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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Break Me Down - Part 9

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

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

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

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

Word Count: 6,800

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, peril, blood, and angst.

Part 9: Breach

Loco’s eyes widened as he watched the surveillance feed.

“Coño carajo,” he cursed in Spanish. “Hey, boss.”

Frank was just about to step out of their “office” (a dusty back room behind the library). He stopped at his subordinate’s voice and turned back, frowning when he caught sight of the large triple screens.

A helicopter had just landed on the roof of the mansion. It had a red banner painted with “Fiesta Tours” on the side. The door slid open, and out tumbled a skinny kid who fell onto his knees and threw up on the ground.

His blonde girlfriend came out and patiently rubbed his back. Though she rolled her eyes at something the pilot said.

It was Billy Butcher, which meant the other three assholes jumping out of the helicopter were the rest of his team that had eluded Antonio’s men in Medellin.

“Damn it,” Frank muttered. “How’d they get through our airspace without tripping any alarms?”

“They stole a fucking tourist trap, bro,” said Loco.

By the time he glanced up, Frank had already moved back to his desk to unlock a large safe with both a code and a fingerprint. Out of the safe came a briefcase. Loco stood from his chair and grabbed his gun.

Frank popped open the case and grabbed one of several vials. He gave one to Loco and pocketed two more before he locked the briefcase again.

“Keep them busy,” Frank said. He pressed a finger to the communicator in his ear. “Saul, we have company. Meet me upstairs, then prepare the getaway as a contingency.”

“Got it,” Saul responded. He was currently on patrol on the east side. Frank knew it would take him roughly two and a half minutes to get back.

“Y el Capitán?” Loco asked. And the Captain?

Meaning Soldier Boy. Instead of answering him, Frank pulled out his cell on his way out of the room. Loco was on his heels.

“What?” said Ben. As usual, he sounded annoyed at being bothered.

“Sir, we have a breach,” Frank said. “It’s Butcher.”

Fuck. Ben grimaced, though he didn’t voice his displeasure. His hand tightened on the cell phone at his ear.

“Where is she?” he asked. He heard Frank give a command to check the feed. It was Loco’s voice that gave the reply.

“In the garden,” Frank answered.

Typical, Ben thought. The garden was your favorite place. You hadn’t told him that, but he’d caught you there often enough.

“All right, get her to the helicopter,” Ben said. “Take her to the next house. I’ll deal with Butcher and his cocksucking crew.”

Frank resisted the urge to raise a brow, even if his boss couldn’t see it. Extracting you from the house was not the original plan. But he agreed and parted ways from Loco with a nod.

When Saul caught up with Frank in the hall on the top of the stairs, second floor, Frank handed him a vial of V24. Both men shot up together, each taking sharp breaths at the intensity of unnatural green-hued chemicals running through their veins.

Frank recovered first, rolling his shoulders as new awareness made his senses sharp, his blood already pounding with adrenaline.

“The most expensive damn high I’ve ever had,” Saul remarked, smirking.

Frank didn’t take the same pleasure in it, but he conceded that with a nod. Being able to see through walls was an advantage, at least. It just took a moment for his vision to even out and normalize.

“Get it done,” was all he said.

While Saul continued on to the roof with super speed, Frank made his way down the stairs, and through the French doors to the backyard. He found you there, sitting on the grass with a book in the garden.

Good, he thought in approval of your jeans and V-neck top. You would be easier to transport this way.

He called your name, and you greeted him with a smile, until you noticed his sternness.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

Frank pulled you up by your arm, firm but not painful.

“We have to go,” he said. Despite your protests, he led you back inside, then up the narrow staircase that you realized would have to lead to the roof. There was nowhere else to go on the roof but up, and away. Frank was taking you away from the house. Why?

“It’s my team, isn’t it,” you said.

You stared up at Frank’s profile. His mustache often obscured his expression, but you caught the way his brows tightened, as did his hold on your arm. It felt tighter, stronger than usual, and not just because he hadn’t manhandled you in a long time.

It raised your suspicions, but your heart was also thumping faster as you realized that your friends were here somewhere.

“Where’s Ben,” you demanded to know. A tendril of worry laced up your spine. “Where the hell are we going?”

“To a secure location,” Frank replied. But he didn’t give you more than that. You dug your heels in on the stairs and tried to work your arm out of his grip, but he was unrelenting.

“Let me go!” you snapped. “I have to talk to them.”

“Boss’s orders,” Frank said, his jaw tightening. You could tell he didn’t want to hurt you, but he would drag your ass up the rest of these steps.

You were reduced to pleading. “Frank, please! He’s in danger.”

His eyes sharpened at that.

“You may not believe it, but they can take him down,” you said. Desperation shone in your eyes, and you fought the conflicted nature of your emotions in what you were about to say.

“If I’m there, maybe I can talk down both sides,” you argued. “I know you’re just following orders, but if you care about your next paycheck, you’ll fucking listen to me.”

Frank seemed to consider your words for all of three seconds.

Then he continued to haul you up all the way to the roof. You were struggling and shouting, but you were made to go all the same.

When the door opened to the roof, however, Frank caught a slender fist in his face, knocking him right out. You gasped as the man careened back and nearly bowled you over, but that same hand caught him by the collar and kept him from crushing you.

You looked up and brightened with an incredulous smile.

“Kimiko!”

The smaller woman gave you a smile and a small wave with her free hand. But before she could finish Frank off, you raised your hands against her raised fist.

“Wait! Don’t kill him,” you asked. “Just leave him here.”

Kimiko looked confused for a second, but she did as you asked and helped you let him down gently to the ground. You noticed the blood hastily wiped from her hand and face—onto her black leather jacket.

“Where is everyone?” you asked.

Kimiko signaled ahead, but you opened the door to the roof real quick, just to see the littered bodies of dead men on the ground. You blanched at the sight.

You turned away from the scene and followed Kimiko, who lowered her head as she continued down the stairs.

Despite yourself, you hoped Loco and Saul had gotten away, at least. They were your captors, but they’d never treated you badly. You’d even cooked for them, hung out with them, listened to them bicker and bitch, and watched them cheat one another at cards. They were criminals, but they weren’t monsters.

And not wanting to see them die only scratched the surface of your conflict when you thought about Ben.

As you and Kimiko jogged through the mansion, heading toward the sounds of fighting and yelling and destruction downstairs, your guilt began to grow.

You knew very well what Ben had done. But the truth was, you no longer had the heart to condemn him.

To play jury and judge and executioner—interning him into an ice box until he could be neutralized, or until the end of his unnaturally long life.

To continue making him pay beyond his forty years of imprisonment.

You’d seen the worst of him: his salaciousness, his temper, his trauma, his destructive coping mechanisms, and painfully outdated ideals.

Yet, Ben was more than all of that. He’d allowed you to see more.

But the moment you said any of that, you knew how he would react. Just as you knew how M.M. would look at you. And it made your chest ache and your mind spin faster than it already was.

What the fuck am I going to do?

You got your opportunity to answer that question when a star bolt shot right in front of you and Kimiko—through the open door of a large room.

It was big enough to be a ballroom for parties, but right now it was a battlefield between your friends, a support team of CIA officers, Loco and his team of men, and of course, Ben at the center. He was in his full Soldier Boy gear, complete with the stupid-ass helmet.

While Hughie had clearly been made to hang out at the fringe of it all. He stood there, looking worried with a gun in his hand that he didn’t look all that comfortable with.

He noticed you and Kimiko first and called your name. You smiled and accepted the joyful hug he gave you (after he carefully tucked his gun in his pants).

“You’re actually okay! I can’t fucking believe it,” he said. But then he quickly amended, “I mean, we all hoped you were still alive, I just mean—”

You just laughed and teasingly slapped his cheeks between your hands to stop his fumbling. “Thanks for coming to find me.”

Ben ears must’ve been perked up, because he sharply glanced over. You getting free wasn’t part of his plan, you knew, and he did not look pleased. Your amusement fading, you let go of Hughie and met Ben’s gaze across the room.

You were worried. About him. About everyone.

“We don’t have to do this,” you told Hughie. Kimiko had already joined the fray to stop a gunman from clipping Frenchie from behind.

Your earnest gaze met Hughie’s confused one. “He’s not what you think he is…well, not exactly, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. “He fucking kidnapped you!”

“Technically, he didn’t. It was one of his overzealous groupies,” you replied, your expression firming at the thought of Antonio. “That guy’s dead. But there are more reasons. I’ve gotta stop this somehow—”

“That’s…not a good idea,” Hughie was saying, and even tried to stop you when you took the gun from his pants. But you ignored his protests and headed right into the jungle of bullets and star bolts, and the crunch of bone and blood.

You didn’t shoot to kill, evading and defending yourself more than fighting back. Annie noticed you with a happy smile, as did Frenchie and M.M. Butcher was busy shooting at Ben with a fucking launcher.

But Ben avoided the massive projectile with a simple knock of his shield. It sailed through the back windows, eventually exploding into the sky.

For a moment, there was enough of a lull in the room that you took the opportunity to open your mouth, prepared to call out to both men.

However, something else broke through the windows—from the opposite side.

It was a dart that landed between Ben’s feet, black and flashing a small red light. He rose a brow. But before he could just kick the thing away, it detonated.

The explosion was bigger than even Ben anticipated. It blew up a huge crater in the ground, knocking him and everyone else surrounding several feet away.

Even you were tossed back. Your gun clattered away from you as you landed painfully on the ground, most likely onto a dead body. You blinked the haziness out of your vision as you struggled to recover, to pull yourself up.

“What the fuck?” you heard Ben utter.

When you turned your head, you couldn’t help echoing his statement.

Black Noir was standing just before the large crater, the one he’d apparently created.

He’s dead, you thought dizzily. Or at least, he was supposed to be. Homelander killed him six months ago.

Seriously, what the fuck. Ben was bewildered, to say the least. He’d been told that his unfortunate spawn had offed Noir, but yet here he was, the little shit.

“Fucking Noir,” Ben said with a laugh, after he’d stood and made a show of rolling his neck. “What frosted hole did you crawl out of?”

The supe didn’t respond. Didn’t even move a muscle from where he stood in the center of the room. And the rest had gone quiet by now, waiting and watching as two predators approached one another.

“I heard you became a fucking mute,” said Ben. He smirked at the crater in his floor. “You’ve figured out how to make an entrance, I’ll give you that. But we both know you’re not up to this. You could never even shine my fucking shoes.”

Ben tossed the first punch. He expected the way Noir deflected, but not the force behind his blow, which pounded below Ben’s ribs and forced a grunt out of him. He actually felt it.

Along with subsequent punches Noir got in before Ben finally remembered to raise his shield and get back on the offensive. But now he was annoyed. Noir was never this strong, not even on his best day. What kind of bullshit does Vought got him hopped up on? More V?

And then, a solid punch to his face had Ben stumbling back. He caught his smarting jaw with no small amount of irritation, and he wiped at his nose.

It came away bloody. Ben stared at it in disbelief, and then, in anger. Back from the dead or not, he was going to put Noir back in the fucking ground today.

His blood burned hot. So much that he realized, belatedly, that his chest was starting to get that nuclear glow.

Good, he thought. He’d blow a third hole through this cocksucker, and whoever else got in his way.

“Ben!”

Your voice cut through the whirring in his ears as he grappled with Black Noir, just loud enough for Ben to notice you. You weren’t far from your friends, but he realized then how close to danger you were.

He was impossibly hot now, and still fighting hand-to-hand with Noir. His jaw locked as he tried to focus on the fight and figure out what to do. It was getting harder and harder to focus—on Noir, on the power growing inside him, on your worried face.

Shit, wait—

And he lost control.

It was all of seconds.

Annie was just ahead of you, closer to the blast zone. So in those last precious moments, you made a decision: you pushed Annie out of the way.

Then your feet were once again swept from under you, and you flew back even harder than the first time. You blacked out before you had the chance to feel any pain.

That came later, the next time you opened your eyes.

When your vision was able to clear of the mess of colors and shapes, sharpening into focus, you saw Frank as he pulled you out of the rubble. But it was at your expense, as a sharp flare of pain erupted in your side.

You didn’t recognize the sound of your own voice, a strangled groan. In the distance, maybe you heard Annie’s voice. Or even M.M.’s, you couldn’t be sure. You flashed in and out of consciousness after that.

The next scene you truly remembered was being laid down on the floor of a helicopter. A backpack was tucked under your head. The engine was loud, rearing to go. Frank was shouting to someone, whoever the pilot was (you hoped it wasn’t Loco).

“She needs more than a medic,” you heard Frank say. For a man who was usually so stoic, you thought you heard grave worry in his voice.

You managed to look down, and you frowned at the long piece of wood protruding from your side. It wept blood beneath your ribs.

Your light green shirt was slowly getting stained, but your mind was so fuzzy, it was hard for you to understand what was happening.

“Let’s go!” Loco shouted.

Oh, no, you thought. He was going to fly this thing.

“We can’t take off yet,” said Saul. “Where’s—”

A soot-stained hand grabbed onto the frame of the helicopter’s open door. You recognized that hand, followed shortly by the rest of Ben. His helmet was off, shield tucked onto his back. He looked pissed.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he snapped. His frown deepened the moment he saw you, which you didn’t quite understand.

“Ben,” you said, even though it was an effort to do so.

Every breath was like a hot knife cutting deeper into your side. Your eyes closed at the pain, and at tears that burned down your cheeks. It also cut through the brain fog enough for you to realize this was bad.

It was very bad.

A splintered chair leg had impaled your body.

“Get a vial,” you heard him say.

What? You struggled to open your eyes again. Ben was there, looking down on you with a different kind of frown, and something deeper in his green eyes. His sweaty hair fell over his brows, and you had a sudden itch to brush the strands aside.

You were pacified a little when his half-gloved hand came to rest on your head, over your hair. His thumb traced over your brow.

“Hurry the fuck up, Frank,” he said, briefly glaring over your head. Frank soon appeared at your side. He held a green vial in his hands, tinged with blue. Your eyes widened.

“What…”

“That needs to come out first.” Frank nodded at something you couldn’t see. You didn’t have the strength to look down anymore. You knew this was it, though.

You were going to die.

Ben’s hand braced your shoulder. His eyes met yours.

You didn’t understand the thoughts crossing through them, or his hesitation. But you did feel it when he grabbed the large wood splinter and slowly pulled it from your body. Your scream sounded almost inhuman to your own ears.

At least the pain was enough to knock you out once again.

Ben had no such reprieve as he looked down at the gaping hole in your side. Scarlet blood ran and pooled by his knees, even slipped through his fingers and around his hand when he tried to clamp down on the wound.

“Fucking do it already,” he said through gritted teeth.

With a short nod, Frank injected V24 into your arm.

You healed in minutes.

Breath drew into your lungs—a reflex as chemicals flooded through your blood and knit your organs, muscle, and skin tissue closed, even regenerating the blood you had lost. And it felt like a switch had turned on in your brain, set to “high voltage.”

You sat up as a ragged sound erupted from your throat. A hand closed on your shoulder, and you instinctively fought it off.

“Hey. Easy,” said Ben.

Your breathing was shallow as you met his eyes, focused on his face. You noticed Frank on your other side, poised to support you if you needed it. You looked down and noticed your blood-soaked shirt, the blood on the floor of the aircraft, and the empty syringe in Frank’s hand.

“You shot me up,” you realized. Your voice shook, but anger drew your brows together before you whipped your head back to Ben. “You shot me up with V24!”

He stared back at you, his expression tightening. “I saved you.”

“And you kidnapped me. Again!” you shouted.

“You were hurt, and I saved your fucking life! Again,” Ben countered, gesturing at you with his blood-stained hand. But you glared at him.

“You are the reason I needed saving,” you snapped.

At that, Ben glared right back at you…but he stayed quiet.

Good. You huffed and turned away from him. You folded your knees up to your chest and rested your forehead against your knees.

You had nothing else to say to him.

You ignored Frank’s helping hand when the helicopter finally landed at the next house—this time on the gravel driveway.

This place was at the top of a hill on the outskirts of a thick jungle. Once you were led inside, you could tell this house was smaller, though just as lavish as the last one.

Ben seemed too exasperated with you to follow you, instead going his own way to find his room upstairs. Frank led you to a guest room downstairs, where he informed you that he’d find you some new clothes. You were dismissive with him, and he left you alone soon after.

Part of you felt bad for giving him a hard time. You knew he had saved you after the explosion. He’d likely gone out of his way to find you and pull you out of the rubble, but you couldn’t help it.

You were still salty about his part in your re-capture. Not to mention the fact that he’d given you temporary Compound V against your will.

And speaking of which…

You sat on your new bed and looked down at your arms and hands, clenching and unclenching your fists. What mystery power had V24 given you?

As basic as it was, you felt…strong. Like you could run a marathon without stopping. Like you could punch straight through that wall, and not even feel it. You felt more than just confidence coursing through your veins, like no one and nothing could stand in your way.

Was this how Ben felt all the time? If so, you could almost understand why he could be such an asshole.

But you also thought of how he’d been with you for the past couple of weeks; how much he’d shared with you about his parents, about his life before becoming Soldier Boy. And yes, how he’d saved you more than once.

It just didn’t change the fact that he took you—away from your friends, and your chance at freedom.

True to his word, Frank delivered a bag of clothes to your door about two hours after he’d left you in your new room.

You opened the door just enough to snatch the bag out of his hand, before closing the door in his face. You heard his tired huff on the other side, but soon enough, he walked away from your door.

So you took your time in the shower, scrubbing grime and blood out of your hair, off your skin and from under your nails. Then you dressed in a shirt and some yoga pants from the bag Frank gave you.

And you tried not to miss the house in the mountains while you wandered this one. You opened every door you came across, finding more guest rooms, a laundry room, the kitchen.

But you stopped once you reached the gym, complete with an elliptical, a couple of treadmills, hand weights, a sparring mat, and a large punching bag.

Venturing inside, you found some sports tape to wrap up your hands. Then you wandered over to the punching bag. With a resigned sigh, you aligned your hips correctly, bending your knees with your fists raised up to your chest. And then, steeling yourself, you tested out your strength with a single punch.

It sent the punching bag flying on its chain and hitting the wall. A loud thump echoed through the room, even making you flinch.

Yep. Definitely got super strength, you thought with a frown. Basic, but useful, you supposed.

“Whoa,” Ben said with a chuckle. You turned your head and found the man leaning casually in the doorway. He was out of his uniform, freshly washed, and wearing a plain black shirt and dark wash jeans. It was a more modern look for him. You couldn’t help eyeing him from head to toe.

His sharpening grin told you that he noticed.

“At least you got something good,” he remarked.

“Leave me alone,” you groused. You threw another punch. This one tossed the bag hard and created a massive indent and several hairline cracks in the wall.

Feeling a suspect prickle across the back of your neck, you twisted and aimed your next punch behind you. Ben caught your fist with an amused grin. You found it damn infuriating.

So you tossed out a left hook. He evaded it with a tilt of his head, but when he pushed you back, you actually felt his strength behind it. It only forced you a couple of steps back though.

Ben baited you with a beckoning hand and a cocky smirk. “Take your best shot, sweetheart.”

You narrowed your eyes. If nothing else, you were going to wipe that smirk off his bearded face.

He let you come at him first, blocking your first and second blow before throwing a punch of his own. You grabbed his wrist and put all your strength in cracking your elbow into his face, making his head snap back with a grunt.

Ben’s hand went to his nose, and actually came away bloody. He hummed, and his gaze flicked up at you. It was your turn to smirk. You got back into your ready stance and tilted your head at him in challenge.

Ben chuckled and rolled his neck. “All right, baby doll. I’ll give you that one.”

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you retorted.

You ducked his attempt to grab you and drove a knee into his gut. Then you stepped between his feet, breaking his stance and his balance by flipping him over your shoulder. You just didn’t expect him to drag you down with him.

The two of you tussled across the ground, rolling off the sparring mat and onto the hard wood floor. Ben managed to pin you down for a moment, but apparently, you’d been endowed with superior flexibility as well. You grabbed his neck and kneed him in the ribs with all the force you could muster.

Ben uttered an annoyed grunt. He flinched and unwittingly allowed you the opening you needed to wrap your thighs around his hips and flip you both over—until you were the one pinning him down.

You knew he wasn’t trying his hardest, however. He was trying to subdue you, not fight you for real, or he would’ve thrown you off by now. He was going easy on you, and it made you irrationally angry.

So you slapped him. Ben blinked and looked up at you, incredulous.

“Oh, you better be fucking careful—”

You cut him off with another slap. “Fight me!”

Ben grabbed your wrist before you could slap him again. His green eyes glittered dangerously, but you stared down at him, unafraid.

Both of you were breathing hard. You were straddling his waist, your free hand braced on the floor by his head. A line of sweat rolled down from your cheek to your neck. His eyes followed the path of it down your shirt.

By the time his hot gaze snapped up to yours, you knew you were in trouble. And there would be no escape.

Ben hooked a hand on the back of your neck and crashed your lips against his. You slapped a hand against the floor, but you didn’t pull away. You did demand from him in turn, forcing your tongue into his mouth and grabbing at his hair.

Ben wrenched up your shirt, and you helped him raise it over your head, followed by his shirt and belt. He sat up enough to drag your yoga pants down your thighs, while you broke open the button and zipper of his jeans.

His lips attached themselves to your neck, sucking and biting until you cried out in his ear. You gripped his hair tight when his thick fingers found their way between your folds and slipped inside you.

Your sighs turned into moans of pleasure as his fingers worked you over, gathering your wetness and rolling over your clit roughly.

“Ah, shit,” you uttered. All you heard from him were his sharp breaths as he concentrated.

You instinctively squeezed his hips tight between your thighs. You knew he could get you off just like this, but you were too impatient. You stopped his hand and pushed him down, and with your newfound superhuman strength, you were actually able to do it.

His back hit the ground with a thud, and he smirked up at you, letting you tug his jeans and boxer briefs down.

You didn’t stop until his cock was freed, and once you positioned yourself, you sunk down, burying him into your wet heat. Both of you groaned in relief, and your inner walls tightened around him on reflex.

Ben’s grip on your hips became crushing. Had you been normal, it would’ve broken your bones. “Fuck. Gonna take me for a ride, baby girl?”

“Hell, yeah,” you said, panting for breath. “Buckle the fuck up.”

You were surprised that he was letting you stay on top, but his eyes were alight with desire. You braced your hands on his shoulders and began, rolling your hips at a slow, deep, almost torturous pace. Ben’s head snapped against the floor in frustration, his eyes closing.

“Christ. If you don’t fucking move, I’m gonna do it for you—”

You snapped your hips hard, cutting him off from his words with a guttural sound. Your own release was building. You could taste it, but you could also admit, while pleasant, this pace wasn’t going to cut it. Bracing a hand on his chest, you increased the tempo of your rolling hips.

Ben’s hands reached up to palm your breasts over your bra, then forcibly freed them without taking it off. You gave a pleased sound when he roughly squeezed and rolled his thumbs over pert nipples. Your hands wandered down his chest, over his arms, whatever you could reach.

Then Ben’s jaw clenched, and he sat up with you in his lap. You felt his body tensing beneath you. With little warning, he spilled hot inside you. You gasped at the feeling of him, then at his insistent fingers above your entrance, roughly rubbing at your clit. Soon enough, you came along with him.

Gasping for breath, you clung to his shoulders. Both of you were dewy with sweat. Your bra was tucked up all the way into your shoulders, and neither of you had been able to completely slip out of your pants. His hair was wild, as was yours, you were sure.

Ben’s hands pressed against your lower back, and his cock was still bottomed out inside you. But all you could do was hold onto him.

“See?” Ben said. His voice was deep and full of grit in your ear. “Isn’t it better this way?”

Your brows furrowed, and you pulled away enough to see his face.

“You…you prefer me as a supe, don’t you?” you said. Ben’s mouth closed, but he rose a brow as if to say, why not?

You finally noticed the deep cracks in the wall, the small craters in the floor under your knees, and by Ben’s head. There was still a bit of blood congealed around his nose from when you’d hit him.

“This isn’t me,” you said, though you hated how your voice shook. Emotion burned in your eyes, threatening to create tears.

You let go of his shoulders and slid off of him, pulling on your yoga pants and tugging down your bra. Ben watched you from his seat on the floor, with a tensing of his jaw and knitted brows.

“I don’t know if you just like playing with me, or if you actually care about me,” you said, scooping up your shirt. Your eyes met his with an angry glare.

“But if you ever give me Compound V against my will again, I’ll never forgive you.”

Butcher stared into his fifth of whiskey, already anticipating his second. If nothing else, Soldier Boy kept a well-stocked liquor cabinet.

While the CIA combed through the half-ruined mansion, Butcher sat in the kitchen while Hughie and Annie’s arguing grated on his ears.

“She fucking took my gun, had this crazy look in her eye, like she was gonna talk Soldier Boy down. By herself,” said Hughie. “But her exact words were, he’s not what you think he is.”

“She saved me,” Annie said. “She wouldn’t just go with him.”

“She went willingly,” said Butcher. “Ain’t no other reason why she’s alive.”

“Nah, man,” M.M. said. He shook his head, then rested it on a thoughtful fist. “I saw it. One of his guys pulled her out after the blast. He took her.”

“But for what? Why would they want to keep her?” Annie said incredulously.

“You think, maybe…Soldier Boy likes her?” Hughie asked.

Butcher considered that with a dark chuckle, then a long sip of his whiskey.

“We can work with that,” he said. “O’ course, now we got Black-fucking-Noir to deal with as well. Question is: was he after us, or Soldier Boy?”

Trust M.M. to address the elephant in the room.

“And how the hell is that motherfucker alive?” he added.

Ben was contemplating that very same question. He sat at an old mahogany table in a stuffy old room, while his men argued in front of him.

“He had regenerative abilities,” Saul reasoned. “Vought probably got him to a hospital after Homelander left him for dead.”

“No way, man. I heard his fucking intestines were hanging out of his stomach like a goddamn fish,” said Loco.

“Maybe it wasn’t him,” Frank suggested.

“No,” Ben said. He had his chin propped on his fist. “It wasn’t him. Not the real Noir.”

He didn’t know how he knew, but it was a gut feeling. Whoever that had been behind that black mask, he was strong. As strong as Homelander had been, which made Ben’s gears turn on the possibilities…

“Saul.” Ben looked up at his subordinate. “Assemble a team. You’re going back to the States for some reconnaissance. I want to know exactly what the fuck Vought did, and what else they’ve got in their fucking arsenal. If Stan Edgar’s after me, then he’s gonna get it up the ass.”

He should’ve never let that little weasel get even an inch of a hold back into him. Now Stan thought he was going to double cross him? Again?

Yeah, fucking right. The thought stirred the rage in Ben’s blood…but he forced it down to a low simmer. This time, he would be smarter about this.

Stan had a bad habit of playing God. Ben wanted to know how he did it this time…though that same gut was telling him that he already knew.

No matter how you tossed and turned, the chemicals of V24 still coursing through your blood wouldn’t allow you to sleep.

After another fruitless hour, you turned onto your side. This time, you had a room with an old-fashioned alarm clock on the nightstand. It read close to two in the morning.

You huffed and dragged yourself out of bed, but you didn’t bother changing out of your pajamas before you slipped on your sneakers and left the confines of your room.

You still weren’t being watched, but you knew better than to try and escape either. You noted the newly installed surveillance cameras in every hallway and every room.

You wandered a bit aimlessly, but somehow, your feet took you down to the kitchen. There you found Ben, sitting at the kitchen table with his third beer. To be fair, you were sure it was like water to him.

He looked up at you when you came in, making you stop short. You weren’t sure where you stood with him after today. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to be in his presence.

But when he gestured to the empty seat in front of him, you found yourself grabbing a beer from the fridge and joining him at the table.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked. It wasn’t the first time, and Ben was just as evasive. His eyes roamed your face before they returned to his beer.

Regardless, you suspected what his answer might’ve been if he were honest. Because that moment—calling his name, seeing that nuclear light, pushing Annie out of the way, being pulled back into the world by searing pain in your side—it was keeping you up too.

“What do you feel when your chest lights up?” you asked. Maybe it was too bold of you, but right now, you felt confident enough in your super strength to test him.

Ben’s gaze found yours dryly.

“Hot,” he replied.

“Well, yeah. You’re pretty much radioactive,” you quipped. “I’ll be surprised if I don’t have fucking cancer yet.”

He frowned at you in annoyance while you sipped at your beer.

You hummed, tapping your nails on the glass in contemplation. “Maybe Vought could help you neutralize it. Even I can admit, they have some of the best scientists in the world on their payroll.”

“I wouldn’t let Vought handle a cup of my fucking piss, let alone poking and prodding and studying my fucking blood,” Ben snapped. He wouldn’t be anyone’s fucking lab rat. Not again.

“Like an experimental drug, for example. Given to you against your will,” you wryly supplied. But your voice was edged with agitation.

Ben’s face tightened into a glare. “If you wanna say something, fucking say it.”

You could later admit, you lost your temper then. You shoved away from the table, too angry to even take your beer with you.

“You know, you still haven’t even apologized!” you said. But before you could leave, Ben’s chair scraped across the ground as he stood and grabbed your wrist. He tugged you back to face him, and he stood looming over you with a steely frown.

“You want a fucking apology for saving your miserable life?” he asked.

“If I’m miserable, it’s only because of you,” you spat.

Ben scoffed, though his grip on your wrist tightened. “We both know that’s a lie.”

You just stared up at his face and spewed words you knew you didn’t mean.

“You don’t know anything about me, Ben.”

His body was wound tight, his frown tight and almost sneering. You were furious—at his smugness, at your inability to completely hate him. But you both faltered once your eyes met his.

When his lips once again crashed against yours, you opened your mouth to him, pulling him down to you by his shirt.

Ben dragged you flush against him, first by your hips, then by your hair. He forced your head back so he could deepen the kiss, tangling his tongue with yours.

His fingers then pressed their claiming marks into your side, in the same spot where you were stabbed this morning. Where you had only been healed with the chemicals still coursing through your veins.

That thought alone cut through the intoxication of his kiss, and made you remember yourself.

You pushed hard against his chest. You were still strong enough to force him back a step or two. Ben stared back at you in irritation.

“What’s your fucking problem?” he shouted. “Would you rather I’d let you bleed out on the fucking floor?”

“I know! I know I would be dead,” you said, matching his volume.

No matter how you felt about Compound V, there was no doubt, he’d saved your life.

But what you’d said to him then still stood.

“If you hadn’t tried to waste Black Noir with a power you can’t control, then I wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. That’s the definition of collateral damage,” you said.

Ben crossed his arms defensively.

“You’re the one who jumped in front of the bullet like a goddamn moron,” he said. “Ain’t my fucking fault if you get yourself killed.”

And just like that, your anger faded…into dismay.

He might very well care about you, but in many ways, he was still an asshole. And you were exhausted.

“Fine, Ben.” You blinked past the well of tears burning in your eyes, but your refused to let them fall.

After you turned away from him, you didn’t see how his face fell, with both disappointment and guilt breaking through his anger. Your next words would sear into his mind for days to come.

“Just leave me the hell alone.”

AN: 🤭 Please don't hate me! loll They'll get back on track soon enough...

Next Time:

“Why are you trusting me with this?” you asked.

Ben’s lips quirked wryly, but there was little humor in it. His hand, half-covered by his glove, reached up to brush your chin.

“I’m not,” he replied. “I expect you’ll jump at the chance to get back with Butcher and your asshole friends. But either way, I’m gonna find out if you were worth it.”

Keep Reading: PART 10

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @yvonneeeee @fckinel @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @waters-2567 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2 @spnfamily-j2 @redqueenoffalconcrest

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @theonlymaninthesky @sleepyqueerenergy @agalliasi @skyesthebomb @chriszgirl92

#Breach #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy fic #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 9 #zepskies writes

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weirdlookindog · 11 months ago

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El Monje Loco #104 - Revistas Populares, S.A. Mexico, November 1969.

#el monje loco #sangre maldita #herencia satánica #comic art #horror comics #mexican comics #mexico #horror art #1960s movies

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cffabioblog · 11 months ago

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Viaje al Pasado: Noche Vieja en "VIDEO-TAPE"

Ref. © Panamericana Televisión S.A. (Perú)

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En el Foro 1, se realiza, con el Notario Publico, Dn. Pepe Botella, , junto con Skinner, Vegeta y Maria Trasero Rojo, presentan el sorteo final de unos premios.

Los premios son:

1.- Una Casa Full Equipada mas un Auto 0 Kilómetro Mas E° 100.000.000 De Escudos

2.- Un Auto 0 Km mas E° 50.000.000 De Escudos

3-. E° 50.000.000 De Escudos

Con Frankie y Spongebob ayudando en el sorteo.

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En el Foro 2, Che Copete se emborracha y presenta a Salvatore Adamo, cantando unas canciones en francés.

Scamp, afirma las partituras del director de orquesta.

Entre las canciones presentadas para la ocasión (J'Aime / La Nuit / Mes Mains Sur Tes Hanches), mostramos este ultimo...

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Canciones

Nota: Durante la actuación, Che copete se emborracha...

y luego...

Con el simpático Captain Murphy, nos deleitara una serie de "reflexiones emotivas

y esperanzadoras" sobre la llegada del nuevo año.

La cámara que ven, es un modelo RCA TK60.

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Y... En el humor, Los Chifraditos (Chaparrón Bonaparte y Lucas Tañera), nos ofrecen una mini fiesta de fin de año con unos "invitados" (Un Psicópata, Mr. Bean, etc.) Tinkerbell, sirviendo las copas de Champagne a los invitados. Angel (The Lady And The Tramp 2: Scamp Adventure) como mascota, se pone nerviosa en lo que va a hacer estos locos.

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Y Ya, en el Foro 1 na Lumiar (buscar en Google RTP LUMIAR), Con el Italiano Gianni Morandi, canta junto con unos "caballeros medievales" (Jody, Sissy y Johnny) Morandi interpreta la canción "Quando Sarai Lontana" en vivo y con orquesta en el Foro 2 na Lumiar.

La Canción:

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Cancion

Con particular Villancico Navideño, A cargo de Lazlo y el coro (Gretchen, Nina, Patsy, Raj, Edward y Clam) recibe las instrucciones de Lumpus para no arruinar el programa especial de fin de año.

Grabado en el estudio A de Lira 46.

Nota: de Referencia. © Biblioteca Nacional De Chile / Canal 13 S.p.A.

Con la actuación especial de "La Voz", Frank Sinatra canta unos temas y ademas, le pide a Copete si puede compartir un poco de Licor y Wisky. Jacob, lleva para el invitado unas copas de Champagne.

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Con Krusty, haciendo su rutina, presenta el a la sensación del momento (Cecilia, La Incomparable), que cantara unas canciones con Tontinni y la orquesta de L'ORTF Emissora Nacional.

Te Perdí

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Canciones

Con bailarines, Bombita Rodríguez y Luciano Bello Cantan alegres temas para dar la bienvenida al nuevo año. Don che lo presenta, ya en estado de ebriedad, y durante el numero, lo interrumpe y lo arruina.

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Cierre:

Ref: © TVN

y... Después de los incidentes y desastres provocados por Che Copete, mas rato, en el plató de Lumiar, Charles Buitremont (Director General Del Servicio de Televisión (ORTF Television Service) y Director General De La 1RA. Cadena - La première chaîne de l'ORTF), DR. Y Prof. Dn. Eduardo Tironi Arce (Director General Canal 13 - Corporación De Televisión De La Pontificia Universidad Católica De Chile), Dan unas palabras de saludo de año nuevo y explicación sobre el especial transmitido....

...."En este especial, en técnicas de la animación, hemos transmitido íntegramente en animación 2d, es decir, en Video. A nombre de tanto de las cadenas, como La Propia l'ORTF, agradecemos todo el esfuerzo, tiempo y dedicación total a todo el personal artístico como técnico.

Ademas de los encargados del aspecto de la imagen, los camarografos, Ademas, de las coordinaciones de los directores Badulaque Reyes, Ramírez, Monchetti y Panzinni. Durante todo este especial de fin de año.

Esperamos, que en los meses venideros, comenzaremos, si nos dispone dios, como el tiempo y si las autoridades nos facilitan, el proceso inicial de las transmisiones experimentales en Digital.

Muchas gracias y dejamos a la Srta. Mendelsohn para cerrar la histórica transmisión de hoy día 31"....

"Felices Fiestas, Feliz Año Nuevo Y Viva La Patria"....

Y El Cierre...

En la sala de edición de video, con equipos AMPEX, El celebre director Garfield Badulaque Reyes (Mas conocido en el mundo como Garfield The Cat), se alegra felizmente del éxito de la transmisión del especial de 3 horas en Video-tape al ingeniero técnico Huevoduro, allá, en Lira 46.

En la imagen pequeña transmitiendo en el equipo de Videotape AMPEX, Aparece, en el Estudio C De Lira, Miriam Mendelsohn, dando el anuncio de cierre de transmisiones, vía video. En el estudio, Mir, como le decían sus amigas (Meilin, Priya y Abby) da lo que le dice el texto entregado para dar el anuncio de cierre.

En ella decía...

- Muy bien, Señoras y Señores Telespectadores, al terminar este especial de fin de año o noche vieja, y con las palabras del Director General del Servicio, como de Las Cadenas y De La l'ORTF. Con estas imágenes, registradas en video, en jerga del mundo de la industria de la animación, en 2D. Finalizamos las transmisiones correspondientes por hoy 31 de Diciembre.

Al igual que todo el personal, les deseamos ante ustedes una muy buenas noches y buen

feliz año"

Lo de la imagen de fondo en los monitores del equipo AMPEX de Video-tape, se debió a un rápido e imprevisto error técnico del camarógrafo por acercar mas el reflejo de la imagen y lo corrigió sigilosamente.

Después de eso, en los Mammouth Studios, na Lumiar, Tironi, como los demás autoridades felicitando a todo el personal por el éxito de la transmisión y registro integro del programa especial. Ademas, El Ministro de Información Y Turismo, Don Fraga Iribane, viaja al lugar, como a la sede de Calle Lira para felicitar personalmente por la hazaña. "Fue un éxito, la imagen salio, perfecta. en la Chusma, como en Los Mayos, Los Madrugas, El Norte y El Cómic y Concepción, la recepción, fue excelente". El decía.

Al rato, en Orchid Bay, en casa, Ophelia Ramírez, en su calidad de realizadora y directora del especial, con el televisor dando el cartel de cierre de transmisión, recibe la llamada de larga distancia nacional, proveniente de la capital, en esa sorpresiva llamada, Tanto Fraga como Tironi Arce la felicitan por el logro de la transmisión. Luego Lee, la felicita también.

Ojo:

Para esa noche, en la transmisión, Garfield, se llevo al lugar una enorme cantidad de comida chatarra.

Carta de Cierre Cierre transmisión 06-07

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mamotretos · 2 years ago

Photo

weirdlookindog

El Monje Loco #3 - Revistas Populares, S.A. Mexico 1967.

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badgertrait · 3 years ago

Photo

Skyline Beach - The Urbz

#sims urbz #The Urbz #skyline beach #Isis Ice #Lil Bit #Ridiculous D.O.G #S.A Loco #Toot Sweet #sims 4 #the sims 4 #ts4

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simstantastic · 2 years ago

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Skyline Beach Crew: Isis Ice, Lil Bit, Ridiculous D.O.G. S.A Loco and Toots Sweet ❤ Origin Id: Simstanstastic

#urbz #theurbz #the urbz #the sims 4 #maxis match #sims 4 cc #ts4 #ts4 custom content #maxis match cc #sims 4 gallery #sims 4 cas #ts4 cas #wcif

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danaearbg · 2 years ago

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Reseña: Alicia en el país de las maravillas

Puntuación: 5/5 ★★★★★

Ficha técnica

Título del libro: Alicia en el país de las maravillas.

Autor: Lewis Carroll.

Editorial: Editores Mexicanos Unidos, S.A.

Edición: 1ra edición.

Número de páginas: 110.

Género literario: Narrativo.

Resumen (sin destripe)

Tras ir detrás de un conejo blanco vestido con chaleco que llevaba bastante prisa, Alicia cayó en la madriguera a la cual el conejo había ingresado, sin saber que esto la llevaría a un mundo en el que viviría experiencias extrañas y divertidas en compañía de personajes peculiares, raros y hasta “locos”.

Valoración literaria

Esta novela te transporta a un mundo fantástico con escenas y eventos un tanto incoherentes (a simple vista), pero que en el fondo esconden un contexto y crítica sublime con relación a la sociedad de ese tiempo y contexto. O al menos eso es lo que pretende dejar en claro Sergio Mosqueda en su prólogo. Esto más adelante lo retomaré, por ahora me centraré en los aspectos de la obra.

En lo que respecta al estilo de la novela podría decir que se trata de una combinación entre directo e indirecto, pues es el narrador quien en su mayoría describe la historia, los escenarios y hasta personajes, pero desde la voz de la protagonista (Alicia) ocurre el relato, los pensamientos que tiene se ven reflejados de forma directa y no existe un supuesto de lo que piensa o dice ella por parte del narrador. Otro punto que forma parte del estilo, es el lenguaje informal y descriptivo que presenta la novela. La parte descriptiva se observa por la historia en sí, pues al ser un nuevo mundo creado por el autor, un libro de fantasía, se hace necesario describir los escenarios, personajes y eventos que ocurren a lo largo de la novela para evitar así dejar muchas más dudas. El empleo de un lenguaje informal lo considero necesario debido al público al cual el autor dirige su libro: a los/as niños/as.

A pesar de ser un libro pensado para niños/as (al final el autor hace una dedicatoria dirigida al niño o niña que lo lee) cualquier persona puede leerlo sin importar la etapa de vida en la que se encuentre. Sin embargo, podría parecer que la historia en sí es incoherente, pues los diálogos entre los personajes, así como las actividades que realizan no tienen ningún sentido, pero teniendo en cuenta el final que le da a la historia, todo lo experimentado por la protagonista en automático cobra sentido lógico. Aún así, y tomando en cuenta mi experiencia, es un libro que engancha, desde el inicio tiene una fluidez y diversidad de sucesos que te hacen querer seguir leyendo, en ningún momento sientes la historia lenta o carente de sentido (aun con el sinsentido de diálogos y eventos). Es más, hasta es posible empatizar con sus personajes, ya que el autor resalta aspectos muy precisos y particulares de cada uno de ellos, dándoles una personalidad única que puede llevarse a la comparación de nuestra vida cotidiana. Con todos estos elementos y características de la novela, termina siendo fácil de entender, pues desde un inicio queda claro que son eventos fantasiosos, y que no por eso limitan una comprensión clara de lo que ocurre en la aventura de la protagonista.

Una historia de este tipo ya te habla de un argumento totalmente imprevisible, por lo que leer Alicia en el país de las maravillas es toda una aventura. Así que si te gusta la fantasía, los personajes y eventos que se salen totalmente de la realidad que conocemos, este libro te gustará, y desde mi lugar te hago la recomendación para que lo leas.

Opinión personal

Ahora bien, adentrándonos un poco en la narración y retomando el prólogo de Sergio Mosqueda, podemos entender las supuestas incoherencias que presenta el libro y darle un sentido más interesante que deja en claro la fuerte relación que tiene con la sociedad occidental de la época y con la sociedad contemporánea en la que vivimos. Pero antes de poder hablar de esta relación es necesario entender mejor al autor. Empecemos por su verdadero nombre, el cual era Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, que debido a su gusto por los juegos de palabras lo fue cambiando: en Carolus para el caso de Charles y Ludovicus para Lutwidge, aplicando en ambos casos la latinización al mismo tiempo que invierte el orden dejando el sobrenombre de “Ludovicus Carolus”; ulteriormente y manteniendo este orden, regresa a la entonación inglesa quedando el seudónimo que ahora conocemos, “Lewis Carroll”.

En el caso de su familia, tuvo raíces inglesas y fue parte de una estirpe conservadora de la Iglesia anglicana, lo que causó la ocupación de cargos importantes en varios miembros de la familia, tanto en el clero como en el ejército.

Dentro de sus actividades favoritas se encontraba la fotografía, por medio de la cual externaba el rechazo a la idea del pecado original y la creencia de una “divinidad innata” en la especie humana. De igual forma, esta actividad lo llevó a seguir la búsqueda de la belleza en el cuerpo humano, utilizando como modelos a una gran cantidad de niñas quienes portaban una variedad de atuendos tanto regionales como extranjeros, y que figuraban sus ideales de inocencia y de belleza.

El ingenio del autor es claramente revelado en esta obra, pues mientras se concibe como una historia infantil al mismo tiempo se trata de una historia que desvela un tipo de paradoja ideológica en relación con la Inglaterra Victoriana, teniendo como objetivo mostrar la serie de leyes y convencionalismos absurdos que componen el mundo adulto.

Sergio Mosqueda realiza una comparación de ciertos eventos sucedidos en la historia en relación con lo del párrafo anterior. Para evitar arruinarte la lectura exponiéndolos a detalle, mencionaré algunos de sus ejemplos dándole énfasis al análisis social.

Uno de ellos y el que podría percibirse con mayor facilidad es la historia en general del personaje, que representa el pase de la infancia a la madurez, caracterizado por la negación y dudas de Alicia al estar expuesta a los eventos y personajes de este nuevo mundo; el estar agrandándose y empequeñeciéndose a lo largo de la historia refleja su renuencia a crecer y dejar la niñez. El conejo blanco es la representación del adulto (victoriano), que siempre lleva prisa, viste de manera formal y refleja “el mal de la modernidad que empezaba a llegar con la revolución industrial” (Mosqueda, 2015). Mientras que la oruga figura como la representación contraria, pues hace referencia a la calma (extrema, o lo que ahora conocemos como procrastinación) y lo clandestino del mundo nocturno. En estos dos personajes el autor representa la doble moral de la sociedad. A lo largo de la obra, Carroll representa a la burguesía, a la política inglesa y a la aristocracia; reflejando a través de las situaciones y personajes las escalas de poder, los caprichos y crueldades que en él existe, la inutilidad e injusticia del sistema jurídico, entre otras cosas. Podríamos pensar que los simbolismos que oculta la novela son el reflejo limitado a esa época, pero lo grandioso (y a la vez triste) de Alicia en el país de las maravillas es que aún muestra esa sociedad occidental, que al parecer no ha cambiado mucho en el pasar de los años, al contrario, ha ido perfeccionando los elementos que le dan el sustento y la estructuran.

Este relato nos lleva a preguntarnos si el mundo en el que vivimos y que percibimos como coherente no es en realidad un mundo lleno de absurdos. Engañándonos a nosotros/as y vanagloriando la supuesta inteligencia que es al mismo tiempo la que nos ciega ante un mundo real que ignoramos por estar dentro de nuestras ilusiones incoherentes.

He de puntualizar que el libro es distinto a la película creada por Disney, principalmente y de manera obvia, porque los elementos que figuran en la novela y reflejan el análisis y la crítica social que hace Lewis no se encuentran en la película, siendo modificados sin la intención de mantener esta sátira. Habiendo visto años antes la película y hasta ahora leer el libro, he de admitir que tenía una clase de sesgo, pues estaba esperando o me adelantaba a las escenas que conocía y me parecía algo raro que no estuvieran o que fueran tan diferentes. Así que te aconsejo leer la novela sin tener en mente las imágenes que la película te haya dejado. Estoy segura de que la disfrutarás más.

Como ya mencioné más arriba, es una lectura bastante sencilla, característica que ayudó a que mi lectura fuera continua. Sin embargo, el punto que me hizo verla diferente y disfrutarla con mayor profundidad definitivamente fue el análisis detrás de la historia; la cantidad de elementos que el autor pone en juego para realizar la comparación y crítica social es admirable. Sinceramente el género no había sido uno de mis favoritos, pero después de ver las posibilidades que tiene de ocultar realidades y temas serios me ha hecho replantearme la opinión que tenía de él, alimentando así mi curiosidad por seguir leyendo libros de fantasía y descubrir los secretos que guardan detrás de la narrativa obvia.

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komorebich · 3 years ago

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65Horas - ChanHun - adaptación

Capítulo 1 – Estoy tan jodido.

Estoy sentado en mi oficina tratando de no mirarlo, pero igual lo hago. Su oficina está enfrente de la mía. La pared de vidrio proporciona una distracción diaria, porque por mi puta vida, no quiero observarlo.

Pero lo hago. Yo no le gusto y de hecho, él me molesta. Es un magnifico, jodido arrogante, un egocéntrico-cerdo-hijo-de-puta. El hijo del jefe. Rico, inteligente e impecablemente vestido.

Y hétero. Las mujeres en la oficina, no solo ellas, el edificio entero, babeaban sobre él. Era vergonzoso, de verdad. Ellas comprobaban su maquillaje antes de que él llegara, batían sus pestañas, soltando risitas y flirteando sin vergüenza. Y él solo sonreía con esa presumida puta sonrisa - maravillosa sonrisa de infarto - que las dejaba a todas excitadas a su paso.

Había estado aquí por seis meses, y por lo que yo sabía, él nunca había salido con nadie de la oficina. Él debía tener uno de esos límites profesionales de ética en el trabajo. He leído sobre ello. Era eso o que el jefe-papito prohibió las relaciones en el trabajo.

Mi secretaria, Irene, jura que es un buen tipo. Ella era la mejor amiga de Sunhee, que pasó a ser su secretaria. Él sonreía y charlaba con ambas, pero si daba la casualidad que yo pasaba por delante de ellos, él me echaba una mirada asesina. Yo actuaba como si no me importara, les daba a las chicas una sonrisa y un saludo con un sombrero imaginario que obviamente no estaba llevando y a ellas les encantaba. No estoy seguro si eso fue lo que le cabreó, o tal vez a él no le gustaban los nuevos empleados. Tal vez a él no le gustaba el hecho de que yo era el cazatalentos de una de las agencias de publicidad más lucrativas en Busán. Tal vez fuera porque tenía una oficina justo al otro lado del pasillo de la suya, cerca de la de su padre. Tal vez fuera porque fui elegido por su querido papito y él se sentía amenazado solo porque fuera mejor en el trabajo que él.

Tal vez no le gustaba porque yo era gay. Pero, pensándolo bien, no creo que fuera por eso. Él era lo suficiente amigable con Baekhyun, el de contabilidad. Yo los había visto hablando muchas veces, y Baekhyun era tan malditamente gay que hacía a mi cabeza dar vueltas. Seguramente un homófobo repugnante no podría ir a ningún sitio cerca del más representativo modelo con brillo de labios.

Desde el día que lo conocí, él había sido frío. Yo volé a Seúl para una entrevista de director ejecutivo de publicidad con la prestigiosa -The Oh's Publicidad, S.A.- nosotros nos conocimos y charlamos amablemente durante dos minutos antes de que su padre viniera y la entrevista informal comenzara. Sí, era informal, pero aun así intensa. Yo estaba un poco nervioso, pero fui yo mismo: profesional, honesto y directo.

Verás, la cosa es que yo soy jodidamente bueno en lo que hago. No tengo pelos en la lengua, y no pierdo el tiempo. Por lo que cuando me dijeron si tenía alguna pregunta, dije, 'solo una'. Los dos hombres me miraron para que continuara.

Entonces, lo hice. ―No necesito decirle lo bueno que soy en mi trabajo. Usted tiene mi curriculum, y francamente, dudo que estuviese sentado aquí si usted no supiera ya que yo solo puedo incrementar la rentabilidad de su cuenta en al menos un veinticinco por ciento. Demonios, si no soy capaz de alcanzar ese objetivo en el primer año, usted puede patear mi culo o despedirme. Pero lo que no está escrito en mi curriculum es que soy gay.― Ambos hombres parpadearon sin más. ―Yo no hago publicidad de mi sexualidad, ni me escondo. Esta es la única vez que espero discutir este asunto con usted, por lo que necesito saber antes de que desperdiciemos nuestro tiempo, si usted, o esta empresa, se siente incómodo o es homofóbico. Si la respuesta es sí, entonces le agradeceré a ambos la oportunidad, pero volveré a casa a tiempo para la cena.

Y con eso el jefe sonrió, se puso de pie y sacudió mi mano, mientras el hijo miraba como si estuviera viendo una mierda desde su gran altura. Comencé dos semanas más tarde y Oh Sehun había sido indiferente conmigo desde entonces. No diría hostil. Pero ciertamente no diría agradable, tampoco.

Un agudo golpe en mi puerta me sacó de mis memorias antes de abrir. Mi distinguido, vestido de Armani, jefe pasó a mi oficina.

―¿Chanyeol?

―¿Sí, Sr. Oh?

―Mi oficina. En diez.

―Por supuesto.― Le sonreí. Él cerró la puerta, y yo miré a Irene para algún tipo de explicación. Ella se encogió de hombros, y ambos nos giramos hacia la pared de cristal y observamos a Sr. Oh llamar a la puerta de su hijo.

―¿Sehun?― Él pasó dentro y nosotros no pudimos escuchar nada más, pero observamos la silenciosa conversación entre padre e hijo.

―Él no se ve feliz,― dijo Irene a mi lado.

―¿Cuál?― pregunté.

Ella soltó una risita.

―Sehun.

―¿Está feliz alguna vez? Ella me dio un codazo en el hombro y me dio una sonrisa torcida con una mueca, juguetonamente diciéndome que lo dejara en paz.

Sr. Oh salió de la oficina de Sehun, y nosotros vimos como Sehun se sentaba en su escritorio, corría sus manos por su pelo veinte veces y giró su silla de modo que ya no podíamos verlo.

Nosotros vimos a Sunhee rápidamente ordenar unos documentos y ofrecérselos a él, entonces Irene dijo.

―¡Sal rápido, Chanyeol! Es el momento. ¡Ve! No llegues tarde.― Ella casi me empujaba fuera de la puerta justo cuando la puerta de Sehun se abrió directamente enfrente de mí.

Ignorando a Sehun completamente, me quité mi sombrero imaginario y sonreí a Sunhee.

―Señorita Sunhee.

Ella sonrió, y Sehun rodó sus ojos y se alejó, pasando por delante de mí.

Pronto me di cuenta, también se dirigía a la oficina de su padre. Mierda. Lo seguí, entrando a través de las dobles puertas abiertas al final del pasillo. La oficina del Sr. Oh era enorme; abierta, luminosa y contemporánea a la vez que elegante. Había una gran flecha embelleciendo la pared detrás de su escritorio. El símbolo de la flecha del arquero, el ícono de Publicidad Oh, estaba en el blasón de la familia, aparentemente.

La flecha era simple, una firma que estaba en cada jodida cosa; puertas, ventanas, artículos de papelería, televisión, internet, revistas, periódicos. Esa misma flecha era sinónimo de publicidad en todo el país. Representaba la excelencia en esta industria.

Infiernos, estaba incluso al lado de mi nombre en mi tarjeta de visita.

Ellos no necesitaban una frase pegadiza o slogans cursis. El símbolo decía bastante por sí mismo. Cuando veías la flecha, pensabas en Publicidad Oh. Simple y efectivo.

Genial.

―Ah, Chanyeol,― el Sr. Oh, el hombre detrás del genio, dijo. ―Ven, toma asiento.

Sehun estaba allí, aunque no me miraba. Sinceramente, estaba un poco nervioso en cuanto al significado oculto de esta reunión, y por qué éramos solamente nosotros tres. Las reuniones imprevistas y exclusivas con el jefe siempre me ponían tenso, así que hice la primera cosa que vino naturalmente, me senté en mi asiento, crucé un tobillo sobre mi rodilla y sonreí como si fuéramos a discutir sobre el partido del fin de semana.

Engreído, sí. Prepotente, tal vez. Vendía publicidad, era mi trabajo parecer como si supiera el secreto de su éxito. Era una actuación. Sabía eso, pero el cliente, el tipo en la mesa sujetando el talonario de cheques, no lo sabía.

―Supongo que ambos se estarán preguntando por qué los he llamado aquí,― el Sr. Oh comenzó, aunque él no nos dio tiempo para hablar. ―Me ha contado un pajarito de que cierta compañía de productos de estilo de vida necesita nuevas estrategias de marketing. He hecho algunas llamadas y me he asegurado un encuentro casual para convencerlos de que nos necesitan.

―Lurex,― Sehun dijo con seguridad. ―He leído un artículo sobre el nuevo CEO. Él decía que le gustaría ampliar horizontes.

El Sr. Oh asintió a su hijo, y sonrió con un poco de orgullo.

―Sí, Lurex.

Mierda. La más grande compañía de productos de estilo de vida, como tan delicadamente lo expuso el Sr. Oh, era el mayor fabricante de condones, lubricantes y accesorios sexuales del país.

Esa cuenta debería ser...enorme. Con una trayectoria bastante grande.

Pude sentir mi sonrisa haciéndose más amplia, y el Sr. Oh sonrió cuando me miró. Pero fue Sehun quien habló.

―¿Por qué nos lo estás diciendo a ambos?

Ese era un buen punto. Miré a Sehun entonces, aunque él todavía seguía sin mirarme. Sus ojos estaban clavados en su padre.

―La reunión es a las 10 AM. El lunes.

Parpadeé. Estoy seguro de que Sehun parpadeó. Luego parpadeé otra vez.

―¿Como en tres días?― mi boca lo dijo antes de que mi cerebro pudiera detenerla. Eran las cuatro de la tarde de un viernes por amor de Dios.

―Sí,― El Sr. Oh dijo lentamente, como si yo estuviera mentalmente disminuido. ―En sesenta y cinco horas quiero que Publicidad Oh entre en esa reunión con un nuevo diseño de producto, nuevos objetivos de mercado y nueva campaña.

Me detuve en seco de preguntarle si se había vuelto completamente loco y me conformé con moverme en mi asiento en su lugar.

El Sr. Oh me miró, luego a Sehun, y dijo, ―Es un contrato de veinte millones de dólares y lo quiero. Ambos son excepcionalmente talentosos y, teniendo un plazo abierto no cabe duda de que uno de ustedes podría asegurar el trato.

Oh, mierda... yo estaba bastante seguro de que sabía a donde quería llegar con esto...

―Pero nosotros no tenemos un plazo abierto,― dijo el Sr. Oh. ―Nosotros tenemos sesenta y cinco horas. Eso es por lo que ambos trabajarán juntos durante el fin de semana para asegurarse de que entramos en esa reunión y los dejamos boquiabiertos.

Trabajar juntos.

Trabajar todo el fin de semana.

Sí. Eso era lo que pensaba. Joder.

Sehun trató de objetar, pero su padre se puso de pie. Esta reunión, al parecer, estaba acabada.

El Sr. Oh caminó hacia las puertas dobles que conducían a la sala de conferencias y miré hacia Sehun. Él estaba mirando a la ahora vacía silla de su padre, y me imaginé que la mirada en mi cara no era mucho mejor.

―¡Chicos!― El Sr. Oh llamó. Fui rápido en seguirlo, y Sehun no estaba lejos detrás de mí. Había dos bolsas de papel marrón en la mesa de conferencias, a las que el Sr. Oh señaló.

―Conozcan su producto tal y como es ahora, lo que le falta. Conviértanlo en algo que alguien no pueda vivir sin él. Estaré en contacto.

Y entonces fuimos solo Sehun y yo. Y dos bolsas de papel marrón.

Suspirando, volqué una de las bolsas, y el contenido se desparramó sobre la mesa. Condones. Cajas de ellos. Estriados, decorados, delgados, largos, para darle placer a ella, para dárselo a él, lo que sea, estaba allí. Lubricantes de todos los sabores, con brillantina, destellantes, efecto calor, efecto hormigueo...

Sonreí cuando se me vino a la cabeza que había probado la mayoría de ellos.

Eché una ojeada en la otra bolsa y, por el rabillo del ojo, pude ver que Sehun se movió. Me encogí de hombros.

―No estoy feliz con esto tampoco,― le dije, dándole lo que fuera que estaba en mis manos, para poder vaciar la segunda bolsa.

Cuando miró lo que le di, yo lo miré también, dándome cuenta de que solo le había dado una caja de lubricante sabor frambuesa. Él miró la caja, luego a mí y exhaló a través de sus mejillas hinchadas. Comencé a sacar cajas de la segunda bolsa cuando me di cuenta de que estaba reembolsando la primera bolsa.

―¿Qué estás haciendo?― pregunté.

―No voy a hacer esto aquí,― dijo, una simple cuestión de hecho.

―¿Qué?― Dije demasiado alto.

―Ya has oído lo que- Él me cortó. ―He dicho que no voy a hacer esto aquí,― repitió, claramente agitado. Sacó una tarjeta de negocios y su bolígrafo de su maletín, luego escribió algo antes de dármela. ―Es la dirección de mi casa,― explicó antes de que pudiera preguntar. ―Si voy a estar atascado trabajando todo el fin de semana, entonces al menos lo haré en un sitio cómodo. Haré que Sunhee deje todo lo que necesitamos.

Miró su reloj.

―Estaré en casa en una hora.

Y simplemente así, yo estaba siendo secuestrado por las siguientes sesenta y cinco horas con un hombre que no podía soportar verme.

#KomorebiCH

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zx-ta · 2 years ago

Photo

Skyline Beach from The Urbz

“ Welcome to Tar Beach, situated high above 125th Street. It's the closest you can get to the beach in The Urbz: Sims in the City's. While it may not have the surf, it has a view of the turf. Set amid water towers and business parks, hot concrete and asphalt roofs string together TV antennas and clothes lines while life bustles by in the city far below.

So bring some suntan lotion and a lot of attitude and be ready to show your stuff at a moment's notice, or you'll be outlawed just like those pigeon coops from this open-top city neighborhood. “

#ts4 #S.A. Loco #Isis Ice #Ridiculous D.O.G.#The Urbz #zx Urbz #zx san myshuno #zx premades #zx photoshoot #zx SA #zx Isis #zx D.O.G

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zepskies · 1 year ago

Text

Break Me Down - Part 15

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

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

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

Word Count: 4,500

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smuttish. Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, peril, and a cliffhanger…

Part 15: The Tower

You dreamed of Medellin.

Of being back in that mansion on the cliffside, during a Colombian summer. Sometimes it was sipping a vodka cranberry by the pool.

Other times, it was getting poker lessons from Loco and Saul while Frank smoked a cigarette. Or reading by yourself in the garden, surrounded by yellow flowers, as the salty wind from the nearby waterfall kissed your cheeks and rustled your sundress.

And once, it was getting caught by Ben on your way back to your new, bigger room. Pretending to be coy, fully aware of him following you, feeling his stare on your ass.

Then when you got to the door, you paused and turned in the doorway, boldly meeting his gaze.

And you pulled him inside your room by his shirt, just like you had the first time. He pawed at your dress, those heavy hands dragging underneath, probing between your thighs.

You held him to you, reveled in the scrape of his beard against your neck, sighed shakily in his ear as he walked you back, your ass bumping into the dresser.

Ben turned you around. You allowed his manhandling as those hands wrapped around you and found your breasts, kneading every curve before he bent you over on the dresser.

You braced yourself on the hard wood when those nimble fingers of his teased you through your underwear. Soon enough you sucked in a sharp breath, felt the burn of the lace ripping off, sliding from between your already slippery folds.

But before he gave you what you wanted, what you were begging him for without words, he reached around and took your face in his hand, encouraging you to lift your head.

Your gaze found his in the mirror, scorching lust and naked desire. And yet, you still wondered what he saw when he looked at you.

You just couldn’t know that he was wondering the same thing.

But he forced you to watch him, to watch yourself as he entered you. Your mouth opened on a gasp.

You woke in bed with a jolt as your cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand. You pressed a hand to your rapidly beating heart and sighed.

You didn’t quite remember the dream, but your skin was tingling all the way down to your toes. Not to mention the suspect heat between your legs…

You grabbed your phone, frowning in annoyance at the caller ID.

Fucking Butcher again. But you answered, and he had unexpected news for you.

When you eventually hung up with him, you got ready for the day. Ben must’ve already been awake, as his side of the bed was empty when you woke up. You later found him sitting on the porch outside in an old wooden chair, smoking a cigar.

How can he smoke so early in the morning? you thought with a shake of your head. He looked up at you, his lips lifting around his cigar.

“Morning,” he said, puffing away.

“You shouldn’t be hanging out here in the open,” you reminded him.

He shrugged and reached out a hand to you. Sighing, you took it, and he tugged you over to sit in his lap. You waved the smoke out of your face, giving him a look of amusement and disbelief.

“Where the hell did you find a cigar?”

“Had it ordered in,” he said with a smirk. “That French fuck knows his shit.”

You shook your head at him with a small smile. You assumed he meant Frenchie.

“We gotta go,” you told him. “Butcher just called.”

“Churchill can calm his tits for ten more minutes,” he said. He offered you a puff of his cigar when he caught you eyeing it. “Want to try it out?”

You grimaced, but part of you was curious, as you had never smoked one of these before. You took the cigar and inhaled a bit, and immediately started dying. This was nothing like smoking a joint.

“Shit,” you coughed out smoke. Ben rumbled with laughter, and you playfully hit his arm.

“Here, take this thing back,” you said, still coughing. He rubbed your back and took the cigar from you. He continued to puff away.

“Lightweight,” he teased you.

“Old man,” you countered. “Out here in the heat with your day slippers.”

He glanced down at said slippers with a slight raise of his brows. Then he rolled his eyes.

“Eh, fuck off.”

“Mhmm,” you said wryly. And you took the cigar from his mouth.

“Hey!”

Ben didn’t appreciate being dragged all the way back to Supe Affairs, just to be told they couldn’t nail down Stan fucking Edgar.

“I got you Neuman. So what’s the damn problem?” he groused.

“We haven’t been able to find anything concrete to pin him with, legally speaking,” said Hughie.

You, Ben, Grace, and the rest of the team had gathered in a large conference room near Grace’s office. You sat while Ben stood to your right, his arms crossed grumpily.

“What the hell does that matter?” Ben said. “We know what he’s guilty of. I’ve been ready and waiting to take out that fucking weasel.”

“He’s got a bit of a point, actually,” Butcher said. Annie raised an incredulous brow at both of them.

“Because we can’t go around assassinating people,” she said. “That’s not what this group is about.”

“You’re a late comer to this fucking group, to be fair,” Butcher pointed out, crossing his arms as well. M.M. shot Butcher a look that said, really?

“We do have Victoria,” you spoke up. “Even if she isn’t holding anything else back, she can still help us.”

Grace considered you. “Yes. She can get through his network and give him a call, try to set up a time to meet.”

“And what then?” Annie asked, gesturing at Butcher and Ben. “These two assholes vaporize him?”

“We know they cloned Black Noir,” Hughie jumped in. “Along with a lot of other experiments that are so not fucking legal. We just need to find evidence in the lab.”

“And in the meantime, we get ahold of the slippery bastard,” Frenchie added. You nodded in agreement.

“The sooner he’s behind bars and Vought is dismantled, the sooner I can bring my family out of protective custody,” you said.

Grace then turned to M.M. “Marvin, what do you think?”

All eyes turned to the man, who took in the various stares with a resigned sigh.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” he said.

With a plan made, Grace, M.M., and Butcher went to visit Victoria upstairs in her holding cell. They coached her through her call to Stan.

Meanwhile, Ben could care less about how the others eyed him with mistrust. (Well, Hughie tried to “buddy buddy” himself by offering up a cup of joe, but Ben mostly ignored that cum-guzzling moron.)

No, he’d expected that. He noticed more how they treated you, still with polite distance and awkwardness, making glances between him and you.

“You don’t seem to understand just how much shit I’m in for trying to help you right now,” you’d said to him once.

Ben understood a bit of what you meant now.

You later led him out of the conference room and to the cafeteria with your head held high, but he could see that you were hiding it. How people’s stares and whispers were affecting you as the two of you walked down the hall.

He had plenty of practice with that, letting attention (wanted or otherwise) roll off his back. But Ben realized that he’d marked you now, in more ways than one.

You later picked at a caesar salad while Ben was busy inhaling his second Italian sub. He subtly watched you, wondered what the hell you were thinking.

Before he might’ve bit the bullet and just asked you, your phone buzzed on the table.

You read the text from Butcher in the group chat:

Stan agreed to meet Neuman. Tomorrow night at her apartment.

“Good,” you breathed in relief. And you showed Ben the text. He nodded around a mouthful of salami and provolone. Though he had a bit of mustard at the corner of his mouth.

You smiled a little. Grabbing a napkin, you reached over and wiped it away. Ben let you do it. His lips curved as he watched you while chewing.

“Okay, let’s meet up with them after this. There’s going to be a lot to set up,” you started to say. But your phone trilled once again in your hand, this time a call from an unknown number. Frowning, you answered the call.

“Hello?”

“He knows you’ve got her.”

Your expression slackened at whose voice was on the line. Ben noticed, and it actually made him pause on taking another bite of his sandwich.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” you said tersely.

Your father sighed. “Listen. Stan has no intention of meeting with Victoria.”

You reluctantly perked up at that. Ben raised an expectant brow at you. Your lips pursed; you really wanted to hang up on principle, but you knew you couldn’t. You held up a finger at Ben that said, wait.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Exactly what I said. He knows you have her. He knows you’re trying to trap him,” said Jon.

You sighed, rubbing at the ache starting to form between your eyes. But then your hand fell back to the table. Your expression hardened.

“Did you order the fucking hit on me?” you asked.

“Sweetheart—”

You closed your eyes.

“No. No. You don’t get to sweetheart me after you broke my fucking ribs,” you snapped. “Did you know?”

Ben’s frown darkened as he finally realized who you were talking to. His hand curled into a fist on the table.

“…No, I didn’t know,” Jon replied. “Why do you think I’m calling you now?”

“I really don’t know,” you said. “Why the hell are you trying to help me? Isn’t this a conflict of interest?”

You heard a heavy sigh on the line, and you waited. Your patience was starting to thin. You could also see Ben’s mood darkening now that he knew you were talking to your father. You angled yourself slightly, so he couldn’t reach over and grab the phone from you. (You saw his fingers twitching.)

“He crossed the line sending Black Noir after you and your sister…and your mother,” Jon said. “I can help you on this.”

“There’s no world in which I’d ever trust you again,” you said flatly.

“You’ve just gotta think here,” said Jon. “Do you want Stan Edgar or not?”

Your lips pursed. But you listened to what he had to say.

When you eventually hung up, Ben walked with you back up the stairs to the conference room. He watched you explain to Butcher and the rest of the team what your father had said, and what he’d proposed as a solution to the problem of Stan Edgar.

Stan was due to come into the office at Vought Tower for a meeting with presidential candidate, Robert Singer. With Jon’s help, they could squeeze through a gap in security and intercept Stan before the meeting. The idea was to arrest him, but if Black Noir made an appearance, then that was Soldier Boy’s cue.

And all bets would be off then.

After Ben sat through the more boring logistics, he was relieved when the meeting finally dispersed, with the goal of meeting back here bright and early tomorrow.

Even back at the safe house, you were antsy, pacing back and forth across the living room. Ben had changed out of his supe suit into some jeans and a shirt, and he now watched you from the kitchen with a beer.

He wanted to ask you what you were planning on doing for dinner (and when, for that matter). But he was pretty sure you’d verbally bite his head off if he mentioned it.

Not that he was afraid of that, by any means…but he’d just rather not get into it with you right now. Not when things had been going good for the past few days.

So he went into the living room to sit on the couch. He was about to turn on the TV, before you sat down heavily in the lounge chair beside the couch. Your face looked so pensive, so troubled as you rested your chin in your hand, that Ben let out a breath.

He set down his beer on the coffee table. Then he sat back and crossed his arms, glancing over at you.

“If we’re going to do this, you need to get your head on straight,” Ben said.

You looked over at him, not willing to admit you were upset (and that he was right), but unable to lie either.

“Let me figure out dinner,” you said instead. You got up, but Ben’s voice stopped you.

“When you see him, don’t give him an opening,” he said. You turned to meet his eyes, and you knew full well who he meant by him.

“You’re smarter than that,” Ben added, giving you a more reserved smile.

You crossed your arms. Emotion rose high in your throat, and it threatened to choke you as your eyes started to burn.

“Am I?” you asked.

Ben’s attempt at a smile faded at the sight of your burgeoning tears. He sighed deeply, and he held out a hand to you.

“Come ‘ere.”

Your head tilted in slight confusion, but you went to him. He took your hand, and once again guided you into his lap. He settled you across his thighs, and after a beat of hesitation, he soothed a hand over your hair. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt for support, and you sucked in a shaky breath.

“Bet you wish I’d knocked him a bit harder against the fucking wall,” he quipped.

You uttered a laugh at his dark humor, wiping at your eyes. “Heh. Maybe. It’d certainly make my life less complicated.”

You sighed and rested against his chest, leaning your head on his shoulder. A smile raised your lips when his arm slid around your waist and held you. His thumb soothed back and forth across your thigh.

And it was then you knew that he really did care about you.

You turned into him, and hid your face into his neck when your tears burned anew. This time for a different reason, as you realized what this meant to you. How this man had broken through your defenses and slipped his way under your skin.

You had a suspicious feeling that he was there to stay, no matter what happened after this mission was over.

“Want me to finish the job?” Ben offered, barely even half joking.

“Ben, please,” you implored into his skin. You shook your head, and your fist curled tighter into his shirt. “Just…”

Ben hesitated, but he held you more securely. He soothed a hand up and down your back.

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “We had a deal didn’t we? Long as I’m around, you’ll be all right.”

You nodded with a sniffle, and Ben felt your tears against his skin.

His hands really itched to finish the job he started with your father—and rip out his throat next time. Matter of fact, as soon as he saw that limp-dick piece of shit, it was on sight.

And with that bone-deep thought, Ben knew that this was different. What he was doing here with you meant something to him. Whether you knew it or not…

(And you will, he thought.)

You…were his. That was just how it was going to be.

He decided this in his mind, after he pressed a kiss above the patch of bruising along your temple.

You were his.

The following morning, Stan straightened the blazer of his navy suit as he got off the elevator.

His office lied at the top floor of Vought Tower, and it was newly renovated after the battle that took place last week. His bodyguard opened the glass door for him before he stepped through.

He reached his new desk and sat down at the plush leather office chair, took up a freshly brewed mug of coffee (cream, no sugar), and enjoyed a satisfying sip.

Then his bodyguard was pulled away from the front of his door, thrown down the hall. Stan raised his head, but didn’t startle as the door was wrenched open.

“What the fuck! Not yet—” Starlight’s voice in the hall. But the next guest in his office was a different former employee.

Soldier Boy stepped through in his familiar green suit.

Stan remembered when this version of the suit was commissioned, to replace the dull gray with a pop of military color for marketing purposes.

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

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

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

Ben raised a finger.

“See, that’s what I can’t fucking stand. A goddamn hypocrite,” he said. “When you came to me in ’84, you said partnering with the military on that Nicaragua mission would call back to my unveiling in ’44. Forty years of service in the making.”

And forty more that would be stolen from him.

Ben’s hand clenched into a fist. “My mistake was believing you.”

“And my mistake was replacing you with more of the same,” said Stan, with his usual bland stoicism. “For all that you’d claim otherwise, you and Homelander shared more than just chromosomes.”

Stan stood from his chair, but was discreet in pressing a small button under his desk.

“In all this posturing, I see an insecure child, yearning for attention,” he continued with a mild shrug. “Your strength is…nothing but a mask for how truly empty you are.”

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he resisted losing his temper. He knew that would only goad this little prick on. He watched as Stan rounded his desk, pulling his hands behind his back.

“The cold truth is, you sold your humanity so that someone in the world would deign to love you. And if not, to fear you,” he said simply. “I sell it to win.”

Ben’s senses prickled just in time to raise his shield against a metal spike aimed at his head. It ricocheted and speared into the ground.

Stan frowned; this tile had just been replaced. But he stepped to the side as Black Noir burst into the office and went for Soldier Boy. He carefully avoided the fight as his bodyguards came to pull him out of the fray.

Stan’s eyes only widened when the first two guards were shot dead by Billy Butcher and his team.

While a fight brewed in Stan Edgar’s office, you were in the familiar bowels of the tower, back in the Security & Surveillance command center…with your father.

The two of you had taken control of the room, dismissing the on-site personnel, and now were in the process of evacuating the tower. At this point, who knew what could happen in the fight between Ben and Black Noir. You weren’t willing to abet any collateral damage, even here.

Out of several monitors on the big screen, you kept one eye on the fight in Stan’s office. You and Jon noticed a breach in the hall.

“Butcher, you should be on your way out already,” Jon told him through the communicator in his ear. “The secondary team is also on its way up.”

“Right.”

You watched with a measure of concern. Butcher seemed to be waning against a common security guard. He’d needed M.M. to grab the guy from behind and hurl him into Stan’s desk. Stan himself was plastered against the far corner of the wall, letting his security attempt to subdue Butcher and the rest of your friends.

Your eyes moved to Black Noir. He’d also brought the same gun from last time—the one that had disrupted Ben’s powers. He was evading well enough so far…

“Soldier Boy is dangerous,” Jon said, breaking your attention from the screen. “However he’s managed to manipulate you into thinking he’s a good guy, there’s no hiding the fact that he can’t control that fucking A-bomb inside him.”

Your lips pursed in annoyance.

“Oh, he is dangerous,” you agreed. “He wanted to finish what he started, caving in your skull as well as your chest. If I were you, I’d duck out quick when this is done.”

Jon didn’t answer, but when you glanced at him, you saw the way he stilled, his jaw tensing.

“Aren’t you glad I dropped him off at the lobby?” you quipped. Then you pressed a button on the control board and overrode the overhead speaker in the Administration office, where you saw people still milling about.

“Evacuation was not a request,” you said into the speaker. “Put down the fucking chai tea latte and exit through the stairwell to the garage please.”

Jon turned to you while sitting in his chair.

“After this is over, you’d be smart to start fresh…I could help you.”

You met him with a flat glare. “Now that’s just plain delusional.”

You had half a mind to get Ben on the comm to let Jon know exactly what he’d be in for if he tried to take you anywhere, but you didn’t want to distract Ben right now.

And maybe he didn’t know that you were alone with your father.

Meanwhile, Jon’s mouth firmed into a line. A tendril of wariness (and maybe fear) laced down your spine. Your hand slowly moved to your belt…but he merely inclined his head.

“All right. Maybe I deserve that,” he said. “But no matter my methods, I’ve always sought the best for you.”

“The best for—” You paused with a sharp sigh. And you steeled yourself before you replied. “I don’t know what fucked up fantasy world you’re living in, Jon. But after I left, I could finally see it clearly. You are the reason I hated myself.”

Jon didn’t show the true depths of his reaction. That wasn’t his way, but his steely eyes hardened as they held yours for a long moment. Then, he turned back to the screens.

You released a subtle breath, though your hand stayed resting on your belt.

Only Ben and Grace knew the truth about the injuries you’d sustained after being picked up at Vought. This time, you weren’t without a weapon. You had a gun on one hip and a taser on the other.

Ben had only agreed to your role in the mission because you’d called for backup. They should’ve been here by now, actually. In fact, they were supposed to meet you in the lobby, before you met up with your father.

Maybe they got stuck in traffic, you thought. You’d been checking your phone for the past ten minutes.

But then a silent text came in: your backup team had just arrived. In fact, they strolled into the command center in full tactical gear, with guns drawn. Seeing the room was clear except for you and Jon, Frank nodded to Loco and stepped further inside.

“Hey, welcome to the party,” you said, greeting both men with a grateful smile. Jon glanced at you, then the men with a frown.

“Who the fuck are these two?” he asked.

“My reinforcements,” you replied tartly. You felt better with them here as your spine untightened a bit.

Frank nodded at you and remained standing to watch the door, while Loco grabbed a chair at your side. You gave him the lowdown of the control settings on the dashboard in front of you.

“Oh shit,” Loco said when he glanced up at the screen. You followed suit, and a gasp fell from your mouth.

Ben managed to unmask Black Noir.

The helmet hung from Ben’s gloved hand. It was Earving all right, but it also wasn’t. His eyes, normally a dark brown, were misted over with gray and almost lifeless.

“Noir, destabilize him,” Stan commanded from his cowering corner. The supe seemed to hear him, and only that order.

Ben realized now what these fuckers had done. Not only did they create this Noir clone with Homelander scraps, but they’d made the perfect soldier. One that only took orders.

Butcher noticed too, with widening eyes. Fucking hell.

But he had to brace a hand against the wall as a hacking cough rose unbidden from his chest, worsening the roiling pain in his stomach and the ache behind his eyes. Hughie grabbed his arm to support him, and his face was picture-perfect concern.

“What’s wrong?” Hughie asked. Butcher couldn’t answer him, because on the last cough, a spew of blood coated his hand (and the younger man’s shoes). Hughie’s eyes widened.

“What the fuck’s going on with you?” he exclaimed. Butcher just grabbed his arm and pulled him a few feet over, so they wouldn’t get caught in the blast of Noir’s energy gun.

Ben was grappling with him. He focused on summoning the nuclear power collecting in his chest. All he needed was one clear hit, and he’d be able to end this motherfucker for good.

But before he could fully charge up, Black Noir aimed a well-placed kick to his sternum, sending him back a few feet. It gave Noir the opening he needed to shoot Ben right in the chest with his energy gun.

An electrifying blue met pulsing red, and swallowed it up. It took Ben along with it. Luckily his shield was clipped onto his back, so it didn’t get eaten up in the initial blast.

Now, he fairly crackled with red and blue fractals, which coursed together into a violet haze. He felt dizzy and wrong, knowing that all this power had to come out. But if that happened, he knew he couldn’t contain it. He didn’t know what would happen.

Part of him knew it would solve his problem, killing Noir, Stan, Butcher, and the rest of those assholes in one powerful swoop.

No collateral damage.

It was your voice in his mind. And he remembered you were here too, somewhere in the Tower. He closed his eyes, a strained yell erupting from his throat.

He couldn’t stop it. The sheer force brought him to his knees before he could angle it up into the sky. Instead, it released into the ground below.

The nuclear blast tore through concrete like a drill, and it didn’t stop until it reached the very foundations of the tower, deep into the earth.

Afterwards, everything was still. Ben could only stare into the chasm below him while he caught his breath.

Until the ground, the walls, everything began to tremor and shake.

“Oh shit,” said M.M.

During the blast, he’d held onto the far wall with Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie. But now, he grabbed Annie’s arm to pull her up. The shaking grew worse with every second.

“What the hell was that?” you commed in. No one could answer you yet, but at least it let Ben and the rest of them know that you were alive.

Annie reached out to Hughie, who grabbed onto her hand in relief. He also helped Butcher straighten, putting his arm across Hughie’s shoulders. Butcher glanced up at Black Noir, who was heading towards Stan. Meanwhile, Ben was stumbling to his feet.

“It’s gonna come down like the fucking Eye of Sauron!” Hughie shouted.

Butcher shared a grim look with M.M. “Like the bloody Twin Towers.”

AN: 🫨 The Tower's falling! But how'd you like Ben contemplating getting his hands on Jon? 😏

We're heading into the real action here, folks!

Next Time:

You pressed a shaking finger to the comm in your ear.

“Ben, where are you?” you asked. Maybe he heard the tremor in your voice, because you certainly read the concern in his.

“You’re not on the second floor. Where are you?”

You closed your eyes for a beat. “On the first floor. The garage is blocked and Noir has us bottlenecked.”

“I’m almost there. Just stay put,” Ben said. His tone was firm, and it reassured you. You nodded, despite the fact that he couldn’t see you.

“Yeah, not going anywhere in a hurry,” you whispered.

Keep Reading: PART 16

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