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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 days ago

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Need him in a way concerning to feminism❤️

If You Only Knew

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Part 2

Tags: Soldier Boy/Female Reader, fluff, pining, emotions (oh no), swearing

Title from I Can See You by Taylor Swift.

Summary/Warnings: Request from an anon! Ben is experiencing feelings. Real feelings. For a woman. But his reputation his proceeds him, so trying to win her over is taking a while. Once he gets a chance, he simply fucking refuses to blow it.

Author's Note: Ben proving once again that he's my favorite character to write for. I get to type "fuck" so much in his pov.

Word Count: 6.3k

Ben was not listening to any of these stupid fucking speeches. They were all the same, every goddamn year, and usually he’d at least pretend to pay attention—nodding like he gave a fuck about who this random pussy wanted to thank, applauding when everyone else applauded because he could do it louder, and better—for the sake of the cameras.

But this year he had better fucking priorities. Ones that were far more important than saving the birds from cancer, or whatever the fuck this charity did.

He was looking for Her.

She was here. She had to be here. She’d said she’d be here, so She was here. Ben couldn’t fucking find Her, but she was here.

Christ, he needed Her to be here. He hadn’t fought to wear a real, well-tailored suit and made that big donation just for Her to not be here. For Ben to just be acting like a pussy fucking dumbass for everyone but Her to see.

He’d let Her see it, because she seemed to like stuff like that. Romantic shit that women always liked, but bigger. Showing that Ben cared.

And he didn’t care about the birds, or dogs, or cats, or whatever the hell they were all doing here. He did care about Her, and getting Her to stop acting like she didn’t care about him.

He knew She cared about him. If She didn’t care, She wouldn’t ask him about his day like she always did. Specifying small things from shit he’d said two weeks, asking follow-up questions and making soft, adorable jokes through the conversation. She wouldn’t tell him about Her own day, like she really wanted him to know. She wouldn’t say Ben like She did. Like it was a word she liked saying. That felt right on Her tongue.

But She cared about Ben, not Soldier Boy. She didn’t even seem to fucking like Solider Boy, because the only times she really looked at him was when he wore dumb fucking people clothing instead of his supe suit. When he did things that boring citizens did, and when he told Her real things about himself. He’d tried all the regular moves on Her, the ones that usually got women to melt right to his will, and she’d been unaffected. He’d used all his best hero stories, and She’d seemed to be listening but not invested. Not swooning. He’d shown off his powers, and She’d flushed but hadn’t fawned, hadn’t fallen to Her knees. He’d casually dropped into conversation that he was considered the most attractive man alive, and She’d fucking giggled.

What had gotten Her was when he’d told Her about his real life, where he lived alone in a too big house that all the whores in the world couldn’t fill. When he’d mentioned how much he fucking hated school, and She’d asked why, and he’d told Her honestly. Ben hadn’t been honest about jack fucking shit in almost sixty years.

But She’d listened to him, smiled, not made a big fucking deal about it, and he’d been a goner. Nobody ever listened and actually fucking cared.

But She’d cared about Ben.

She cared about almost everything.

It was the first thing Ben had learned about her. That she really goddamn cared. He hadn’t seen that before. It was jarring, and infuriating, and better than goddamn heroine. Because it wasn’t a show, like all the stupid fucking pussy supes and Vought employees had mastered. Nobody in this room gave a shit about the dogs. They were here for the photo ops, and press, and good will of the public. They were here because it was their damn jobs, and saving the dogs looked good on a front page.

She was here because she fucking cared. She actually was saving the kittens. She fucking volunteered here, for no pay or glory or opportunities to get massive rounds of applause when She gave a teary speech about how much she’d always loved cats, like Crimson Countess was now.

Everyone in this room—from Ben to the red-clad bitch on stage—had shit to gain from being here. She only had shit to lose. She worked for a middle school, because she liked kids and teaching and making a real difference. She lived in a shitty little apartment that could barely fit Ben through the door. She always had bags under her eyes that Ben wanted to fix—to pin Her down in bed until she got some real goddamn sleep—messy hair Ben wanted to comb his finger through, and cheap clothing Ben wanted to rip off Her body.

And fucking Christ, he was a pussy. He wanted Her more than he’d ever wanted goddamn anything, and he’d repeated over and over in the first few months that it was the chase. That he wanted Her because he couldn’t have her, and once he caught Her he’d get over it. Stop trailing around after a fucking woman. A girl, as if he was a fucking teenager with a crush instead of a goddamn man who could have whatever, whoever, he wanted.

And he fucking knew She wanted him. She’d wanted him from the start, when he’d been touring Her school for a public education PSA, and She’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and when he’d stuck around and bought Her lunch and asked Her out she’d looked at him like she wanted to eat him.

But then She’d said no.

And Ben had chased. He’d kept buying Her lunch, started driving her home, and gone to all the stupid charity galas just to see Her and convince her to say yes. Then he’d realized he wasn’t chasing to chase anymore. He wasn’t even chasing to catch.

He was chasing to stop running. To have Her grin at him, and say She wanted him, and then keep wanting him for the rest of her life. And Ben would keep wanting Her. She was sweet and She cared, She was fucking hot and smarter than everyone he worked with, she had the patience and kindness of a goddamn Saint, and Ben didn’t ever want to see her flicker or waver or be anything but happy. He wanted to give Her whatever she asked for, and all he had to do was convince Her that it wasn’t a fucking show. That Ben really just fucking wanted Her, in a stupid, pathetic, domestic way.

But She didn’t believe him. Every time he said that she just laughed and wave him off like it was a joke, acting like She just wanted to be Ben’s friend.

He liked Her as a friend. She might be the only real friend he had.

He’d like Her more in his bed, coming apart under his touch and ruined on his mouth and screaming his name when he fucked Her until whole goddamn house shook.

He’d like Her best at his side when he woke up, and in his kitchen wearing his shirt, and on his arm at all these stupid fucking let’s all blow each other about how fucking rich and important we are parties.

He’d fucking worship the ground She walked on if, after every day, Ben got to pick Her up from her stupid fucking job—he’d try to convince Her to quit, he made more than enough money for both of them, but he also knew she taught for the damn love of it and he’d never want to deprive Her of something she loved—and carry Her into their house. If he got to keep telling her about his day like he was a real person and not a goddamn brand.

And She had to fucking want that too. She’d have avoided him and cursed him out if She didn’t want him at all. She’d have given into his advances sooner if She didn’t want the same that kind of life Ben craved, where he didn’t look anywhere else but Her, and he spoiled and treated Her like the queen she was.

He just had to convince Her that he wouldn’t look anywhere else. That his gaze had barely even strayed since they met. That he’d been celibate like some pussy fucking priest for a fucking year, and he was starting to lose his fucking mind—his hand was not enough, not when he kept fantasizing about Her body and how fucking warm and tight she’d feel wrapped around him—but he’d hold out until She was ready. Until She finally got that he was fucking serious about this. He was honorable, and a goddamn gentleman, and there wasn’t a single motherfucker on planet that could treat Her as well as he would.

But Ben still had to find Her to show her that. She wasn’t anywhere in between the ribbons and balloons covering the ballroom, and he couldn’t place Her silhouette backstage, so She wasn’t here. Ben would’ve found Her by now. He’d trained himself to find Her anywhere, even if it wasn’t somewhere he was supposed to be talking to anyone but the press and the suits. Just to keep an eye on Her, and make sure she was okay.

Sometimes he’d see that there was a slump in Her beautiful shoulders, or a pout on her pretty lips, and he’d work out an excuse to slip all the Vought pussies to talk to Her.

She’d smile when she saw him.

So Ben fucking knew She wanted him. Because it was a soft smile he saw Her give her students and roommates. The real people She liked, who she kept around her on purpose. Not the smile he’d seen Her give that weird Stan Edgar douchebag, or Countess, or any other Vought officials she had to interact with for the charities. Not the sickly-sweet smile She gave all those rich pussies, where she was only smiling to try and get a little more money out them. The smile where She was disgusted with herself, but was doing it to save the squirrels. Or free the squirrels. Or find the squirrels.

Ben really didn’t fucking know what any of these charities did.

But he had a damn good idea of where he’d find Her.

It wasn’t easy to slip through the crowd without anyone noticing, but he managed. The key was to head for the bathrooms, stay away from the cameras, and out of where Countess could see him and try to fucking start something in a closet. But Ben made it, and then he was fucking free, heading right to where he should’ve been the whole time.

With Her.

Ben heard Her first. Mumbling to Herself as soft clicks sounded, her voice hushed and flustered. She was having trouble with something.

Ben could help Her.

When he turned the corner, She was on Her knees in front of a door, frowning at the handle with an adorable little furrow in Her brow. She looked fucking amazing. Hair styled perfectly, makeup clean and highlighting Her every flawless feature, wearing a dress that Ben wanted to imprint the image of on his brain—every curve and dip right fucking there for him to touch, every shift of Her body giving Ben a new idea of how he’d like to see Her bounce on his cock—then rip off so he could have Her everything. Her warm skin against his, her careful fingers wrapped around his dick or scratching at his chest, Her hair ruined and her makeup stained on his pillow-

“Ben, stop creeping around.”

He frowned at Her. She’d never even glanced away from the door handle.

“How the fuck did you know it was me?”

“You’re not small,” She shrugged, still not looking at him. “And you’re wearing a lot of cologne. Special occasion?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He moved to stand at Her side, grinning down at her as he tried to get back on his game. He was fucking good at this, he would not allow Her sweet, refreshing… everything to throw him off. “I’m rescuing you tonight.”

She hummed. “Rescuing me from what?”

“This door. He giving you some trouble?”

She finally fucking looked at him. Her eyes were sparkling, her smile was full and illuminating her whole face, and Ben’s fucking knees were going to give out.

“You put on cologne to rescue me from a door?”

Ben cleared his throat. His game. He would not fucking lose his game. “Yes.”

Fuck.

She was still smiling at him. It was making his head spin a little. “Why?”

Ben could fucking do this. He did this all the time. And just because She was prettier and smarter and more important than anyone else didn’t mean Ben couldn’t fucking do this.

“Because you deserve the best being saved experience in the damn world, doll face.” He winked down at Her, and she flushed slightly. There it fucking was. “Nothing but the best for my girl.”

“Oh.” She mumbled, Her eyes wide on his. “I, um, I don’t really need saving right now-“

“Then why the fuck are you on the floor.”

She sighed, leaning the side of Her head against the door, still looking up at Ben. He hoped She never stood up. This was going to fuel his hand for another goddamn year. “I’m supposed to handle the raffle but, um,” She sunk fully down to the floor, rubbing her face between her hands. “I locked myself out of the office.”

Ben glanced at the door, then at Her openly pouting expression. “You need to be in there?”

“Yeah, and everyone else who has a key is- Ben!”

He’d barely waited to hear Her say yeah before he was winding up and punching the door clean off its hinges. Splinters of wood flew everywhere, but he’d been fucking ready for that, and moved to block Her from harm. She wouldn’t ever get so much as a fucking scratch as long as Ben was around, and she should know that. Trust that. Trust Ben to help Her with whatever the hell she needed, because then he’d be the one she trusted.

Her hand was grabbing his shin. It felt like fucking lighting through his whole goddamn body.

“There.” He leaned down, helping Her up from the floor, scanning over her slack face for any gratitude or anger or—hopefully—pure joy and affection for Ben’s undying service. “Go do the raffle.”

“I- God, Ben.” She sighed, and he frowned. That was not how She was supposed to sigh his name. ”I have to fix that now.”

“No.” He grunted, frowning around the broken wood and clearing dust. “I’ll do that.”

“It’s okay, I can do it-“

“I fucking broke it.” He snapped Her name, because he was a goddamn man, he could fix a door. For Her, he could fix fucking anything. “I’ll take care of it.”

She gave him a small smile, squeezing his arm as she stepped into the office. “Sure.”

He trailed after Her into the office, still frowning. “I will-“

“You’ll find someone else to fix it, Soldier Boy.” She gave him a gentle, teasing look over Her shoulder, and Ben hated when she called him that. He knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. He wanted Her to know Ben.

He opened his mouth to protest, to snap that he could fucking fix it, that he wasn’t some fucking pussy who needed to call a bunch of fucking dumbasses to fix a goddamn door, but She’d already moved on, and Ben never really knew how to do anything but move with Her.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know.”

“I don’t have any other shit to do,” Ben grunted Her name, standing right against Her back as she leaned over the desk, grabbing paper and a pencil. “I’m yours for the night.”

She hummed, and Ben could fucking hear Her heart stumble. “Mine?”

“Yours, sweetheart. However you need me.” Ben winked, and that was definitely at least a hitched breath. “I could do… whatever the fuck you’re doing.”

“I’m pulling the numbers for the raffles prizes,” She explained, moving to bunch of buckets, all filled with paper. “What did you put in for? I can rig it, you know.”

Ben snorted. “You’d never fucking rig it-“

“I might.” She shot Ben a glare. It was adorable. “You don’t know me-“

“Yeah, I do.” Ben smirked at Her, leaning down until he was hardly a breath away. “You’re a fucking square, doll, but I’m into it. I think I could loosen you up, just up for me, but,” he winked, savoring the way Her mouth dropped slightly. “I think I like you tight too.”

She swallowed, Her eyes darting down to Ben’s lips, and when she spoke her voice was a little soft. “You, um, you didn’t answer my question?”

Ben shrugged, rising back up as She collected herself. He wouldn’t push Her all the way, not here. When he finally kissed Her, it should be somewhere movie-worthy. In the rain, or in a garden, or on a rooftop. Not a stupid fucking office. “That’s because I didn’t put in for anything.”

“Nothing?” She blinked at him. “There was nothing you wanted? Because I know a lot of the prizes are kind of dumb, but I got some good ones in there. At least, I thought they were good? Did none of them-“

“Relax.” Ben said Her name, giving Her an amused look, and she took a long, heavy breath. “They were fucking great prizes. I thought about going in on that car-“

“Really?” Her face split into a smile, and Ben forgot what they were talking about for a second. “I actually put that one in there for- um-“

She flushed, and Ben felt his own heart flare in his chest. He fucking had Her.

“You put the car in the raffle for me, babygirl?” He only let himself call Her that when he knew he could get away with it. When She wouldn’t laugh and ask him if he called all the girls that, when he didn’t have any other fucking girls. He just had Her.

And She was so fucking pretty, gaping and stuttering at him, Her whole face slack with want. For Ben. Ben fucking knew She wanted him. “I, um- I- Maybe, but you didn’t even bid on it-“

He chuckled, taking a slow step forward. Closer. She didn’t take a step back. “It was a great fucking prize, doll, don’t lose your damn mind.”

“I’m not- If it’s great, why didn’t you-“

“I’ve got almost everything I want already,” He drawled Her name. Another step. “And I didn’t come here to get a damn car.”

“Why, um,” She swallowed, her voice breathy and like a fucking drug in Ben’s ears. “Why did you come here?”

“To get that one thing I don’t have.” He dropped his voice, taking that last step forward, caging Her between his arms and the desk, smirking as Her hand landed on his stomach, slowly trailing up to his chest. Not pushing him away, not moving closer. Just watching Ben with blown out eyes and ragged breathes like She’d never taken in air before. “The one thing I really fucking want.”

“You, um,” Her hand curl in Ben’s shirt, and when he leaned into her touch, he heard a soft moan. “I saw that you still gave us money. Outside of the raffle. It was, um, ah- It was really-“

Ben raised his brows, watching Her stumble over herself. “Need some help there, darling?”

“No, I’m- The donation was big.” Her voice high and needy, and Ben did have fucking game. He was goddamn amazing at this. “Impressive.”

“Of course, babygirl.” Ben winked at Her, leaning down to whisper in Her ear. “I’m big and impressive. And I care a lot about curing the fucking cats-“

“Kids.” She said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “This charity is for kids. And we’re not curing them, we’re feeding them.”

“Oh.” Ben blinked, trying to remember if any of the speeches had actually mentioned what this charity did. If they had, he hadn’t damn heard it. Most of them had just been blowing themselves about how much they fucking loved changing the world. “I care about kids, too. And curing them of, uh, hunger.”

She giggled, and Ben’s smirk returned. He still had Her.

“You know,” he hummed, leaning a little closer and watching Her eyes flick to his lips. “I’m fucking amazing with kids-“

“I do know.” She whispered. “All my students loved you.”

“Of course they do. They’re smart, because they’re taught by a hot, smart fucking lady. A lady,” Ben pushed on, and if he moved just a little further forward, She’d feel the evidence of how much he fucking wanted Her—perfect body and pretty brain and gorgeous face—pressed against her thigh. “Who’d make some great kids, with me-“

She laughed, rolling Her eyes, but it wasn’t her usual dismissive laugh. It was softer. Ben was closer to having Her forever. “Okay, Ben. Go bother your date with that shit-“

“I don’t have a date to bother.” He held Her gaze, making his words plain. Simple. “So I guess I’m stuck bothering you.”

“I, um, I- You- You don’t-“ Her jaw was hanging open, Her fingers fidgeting with Ben’s shirt in Her hand, and he was so close.

This wasn’t the romantic setting it needed to be. And She had to find him for this. She needed to tell Ben that She wanted him for him, to throw herself into him arms with a plea for him to hold Her. And when She did, he’d hold Her and never let go.

But She had to do it. Ben needed know that She understood he wouldn’t be looking a single other fucking place.

So he pushed off the desk, hanging onto the racing sound of Her heartbeat, and begging the fucking universe She’d chase after him. Her hand was still in his shirt. Her breathing was still desperate. She was still licking her own lips, and staring at Ben’s-

“I have to go deliver the winner list.” She whispered, taking a step away from the desk. Still touching Ben. “I’ll see you later?”

He didn’t get Her now. He’d keep going until he did. “You always fucking do.”

She gave him a smile, stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, and walked away. Just fucking walked away, like Ben wasn’t going out of his goddamn mind from Her touch. Like She hadn’t just found the one thing that might actually fucking kill him, like She wasn’t a living, walking fucking weakness, like Her presence made Ben not care about being weak. He couldn’t care about anything but Her, not while She was still lingering in the air around him.

But She walked away, and now he was alone in this stupid goddamn office.

And he was going to fix that fucking door.

———

It’s getting harder and harder to turn Ben down. Harder and harder to remind yourself of his reputation, and history, and overall inability to give you anything but sex.

It doesn’t help that it would be good sex. Amazing sex. Sex that you’d had fantasies about before you even met him, because you had eyes and lived on planet Earth, and everyone with those two things had experienced a least one wet dream about Soldier Boy in their life.

But it was crippling how much more intricate and prevalent those fantasies had gotten after he’d stopped being Soldier Boy to you and started being Ben. Still all the looks and charm and impossible strength of the untouchable hero, but also just a big, grumpy man who looked at you like you were the untouchable one, like you were the work of art, like he wanted to grab you and ruin you.

You had to remind yourself that ruining you was all he really wanted. That yes, you’d be more than happy to let him wreck and use you, but you couldn’t just have that. Your dumb, romantic heart wanted him to care for you after he destroyed you with his hands and mouth and cock, then stay through the night and a little while after too. Stay forever. Walk with you on the streets, his arm looped around your waist, smile at you and never anywhere else.

That was why you couldn’t give in. Ben was your friend, and he obviously wanted you, but he just wanted the chase. He just wanted to win you, then leave after, and you couldn’t even be angry at him for it. That was just who he was. You wouldn’t ask him to change his whole lifestyle of fame and drugs and countless bodies passing through his bed just because you had a crush. Just because you got a little jealous whenever you’d see him dancing with other women on the grainy TV, because you knew him and they didn’t. You knew him as more than just the hero, and you liked him as more than just the brand, and you wanted him all to yourself but you couldn’t have that.

And if you gave in, you’d fall in love with him, and he’d ruin you in a way he’d never intended to. You know yourself. You know that he’ll show you the time of your life, you’ll go over the edge you’ve been balancing on since you met him, and you’ll have destroyed your own life. He wouldn’t stay until the morning. He’d probably move on by that same evening.

You were pretty sure he’d move on. That he’d still be your friend, but he’d have gotten what he wanted, and you’d be lost as he grabbed your heart out of your chest then walked away with it, never looking back.

But you’d also been sure he was still sleeping around. That he was chasing you, but just for the game of it. That he’d use spare time and opportunity to try and coax you into him arms, into his bed, but then turn around and find what you refused to give him elsewhere.

That hadn’t been his spare time. He’d probably had pictures to take and people to charm, but he’d still looked for you. So it wasn’t opportunity either. It was purposefully seeking you out, just to seek you out.

Worst—or best—of all, he said he didn’t have a date. No dazzling woman on his arm that was suited to be there, designed just to throw his light a little wider around the room and match his power with her own. No goddess that you could never live up to, that would laugh and sneer at the little human girl with a crush on Soldier Boy. The mortal who thought she was good enough to string him along, when you really wanted nothing more than to stop making him chase you. To stop running so Ben could grab you, pick you up, and spin you around before kissing you like you were in a romance novel.

But he wouldn’t do that, so youcouldn’tstop running. You couldn’t afford heartbreak, couldn’t capitalize off of it with tabloids like the other women did. You weren’t cutthroat and savvy enough, weren’t strong enough, weren’t entertaining enough. You’d just wallow and cry and drag yourself through routine, fading to the world until something cracked.

And you had to take care of yourself. Nobody else would.

If Ben broke your heart, you’d lose more than you even had to begin with. You’d lose yourself—because you’re stupid and emotional and can’t do anything but fall fully in love—you’d lose your mind, and you lose your peace as you attended more charity galas like this one, now forced to watch Ben laugh and grin with a different woman on his arm.

He wasn’t doing it now though, and it made is so much worse. You were standing off the side of the stage as they read off the raffle numbers, your eyes locked on Ben’s empty seat, and there was no pouting, beautiful woman waiting for him to return. Just two old men that kept glaring at the chair Ben was supposed to be occupying.

He still hasn’t returned to the ballroom, even though it’s been nearly an hour since you left the office. You’re not sure what he’s doing.

You don’t really want to think about it. You don’t want to think about how he doesn’t have anyone next to him—how if you think about it, he hasn’t had anyone for a while—but that’s just where you can see it. And Countess has vanished from the ballroom too.

So he might just be keeping her where you can’t see it.

It makes your lungs ache and forms a small lump in your throat, but you refuse to let it destroy you. Ben’s not yours to be possessive over. Not yours to be bitter about. You can’t hate him—you don’t even know how you’d do that—but you can’t wallow when you have nothing to be heartbroken over. No promises were made, and Ben’s a grown man. He can do whatever he wants, with whoever he wants, as long as it’s away from you.

You’re not sure how you’ll manage when he finally gives up his chase. When he realizes one random girl really isn’t worth all this work, and leaves you alone. He’ll still be your friend, but the teasing and flirting will end, and you’ll have to pretend like he didn’t shatter you when he never held you to begin with. Like it won’t make you sick when he starts to have dates again, because you’d made him wait too long.

You honestly thought he’d stop chasing months ago. You’re surprised he’s held out this long. It’s been almost eighteen months since you met him and—if you really think about it—about a year since you’ve seen him flirt anyone else.

But Countess is still missing.

So you can’t give in.

You throw yourself back into the gala. It’s a good distraction from everything, and it makes you feel useful. You’re doing something that will be good. You’re taking the money of these shining, arrogant modern kings and directing it somewhere important. You’ll go through the whole show, you’ll give away all these prizes and feed all their egos with praise and thanks, because then they’ll keep giving the charity money and you’ll keep using it for good.

It’s why there’s always a speech to thank the top donors. To ensure that they feel appreciated, and make all the other rich assholes try to give more next time. You’re always in charge of the list, putting it together and running it over with the announcer, and you’re about halfway through it when Countess reappears.

She doesn’t look like she just had sex. She mostly looks annoyed.

You try not to dwell on it, and put all your focus onto the list.

“Dr. Vogelbaum from Vought American gave $10,000, so he’s second, and our top donor gave, um,” you swallow, praying the heat of your face isn’t visible you land on the last name. “$69,000.”

He’s such a fucking child.

You want to kiss him so bad.

The Announcer clears his throat, giving you a pointed look. “$69,000 from whom?”

You’re definitely flushing now. “Oh, sorry, from Soldier Boy-“

Countess groans, throwing her hands up dramatically. “God, of course he fucking did that!”

The Announcer nods, seeming happy to just move on, but you need more. You need to know why she’d say that.

“Of course?” You ask, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “Why-“

“Because he’s a dick.” She spits. “First he tells Edgar he’s not doing all our PR dates, even though they’re in our contract, and then he won’t sleep with me for a fucking year, and now he’s trying to go all in on this sudden good guy shit?!”

You gape at her, your brain spinning a little as you try to catch up. “What good guy shit?”

“I mean all these donations, and reading books, and refusing to go to the conservation galas with me but then going alone? He wouldn’t even let me give him a hand job in the bathroom!”

You’re a little dizzy. You remember that gala. Ben had donated a lot of money, asked you your favorite animal, then made an even bigger donation to be use for that animal.

“I don’t know what his game is,” Countess sneers, glaring at the wall in front of her. “But I’ll figure it out. He can’t hide from me forever.”

“Hide from you?” You squeak, thankful Countess seems too caught up in herself to notice how invested you are in this. “He’s hiding from you?”

“He’s hiding from everyone.” She snaps. “He keeps vanishing in the middle of the day and won’t tell anyone where he’s going. He doesn’t go to any my parties anymore, and last week I caught him looking a fucking flowers.” Her face twists in disgust, and you realize the Announcer has taken the list from your hands and walked on stage, but you don’t really care. You’re rooted in place, trying desperately to piece this together.

“Were, um, were the flowers for you-“

“No!” She shouts, throwing her hands up once more. “I think he has a fucking secret girlfriend or something, and he’s trying to hide it from Vought!”

“Why would he, um, why would he hide it-“

“I don’t know.” Countess’ eyes narrow on you, and your mouth goes dry, your heartbeat loud in your ears. “But I’ll figure him out. He’s never bought me flowers.”

“Oh.” Your whole body is suddenly on edge. You need to go find Ben, now. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She sighs, and you breathe a little easier when she asks, “Who are you?”

“I’m, um, a volunteer. With the charity.” You shrug, grateful she doesn’t remember that you’ve met before. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to give her your name. Not with the possibly stupid choice you’re about to make. “Excuse me, I have to go… take a shit.”

You turn on your heels before she can ask any other questions, and almost run down the halls. You don’t know what you’ll tell Ben when you find him, but you know you have to say something. If Countess is telling the truth—and you think she is, because she’s not really a good actress—then you need to find Ben and say something-

You freeze when you see him. Right where you left him in the hall, hair a little messier, jacket gone and tie undone, standing tall with a proud grin as he looks at the door to the office.

The door.

He’d fixed the door.

And when he turns to you, he’s smiling. For you. It’s not his plastered, over-exaggerated smile, the one that’s more blinding than the flashing cameras capturing it. It’s a real, strong smile. He says your name like he’d never want to say anything else, and you cut him off with a whisper.

“You never told me you that you sent those roses.”

“The roses?” Ben’s voice is low and cautious as he holds your gaze. “You mentioned you wanted flowers for your classroom, so I got you fucking flowers-“

“But why didn’t you say you got them?” You take a slow step towards him, and you could swear he stands a little straighter.

“Because I didn’t fucking think I needed to.” He grunts. “Who the hell else would be sending you flowers?”

“No one. But I didn’t- I thought it was a mistake. I didn’t think anyone would send me flowers.”

Ben frowns. “Did you throw them-“

“No. I kept them.” You give him a small smile, taking another step. “They were beautiful.”

“Good.” He mutters, his hands flexing at his side. “That was the goddamn point.”

You hum in agreement, glancing around him. “You fixed the door.”

“I fucking said I would-“

“And you turned down a hand job from Countess.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “And a blowjob, the bitch couldn’t understand that I-“ He cuts himself off, something hot flashing in his eyes as his voice drops. “How the fuck did you know that.”

“She told me.” Another step. You could touch him, if you tried. “And she said you haven’t slept with her for almost year. That you don’t tell anyone where you go when you vanish in the middle of the day.”

“It’s none of their goddamn business where I’m going. You don’t need the fucking press following you around.” He pauses, giving you a strange look. “And I haven’t slept with fucking anyone,” he mutters your name, and your breathing becomes shallow.

“Why?”

Ben’s nostrils flare, and your knees might give out. You’re pretty sure he’d catch you, but you need to stay lucid long enough to hear him. To know that it’s safe to fall.

“I only want you, babygirl.” He takes his own step forward, and you can feel the heat of his body. “I’ve been fucking trying to tell you that for a goddamn year, but-“

You reach up to cover his hand with your mouth, scanning over his beautiful face. You think he’s telling the truth. And it doesn’t really matter if he’s not.

Because no matter what you’ve been telling yourself, your heart is already Ben’s to break.

You might as well give him a chance to try and keep it safe.

“Ben?”

He grunts against your hand, but doesn’t pry it away. He’s leaning into it.

And you’re a goner.

“Ask me on a date.”

Your hand has barely moved when he catches it, presses a kiss to you knuckles, and speaks against your skin.

“Let me take you on a date,” he mutters your name, and there it is. You give in.

“Okay.” You smile at him, and he looks almost boyish with excitement. It’s a little intoxicating. “I’ll will.”

End Note: Once again saying I really think Ben just needs a cool wife to obsesses over and be violent for and he'd chill out.

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