’m three times divorced. What do I know?” he said, but he sighed and gave Ben a long look. “It just seems to me that you and Sirena got a good thing goin’, that’s all.”
The thought of you managed to cut through the haze of drugs clouding Ben’s mind. He frowned.
“That’s how Missus #1 caught me, with one of my ex-assistants in the jacuzzi,” Arthur said, with a mild grimace on his face. “She got that house in the divorce. Well, that and the kids.”
Ben looked over at him blankly.
Heaving a sigh, Arthur went back to his office.
Ben glanced down at the list of numbers in his hand, and the cell phone in the other. What the fuck was taking you so long then?
He dialed the first number on the list—your number. It rang several times, but you never answered. He called you again, waited a few minutes, then called you a third time. You weren’t answering.
His frown worsened, along with a suspicious prickling up his spine. Fuck...
He'd felt it the moment he let go of your hand, but he'd been too out of his mind to actually listen to his instincts; the same ones that warned him not to let you out of his sight. And more importantly, not to let you go.
He got up from the couch and stormed into Arthur’s office, shoving the door open. Arthur jumped in his seat. 
“What? What’s the matter?”
“She’s not picking up the fucking phone,” Ben said. He paused. “Something’s wrong.”
Arthur didn’t ask him the predictable question: how do you know? He just took in the look on the supe’s face and knew it wouldn’t be wise arguing. He tried calling your father's home, but all the man would say was, "She left. She's gone."
Arthur hung up with the man, and for a long moment, he sat pensively while Ben angrily paced the small office, like a tiger confined in its enclosure.
“It’s possible that Vought knows you guys made it back,” Arthur said. At the dark look on Ben’s face, the other man rubbed his chin with a sigh. “Okay. I’ll try to track her down for ya. In the meantime, I’ve got Countess’s address. Maybe she'll even have an idea of where to look for Sirena.”
He slid a piece of paper toward Ben across his desk. He grabbed it, pointing a threatening finger at Arthur.
“Find her.”
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You woke with a groan. You knew a drugging when you felt one, and this was it. Someone had given you a powerful sedative.
You were alone in a white padded cell, lying on a cot. It was all too familiar.
Except for the tall figure in black standing in the middle of the room, watching you. You gasped with a jolt, pressing your back against the wall after you sat up. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes.
“Irving?”
Black Noir stepped closer until he was sitting beside you on the cot. Tentatively, he raised a hand up to touch your cheek with gentle, gloved fingers.
Your shock gave way to anger. You slapped his hand away.
“What are you doing?!” you said sharply.
Noir backed off at once, as if you’d struck him a real blow. He got up, went over and grabbed a dry erase board that had been lying against the far wall, along with a marker off the floor. He wrote something down on it, then he showed you.
You shouldn’t have come back to NY.
You frowned, both at what he “said,” and in confusion. Why wouldn’t he just talk to you?
“What did you expect?” you asked incredulously. “For me and Ben just to disappear forever? To let you keep ruining our lives?”
Noir paused at that. He tilted his head with a long look at you. With your abilities, you were able to sense that he was disheartened, and even angry. He erased the board with his arm and wrote something else.
Do you love him?
You blinked at the question.
“Who?” you asked, even though you knew.
Soldier Boy
Emotion rose high in your throat, but you worked past it with a swallow, and a deep breath.
“That’s none of your business,” you said.
Noir just stared at you, his head tilting forward. The longer he stood there, watching you, waiting for an answer, the longer you prickled with unease.
He erased the board and wrote the same question again. He held it out for you to see, shaking it once in emphasis.
Do you love him?
You hesitated, but you didn’t want to lie anymore, even to yourself.
“Yes, I do,” you said. “I know what he’s done, believe me, but he isn’t a monster.”
Noir’s head twitched. You felt his anger intensify. He dropped the board onto the floor, startling you, but all he did next was slowly raise his hands to take off his helmet. He showed you what was left of his mottled, disfigured face—the burnt skin and the divot in his skull that had never fully healed.
Your mouth parted in shock as tears sprung in your eyes. You tried to avert them, but Noir stepped forward and grabbed your jaw, turning your face up to his and forcing you to look. Your lips trembled, but you met his gaze unflinchingly.
When he seemed to be satisfied, he released you and stepped back. He placed his helmet back on.
“I understand why you hate him,” you said at last. “But you made your choice when you let them take me too. You…you changed everything for me.”
You were satisfied to feel a lance of Noir’s guilt. You had scars too, and most of them weren’t physical.
“I’m not going to apologize for my choices now,” you said, with a firm glare. “So unless you’re going to kill me, you can fuck off, before I scramble what’s left of your head.”
Your eyes glowed with your power. You opened your mouth to begin your siren’s song, but Noir turned on his heel and exited the door, leaving you alone in the cell.
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A fucking chimp sanctuary. Really? Ben thought as he broke into the boundary of the reserve. About a quarter mile into the tall grass, he found a large, if rundown country style house in the middle of the woods.
“Yes, Big Daddy. I’m almost ready for you. Just let me heat these up…”
Ben raised a brow, but he gritted his teeth and kicked through the front door. There she was, Crimson Countess in all her glory, holding a set of anal beads.
She gasped at the sight of him, but she ignored the “client” on speaker on her landline phone, and dropped the beads so she could aim a fiery blast at the intruder.
Ben jumped out of the way and tossed his shield. It hit her square in the chest and sent her flying back into the wall, destroying a bookshelf and the dining table. He walked over to it with slow, heavy steps.
She raised her head with a groan, but then, her eyes watered with disbelief…and fear, when she looked up at him.
“Ben?” she said. “My God…it’s really you, isn’t it? You... you look the same.”
“You don't,” he remarked. He lowered down to grab her by the collar of her suit and raise her out of the rubble.
“How much did the Russians pay you, Donna?” he asked calmly.
She struggled to escape, her nails scraping at his gloved hand. He tightened his hold.
“They didn’t,” she admitted. Tears leaked from her eyes under her mask.
“They didn’t pay you anything?” he said through clenched teeth. “Then why?”
You know why, came sneaking voice in his mind. He tried to pay it no heed, but Donna sneered at him.
“Because,” she spat. “I fucking hated you. We all did.”
Ben’s lips pulled at a humorless smirk. His chest prickled with heat. “I should’ve known you were a bunch of sniveling, backstabbing, fucking cowards.”
“Kill me then,” she taunted. “Is that gonna make you feel better? Going to make you feel less empty inside?”
Ben’s chest began to get that nuclear glow, but he managed to fight it down, back into embers.
“Not yet,” he said. He drew her in closer. She held onto his wrist, her feet scrambling over the debris on the floor.
“I need to find someone,” he said. “And you’re going to help me.”
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Ben and Donna sat across from each other on her living room couch, with the landline sat between them. The phone was on speaker as it rang. The longer it took, the more annoyed he became.
“This better work,” he said. She gave him a flat look.
Finally, a woman answered the phone.
“Good afternoon. Stan Edgar’s office. How may I assist you?”
“Hi Gloria, it’s me, Donna,” she said. “I need to speak with Stan as soon as possible, please.”
“Ooh, I’m afraid he’s in a meeting.”
“Trust me, he’s going to want to take this call.”
“Hmm, I’m afraid his next availability isn’t until next week. And next month if you want an in-person meeting.”
“Just tell him to call me back asap!” She said, hanging up the phone in a huff. Ben gave her an unimpressed look.
“That was your big fucking plan?” he said.
She huffed. “You think breaking into Vought is going to be easy? Let alone finding that weasel. He’s got the best security money can buy, and by the way, finding where they’re keeping your little girlfriend isn’t going to be any easier. They could’ve stashed her literally anywhere by now.”
You think I don’t fucking know that? Ben got up from the couch with an angry breath. He turned away from her and rubbed at his beard in contemplation. He shouldn’t have let you go anywhere alone.
I should’ve been there. The thought gripped him, deep in his gut. Guilt was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling.
“We’re going to need help,” Donna said.
His bad mood took a turn for the worst. He glanced back at her.  
“What, the rest of the fucking Scooby gang?” he snarked.
“Or you can try going in alone, guns blazing,” she shrugged. Her sharpened gaze met his. “How fast do you think they’ll kill her, just to spite you?”
Ben’s jaw clenched. Donna leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms.
“Or worse. They’ll put you back in a box and ship you back to the Russians,” she said. Her snide smile had him clenching his teeth. “Either way, you’ll never see her again.”
With everything in his being, Ben wanted to fry this bitch to Kingdom Come.
“Get up,” he ordered. “Pack a bag. We’re leaving.”
Donna’s expression fell. “What?"
"You heard me!" he barked, grabbing her arm to pull Donna to her feet. "Get the fuck up."
She struggled against his grip. "Where’re we going?”
“To find those fucking Twins.”
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They took her car, a tiny sedan. Evidently, the end of Payback hadn’t been good for Donna’s career. Arthur had told him that, irony of ironies, she now sang at a Soldier Boy tribute act at Voughtland to pay her bills. And as he’d seen earlier, she needed to pad her income in other ways.
She was driving them up to Vermont. It was going to take days, and Ben was already sick of her.
It was a small blessing when they stopped at a gas station in the nighttime. She gave him her credit card to buy some snacks for the road while she filled up the tank. (He took the keys with him as insurance that she wouldn't bolt with the car.)
He returned with a far bigger bag than she expected. She forgot what a human garbage disposal he could be. He tossed the card back at her.
“Your card’s maxed out, by the way,” he said.
She glared at him, but she endeavored to let it go with a sigh, raising a hand to her temple. How the fuck had this become her life?
To minimize being overheard, she stepped closer to him while the gas pump kept going on her car.
“Gunpowder is the easiest one to find next. Mindstorm’s probably hiding in a hole in the middle of the woods some-goddamn-where,” she said, keeping her voice down. She gave her unwanted companion a sly look. “Though I’m thinking you want Mindstorm to stay wherever he retired.”
It brought up an unsavory memory.
After the team turned on him, Mindstorm had been the one to lock his gaze on Ben. For a moment, his feet had been rooted to the ground while Mindstorm tried to shove him deep into his mind. It had given someone the opening to slip a mask of Novichok over his face. He suspected it had been Countess.
Now, Ben turned to her with a glare at her audacity.
“You know, for a massive cunt, you’ve got some brass balls,” he said dangerously. “How the fuck didn’t I see what a vindictive little snake you were from the beginning?”
Donna scoffed in derision.
“I’m vindictive? Says the cheating, lying, bastard,” she snapped.
“Oh, shut your hole. You knew what I was doing, and you didn’t give a shit,” he said with a glare. He leveled a finger at her. “You used me to get exactly what you fucking wanted. Fame, money, and all the perks that come with it.”
Her lips pursed, like she didn’t want to admit it. But if they were airing out dirty laundry, then she wasn’t pulling any more punches.
“Well, I wasn’t the only one. Was I?” she said. “Anyone who ever smiled at you, fawned over you, or sucked your dick was trying to get something from you. Or, they were scared of you. Because you’re a bully. A fucking monster. And sooner or later, Sirena won’t be able to stomach you anymore.”
The thin leash on his temper finally snapped. He reacted, reaching out to grab her by the throat. He was truly thinking about breaking her neck.
Donna choked for air and gripped his wrist. “Without me, you’ll have no one. Good…fucking…luck finding her.”
Ben was furious, but he battled it down, expelling a breath of frustration.
He released her. She coughed and gasped and stumbled a few feet away from him, glaring at him all the while through her fear.
When she was eventually able to stand again, she and Ben shared a look of mutual loathing, but also, of understanding.
It was an uneasy truce. For now.
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You were quickly unraveling alone in the dark.
You felt the phantom cold of your old cell. No matter how you rubbed your arms through the leather of your supe suit, you couldn’t get warm. You released a shaky breath and swiped at your tears.
You missed Ben. He had to know by now that you were in trouble, but you didn’t know if he’d know how to find you. Or worse, if they found him first.
You steeled yourself and tried to calm your panic. You counted to thirty. Your eyes flit to every small detail of your cell that you could name: the small crack in the gray linoleum tile, the line of ants slowly creeping along the corner, the brittle wool blanket you were sitting on, laid over your cot.
When your breathing was steady, you tried to think. You didn’t know where you were, of course, but you could try to sense how big the building was.
You did something you rarely did. You cast your awareness outward as far as you could reach.
There were very few male energies, and you only picked up on a few scattered thoughts.
Until you found one. It felt…strong, but young. A kid?
Jesus Christ, what’re they doing in this place? you thought.
What…who’s there?
You heard the voice in your mind, small and afraid and lonely. Before you could answer him, the door of your cell opened to a few familiar faces.
There was an older man in a lab coat that you recognized, but you couldn’t place his name until you read his monogram. Vogelbaum. Followed by Stan Edgar and Black Noir, who came to stand behind you. You knew that if you made any wrong moves, Noir would kill you this time.
Quickly you read their energies as you observed them.
Vogelbaum gave off mild interest in you, but it felt clinical. Stan felt resigned and calculating as he took you in.
“For what it’s worth, I do wish it hadn’t come to this, Sirena,” Stan said. “We didn’t intend for you to get caught up our deal with Russia.”
He may have been telling the truth, but that didn’t mean you cared.
“You’re in the most secure lab we have,” he said, gesturing to your wall-to-wall cell without windows. “No one knows you’re here, and no one will find you.”
You smiled dryly. “So what do you want from me?”
“I want to know how you and Soldier Boy escaped the facility in Russia,” he said, gathering his hands behind his back.
What he really meant was, How did you escape? So we can make the next cell even more effective.
You leaned forward and spat at his shoes.
Black Noir grabbed you by the back of your neck and yanked you back. Your jaw clenched in anger, but you didn’t struggle. Even if you opened your mouth to sing, Noir would snap your neck before your powers had time to affect him.
Stan remained unaffected by your outburst, though he glanced down at his shoes.
“These are handmade Italian leather,” he remarked.
“Even if you find Ben, you’ll never be able to kill him,” you said tersely.
“We don’t need to kill him. Nor will we need to find him,” Stan said. “He’s already looking for you.”
Your eyes widened. Your heart swelled with both hope and dread, though you tried to hide it.
“We have a plan to neutralize him. Several, in fact,” he added, and spread his hands wide. “Until then…welcome home.”
Smug bastard. You glared back at him.
He left, along with Vogelbaum. Black Noir glanced back at you once, then he was gone.
The lights in your cell turned off, leaving you in darkness. You heaved a breath and couldn’t help the tears that found hot paths down your cheeks. You curled your knees up on the cot and held them to your chest.
You squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could pretend the room wasn’t pitch black. You focused your breathing, in and out, until your heartbeat began to slow down from its panic.
The kid, you remembered.
You licked your dry lips and tried casting your awareness out again. When you found the familiar energy from before, you reached out to him.
Hey, are you there? you prodded.
Who the hell are you?
It’s okay. Don’t be scared, you said, and you gave him your name. Are you locked up here?
Y-Yeah.
I’m sorry to hear that. I am too.
How can you be talking to me…in my head?
Well, it’s complicated, you admitted. It’s a new power I’m trying out, thanks to my time as a human test subject.
Something told you this kid knew the feeling.
What’s your name? you asked.
Um…John. I’m John.
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  AN: 🤭 Oh, yeah, we're going there.
How did you like getting Ben's perspective on things? And his "forced" team up with Countess to find the rest of the cast of Payback. 😬 What could possibly go wrong?
Next Time: 
Ben hated to admit it (so he wouldn’t), but she had a point. It took him a minute to wrangle in his ire, taking deep breaths to try and calm the power inside him. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.
This time, it actually did.
His hand fell back to his side, letting the younger man breathe freely.
“Let’s go.” Ben turned on his heel and headed out.
“Where, uh…where’re we going?” Charlie asked, rubbing his sore neck.
“Looks like we’re getting the team back together,” Ben said grimly.
He tilted his head.
“Well. What’s left of it.”
▶️ Keep Reading: PART 11
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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 months ago
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Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark
Series Masterlist
Author's Note: Silly fact: Our 100,000th word is "fucking". Quite apt, in my humble opinion. Enjoy! Chapter Title is from Ghost in the Machine by SZA (ft. Phoebe Bridgers)
Word Count: 19.6k
Chapter Summary/Warnings: Nine Days. Usual warnings
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, much angst, light smut, pining
Read on A03!
Chapter 9 - Chapter 11
Ben’s life had never lacked in beauty. Starting in a childhood marked by well-kept gardens and polished floors that held shiny, uptight parties, before moving to pretty girls in his youth, falling for the tricks and charms he’d learned to wield like weapons to keep their beauty near him. Eventually pretty girls changed to beautiful women, women who knew his tricks but didn’t care as long as they got what they wanted. Soldier Boy. After that, charisma, wit, and flirtation became secondary, for Soldier Boy was the weapon and there was no longer need for clever formalities to keep beauty in his life. Every beautiful thing was his, all he had to do was be Soldier Boy. Ben himself was secondary, because nobody gave a shit about Ben. It was Soldier Boy that was given beauty, and so Soldier Boy draped his life in flowers, art, women, and everything else that dared to glitter like gold.
All that beauty, from crystal to silk to marble, seemed to be pale and faded in comparison to Her. It was fucking frightening, how it suddenly became so clear that everything, every fucking thing, wasn’t even competing. Ben had climbed down the stairs as she’d snarked about his long showers, responded with his own mocking words, and then completely fucking forgotten how to breathe. She’d turn around—giving Ben a taunt he didn’t hear—and suddenly everything was just Her. Perfect, still perfect, always perfect, in a way that felt solid. Permanent and beautiful in a way that shouldn’t be earned, couldn’t be earned. That knowing didn’t stop the Thing, though. From needing to earn it. It had become impossible to keep The Things restrained, because Ben had no will to restrain it. It had told him to touch Her and hold her, so he had and refused to let go. Even when he’d gotten drugs—an opportunity that had become far too fucking rare to turn down—he’d kept some part of him against Her. When Starlight had asked Her to dance, Ben had told her to go, half because he was pretty sure Starlight might’ve started crying like a damn baby if She hadn’t, and half because fuck the Thing wanted to see Her dance. See Her with that loose happiness he’d imagined she had before Homelander.
He hadn’t been disappointed. She’d vanished into the smoke and light with Starlight for just long enough that Ben had almost stood to follow them—the Thing itching to know where She was, if she was safe—only to reappear just before he’d been about to rise from the booth. Dancing, with stupid, joyful fucking smiles and moving with the music in a way that made the Thing feral.
Ben didn’t notice the sickeningly sweet woman who’d given him the boob-drugs slide into the booth until she was right at his side.
“Where’d your pretty little bitch go, handsome?” Boob-drugs’ voice had been a low, seductive whisper in Ben’s ear, and the Thing had felt bloody at the honey-like venom of her words, the way they drawled and choked the air around him.
Ben should have given Boob-drugs want she wanted. It had been far too long since Ben had gotten his dick wet, since he’d properly fucked something that wasn’t his hand or those stupid fucking “fleshlights” She’d gotten him. She’d joked once about him destroying them in a matter of minutes, and Ben had decided only a few weeks later that She never needed to know how correct She’d been. Ben should’ve leaned into Boob-drugs, touched her like the fucking man he was, flirted with her until he was deep in her cunt on a bathroom counter. But when Boob-drugs had traced fingers up his arm and offered him sultry words, the only feeling he got was something cold crawling across his skin. The Thing not only didn’t feel satiated, but had curled up in revolt. It felt disgusting, and Ben couldn’t even fully focus on the coke as the woman had tried to pull his strings.
At some point he’d lost Her on the dance floor, and any stupid semblance of goddamn manners or entertaining Boob-drugs had been thrown out the window. He’d stood and walked away as Boob-Drugs was mid-sentence, and didn’t bother to look back. Ben had searched for Her for long, painful minutes, and finally spotted her as she moved through the crowd, a lost look on her face.
They needed to leave, Ben had decided, because the happiness had drained from Her face and the fatigued emptiness was beginning to creep back in. The moment he’d pulled Her into the night air—wind moving her hair and streetlights making her glow—exhaustion had begun to cloud her eyes quickly, and Ben had smiled to himself as She passed out at his side. She had held herself to him tightly in her sleep, from the car, to the house, and well into the night. At one point She’d started thrashing in the bed and Ben had almost woken her up—unsure if it was a nightmare or simply restlessness—but no fire had leaked from Her body, and no sounds of pain had left her mouth, so he’d pulled Her into him and fallen asleep with Her curled at his side.
When She’d left the bed in the morning, he’d found it impossible to fall asleep again. The Thing had grown cold, and Ben could hear Her heartbeat down the stairs, hear it stutter before it began to push to rapid pace. He’d followed it down to living room, almost thankful for the fucking excuse. He’d watched the smoke rising from Her body, heard the fucking hollowness in her voice as she spoke, and seen red. Then She’d broken in front of him one more goddamn time, fallen asleep with her head to his chest, and—though it was hardly afternoon—laid them down on Her bed and slept at her side.
She was awake when his eyes opened. Watching him in silence, lying on her side, heartbeat even and soft.
“Hi.” She whispered, and a small smile played on her mouth.
“Hi.” Ben’s voice was a rough croak, and Her smile grew. “What fucking-“
“5pm.”
He frowned. “We slept the whole goddamn day?”
She tensed, looking away from him. “Most of it, yeah.” The gnawing of her lip began. “I’m-“
“If you say ‘I’m sorry’, I’ll fucking kill you.”
 “I wasn’t going to.” She mumbled, and Ben rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t.”
“Sure, and I’m the fucking President.”
 She glared at him. “I was going to say that I’m hungry.”
“Then go eat,” Ben shrugged, even as the Thing began to protest at the thought of Her leaving. “You don’t need to fucking wait for me to do that.” 
“It’s my turn to heat dinner.” She rolled onto her back, facing the ceiling with a huff. “I need to know what you want.”
Ben laughed. “I don’t give a shit, Sunshine. Food is food.”
 “You say that now,” She turned her head to look at him, a incredibly fucking dramatic look on Her face. “But I would’ve made the one thing you didn’t want and you’d have thrown a hissy fit.” 
“I don’t throw ‘hissy fits’.”
“Fine, temper tantrum.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he grunted, hauling himself to a sitting position. “I don’t throw hissy fits or temper tantrums or any other pussy shit.”
She laughed. “You’re literally doing it right now.”
When Ben only grunted, she giggled again, a smug and weightless sound that made the Thing so fucking pleased. He looked down at Her in fake anger, and found that she was still flat on her back, watching him with a teasing smile and pretty eyes. The Thing wanted to pull Her into his side, to make sure that she stayed light and amused and thoughtlessly relaxed forever.
“Someone’s grumpy.” Her smile was toothy and wide, and the Thing wanted to touch Her lips. “Was nap time too short?”
He rolled his eyes, forcing himself to stand from the bed. “Go fucking eat, brat.”
“What do you want?” She called as he moved to Her bathroom. “I’ll make you oatmeal, Ben, I swear to God-“
Ben turned right before the door. “Fucking hell, bagels. Make bagels.”
“You had a bagel two days ago.”
“It’s a free country, Sunshine, I’m allowed to eat a bagel for multiple fucking days.” Ben glared at Her. “And you ate that bagel.”
“You left it out.”
“It was my fucking bagel.”
“Jesus, fine, we’ll have bagels.” She rolled her eyes, sitting up on the bed and muttering under her breath. “Fucking man baby.”
“You know I fucking heard that.” Ben snapped, she stuck her tongue out at him, and the Thing pushed at his stomach.
He closed the door before She could retaliate, listening to her shuffle around the room for several minutes—doing what he had no fucking clue—before her heartbeat faded down the stairs.
Ben had never actually used Her bathroom before. He’d always walked down the hall to his, never needing to piss or shit so bad he couldn’t just fucking hold it. Any time he did leave Her room for his own, it was to fuck his hand behind a locked door, to indulge fantasies of Her in the very room he’d just left. Ben hadn’t even fully thought about what he was doing when he’d walked into Her bathroom, it had felt like the most goddamn normal thing in the world. Now, flushing the toilet and looking around, Ben hated how fucking satiated the Thing felt. Surrounded by Her in tiny and stupid ways, seeing little damn pieces of her everywhere. The shampoo that he always smelled on Her, the discarded towel on the floor, the half-empty hand soap placed beside her toothbrush, drying on the counter. A toothbrush he was fucking jealous of for being in her mouth, like a fucking creeping pussy who’d never touched a woman.
When Ben exited the bathroom—fully intending to follow Her to the kitchen—he did quick sweep of the room, saw Her outfit from the night before hanging out of the hamper, and realized she’d been fucking changing. With him only a door away. The Thing rumbled with images of Her peeling off her clothes, moving smoothly through the room in nothing but her underwear, maybe even pulling those off too—
Ben made a detour to his room, finding relief in a fantasy of Her at his side, laying on her back with that perfect smile, and him climbing on top of her and fucking her until she was numb with pleasure. Or pulling Her onto his lap and letting her grind on him until she orgasmed with her head against his chest. Or Her rolling down, taking him in her mouth and him shooting down her throat-
He came, with a jerk of his hips, a low grunt, and imagined sounds of Her moaning in his ear.
Once he’d cleaned up—he had to find a less fucking time consuming way to do this—Ben descended the stairs and found Her at the bookshelf, pushing through its contents with a focus, narrowed intent.
“What the fuck are you-“
“There’s no fucking cookbooks in the goddamn house!” Her voice was frustrated, glaring at the books with a scowl Ben had only seen directed at himself or Butcher. “Fucking CIA didn’t think we might want just one, one cookbook? They gave us a printed copy of the constitution, but not one fucking cookbook?”
“Why the hell would you want a cookbook?” He watched her pull another two books from the shelves, making an annoyed huff before throwing them onto the floor. “You can’t cook.”
“I know that!” She snapped. “You think I don’t fucking know that?”
“Then why are you being so goddamn dramatic-“
 Ben was cut off by a copy of Shakespeare’s Complete Works flying at his face.
Her attention had already returned to the bookshelf by the time Ben was rubbing the fading red mark, her movements frantic. “I want to learn, ok? I need to learn to cook just one, shitty ass meal.”
“Fucking why?” He watched Her with vague amusement. “Did you hit your head last night?”
A pout formed on Her lips, and the Thing wanted to suck on them.
“I thought you’d be fucking pleased, Benjamin, that I’m finally conforming to what’s expected of my gender.” She grumbled, and Ben snorted.
“You are not a hallmark of your gender, Sunshine.” This time, Ben managed to dodge The Great American Song Book, but not Atlas Shrugged.
“Fuck you,” She snapped. “Go fucking eat your bagel, you cunt.”
He raised his brows at Her. “You made the bagel?”
“Of course I did, dumbass,” She grumbled, not sparing Ben a glance. “It’s in the kitchen, you can eat it or just shove it up your ass for all I care.”
Ben snorted, but wandered into the kitchen to find that She had indeed left a bagel on the counter, even fucking spread it with that damn strawberry cream cheese and placed a handful of napkins beneath the plate.
“I didn’t ask you to use that pink shit.” Ben mumbled, mouth full as he returned to the living room, standing in the doorway. “And five napkins is fucking overkill.”
Though Her back was turned from him, Ben could fucking feel her eye roll.
“You love that pink shit, you ass. And a thank you would be nice.”
“And the napkins?”
“You’re getting crumbs literally everywhere at this very second. Five was a generous lowball.”
Ben scoffed, ignoring the tiny pieces of bagel he could feel in his beard. “Fuck off, you’re not even looking at me.”
“Don’t have to, I can hear your loud-ass chewing.” She threw another book to the growing pile on the floor, hands finding her hips as she huffed at the near-empty shelf. “Is there a bookshelf in your room?”
“I don’t fucking know.” Ben wasn’t even in his room enough to have any idea, and when he was, books were the least of his concerns.
“Can I check?”
“Why are you fucking killing yourself about this?” He watched Her overly tense back rise and fall in short breaths. “I was kidding about you hitting your damn head, but you’re being fucking weird.”
“No I’m not,” She mumbled, turning with a frown on her face. “And what’s fucking weird is you not jumping for joy that we’re not going eat bagels or mac and cheese for the rest of our damn lives.”
He gave Her a mocking smile. “Well, if you’re doing it for me, Sunshine, then by all means-“
Ben caught Les Misérables right before it hit his throat.
“Can you just,” She sighed, watching Ben with a sadness in her eyes he didn’t understand. “Can you please not be a dick about this.”
Ben nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes at Her as she let out a heavy breath. “You’d tell me if something was wrong,” he said Her name firmly. “If I needed to be ready for some shit.”
“Yeah,” She gave him a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I would.”
“Good,” Ben grunted, even as the Thing wanted to pull Her right into his chest. Even as he didn’t fully believe her. “There’s a cookbook on the top shelf.”
She blinked. “What, no there’s not. I checked-“
“Not well,” he said with a smirk. “I can fucking see it from here.”
“If you’re lying just to be an ass, I’m going to kill you, Pretty Boy.” She grumbled as she turned, and Ben waited while she scanned the highest shelf, chuckling to himself when she let out an infuriated sound that meant she’d found it.
“Told you,” Ben grinned widely as She pulled it down, turning back to face him with a sour face.
She flipped him off with one hand, holding the book with the other. “Cunt.”
“Brat.”
She wrinkled her nose, flipping through the pages with an adorable intensity. Ben just watched Her, the Thing pulling against him as her face lit up with a full smile.
“Found it!” She looked up at Ben, smile growing, and the Thing whined.
Ben tried to push it down, down, down and away from his chest, refusing to be a pussy who allowed his emotions to be controlled by the smile of one fucking woman.
One fucking perfect woman, the Thing reminded him, and a warmth spread through him against his fucking will.
“Congratulations,” he said dryly. “All by yourself too.”
“All by yourself-“
Ben gave her a flat look. “All by yourself as well.”
She rolled her eyes, pushing past him to walk down the hall. Ben trailed after Her like a fucking puppy. “What are you doing?” He called ahead, and she didn’t break pace for a second as she responded.
“We’re cooking dinner, dumbass.”
“We?”
“We.” They stopped in the kitchen, and she threw Ben another insufferably perfect smile. “I did not just destroy the living room to eat a bagel. We’re doing this tonight.”
Ben glared at her. “You keep fucking saying we-”
“Fine, Pretty Boy. I’m cooking dinner and you’re standing in the kitchen in case I need to yell at someone.”
“Hm,” he grunted. “I want another bagel.”
She gave a small laugh. “Deal.”
They shook on it—The Thing rolling around inside Ben as their hands touched—and She set to work.
Ben had seen a lot of car crashes. Watched a lot of bombs explode and a lot of people die.
While this was worse in quite a few ways, it was also a lot fucking funnier.
“What the fuck does ‘veggies are tender’ mean?” She snapped. “How can a vegetable be tender.”
“Maybe you need to arouse it,” Ben shrugged, taking a large bite of his second bagel. “I can do that for you.”
“You’re a gentleman,” She muttered, and he grinned, shooting her a wink.
“Are you doubting my abilities, Sunshine?”
She scoffed, but the Thing rumbled as her heart stuttered. “To make vegetables horny? Yeah, I think I am.” She narrowed her eyes at the book. “How ‘thin’ is thinly sliced?”
“How the fuck would I know?”
“Didn’t think you would, dumbass, I was thinking out loud.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “And I think they just mean like, small?”
She looked up at Ben for confirmation—despite Her calling him a dumbass less than five seconds ago—and the Thing started trying to roll around in his chest. “I don’t give a shit.”
“Helpful,” She snapped, dumping out a bag full of bell-peppers onto the counter, and he grinned.
Ben shoved the remainder of his bagel in his mouth, watching Her cut up the peppers—and then the onions—as if she was torturing them for information. Little bits and pieces were flying everywhere, he was almost fucking positive she cut herself at least twice, and he could hear Her mumbling threats to the onions about Her making them cry instead.
He snorted as She threw the vegetables into the pot, flipping them off as she turned on the stove. “How long do I have to wait for you to just give the fuck up?” 
“Forever,” She snapped. “Neither of us are going anywhere until these vegetables are tender as fuck.”
“I don’t know why you’re even doing this vegetable shit, you’re immortal now, you don’t need to be healthy-“
Ben managed, but only fucking barely, to dodge the knife as it flew at his face.
“Shut up.” She snapped. “Or I won’t give you any when I’m done.”
“Promise?” He mocked, and she picked up a second knife. “Jesus fucking Christ, fine. What are you even making?” He grunted, reaching to grab the cookbook.
She snatched it back and far from his hand. “It’s a surprise.”
“A fucking surprise?” He snorted. “Why?”
“Because.” She held the cookbook with white knuckles, and Ben rolled his eyes.
“Shitty ass surprise,” he grumbled, and She gave him one last glare before turning her anger down to the steak defrosting on the counter.
Over the next half hour, She managed to cut up the steak through a process of vulgar threats, curses, and throwing three more knives at Ben—only two of which he deserved. Once she’d shoved the steak into the oven—Ben had helpfully suggested She just use her own fucking fire and She’d asked if he had any interest in the house burning down—she picked up the pot of vegetables and walked over to where Ben sat at the counter.
“Tender?” She extended the pot for him to look at, frowning at its contents.
The vegetables were soft, and a little brown. Ben had no fucking clue what that meant in terms of “tender”.
“Fucking sure,” he watched the crease on Her forehead deepen, and the Thing wanted to kiss right over it until it vanished.
She looked up at him, lips pulling down, but nodded and dumped the vegetables into a bowl. After giving them one last glare, She dropped into the seat next to Ben with a heavy sigh. “The steak won’t be ready for ten minutes,” she mumbled, fingers tapping on the counter.
Ben shrugged, trying to control the Thing rumbling comfortably in his chest at Her arm brushing his. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck is wrong now?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” She muttered, and the tapping picked up.
“You’re lying. It might not be something I need to prepare for, both something is fucking up with you.” He watched Her scowl at nothing. “Is it your sister?”
The tapping picked up. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
He said Her name firmly. “You need to fucking tell her you’re alive.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you-“
“Just fucking drop it, Ben, ok?!” She snapped. “You’re not going to change my mind, so just fucking drop it.” She took a deep breath, and the Thing clenched in Ben’s chest. “Please, just let it go.”
He grunted, the Thing flipping as She looked up at him. “Fine.”
She nodded, relief crossing her face as the tapping slowed. “Thank you.” She paused, eyes searching his face. “Do you want me to do more of the PTSD treatment tonight?”
“Tomorrow,” he said, not having missed the bags under Her eyes and poorly hidden yawns. “You need to rest.”
She frowned. “I’ve literally been resting all day.”
“You were tossing and turning all of last night, Sunshine.” He said flatly, and She blinked at him, heart picking up.
“What, what are you talking about-“
“It’s not a big fucking deal,” Ben frowned at Her wide-eyed expression. “You were just rolling around a shit ton. Didn’t seem very restful.”
“Oh,” she mumbled. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t fucking need to leave the bed, Sunshine, I don’t give a shit.” He shrugged.
She tilted her head at him. “Would you have?”
“What?”
“If it had bothered you, would you have gone to sleep in your room?” She examined his face, and Ben could hear the chewing of her lips.
“Why the fuck does that matter?”
“Well, um, I just don’t remember the last time you actually slept in your own bed.” She said sheepishly, suddenly avoiding his gaze. “If you want to, you don’t have to stay in my room all the time-“
“Do you want me to go back to my room?” Ben asked, and his voice was harsher than he intended. The Thing was scraping at him, gripping at his throat a the very fucking idea of Her not wanting him, of Her sending him to be without her-
“No!” Her voice was panicked, and Ben blinked in surprise. “I don’t want you to go back, but if you want to-”
“I don’t,” Ben grunted, the Thing breathing in relief as he tried to sound like less of a desperate pussy. “I mean, I’m fucking fine staying there.”
“Okay.” She gave him a small smile, and the Thing felt light, even as she stood from her seat. “Steak,” She said, and Ben realized he’d started to frown as She moved.
“Whatever,” he grunted, and watched Her move through the kitchen. She threw together whatever shit she was trying to make, finally stood straight—a smug look on Her face—and turned with a mess of cheese, meat, and bread on a plate.
“I did it,” She was beaming at him, holding the “food” proudly, and any comments about how Ben was pretty fucking sure She’d just made a bioweapon died in his throat as the Thing tried to escape him.
“Congratulations.” He huffed, and glanced at the sludge in her hands. “What the fuck is it.”
“Cheesesteak.”
Ben frowned. “Cheesesteak?” 
She picked up the cookbook, dropping it in front of him as she sat back at his side. “Philly Cheesesteak, with peppers and onions.” She read aloud, pointing to the page with a grin. “Medium difficulty.”
The Thing was pounding at him, and Ben couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Philly Cheesesteak because?” At the flush of Her face, he pushed further. “Why Philly Cheesesteak, Sunshine? Any particular reason?”
“Shut up,” She muttered.
“Hm,” Ben teased, his own smile growing. “Does it have something to do with me-“
“Yes, you cunt. It’s because you’re from Philly.” She snapped, not looking at him. “Don’t be a fucking dick about it, I just wanted to make something I thought you’d like.”
“You only made one serving,” Ben pointed out as the Thing started roaring with a painful need to hold her. “And I already ate.”
“Oh, fuck off. We both know this is going to taste like shit.” She wrinkled her nose at the plate. “I’m going to make it for you when I can actually make it somewhat good.” She paused, heart faltering slightly. “If you want me to.”
Ben shrugged, and the Thing roared. “Food is fucking food. I’ll never say no to a pretty lady making me some.”
She hummed, and her heart picked up a little faster than it had been before. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he looked between Her and the plate. “Now eat that so we can go the fuck to bed.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, but began to eat in small bites. “It’s not terrible.” She said through a mouthful. “I’ve eaten worse.”
Ben grunted, watching Her chew and swallow. “Are you going to shower?”
“Huh?”
“Before bed,” he said, ignoring the way She licked her lips clean of food and how it made his gut warm.
“Are you saying I smell bad, Benjamin?” She teased, face all comfortable and happy. “That’s not very nice.”
He glared at Her. “I fucking want to shower, brat. And since you always whine about how long I take, I wanted to know if you need hot water.”
“Oh,” She blinked at him. “That’s, that’s really sweet.”
“Shut up,” Ben muttered. The Thing was powerful and uncontrollable in him at Her words, like a fucking pussy. He wasn’t fucking sweet, She just always got all pouty when the water was cold and it made him fucking frustrated. She would sulk around and be fucking grumpy and it made the Thing tight in his lungs, made him feel an edge he hated. She still hadn’t even fucking answered his question, so Ben poked her shoulder and she looked up at him with a full mouth. “Well?”
She swallowed roughly. “Oh, uh, yeah I think I am.” She frowned, and Ben could hear Her thoughts turning in Her head.
“Spit it out.” He prompted.
“What?”
“You look like you have a stupid question, and you’re going to fucking explode if you don’t ask it.”
“I won’t explode-“
Ben said Her name flatly. “Yeah, you will. So spit it out.”
She sighed. “You have to promise not to-“
“I know the damn drill, Sunshine. I promise not to mention it again if the answer is no. Now stop being a fucking pussy and ask the question.”
“If you want, and you don’t have to-“ She took a deep breath, and the words began to fall out of Her. “I’d be okay with it if you moved your clothes into my room. Or like some clothes. Whatever you want. I just think it might be easier, if you think you want to stay there. And I do want you, I mean I like you there, so, if you want, you can move your stuff into my room.”
Ben stared at Her, watching him with a nervous expression, heart pounding in Her chest. The Thing was rioting inside him. She wanted him in her room, in her space. She wanted him there, wanted things to be easier for him. For him to stay with her. She liked him there. With her. Ben cleared his throat, and spoke before he could even really think.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?” She said cautiously. “Does yeah mean, like, yeah I don’t want, or yeah I do want to, or yeah I’ll think about it-“
“I’ll do it,” Ben said, trying to sound as casual as he fucking could with the Thing trying to tell him to pick Her up and place her on the counter and make all that stupid fucking doubt leave her face because what the hell was it even there for in the first place-
“Okay.” She took another bite of Her food. “Then maybe you can shower now and move your stuff when I’m showering?”
“Sure,” Ben stood, and She turned her attention fully to her plate. There was a little thing of melted cheese on her lip, and he wanted to brush it off with his thumb.
“Don’t take a year.” She said, and Ben swallowed as her tongue swept out to pull the cheese into her mouth.
He coughed, forcing himself to move away from the counter. “Fuck off,” he muttered, and picked up his pace out of the kitchen as She giggled behind him.
It was a race against his own fucking self-control to get to the shower and take care of himself before the Thing made him turn around and prove to Her that there was no goddamn reason she should’ve been unsure. Make Her smile and pull her tongue into his own mouth, maybe spread Her out on the counter and taste her-
Ben practically ripped his clothes off, managing to climb into the shower before the Thing consumed him.
They were back on their bed, Her lying on her back with a bright smile and Ben sitting at her side. 
“Nap time too short?” She asked again, and this time Ben didn’t scoff or stand from the bed.
He smirked back down at Her, and reached out, running a thumb over her lips. “I’m wide awake, Sunshine. But I can think of a few ways to tire me out.”
Her mouth fell further open, and she let out a small sound. “Like what?” Her voice was barely a whisper, and Ben moved his hand tangle in Her hair, cupping her head as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his lap.
“Whatever you want, beautiful.” He watched Her eyes widen, and Ben could feel the heat of her cheeks against his hand. “I have some ideas, but I’m open to suggestions.”
Moving his hand down, Ben traced a line from Her neck to her collarbone, dropping it all the way to her ass and lowering his head to kiss along her neck. She started to whimper, and he could feel the sounds escaping from her against his lips.
“Ben,” She said breathlessly, her hands finding his hair. “You-“ She let out a loud moan, head falling back as he squeezed her with one hand, tracing patterns along her skin with his other.
“Me, what?” He said Her name into her skin. “What do you want me to do?”
She dropped her hands from his hair, pulling his head up to look at Her, eyes scanning his face for only a second before she was kissing him. Long and desperate, all teeth and tongue and deep groans into each other. When She pulled back for air, Ben nipped at her lower lip and raised his hand from her waist, running his thumb over its swell.
“I want you.” She whispered, her own hand holding his against her face. “Can I have you?”
Ben pulled Her back to him, kissing her deeply until her grip was tight and she was grinding down on him. When he pulled back, he answered firmly, with no room for her to doubt. “You already fucking do.”
She nodded slowly, and suddenly she was touching him. Palming Ben through his pants, smiling perfectly at his hardness against her hand. “Where do you want me?” She asked, a beautiful fucking taunt. “You can take me right here, or at the wall. You can use my mouth, or my pussy, or I can just use my hand?”
He groaned Her name. “Fucking hell-“
“What do you want me to do, Ben? Where do you want to have me?”
Ben came, shouting Her name into the steam of the shower. Only as the high faded did it finally fucking occur to him the mistake he’d just made. He had no fucking excuse to return to his room and indulge the Thing anymore, no good reason to lock himself behind a door she wouldn’t enter and fuck his hand to the thought of Her.
He could back out. He could tell Her he’d changed his mind, he wanted to keep their shit separate, that keeping it together was just too fucking intimate and he didn’t want her to have that part of him.
Liar, the Thing hissed into him. You want Her to have every fucking part of you. You’re just too pussy to tell her.
No, he fucking didn’t. He needed to call it the fuck off, before he did something fucking stupid or insane-
She’d be so sad, The Thing snapped. You’d be fucking breaking Her.
She was a grown ass woman. She’d survive.
Would you?
Ben turned off the shower, jerking the handle clean off the wall. He dropped in on the tile floor, changed fast, and stomped down the hall to where Her heartbeat had moved— fully fucking ready to tell her he’d changed his mind and would probably just sleep in his own damn room tonight—only to open the door and find her sitting up at the headboard, already in pyjamas, eyes drooping as she read a small book.
“I thought you wanted to shower,” he said gruffly, and She just sighed, not looking up at him.
“Were you ever actually convicted of treason?” She asked. “Because if you weren’t, I’ve been calling you an enemy of the state for no reason.”
 “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Apparently, someone can’t be held guilty for treason with two witnesses or a confession.” 
“That’s not better, brat.”
She held up her book for Ben to read Constitution of the United States of America spelled out in pointlessly fucking fancy letters on the cover. “I was cleaning up downstairs, and realized I’ve never actually read the whole thing.”
“Yeah, most people haven’t.” Ben said wryly. “Only fucking pussy ass nerds bother with that shit.”
“Aren’t you America’s Son?” 
“Yeah, but I’m a fucking man who has a life outside of books. What happened to your fucking shower?”
She shrugged. “I’m not that dirty. I’ll shower in the morning, before we do the PTSD treatment.”
Ben grunted, not moving from the door. “I still think you’re not actually doing fucking shit with that.”
“I still don’t fucking care.” She finally looked up at Ben, and the Thing stared punching against him like a fucking pussy. “Why are you just standing there, you weirdo.”
“What?” Ben frowned at Her question, trying to fight the Thing telling him to go drop next to her, let her lean against him. “The fuck are you-“
“You’ve been standing at the door for like five minutes.” She said pointedly, folding the book and placing it on her bedside table. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fucking fine, Sunshine.” He grunted, and the rest of his will fucking crumbled at the goddamn soft look on Her perfect face. “I just wanted to know if I should wait for you to shower before I start moving my shit.”
“Oh,” She blinked, and started to stand. “I can help you-“
“No.” Ben cut Her off quickly. She hadn’t been in his room for more than a few minutes at a time since he’d started sleeping in hers, and some part of him was convinced she would walk in a fucking smell his cum lingering. At Her frown, he gave a short, gruff explanation of “you’re comfortable, I can fucking move clothes my damn self,” and left the room before she could respond.
It only took two trips to move all his shit, and after shoving into the drawers at Her instructions, apparently doing it wrong despite following Her every word, and Her doing it the “correct way”—which was the same way he had fucking done it—he dropped on the mattress, sitting upright as She crawled into hers.
“Night, Pretty Boy.” She mumbled through a yawn, and her eyes dropped closed before Ben could respond.
Ben didn’t remember falling asleep. He’d watched Her breathe peacefully at his side, listened to the lazy rhythm of her heart, and when she’d curled into his side, Ben had laid down and held Her to his chest. Almost like he’d only blinked, the room became full of light creeping through the curtains, and She was gone from the bed.
He could hear the shower running from the bathroom, her heartbeat smothered by the fall of the water. Unwilling to sit here, desperate for Her to return to his side like a fucking pussy, Ben stood and made his way to the kitchen, putting on the coffee and scowling at the pot as it took a million goddamn years to brew.
After impossibly long minutes Ben heard the water stop, and fucking cursed himself for the intensity of how he listened to Her heart upstairs. She shuffled around, the time stretching longer, and Ben felt the Thing sigh in relief as she finally began the walk down the stairs.
Ben glanced at Her as she entered the kitchen. “You’re up.”
“Fucking obviously,” she mumbled, stopping at his side. “Coffee?”
The pot gave a pathetic fucking sputter. “I think it’s broken.” Ben muttered, and there was another weak crackling sound in response.
“Hm,” She reached past him, opening the top of the machine. Peering forwards, She sighed. “Ben.”
“What?” He snapped, and She rolled her eyes, pulling the empty pot from its place and moving to the sink.
“You didn’t put any water in it, dumbass.”
Ben scowled. “I just fucking woke up, you try-“
“I’m not mad,” She said lightly, glancing over her shoulder with amusement. “I’m just saying it’s not broken, and that’s why.”
“Fuck off,” he grumbled, watching Her pour the water into the top of the coffee maker.
She only smiled at him, and even fake rage felt fucking impossible.
They didn’t talk much over breakfast, Ben trying not to watch the way Her damp hair hung around her face, or the bob of her throat when she swallowed her cereal. When the coffee had finished, She’d stood and poured two mugs, dropping one next to Ben’s plate and holding the other tightly between two hands.
“Living room?” She asked, continuing when Ben only frowned at her. “For the PTSD.”
He made a passive sound, drinking his coffee in a chug. “I don’t give a fuck.”
“What an amazing contribution to my efforts,” She muttered, and Ben winked at her.
“Does the exactly same amount of jack fucking shit wherever, Sunshine.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, poking her spoon around in the bowl. “You’re going to eat your words, Pretty Boy.” Her words seemed more targeted to the soggy cereal than Ben. “Just fucking wait.”
After dumping the dishes in the sink—Ben would fucking wash them later, and no amount of Her glaring at him would make him do it now—they dropped on the couch in those same fucking positions that had made the Thing loud and satisfied. This time was no fucking better, with Her gentle hands back in Ben’s hair and her perfect face only fucking inches away.
“I have a question,” She said abruptly, her hands hardly settled against his head. She didn’t wait for him to nod before she continued, speaking without meeting his eyes. “How did you know about Moon River?”
“Moon River?” Ben repeated slowly, watching Her overly controlled face as She gave a small nod.
“I just-“ She gave him a quick, nervous look. “I heard you humming it yesterday, during my, uh, meltdown. I never told you about it.”
He frowned. “What would there be to tell me?”
“How do you know about it?” She said firmly, finally fucking looking at him with raised brows. “And I asked first.”
“You tap it,” Ben said stiffly, and She tilted her head at him. “When you’re about to lose your shit.”
“And you recognized it based on tapping?” She said doubtfully, eyes narrowing. “It’s not a rhythmic song.”
“I took he a fucking bit to realize what it was, but it’s not my fault you can’t barely keep a fucking beat.” “There’s no beat in that song.”
Ben shrugged. “You do the verses. Stop trying to fucking avoid my question.”
“I’m not avoiding your question,” She grumbled, looking back up to his head. “You’re just making no sense.”
Ben said Her name flatly, and she gave an annoyed huff.
“It was my mother,” She snapped. “Her favorite song. She sang it all the time when I was a kid, it’s the only song she never made me perform, and it makes me feel safe.”
“Perform?” He frowned. “The fuck do you mean perform?”
She sighed. “Doesn’t matter.”
“The fuck it doesn’t”
“It really doesn’t,” She cut him off shortly. “It’s never something I’ll have to do again, so it just doesn’t. You won’t fucking care about it, Ben. Trust me.”
“Fucking try me, Sunshine.” She looked back down at Ben, and he gave her a challenging glare. “Don’t put words in my goddamn mouth.”
“If I do,” She said, holding his gaze. “You’re not allowed to be a dick.”
“Deal.”
“Promise?”
“Fucking hell,” he muttered. “I promise.”
“Okay,” She took a deep breath, glaring at his forehead as she spoke. “My parents divorced when I was young. It was violent, messy. I had to testify in court. My mom got full custody, because my dad had shit credit and my mom was an amazing actress. Showed up all running mascara and soft words, like She hadn’t just threatened me on the car ride over. She remarried real fast, like suspiciously fucking fast, to a rich, political dynasty asshole. Dude was a Connecticut senator when they got married, and he somehow got elected governor while I was gone. He would put on these stupid parties. With dancers and champagne towers and chocolate fountains. One of my brothers would give a speech, the other would play piano, my sister would dance, and I would sing. Sometimes they’d hold an auction for what song I performed, and the only song my mother didn't allow me to perform was Moon River. It was our song, her song. It reminds me that there was a least one thing, one stupid fucking thing, that made me more important to her than the money. I mean,” She gave a dry, hollow laugh. “She probably would’ve caved for enough money, but I left before she could.”
Ben watched Her, the Thing scraping to hold her. “What made you leave?”
The silence before She spoke was torture. The Thing needed to know what her final straw had been. What line had been crossed, so he would never go fucking near it, fucking walk as far away from it as he could until She never even had to fear it.
“She tried to keep me from leaving.” Her voice was soft. “I was fourteen, about to start high school. She tried to send me to some dog shit prep school, said I needed to work on my manners and being more fucking lady-like for when I graduated. I told her grades were important to get into college, she told me I wouldn’t be going to college. Said I was too pretty to have to worry about a job, pretty enough that men would overlook my temperament.”  She snorted. “I told her I wanted a job, I wanted to go to college. She told me to fuck off now, because she’d lock me in the house if I didn’t. So I fucked off. I moved in with my dad. Dude lived in a dogshit apartment with rats and asbestos and loud neighbors, but I never had to perform again. I could leave whenever I wanted, I was fucking free.” A shadow crossed Her face, her hand gripping Ben’s face tighter. “I was free.”
“Did they fucking look for you?” Ben felt the Thing grow taut in him, straining for the clouds forming in Her eyes. “When Homelander-“
She cut him off, shaking her head. “He faked my death. Left a note, nobody questioned it further.” Smoke curled around them, and Her heart was uneven and quick. “He used to tell me that I was better with him, he cared more than anyone could, and he would tear the world apart to get me back if I left him.” She took a shaky breath, and the Thing felt heavy in Ben’s chest.
“You’re not going back,” Ben said lowly, and Her eyes fell to his. “I fucking mean it.”
“I know,” She said quietly. “I trust you.”
The pain on Her face made Ben want to make Homelander fucking bleed and bleed until he died a painful, pathetic fucking death.
“I think we’re done.” He pulled Her hands down from his face, and She frowned at him.
“What do you mean, it’s barely been thirty minutes-“
“You’re still tired, Sunshine.” He says firmly. “We’re done.”
“But-“
“Nope, done.” Ben pushed Her hands to her lap. “We’ve got other shit to do, Sunshine. You’ve got to practice your cheesesteak.”
She scowled. “It’s your night to make dinner, cunt. You’re not getting out of it just because I’m trying to learn to cook.”
“Well, you can fucking practice for lunch, and I’ll still do dinner.”
“I chose what you make.”
“Are you fucking negotiating?”
“Yep,” she gave him a fake-sweet smile. “I choose what you make, and what we watch.”
“Fuck no,” Ben rolled his eyes. “Dinner-maker controls the TV. That was the goddamn deal.”
“I get to work on your PTSD. That was a deal as well.”
“That’s not the way it fucking works-“
“That’s the offer on the table, Pretty Boy.” She shrugged. “Take it and I’ll go make a cheesesteak right fucking now, leave it and I keep working on your stupid fucking head.”
Ben glowered at Her determined, insufferable, perfect face. “You’re a fucking piece of work, brat.”
“Right back at you, cunt.” She grinned widely—all light and smug and pleased—with Her hand outstretched, and Ben couldn’t fucking force himself to be mad at Her if she tried.
“Fucking Christ,” Ben muttered, but shook Her hand all the same.
With a small, satisfied sound that made the Thing fucking groan, She stood and walked straight to the kitchen. Ben trailed like a fucking pussy behind Her, deciding it wasn’t because the Thing started to claw at him when She left his sight, but that he just simply couldn’t miss the disaster about to unfold.
After about ten minutes it became clear that while She seemed to have mastered what “thin and tender vegetables” looked like, Ben was starting to wonder if he should be concerned about the steak giving her an aneurism. While it was damn adorable to watch her fight with the frost-bitten steak one the counter—a battle that involved several graphic threats about tracking down the cow’s family and using them for Her food instead—Her face was contorted in dramatic anger and Ben could hear her chewing through her lip.
“It would really go faster if you just cooked with your fucking fire powers.” Ben drawled and She glared at him.
“I don’t know how to do that, cunt. I can’t control it at that level.”
“I’ll teach you.” He said—complete fucking sincerely—and She scoffed. “What,” Ben scowled. “What’s so fucking amusing about that.”
She shrugged, leaning against the counter with crossed arms. “You can’t even control yourself, and most of our powers are very fucking different.”
“First of all, brat, I haven’t exploded in fucking months. Second of all, shut the fuck up. And finally, I used to train people at Vought all the goddamn time.”
“So?”
“So,” he snapped mockingly. “I know what I’m fucking doing.”
“Yeah, when you’re being paid a million dollars to tell someone don’t make a fist like that, you’ll break your fingers,” She dropped her voice in a deep-voice, mocking impression. “Aim for the throat, people use that to breathe.”
“I trained people’s powers as well,” Ben pushed, matching Her frown. “I made some good fucking heroes.”
“I’m sure,” She said, leaning forward in sarcastic interest. “Crimson Countess, you have to aim at the target. You won’t hit it if you don’t.”
“And she got a lot fucking better at it, so my point is fucking proven.”
“You were fucking her,” She dismissed with a wave of her hand, turning back to the steak. “Doesn’t count.”
The Thing started to feel like it was crawling up and around inside Ben. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I dunno,” Her heart was stumbling, and Ben wished she would fucking look at him so he could see if Her face was in that pretty flush. “Reward systems are scientifically proven to be effective.”
“So me fucking her was a reward-“
Ben’s smug words died in his throat as fire ripped through the air, filling the room with smoke and the smell of charcoal. Ben waved a hand, clearing the smoke, and found Her standing at the now-black counter, hands on her hips as she glared down at a pile of charred ash.
“Didn’t work.” She said, spinning around with a scowl. “And we’re out of steak.”
“What the fuck was that?” Ben all but shouted, the smoke still clinging to the edges of the room. “You didn’t need to destroy the goddamn kitchen!”
“That was what you told me to do,” Her shoulders were tense, words clipped. “I told you I couldn’t control it, and ta da! I can’t!”
“You’re being a fucking brat,” he spat Her name, and when she turned to face him Ben hadn’t expected to see the sullen, tight look on Her face. Lips drawn together, hands gripping her sides with white knuckles. It wasn’t quite the hollow look that always made the Thing physically hurt, but it was really fucking close.
“I just don’t want to talk about training, okay?” She spat the word training with a venom, and though her voice was steady Ben could hear the tapping begin. “You can’t fucking help this.”
“This?” Ben stood from the counter, walking to Her in fast, long steps. “You mean you?”
She didn’t flinch as he stopped in front of her. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Stop fucking saying that,” he shouted, the Thing roaring in his ears, drowning almost all else out. “I can fucking fix this for you, if you would stop being such a stubborn bitch all the time!”
The sullen look faded into rage. “It doesn’t fucking matter!” Her voice had raised to match his. “I’m not supposed to have these powers. I’m not someone who’s going to even be a fucking fake hero or earn any fucking rewards. I’m a walking bomb, and I can’t control it, and it doesn’t fucking matter because there’s no fucking point.” A shallow, distressing breath shook Her body. “I don’t want to hurt people again, I won’t let myself.” She wasn’t looking at Ben anymore, voice clouded and heavy. “So it doesn’t matter.”
The Thing wasn’t only painful or consuming anymore. It was in Ben’s blood, fucking burning at Her, for Her. He grabbed Her perfect face, turning her sad eyes to his. “You won’t hurt people,” he said, keeping his voice as fucking calm as he could. “If you just let me fucking help you.”
“But-“
“I’m literally a walking bomb, Sunshine.” Ben raised his voice over hers. “If there’s no hope for you, there’s certainly fucking none for me.”
“That’s not the same,” She said quietly. “You’re you. You’re Soldier Boy.”
“You mean the fucking terrorist?” He watched Her lips tug slightly at his dry tone, and the Thing felt a little less suffocating. “Yeah, I’m sure the public will be clamoring for my return when this is over.”
“Aren’t we self-aware today,” She gave him a half-hearted smile, and Ben returned it.
“I’m always fucking self aware, Sunshine. It’s one of my best qualities.”
She gave a small laugh, and the Thing grew looser. “I think even you know that’s not true.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” He drawled, and Her smile became a little more genuine. “Now will you please just let me fucking train you.”
She sighed, but it wasn’t as heavy as before. “It doesn’t-“
“Do you seriously fucking believe-“ Ben didn’t let Her finish, because if she said doesn’t matter one more time he might lose his fucking mind. “That you’re just going to be a fucking hermit for the rest of your immortal life.”
“I mean,” She said with a strained, fake-passive tone. “Yeah.”
“You think I’d fucking let that happen?”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“Sunshine, when we’re out of this and I’m shipped off who fucking knows where, you’re welcome to come.”
“Are you-” She gaped at him, and the Thing felt stuck in his throat. “Are you serious?”
“You burn, I burn.” Ben reminded Her firmly, because even if he wasn’t entirely sure where this offering was coming from, he knew he fucking meant it. “If you can’t be around normal fucking assholes, control or not, you can always fucking be around me.”
She scanned his face. “And if I can be around people?”
“Then you can stay in shit-ass New York with all those fucking pussies on your team.” Ben answered, even as the Thing scraped at his ribs at the fucking idea of it. “But you’ll have to learn to control it.”
“What If I can’t,” there was nothing but fear and exhaustion in Her voice, and it made the Thing move faster in him. “What if I just can’t?”
“You can.” He didn’t leave room for protest before he continued. “We’ll start tomorrow.”
She gave a hesitant nod. “Tomorrow.”
Ben took the victory.
The remainder of the night was quiet, Ben heating pre-made meatballs per their shitty deal, Her deciding they would watch Game of Thrones—a fucking suspicious choice given she always grumbled at Ben’s commentary—and Ben tried not to stare at Her through the night, his brain fucking consumed by every goddamn way he wanted to touch her. He managed, by some fucking miracle, to force his attention to how he would go about their training.
Ben hadn’t been fucking lying, he had trained new heroes at Vought. Never any quite as powerful or insanely smart-mouthed and perfect as her, but She didn’t have to know that. He’d figure this out, because the fucking idea of Her locking herself up to keep every weak undeserving pussy safe made him feel bloody.
When Her eyes began to look heavy and she began rubbing her face to keep them open, Ben dragged her up into her—their—bed. Ben tried not to dwell on the Thing—peaceful and quiet from the soothing sounds of Her breathing and heart—and how his offer hadn’t felt forced onto its tongue. How he couldn’t blame its grip over him, because his words had been entirely fucking true, and had fallen from him naturally.
She was up before him in the morning again. Ben felt a cold space where She had been, and the shower wasn’t running, making him sit up roughly, not bothering to change before he stalked downstairs. Finding Her in the kitchen, cross-legged at the counter with a sandwich in one hand and a book in the other, Ben found it a lot fucking easier to breathe.
 “You’re up early,” he leaned against the door, and She looked up at him with cheeks puffed, mid-chew.
“Sorry,” She said through the mouthful of food, and Ben grinned as crumbs fell from her perfect mouth. “I got up to pee, and I couldn’t fall back asleep.” 
Ben walked to lean across the counter, the Thing bucking as She swallowed roughly. “That fucking excited to get started, huh Sunshine?”
“Fuck off,” She rolled her eyes. “I was just hungry.”
 “Sure.” He winked. “You’ll need the energy.” “Are we training my fire or running a marathon?” She asked, raising her brows at him. “Because I can always back out.”
“You mean pussy out?”
“Fuck you, Pretty Boy. I’m going to burn your face off, and you’ll have no one but yourself to blame.”
Ben grinned at Her as she took an aggressive bite, holding his gaze. “We’ll see, brat. Are we ready to go?”
“Don’t you want to eat?” She asked through chews.
“I’ll fucking live.”
She shook Her head, shoving the remainder of her sandwich into his hands. “Eat, Ben.”
“I’m fucking fine,” Ben said Her name dryly, failing to return the food to her as she held her hands behind her back.
“Eat,” She snapped. “You get all grumpy when you don’t.” When Ben still didn’t move, She narrowed her eyes at him. “Eat or I’m pussying out.”
Ben scowled at Her, but shoved the remainder of the sandwich his mouth, holding her glare with a look of irritated amusement as he swallowed
“Happy?” He mocked, and She gave him a genuine, toothy smile.
“Absolutely.”
The Thing fucking whined, and Ben had to fight a smile from taking over his goddamn face.
“Can we get fucking going then?”
She shrugged, “if it’s that important-“
Ben grabbed her arm—ignoring the warmth of Thing at her touch and is weak fucking need in his gut when she made a sound of surprise—pulling her to dining room. They stopped in the center of the space, and Ben forced himself to take a step back, looking down at Her sternly.
“How is this even going to fucking work?” She asked, bored sass dripping from her voice.
Ben winked at Her. “Reward system, Sunshine.” He ran through the plan he’d spent the previous night developing, and almost missed the flush of Her face and the stutter of her heart. “I’ll tell you what to do, and every time you do it right, I’ll owe you a favor.”
“A favor,” She repeated, and Ben couldn’t figure out what that fucking slow tone and neutral expression meant. “What can the favors do?”
“Whatever you want, that’s how favors work.”
“No limits?”
Ben smirked at Her. “No limits.”
She swallowed, and the Thing rumbled. “Then let’s fucking go.”
“Palm open,” Ben instructed, demonstrating with his own hand. When she followed suit, he nodded and continued. “Now light it.”
She gave him a flat look. “Are you fucking serious? I can light my hand, Ben.”
“Prove it.”
“Fucking asshole,” She muttered under her breath, and closed her eyes. A small flame ignited in her palm, and she stuck Her tongue out at Ben smugly. “Told you so, cunt.”
Ben fought the urge to grab Her, pull her tongue into his mouth. “I’m not done, brat.” He sneered. “Hold it.”
“Hold it?” She frowned, glancing between Ben and her hand. “The fire?”
“In your hand, for five minutes.” He grinned down at Her. “No spreading it, no letting it go out.”
“That’s it?” 
“That’s it.”
She gave him a distrustful glare, spreading Her fingers wider. “My first favor is going to be making you dye your beard blue.”
“What?” Ben’s tone of mock-fury seemed to only make Her grin. “Why?”
“Because I hate you.”
“Sure, Sunshine.” He pushed down how the Thing strained at the fucking idea of Her words being true. “But you’ll only be able to fucking waste your favor like that if you don’t fucking burn my beard off.”
“Fucking watch me, Pretty Boy.” She snapped, and Ben just winked.
The first minute was fine, but near the middle of the second Her eyes started to cloud, teeth gnawing at her lips. The fire started to flicker, and before the third minute started it burst up, spreading up Her arms and through her body.
“Goddamnit!” She screamed, smoke still rising after the fire went out.
Ben gave Her a cocky grin. “What that about watching-“
“Not a fucking word.” She spread Her palm once more. “I just wasn’t ready.”
Ben hummed, and shot him a murderous glare. “I didn’t say fucking shit.” He teased, and she rolled Her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll get it this time, brat.”
“Stop being supportive, you cunt.” She hissed, and Ben laughed.
It took Her two hours, twenty minutes, fifty-two tries, and a lot of swearing to hold the fire evenly for five minutes. It was fucking worth Her verbal abuse, Ben decided, because he’d never seen her smile that wide and happy as when she finally succeeded.
“Yes!” She looked like she might literally fucking jump with joy. “Suck on that, Benjamin.”
“One favor is yours, Sunshine.” He couldn’t fight the Thing from taking over him with a broad, face-covering grin and chuckled. “Now do it again.”
By the end of the day She’d only burned Ben five times—a fucking miracle as far as he was concerned—could hold it for ten minutes, and Ben owed her five favors.
“You’re making dinner,” She cashed the first one almost immediately, and Ben had expected nothing less. “And I still choose what we watch.”
“That’s two goddamn nights in a row,” he grumbled, and She snickered.
“I know, it’s amazing.”
“Brat.”
“Cunt.”
Though Ben scowled, the Thing felt so fucking good—proud and blissed out like he was on a fucking drug—watching for the first time in goddamn days look happy. That pussyass fucking joy only grew in him when Ben sat at Her side on the couch, passing her a plate of Dino nuggets. Her smile was like a fucking infection, and the Thing running through Ben wasn’t helped in the slightest by the presence of those blue, off-brand sunglasses on her head.
“What the hell are you wearing those for?” Ben asked tauntingly, trying to make his voice crude to cover the Things genuine need to know. “It’s fucking night time. Indoors.”
“They were collecting dust,” She reached a hand up, dropping them onto her face. “And I look cool as shit in them.”
“You’d look better if they were green,” Ben muttered. “Blue’s a-“
“Pussy ass color?” She teased. “Don’t worry Pretty Boy, I won’t touch your beard and ruin your handsome face.”
“Handsome?” He blinked at Her, the Thing bellowing so loudly Ben couldn’t even pretend to be cocky.
She ignored him, even as Her heart flipped. “How would you feel about a pink beard?”
Ben whacked Her shoulder lightly, and she giggled, giving him a pout that made the Thing hungry. “Shut the fuck up.” He grunted, and She just blew a raspberry at him.
Her attention returned to the TV and as they fell into a comfortable silence, Ben tried his fucking hardest to not steal glances at Her perfect face in the TV light, tried to fight the way the Thing rioted every time she laughed at the show.
When Ben went to shower that night, his thoughts were haunted by the wide, free smile on Her face.
The next two days were some of the most peaceful of Ben’s entire goddamn life. For the fourth morning in a row, She had woken first. There had been towel discarded onto their growing pile of dirty clothes that told Ben she’d showered, and he was able to hear Her heart beating with the shuffle of her steps from downstairs. He’d entered the kitchen a quarter hour later to find Her in an intent focus, surrounded by grocery bags and the cookbook open on the table.
“How long ago did you get up?” He asked, and She’d jumped in surprise.
“Two hours,” She’d answered, gesturing to the steak on the counter. “Mallory sent the delivery early. I think I’m getting better at this cooking shit.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, Sunshine.” Ben had teased, and been whacked by a paper grocery bag.
The day was filled with training, and once they’d hit fifteen minutes Ben started to have Her hit random household objects they both deemed entirely fucking useless. Itchy blankets and pillows from the spare bedroom, paintings of horses and flowers Ben told her were fucking shit—She’d laughed at that and the Thing had grown though his chest—all of Her remaining, non-fireproof clothes, and several books She’d claimed “made Her want to hurt someone in middle school.”
“I’ve never known you to need a reason to hurt someone,” Ben had drawled Her name.
She’d flipped him off. “I’m a god of peaceful resolutions, Ben.”
“Sure.”
“I am.”
“I agreed with you, brat.”
“I’ll fucking kill you cunt,” the words likely been spoken against her will, being the small, angry gape of Her mouth after.
Despite Her growing control over her powers, Ben somehow ended up with more burns that afternoon than the one before. He’d been scowling at Her as she held his head, beard slightly burned in a real fucking noticeable way.
“I look like a fucking pussy.”
“Because your beard has one little patch?” She’d teased, and watching where Her palms were resting in his hair.  “I promise, Ben, it looks the exact same to everyone but you.”
“Don’t lie to protect my fucking ego-“
 “I’ve never lied to protect your ego before. I’m not about to start now.”
Ben hadn’t had a good retort to that, and they’d sat in a bitter silence until She’d nudged his thigh with her knee. “What,” he’d sounded less resentful than he’d liked to, but it was hard to be bitter when the Thing was so fucking satiated by Her gentle smile, and how it was all for him.
“I swear, you look fine. You look like you always do.”
He’d smirked, “which is?” 
“Don’t push it.”
“I think the words you meant to say were like a Greek god of sex.”
“The Greek god of sex was a woman,” She’d mumbled, looking down at him. “And I said don’t push it.”
Ben had cum that night—the flutter of Her heart as she looked at him replaying in his head—with Her name swallowed in his throat.
She was up first, fucking again. Though she was still next to him in bed—their legs tangled and one of his arms wrapped instinctively around her—Ben had woken to Her eyes watching him with not a trace of lingering sleep.
“Morning, Pretty Boy.” She’d whispered, and he’d groaned, scratching at his face to try and push the itch of sleep from his body.
“How fucking long have you been watching me, Sunshine?”
“Not long.” Ben hadn’t believed Her—she wouldn’t meet his eyes, her own looked hung with gray, and her words sounded flat and rehearsed—but he’d let it go. They’d spent the morning it the Kitchen, Ben watching Her try to cook and doing her second cashed favor, reading a fucking book.
“This is a goddamn waste of a favor,” Ben had snapped, and She’d hummed, not turning away from the steak she was beating into submission.
“I have twelve favors still in the bank, and more on the way. I think I’ll live.”
“I shouldn’t have fucking offered you favors. Should’ve just said you get complete TV control.”
“Oh, definitely,” She laughed. “I probably would’ve agreed if you offered me ten bucks and some chocolate. But you didn’t, so now you have to read.”
Ben huffed, and dodged as spare thin and tender pepper flew at his face. “Fucking rude,” he’d said, and She’d grinned at him.
“Don’t bitch and moan like I’m torturing you. You’re just reading.”
“That’s fucking torture. This is worse than torture.”
“Woe really is you, Ben. All those words and not one is smut.”
“What the fuck is smut.”
She’d blinked, and her heart had stuttered. “It’s um, porn. Book porn.”
“You can read porn-“ Ben had examined Her, the embarrassment on her face. “Do you read porn, Sunshine?” 
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” She’d mumbled, turning her back to him once more.
“I think you read porn-“
This time, the pepper hit Ben right in the nose. When She wasn’t paying attention he’d eaten it off the floor, and it didn’t taste like complete fucking shit. She was, through brutal and hilarious trial and error, getting better.
Everything was good. Genuinely fucking good. That afternoon Ben had walked away with only two burns, She had hit about half of the targets he’d set up with passable aim—a vast improvement from Her grand total of zero the day before—and the Thing was so fucking content it was driving Ben insane. Because though he was still forced to find relief during inconvenient times in locked spaces, the Thing was getting real fucking specific about a lot of shit. It had gotten so fucking comfortable, fantasies had started to happen in the moment. She leaned against him slightly, and Ben was lost in thoughts of pulling her on top of him and fucking her until she collapsed against him. She smiled at him and Ben barely held himself from bruising her mouth with his. Two nights in a row they’d been so close—tangled and pressed together in sleep—that Ben hadn’t been sure where he stopped and She started.
Things were fucking good. She was fucking perfect and Ben was starting to worry that the light feeling in his chest was something that might last. That he might burn the world to keep there.
She was sitting next to him now, watching the TV while Ben watched her. He wanted to touch Her, he had to touch Her. More than just her hands and legs, fucking everywhere. He needed to feel Her, because this stupid fucking euphoria was stronger when She was at his side and he could hear her heart. She needed to know that, he needed Her to smile because Ben told her that she was the most perfect goddamn thing that had ever existed, and nothing even came fucking close-
The door slammed, and She was moving before Ben was, a controlled flame igniting on her fingers. Some muffled grunts came from the dark hall, Ben felt his whole body tense, ready to bleed whoever was there-
A silhouette was nearing the door, and Ben was fucking proud of how fast the fireball left her hand. Only a second later, goddamn Butcher walked into the room, covering their floors in fucking blood and sweat.
Ben should’ve pushed Her harder that afternoon. Maybe Her flame would’ve hit Butcher in the fucking face instead of only leaving a scorch mark on the wall near his head.
“Fucking Christ!” Butcher roared, stumbling far to the side. “You almost fucking hit me!”
“I’m not that lucky,” She snapped, and Ben snorted. “What the hell are you doing here?” 
“Are you blind, Love?” Butcher unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a large bullet wound in his chest. “Fucking fix it.”
She was, as fucking always, too kind for her own good. Because she stalked around the couch, and laid a single hand over Butcher’s wound in a venomous silence. Ben’s jaw clenched as Her heartbeat began to pick up, at the smug fucking look on Butcher’s face, at how she was rubbing her own chest in mirror to Butcher’s injury.
“Where did you even get this?” She asked, and Butcher shrugged.
“Don’t matter.” His gaze turned to Ben. “Got a gift for you, Gov.”
 “A gift?” She and Ben said in unison, and Butcher rolled his eyes.
“Aren’t you two bloody adorable,” he sneered, and Ben wondered if She could fix a ripped off head. “It’s in the damn car, I’ll need help getting it.”
“Help?” She asked, and Ben could see the thoughtful, untrusting frown covering her face, even with her back turned. “What is it?”
 “A fucking surprise.”
“He hates surprises,” She said, and the Thing hummed somewhere near Ben’s lungs.
“He’ll like this one,” Butcher dismissed. “Don’t you fucking trust me, Love?”
“Nope.” She snapped, heartbeat growing erratic even as she removed her hand. Butcher’s wound was gone, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin.
Butcher turned—flipping the hall light—and walked to the door in long steps. Swinging it open to the cool night air, he gave a sweeping gesture, brows raised. “C’mon cunts. We ain’t got all fucking night.”
Ben followed Her down the hall, only step behind, an arms distance away. Butcher’s car was parked in the drive, still running with the headlights on.
“What would you have done if the car had got stolen?” She asked, following Butcher to the trunk.
“Considering I can’t file a police report,” Butcher said, tone bored and cruel. “I think I might just use all the fucking CIA resources at my disposal to bloody find it.”
The trunk was popped open, and in it lay—fucking finally—the Soldier Boy shield in all its flawless fucking glory.
Ben didn’t hesitate to yank it up, grinning widely, and almost missed Her look of amusement.
 “Would you two like a minute alone?” She teased, and Ben scowled at Her.
“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine. It’s my goddamn shield, that you pussies-“ Ben pointed an accusing finger at Butcher. “Have fucking owed me for two months.”
“Time wasn’t right, mate,” Butcher said lazily, and Her heart faltered.
“And it’s right now?” She was almost whispering, the wind howling over her words. Even in the darkness, Ben could see the fog begin behind her eyes. “Why?”
“Big mission in four days.” Butcher began to move to the front of the car. “Thought I’d get ahead of it, let Soldier Boy do whatever weird shit he wants with his baby blanket before we have to move.”
Ben’s fury at the baby blanket comment was drowned out by the tap of Her fingers. The blanched, fearful fucking look on Her perfect face. The Thing howled, and Ben’s teeth became gritted.
“What type of shit are you about to make us pull, Butcher?” Ben growled.
Butcher winked. “We’re trying to wrap this circus up soon, Gov. Don’t worry your little mug about it.” Butcher’s attention turned to Her, saying Her name with a smirk. “See you in a few days.”
The car pulled out of the driveway with a screech, and She and Ben were left standing in the night. She looked at Ben with an empty smile as they returned into the house.
“Happy to have your shield back?”
“Should never have left,” Ben gripped it a little tighter as the Thing started to pull him toward her. “The fuck is Butcher planning?”
“What?” She said, blinking at him. “I- I um, I don’t know.”
She wasn’t looking at him, and every movement she had was controlled, mechanical. Ben didn’t fucking believe her. “You sure about that?”
She nodded, making a sound of agreement. Ben was going to push, he was going to ask why she was fucking lying, what she knew and why it was making her act so fucking strange, but She gave a long, stretching yawn, eyes lidded and steps unsteady.
“I’m tired,” She mumbled, leaning into Ben as they moved down the hall. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten,” Ben watched Her give another, loud, fucking adorable yawn, and the Thing felt warm where they touched.
“Few more hours before bed,” She nodded, walking toward the couch. Ben caught Her waist with arm before she could sit.
“You’re going to sleep now, Sunshine.” He placed his shield carefully at the foot of the steps. “You’re going to fucking pass out.”
“No I’m not,” She wiggled a bit, but Ben didn’t budge. “It’s only ten.”
“What time were you up this morning?” He asked dryly.
“What time were you up this morning?” She snapped.
“I fucking asked first.”
She gave him a half-hearted shove. “Nuh uh.”
“Really?” He snorted Her name. “What are you, a fucking child?”
“That’s rich coming from you, Ben.” She was starting to slump against him. “And even if I was, you’re not my fucking dad, you don’t get to give me a bed time.”
“I think you’re giving yourself a bed time, beautiful.” The word slipped out of Ben’s mouth, and the Thing became frozen as She looked up at him.
There was no fucking reason for that to be weird, Ben had called fucking hundreds of women beautiful. She wasn’t any fucking different. Even if She was perfect and leaned into him and looking up at him with sleepy, shining eyes and the Thing wanted to—fucking had to—hold Her like this forever-
“I’m not tired,” Her words were slurred mumbles against Ben, and he chuckled because—before the words had even left Her mouth—she was slumped into him, breathing growing steady with sleep.
Ben carried Her upstairs, laying her carefully on their bed and pulling the blankets up her body. When he drew back up, fucking forcing himself to walk away, back down the stairs, let Her sleep alone like a normal fucking man and not some weak fucking pussy who was scared to leave her side, she made a small sound behind him. When Ben turned, She was splayed out across the mattress, with one hand reaching out to Ben’s side, and frown twisted on Her perfect lips.
“Fuck it,” he muttered to no one, and stalked back to the bed. The Thing’s flailing around inside of him was calmed as Ben pulled Her to his chest, and She gave a small, breathy sigh as Her face returned to a picture of easy content.
Ben fell—lulled by Her heart and gentle breath—into deep sleep.
She was up first. The bed at Ben’s side had already grown cold, but he could hear the shower running through the bathroom door, hear the slow drum of Her heart as she moved. Ben stood and moved down the stairs, aiming to put on the coffee before she finished, only to find a half-full pot and a discarded mug at the counter. Her phone lay, face-down, at the mug’s side and glancing at the sink, there was a dirty plate that had definitely not been there the previous night.
When She arrived in the kitchen—hair damp and face blank—Ben coughed loudly.
“I can see you, Ben.” She moved past him, picking up her phone. “You can just say hi.”
“How long have you been up?” He asked roughly, and She shrugged.
“Few hours. We went to bed early last night, I must’ve gotten all the sleep I needed.”
“You fucking passed out last night,” Ben snapped Her name. “And it is not early. A few hours would mean before the fucking sun.”
She didn’t look up at him. “So?”
“You’re being fucking weird. And you never answered my question last night.”
“What question?” Her voice was flat, bored.
“What the hell is Butcher’s mission? It’s clearly something important, if he decided to give me my fucking shield.”
“I don’t know. Nobody’s told me.”
“I think you’re fucking lying.”
She raised her head, glaring firmly, coldly, at Ben. “I’m not. They don’t tell anything, you fucking know that.”
“I-“
“Nope.” She cut him off, placing her phone on the counter and crossing her arms. “We’re not fighting about this. Doesn’t matter what you think, Benjamin. That’s the fucking truth. Okay?”
Her face was like steel. He hadn’t seen her face like this, blank and controlled and full of so much quiet fury, in fucking months. The Thing was fucking cowering in Ben, like a goddamn pussy. Not afraid, but fucking desperate for her to stop looking at him like that. 
“Fine.” He grunted, and something like relief flashed across Her face. “But you need to fucking promise that if I need to be worried, you’ll tell me.”
“Sure,” She turned to the fridge, and Ben grabbed her arm, turning her to face him.
“Fucking promise.”
She blinked at him, voice a little softer—almost fucking delicate—when she said, “Promise.”
“Good,” He released her, and though the Thing felt no more peace, Ben took the goddamn weak reassurance. “Now eat, we’re training in a hour. Today you’re going to hit all the fucking targets.”
“You have a whole lot of faith in me, Pretty Boy,” She gave him a smile, and even that felt fragile. “Don’t know where the hell it comes from given how dogshit I am at this.”
“You’re getting better,” Ben winked. “Under my masterful fucking guidance.”
“Uh huh,” She snorted. “We’ll see about that.”
Two hours later, after She missed the target for the eleventh time in a row—Ben watching from the edge of the room—he was starting to think she was doing it on purpose.
“You know, if you’re trying to prove a point,” Ben said Her name, giving her an annoyed look. “There are damn better ways to do it.”
“I’m not trying to prove a point,” She snapped. “You’re the one who chose the smallest fucking cup in the world.”
“You hit it yesterday.”
“Shut up,” She missed again, a low noise of frustration sounding from her chest. “God fucking damnit!”
Ben watched Her, lips gnawing and breaths becoming shallow. “Calm the hell down, Sunshine.”
“I am fucking calm.”
“You’re burning a hole in the floor.”
She looked down to where the wood was charred beneath her feet. “Fuck off.” She muttered.
“This whole fucking house is fire-proof.” Ben pushed himself off the wall. “You’re burning like a fucking bomb. What the hell is wrong with you today?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just having an off day.” Her words were hissed through teeth, and smoke was filling the room.
“You’re sloppy.” He stopped, glowering down at Her. 
She didn’t falter, holding his gaze. “Last time you said that, was anything wrong?”
“Last time you fucking broke down.”
“Do I look like I’m breaking down now?”
“You look like you’re about to collapse.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Hit the fucking target.”
She didn’t break eye-contact as her arm shot out, and Ben looked in time to see the cup—along with the entire damn wall—catch fire.
“That doesn’t count,” he grunted.
“The fuck it doesn’t.”
“You have to only hit the target, brat. That’s the whole goddamn point.”
“Fuck off, you asshole.” She shoved against his chest. “You’re being a cunt on purpose.”
“I’m not the one being fucking insane about ‘nothing’.” Ben mocked. “We’re staying right here until you either admit something is up or hit the target the right fucking way.”
“Fuck you.”
Ben didn’t answer, only held Her glare. The Thing hated this, it hated how fucking strange She was being, how She wouldn’t fucking talk to him, how Her face was all painful shadows and contorted control. But Ben couldn’t fucking break. Couldn’t fucking let it go just to see Her smile. Not when she was tapping and chewing and her eyes were so fucking empty and she wouldn’t tell him why.
The afternoon was long. She didn’t hit a single fucking target, and Ben called it when She started looking like she was about to explode. Ben showered—trying to figure out the fuck to make Her talk—while She continued her practice in the kitchen. When he returned downstairs, Ben found her on the couch, watching the TV with a blank expression.
“Have you calmed the hell down?” He snapped, and the Thing grew thick in his throat when She looked up at him with exhausted, foggy eyes.
“Yeah,” She said softly. “I’m sorry-“ She cut herself off, swallowing heavily. “I promise nothing is wrong. I’m just tired.”
“Because you keep getting up like you’re in the fucking military,” Ben muttered, walking to sit at Her side. “You need fucking sleep.”
She gave a hollow laugh. “Pot, meet kettle.”
“Shut up. It’s not the same.” Ben leaned back. “And I have been sleeping.”
“I know, you snore like a truck.” Her smile this time was a little lighter. “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” Ben turned to look at Her, and found his face being pulled down, soft hands in his hair. “Right now?” He frowned at her. “It’s late, and you look a little too fucking tired.”
“We missed yesterday.” She said as if it was fucking obvious. “And if you still think it does nothing, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
Ben’s frown turned to a scowl at that. She was too fucking good at backing him into those corners, where She knew he couldn’t respond without her winning. “You think you’re real smart, huh?” 
“I don’t think I’m smart,” She gave him a cocky grin. “I know I’m smart.”
“Brat.”
“Cunt.”
As Her brows drew together in focus, the Thing became strained. Something was fucking wrong. It didn’t matter how many times She denied it, she was more stressed than he’d ever fucking seen Her. Ben racked his brain for a way to ask Her that wouldn’t make her explode, wouldn’t make her shut down or turn away from him. It was an exhausting process, he had no clue how She did this all the time like it was easy, asking careful question and using stupid fucking tricks to bend him to Her will. Admittedly, Ben admired it. It was fucking hot, the small smiles on Her perfect face and how quick her words came. But Jesus fucking Christ, he wished She was worse at it. Especially as he tried to do it himself.
He said Her name slowly. “How did you meet Butcher?”
“What?”
“How did you-“
“I heard you,” She said tightly. “Why are you asking that?”
Ben fought the frown on his face. “Am I not allowed to ask fucking questions?”
“Not weird ones out of the blue.”
“It’s not that damn weird,” he grumbled. “You’ve never told me. Fuck me for being curious how you fell in with a bunch of fucking pussies.”
She sighed. “I escaped Homelander,” her hands gripped his head a little tighter. “They found me. Not much more to say.”
“How did they even know about you?” He searched Her face for any tells, any breaks in her mask.
Her face remained passive, unreadable. “Maeve told Butcher. He told Mallory. They tracked me down.”
“Why didn’t you fucking leave?”
“Leave?”
“The country,” Ben pushed. “Fuck, just the damn East Coast. Why did you stay where you could be found?” 
“You don’t know that I didn’t,” she muttered. “Maybe they found me in Aruba.”
“No, they fucking didn’t.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t know that, you cunt.”
“Answer my question, brat.”
She glared at Ben’s forehead. “I don’t know. I just, the first thing I found out when I escaped was that to everyone in the world, I’d been dead for over two years. I didn’t have anything to go back to.”
“So you should’ve just fucking left-“
“I couldn’t,” She hissed, and Ben felt her hand get warm. “I had nothing, no one. Just a fucking grave that proved I had existed. I was angry and tired and alone. Butcher found me at my grave, because that’s the only place I could be. I didn’t have it in me to leave, because I kept fucking hoping I’d blink and the grave would vanish.”
“Sunshine-“
“They found me, and they offered me a reason. I ‘fell in with them’ because they knew I was alive, and it gave me some sort of fucking value. That’s it.”
Ben placed his hands over Hers, and she finally looked at him. “I think we’re done.”
This time, She didn’t fight, and her voice was so fucking tired when she spoke. “Okay.”
The rest of the night was quiet, and though She was smiling and laughing, the joy felt uneasy, and it never reached her fucking eyes. When She leaned against Ben the Thing became loud, because though she wouldn’t look at him she was gripping his arm like he might vanish. Though She traded teasing words with him, there was no edge of amusement to them, lined only with that flat, rehearsed sound.
She was up first. They had fallen asleep late, Her pressed into the bed by Ben’s arm across her stomach, but She was up first. Ben found Her in the kitchen, sitting with her fingers tapping quickly on the counter. Before he could ask Her what the fuck she was doing up so early again, She looked up and smiled—a real fucking smile with teeth and clear eyes—as he entered the room.
“You’re up!” There were bags under her eyes, hanging heavier than before, but she was really fucking smiling and the Thing was tearing in two. “Finally.”
Ben started at Her. “Finally?” 
She hummed, nodding as she stood and walked to the oven. “Are you ready to have your mind fucking blown, Pretty Boy?”
“What the fuck are you-“ Ben cut himself off as She bent over, pulling out a cheesesteak—a beautiful cheesesteak that smelled fucking good—and turned with a grin.
“I did it.” She said smugly. “I cooked.”
“You’re real fucking pleased with yourself, huh.” Ben raised a brow a Her, and the Thing hummed as she gave a strong, proud nod.
“You’re going to fucking proud of me as well, dummy. I’m a god of this cooking shit.”
Fighting a smile, Ben rolled his eyes. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
She placed the cheesesteak before him, and gave a dramatic bow. “Bon appetit, cunt.” 
Ben expected it to taste like shit. It would’ve been really fucking funny if it tasted like shit, and it would’ve been so fucking easy. He could’ve teased her, or pretended it was fine and not felt the Thing buck around inside of him. But She would never just make shit easy for Ben. He had never met a more impossibly, obnoxiously fucking perfect person who seemed to know how to push every single one of his goddamn buttons. Because, fucking hell and Christ, this cheesesteak was good.
She watched his reaction carefully, eyes a little too wide to be natural. “So?” Her voice was nervous, delicate, and Ben couldn’t fucking force himself to lie.
“It’s good,” he muttered and She blinked.
“So you like it?”
Ben swallowed. “It’s good.”
“You said that,” Her voice was strained. “Do you like it?”
“Yeah, Sunshine.” Ben took another large bite, and the words pushed out of him. “It’s fucking amazing. Keep your damn head on.”
Her smile took over her face, and though she didn’t look the slightest bit less exhausted, she looked so fucking thrilled at his words that the Thing fucking whined.
“Great. That’s good. I’m, uh-“ Her face was becoming flushed. “Thanks.”
Ben winked at Her. “You’re going to cook more shit now, right?”
Her heart stumbled, and she looked away. “We’ll see.”
“What if I give you that complete TV control?” Ben said through a mouthful, and She shrugged.
“I can just use my favors for that.”
“You’ll run out,” Ben said pointedly. “You didn’t get any yesterday.”
“I told you, it was just an off day.” She grumbled, and Ben nudged her with his foot, waiting for Her to turn before he spoke.
“If you want to take a break from it, just fucking tell me.”
She stared at him. “You fucking bullied me into this, and now you want me to take a break.”
“You’re exhausted. You’re not going to perform any better.”
 “I’ll be fine.” She snapped. “It was an off day.”
“You don’t have to prove a damn thing to me-“
“I’m not trying to.” She stood upright, moving to the door. “I’m fine, and I’ll perform fine as well.”
Ben examined Her, posture too rigid, face washed out, blinking too fast. “If you don’t, I earn a favor.”
“Deal,” she crossed Her arms. “There’s not a chance in hell you’ll get anything.”
“We’ll see,” Ben said through a mouthful, and She stuck her tongue out at him before marching away.
As he ate, Ben listened to Her move in their room. Her heart was fast—erratic and loud through the floor—until, suddenly, it wasn’t. It grew slower, steady and even, and She had stopped moving. Ben walked carefully up the stairs, abandoning the plate in the kitchen, and opened their door to find Her slumped on the bed. She lay on her side, head against Ben’s pillow, leg angled off the side of the mattress like she’d been knocked out. Her eyes were fluttering slightly, her breaths coming long and deep, and Ben realized he hadn’t seen Her sleep like this a fucking week. With a peaceful face, completely taken in rest. Every perfect feature of her face was blissful, somehow more beautiful with the push of pain. The Thing was filled with a foreign fucking adoration, and Ben couldn’t stop himself from carefully pulling a blanket over Her body, flipping off lights and closing curtains until there was nothing that could disturb Her. He paused before leaving the room, watching Her like a pussy fucking creep, but he could’t bring himself not to.
The Thing wanted to touch Her, Ben wanted to touch her, and the only thing that kept him from pulling her to his side was fear of waking her. This—Her sleeping without restraint—was more fucking important that the Thing and it’s stupid goddamn need.
Ben returned to the kitchen, finishing the cheesesteak and trying not to dwell on the ache of the Thing to return to Her. Just be there, near Her, if she fucking needed anything. She had to sleep, sure, but that didn’t mean Ben couldn’t fucking be there. What if She woke up, and was ready to tell him what had been bothering her. What Butcher was planning. What if She fucking cried, what if she needed him, just him. Not any food or comfort or help but just him. 
He found himself in front of the TV, no attention on the show playing. Only Her breathing, only her heart. Any flutter or staggered sound made Ben’s whole fucking body tense, and though no drums sounded, it felt painfully fucking similar, like the slightest break in Her was a break in him.
When he heard the first scream, Ben had never moved so fucking fast in his life. He tore up the stair, kicking the door clean off its hinges, and a rush of fire blew past him into the hall. Ben’s blood turned cold as he moved into the room, his heart pounding in his chest.
She was floating off the bed, thrashing like she’d been fucking possessed. Everywhere around her was fire, covering her body and pushing at the walls. She was screaming, no breaks in the horrible fucking sound for breath. Her eyes looked screwed shut, her jaw hanging open and body fighting something Ben couldn’t see.
He launched himself at Her, trying to avoid her flailing hands—curled into claws and scratching at the air—as he shook her awake. He roared Her name, and she rose higher off the bed, back arching and fire growing. She looked like she was being tortured, screeching words Ben couldn’t understand and making deep, guttural sounds of agony. Ben could feel his skin burning—searing and scarring and raw—but grabbed Her roughly and pulled her down from the air. He couldn’t wake Her up, her eyes wouldn’t fucking open, the screams wouldn’t stop-
Ben did the only thing he could think of—deciding She could give him all the hell in the world for it and it wouldn’t change a goddamn thing—and slapped Her. Not hard enough to break Her, holding his strength back from leaving even a temporary mark, but enough to make it sting. Enough to make her eyes shoot open, make Her breathe ragged and sharp gasp as she fell fully onto Ben.
Tears were turning to steam in Her eyes and the screams became weak and desperate scrambles for air. She was clinging to Ben with flaming nails in his skin, but he didn’t give a goddamn fuck, because all that mattered was Her. Awake, choked on sobs and burning, but awake. Ben would let Her melt his fucking skin off if it helped, if it meant he would never have to hear her scream again.
Ben wasn’t sure how much time passed before She finally spoke, words pushed from her throat and so quiet he almost didn’t hear them.
“Why-“ She took a pained breath, hands fisted in Ben’s shirt. “Why did you let me sleep?”
“You passed out,” he said Her name in a low tone. “You fucking needed it.”
She shook her head. “You should’ve woken me up.”
“Did you not hear me say you passed out?” Ben’s voice raised slightly, holding Her tightly against him. “You looked like shit, like you hadn’t slept in days-“
“On purpose!” She pushed at his chest, voice high and unsteady. “I couldn’t sleep, I can’t sleep! I won’t let myself or-“
Ben narrowed his eyes as she cut Herself off with a miserable sound, something furious build in him as Her head fell into him.
“Or what?” He asked firmly, and She shook her head.
“Nothing.” Her voice was a whisper, and Ben pulled her back, holding her head so she was looking at him.
“Or what?” This time the words were louder, angrier. She had been fucking hiding something, and if it was something that reduced Her to this, he wouldn’t fucking let it go or bend anymore. Ben was going to know what was fucking wrong, if She wouldn’t tell him, he’d torture it out of Butcher by hand.
“I can’t-“ She shook her head frantically, and Ben  grabbed it between his hands. “I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, you fucking can."
“No, you don’t understand, I- I can’t, you’ll-“ She choked on another sob, and the Thing was roaring inside him.
“I’ll what?” Ben said Her name through teeth. “What the fuck is wrong-“
She made a desperate whimper, trying to pull from him. “You’ll try to-“ Her breaths were shallow and short. “Can’t-“
“Look at me.” Ben lowered his voice, even as he tightened his grip.
“No-“
The Thing was like stone in him, running a cold, angry resolve through Ben’s body. “If you think for one goddamn fucking second that I’ll let something hurt you, you’re a lot more stupid than I thought.”
“You won’t- you can’t-“
“Stop fucking saying that.” He snapped, and another weak sound fell from Her mouth. “Just, fuck, please.” He traced soft circles on Her face, and her heart slowed slightly. “Fucking look at me Sunshine. Just look at me.”
Finally, She did. The lingering fire went out as she met his eyes, blinking away heavy tears.
“What’s wrong.”
“I can’t tell you.” She whispered, and Ben shook his head.
“You need to fucking tell me. I can’t do anything if you don’t-"
“I know." Her eyes were so sad, she looked damn haunted. “That’s why I can’t tell you.”
“You need to make some goddamn sense.”
She sighed. “I can’t.”
“Try.”
“No, Ben. I can’t. I won’t. This isn’t something you can fix.”
He said Her name slowly. “Either you tell me now, or we sit here until you come to your fucking senses.”
“I-“
“You just woke up screaming and set the whole fucking bedroom on fire.” He roared, unable to care if his voice was loud and cruel. “You’ve been lying to me that everything is fine, but it’s clearly fucking not, so if you don’t start talking right fucking now I’ll-“ Ben took a deep, furious breath, dropping his head against Hers. “Just fucking tell me, goddamnit. You’re making me feel fucking sick, so please tell me.”
She pressed her head to his, and Ben wasn’t sure either of them were breathing. “You’ll try and stop me,” Her volume was barely a fucking sound. “If I tell you, you’ll try to stop me, and I can’t let you.”
He said Her name, and she shook her head, leaning back.
“I can’t let anything stop me. This is it. I can’t tell you or you’ll stop me, I can’t tell Annie or Hughie or MM because they’ll stop me. I can’t sleep because I’ll lose my nerve and stop myself. And I can’t let that happen.”
“I-“
She cut Ben off again, red eyes searching his as she placed her hands over where Ben held her face.
“This is the only way. So I can’t let anything stop me.”
Ben started at Her, the Thing squeezing at his throat. “Tell me.” 
“Ben-“
“You aren’t fucking leaving this room until you get real fucking specific about whatever shit you’re about to pull.”
She only sighed. “I told you-“
He hissed Her name. “I have some fucking news for you, Sunshine. Whatever it is, I’m stopping you. If it’s a gambit to steal Butcher’s kid, if it a play to trap Sage, if it’s some sort of self-sacrificial bullshit-“
Her heart faltered, so subtly, but Ben caught it. She started to shake her head, but he didn’t waver, keeping her perfect, tragic face aimed at his own.
“What the fuck are you about to do.” He growled, and a small sob left Her. “And don’t say you can’t tell me or it doesn’t matter or lie or apologize. Say the fucking truth,” Ben’s voice became weak, desperate, pathetic as he said Her name. But he had to know. He might fucking die if he didn’t. “Please. Just tell the fucking truth.”
The second before She spoke was the longest of Ben’s life. It was hell, because if she lied it would rip the Thing apart, would rip him apart. She was watching him, hands still holding Ben’s, and when the silence broke with Her unsteady inhale—worlds falling out of her like vomit—Ben time move once more, all too fast.
“The Ryan plan. It’s the Ryan plan. It’s the only safe way to get him out, get him away. Safe. Get proof, undeniable proof of what Homelander is. What he’s capable of doing, what he’s done. Becca Butcher files, and-"
“You.” Ben said, blood running cold.
“Me.”
“And how, fucking how, did you plan on getting close enough to tell him.” Ben spat, and She wouldn’t look him in the fucking eyes.
“The only definite way.”
“Fucking say it.”
“Let Home-“ She made a weak, hollow, broken sound. “Let Homelander take me."
This was hell. Ben was fucking certain of it. This was some sort of punishment, where he got to have Her only to lose her. He wouldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose her. Not if it was something like his, something unnecessary and so fucking stupid. There was no longer a divide in Ben between his rage and that of the Thing. Every fiber of his body was in a consuming fucking chant, a certain answer to what he had to do.
“No.”
She shook her head. “It’s not-“ 
“No.” Ben’s voice was firmer, louder. “Not a fucking chance in hell.”
“I’m not asking.” Her voice was still empty, but more firm with the anger creeping onto her face. “You don’t get to tell me what-“
“We fucking promised.” Ben growled. “We aren’t going back. So no.”
“You don’t get to stop me, Ben.” She spat. “I’m fucking doing it.”
“Would you let me go back under, for some bullshit, pointless fucking plan?”
She scowled. “Of course not, but this isn’t-“
“It’s the exact fucking same!” Ben pulled himself from Her completely. “You’re not doing this, not while I’m fucking alive and able to do something about it!”
“You don’t tell me what I can do!” She screamed. “This is the only way, and I’m fucking doing it!”
“NO!” He roared. “You don’t get to fucking give yourself to him like you’re a fucking pawn.”
“I am a pawn!” She screamed. “I’m the only way in, the only way to save Ryan, get him the fuck away so you can do your fucking job and kill him.”
“Do you really think that I’d just let you go?” He hissed. “Do you seriously fucking believe that Homelander would take you and I wouldn’t fucking burn everything to get you away from him.”
“I’m not your fucking responsibility. Protecting me isn’t your job-“
“I don’t give a fucking shit about your plans or Butcher’s plans or my job. I give a shit about you.” Ben could hear the drums in the distance, but it didn’t fucking matter. Nothing fucking mattered except Her. “You burn, I burn. You’re not fucking burning without me, so no.”
She stared at Ben, and all the anger was gone, replaced by a look he couldn’t fucking understand. “Ben-“
“No.” He snapped, extending his hand. “Give me your phone.”
“My phone?”
“I’m calling your team. We’re going to come up with a plan that’s not fucking stupid.”
“My plan-“
“Isn’t going to happen. You’re going to sleep, and I’m going to stay right fucking here until we come up with a new fucking plan.”
She glared at him. “If you lock me in this room, I’ll fucking-“
“Stop being so fucking dramatic, I’m not locking you anywhere. Wherever you go, I go. I won’t leave your side for a fucking second, not until I know you won’t try and go through with this idiotic idea.” Ben flexed his hand. “Give me your phone.”
She let out a shaky sigh, tilting her head. “You’re serious.”
“As goddamn cancer.”
She watched him—Ben still couldn’t fucking read that expression on Her perfect face—looking for something She seemed to find with a small nod. When She placed her phone in Ben’s hands it felt like the world finally started moving again.
“I’m sorry.” She said softly, keeping her hand over the phone in Ben’s palms. “I’m really-“
“No apologies.” Ben said, closing his fingers around Hers. “Go sleep.”
“Can you-“
“After I call.”
She hummed carefully, walking to the bed. When She didn’t lie down—only sitting at the headboard with her arms wrapped around her body—Ben raised his brows.
“I won’t-“ She swallowed. “I won’t sleep if you’re not here.”
Ben blinks. “Oh.”
“I can wait-“ She cut herself off as Ben dropped on his side of the mattress.
“I can talk while sitting,” he said dryly. “Sleep.”
All the fight and pain seemed to drain from Her at once with Ben’s words, and she almost fell into his side as sleep overtook Her. Ben slung his arm over Her shoulder, and for the first time that day the Thing breathed.
Ben managed to get her phone open himself, and found Butcher’s contact with much more ease than last time. It took him a second to figure out the difference between cell and work, but when it began to ring Ben held it to his ear, grinding his teeth as Butcher took his sweet fucking time to pick up.
“Oi, Love. We ain’t supposed to be talking for another two days-“
“We need to fucking talk Butcher.” Ben growled. “Change of plans, She’s not doing your dirty work. If you and your pussy ass team aren’t here by tomorrow afternoon to figure out something new, all deals are off. Do you fucking understand?”
There was silence for only a second. “I don’t know what-“
“Don’t bullshit me. Tomorrow afternoon, or I walk.”
“I don’t take any bloody orders from you, Gov. And you can’t just fuckin walk-“
“Fucking try me.” Ben hissed, and didn’t wait for Butcher’s response to hang up.
————
The day was long. You slept, really slept, for the first time in a week. No nightmares, no fire, no vigilante methods to keep yourself awake. Ben wouldn’t let you out of his sight, except to use the bathroom. And even then you’d have to talk the whole time so he knew you were there. He didn’t trust you, and you didn’t blame him. He won’t look at you, he keeps ignoring your apologies, and the Feeling can’t stand it. It’s killing you. He’s barely spoken, except in one-word answers to questions. 
“When will the team be here?” You ask nervously.
“Evening.” He says coldly, and that’s all you get.
Now you’re wrapped in a blanket, sitting quietly on the stairs as everyone fights around you. Most of your view of the team was blocked by Ben—who had planted himself firmly at the foot of the stairs—but you could hear it all.
 “Wait,” Annie says slowly. “So was this her plan, or Butcher’s?”
 “Sounds like a Butcher plan.” MM mutters, and Butcher scoffs.
“This was all her,” he snaps your name. “I was just enjoying the ride.”
“When did you even come up with this?” Hughie asks, and you catch a glimpse of his worried face as he tries to lean around Ben and address you.
Ben promptly moves to block him once more. “Don’t fucking talk to her, you fucking pussy.”
“I’m just-“
“Five steps back, Cocksucker, before I make you.”
“Ben,” you mumble, standing up and walking to be directly behind him. “It’s fine.”
“Listen to Sunshine, Gov.” Butcher sneers. “It’s fine.”
You glower at him over Ben’s shoulder. “Stuff it, Butcher.”
“I still don’t really understand,” Annie speaks over the venomous looks you and Butcher are exchanging. “Does Mallory know about this?”
“No,” you sigh. “Only Butcher and I. That was the point, no possible leaks that would tell Homelander it was a trap.”
“And the Becca files-“
You cut Hughie off. “I would’ve hidden them on myself.”
“Homelander would’ve seen them, no?” Frenchie frowned. “X-ray vision.”
“I had Butcher buy a tampon-shaped USB.”
Annie’s face wrinkles at your words. “That’s… Disgusting.”
“By the way,” Butcher interjects. “If we ain’t going through with this, you owe me forty.”
“There’s no way in hell you’re going through with this, Butcher.” MM snaps. “You two-“ he waves a hand between you and Butcher. “Are motherfucking idiots, who knew how insane this plan was and didn’t tell us because there’s not a single fuckin universe where we’d let you go through with it.”
“I don’t know why I’m takin all the bloody blame for her plan-“
“Because she’s on strike one!” Annie shouts. “This is strike fifty for you, asshole! There’s a reason she went to you, because is your exact brand of fucking shit!”
“Ooo,” Butcher mocks. “Church girl using some vulgar fuckin words, I’m shaking in my sketchers.”
Hughie says your name, pleading. “You have to have known this was a bad idea. Why-“
“It was, it is-“ You see Ben’s jaw clench in front of you. “The best way to get Ryan away from Homelander at his own will. There’s no tangible records of me, or anything that Homelander did to me.”
Annie frowns. “What about a witness-“
“There are none. I, I-“ Fire itches under your skin as memories of white lab coats covered in ash flash in your head, clearing suddenly as Ben leans back, his hand moving to brush your knee. “I killed all of them. When I escaped.” You swallow. “It was an accident-“
“Were there rotating guards?” Ben turns to look at you, eyes narrowed in a look of stop apologizing.
“I think so.” You mutter. 
“Then that’s it. We find one of those fucking pussies, get them to testify or give us some fucking proof.”
You shake your head. “Homelander might have killed them-“
“Maybe he did.” Ben shrugs. “And we’ll find another fucking way. You’re not throwing yourself in front of this stupid fucking train,” he says your name, holding your gaze like no one else is in the room. “That’s it.”
MM coughs your name, and your attention is ripped from Ben. “Are we going to need to put some security on you-”
“She’s not leaving my side.” Ben snaps, and MM glares at him.
“I didn’t fucking ask you, Soldier Boy.”
“I’ll be fine,” you say, giving MM a reassuring nod as you notice the muscles of Ben’s back growing tense. “I promise. Just, please, keep me updated.” Your voice is desperate. You don’t care. “Tell me what you find, even if it’s nothing.”
MM nods. “You’ll stay here?”
“I swear it.”
The teams leave, and it’s just you and Ben, alone.
“Ben, please-“ Almost the moment the door closes you’re begging, chasing Ben as he walk away from you and up the stairs. You just need him to say something, anything that makes you sure he doesn’t hate you.
“Stop it,” He grunts your name, not turning. “Just, fucking stop it.”
“I’m sorry-“
“I don’t want your apologies.” He snaps. “I’m not mad.”
“Yes you are-“
“No, I’m not.” He whips around, and still catches you before fall into him. You feel it. He’s not mad, but something is pushing around in his heart. It’s painful, and it’s so much worse. “I’m mad at Butcher, I’m mad at Homelander. I’m not fucking mad at you.”
“Why?” You can’t help but whisper. “I lied.”
Ben sighs, eyes boring into yours. “Because it’s you.” He grunts, and the Feeling keens. “Too fucking kind for your own good, too fucking smart as well, even if that was the most stupid shit I’ve ever heard.”
“So,” you don’t think you can breathe. “You forgive me.”
“I wasn’t mad at you, Sunshine. I’m fucking furious that you thought this was a good idea, that you weren’t going to tell me. But you didn’t betray me. So we’re square.”
“Nothing would’ve happened to you,” the words are blurted, because you need him to know. “The plan was you’d just be locked in here alone, and Butcher would have Frenchie make something for when you had to leave. I wasn’t ever going to put you back under.”
“I know. I trust you.”
And you feel that too. He does.
“You don’t hate me,” you say, one more time. It’s barely a question, but Ben answers anyway.
“I don’t hate you.”
“You give a shit about me,” you repeat his words from last night carefully, the Feeling desperate to hear him say it again.
He grunts, and you feel his heart turn. “I give a shit about you.”
“And your offer? To go with you?”
“What about it?”
“It’s still an offer?”
“Did I say it wasn’t?”
“No, but you might not have been sure and-”
He cuts you off with your name. “Do you trust me?” When you nod, you can feel his heart, tense and hot. “Then believe me when I tell you that I meant it. No pussying out.”
“No pussying out.” You echo. “Ben?” He frowns, eyes holding yours, so you continue. “I give a shit about you, too.”
A smile pulls his lips. “You as well.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, and you’re also smiling. “Stop using my own lessons against me.”
“Stop teaching me shit.” He teases. “It never ends well for either of us.”
“What if, what if we learn stuff together?”
“Sunshine, if you’re about to suggest I go back to fucking school-“
“No, dumbass,” you laugh softly. “You can’t cook either. We have our one, shitty cookbook. I’ll keep learning if you do it with me.”
Ben narrows his eyes. “Why? What are you going to make me do?”
“I just want to do something together that isn’t about life or death.” You mumble, looking anywhere but him. “I’m not trying to make you do anything. If you don’t want-“
“Fucking fine.” You turn sharply, unsure you heard him correctly. “Whatever.”
“So you’ll do it?” He grunts a sound you know to be begrudging affirmation, and your smile grows wide as you extend your hand.
“I’m not fucking shaking on it.”
“Do it or I’ll never make cheesesteak again.”
He scowls, grumbling something about blackmail, but shakes your hand roughly. You expect him to let go—pull away and keep being gruff and quiet—but instead Ben pulls you into him, holding you caged, warm, safe in his arms. You hold onto him, because if he lets go your legs might give out and the Feeling is soft and content here. You don’t know how long you’re standing there before Ben speaks, and you feel the words rumble in his chest as he does.
“You need sleep.”
He’s right, and you don’t have anything in you to fight, so you just nod. Ben picks you up, fully off the ground, and carries you into your room. As he places you on the bed he tries to let go, but you hold him tighter, pulling him until his head is next to yours.
“What if I have a nightmare,” you say softly in his ear.
“Are they-“
“About Homelander. All of them.”
“Then I’ll wake you up, and we’ll watch TV or some shit.” Ben says firmly.
“You won’t leave?”
“You couldn’t force me away.”
You believe him. You can feel it, the stone resolution and the pure fucking care. Both, somehow, for you. He’s still touching you, and the Feeling is peaceful. It never wants him to let go.
“Okay,” you yawn, and your body is already growing numb.
“Goodnight, beautiful.” You hear him say right before sleep catches you.
End Note: As we reach 10 chapters, 100k words, and 1 month, I just want to pause and say that I am so, so thankful for you guys. I can’t believe the love and support everyone has given this fic, or properly articulate how amazing this has been for me. I don’t think I’ve had so much fun writing in years, and I honestly didn’t think people would even read this. Every time you guys engage with my little story it means the whole fucking world to me. Every comment or interaction is everything to me, you don’t even know. Thank you, thank you, thank you again, and I’ll see everyone next time for the much less angsty chapter 11. In the mean time, let me know your thoughts! <3
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jessjad · 1 year ago
Text
Unexpected
Series Masterlist
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Summary: After a Halloweenparty Y/N actually didn't want to got to, her life seems to be turned around. The reason is a very stubborn Supe that seems to have her in his visier. Is it just a coincidance or more?
Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader
Warnings: 18+ only!! Annoyance, forced situations, hurt/comfort, misogyny, kidnapping, violence, smut, maybe enemies to lovers? All chapters will have their own warning.
A/N: So, here it is. I had a lot of ideas for these two and it seems like we're getting more out of it than just a miniseries. I'll start posting as soon as I can, but schedule wise I can't promise anything right now. Which means that anyone who wants to be tagged has time to let me know.
I'll ad the Oneshot who inspired me as a prequel, but you can still read it as a standalone.
My Masterlist
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Prequel
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15 - Epiloge
Series complete!
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