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syrma-sensei · 3 months ago

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Somewhere In Your Heart, Ch.3: Mirrors.

pairing: soldier boy x fem!reader.

rating: explicit.

setting: in the early 80s.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: prostitution, angst, sexual innuendos, violence, cursing...

summary: Soldier boy lives through the ennui of his peak, but everything is about to change when he has a shift in his heart.

“That’s not what I fucking signed up for!”

Legend flinches a bit as Soldier Boy flings the glass of liquor in his hand. Legend's face twitches as he sees it splinter into tiny pieces, which makes him often wonder if he’d end up with his head bashed into pieces if he carried on his career in this damned place. Despite everything, Legend has developed a tight resolve when it comes to dealing with Vought's supes, Soldier Boy in particular.

“You wanted the gal, and now you have her.” Legend answers crudely.

Soldier Boy seethes, “I don't recall being consulted about her fucking pimp tagging along!”

Legend sighs at this point, “Mr. Harold's her manager, and he emphasised his inclusion to be thoroughly considered. He's been her tutor for years. And you heard her yourself, she wanted him in.”

Soldier Boy smacks his lips in deep frustration. Great. Now, he'd have to deal with her manager being up on their asses in their little game of cat and mouse. What he wants is simple, he wants her in his bed after he's won her over. He doesn't want that fuck face to get in his way. Soldier Boy sighs, passing an aggressive hand over his face.

“When do we start the rehearsals?” Ben asks in a tight tone, he's still finding this hard to digest.

“Tomorrow morning, because you know, she's quite busy at night.”

Legend's insinuated smirk didn't go unnoticed by Ben. The little shit.

“Good.” Ben replies, and dismisses Legend, because he too has a busy night.

Ben exhales deeply through his nostrils before he scooches by the swarms of dancing and drunk people. He's donned in a casual outfit for tonight. Casual yet fancy; Ben never skimps on his looks whether it's for business or in his private life. He dresses both to impress (the gals) and depress (the pals). He's aware of his effect on both sides and likes to swagger with his looks; he has black jeans on his legs, black jean jacket wide open to show off his chest which is accentuated by a white shirt. His feet are comfortable in a pair of brown and sleek boots.

Finding his way to the bar, his piercing green eyes catch the visage of a pretty girl by the bar. Once his eyes land on her, she flashes him a grin which he partially ignores on his way to his destination.

He sits on a stool, resting one arm on the bar counter, ordering a drink, then he turns around to have a quick scan on the dance floor. Most of the people dancing are between late adolescence and early twenties. When he was their age he applied to Dr. Vought's Compound V trials to win his father's favour. He scoffs between him and himself.

A real man doesn't take a shortcut.

The words still titillate a bitter taste akin to ash under his tongue whenever he remembers what his father spewed in his face after Ben saw God under those fucking trials. It was perilous and shrouded with uncertainty, but he was willing to do it for his father, to make him proud. He became America's first superhero, the golden son of the states, but what good the golden son title could do him if he was a disappointing coward in his father's eyes.

He closes his eyes for a bit, he can't believe it still haunts him after all this time. His dad is dead. Hell, he's older than him right now, hitting his fucking sixties with ease his dad would've wished he had. The bastard died of cancer, or so he'd heard. It was a long time ago. He doesn't remember, of course, why would he bother? He didn't even attend his funeral. The old bastard didn't deserve the honour.

He gobbles down his drink in one go when it's served, relishing in the momentarily burning sensation. Then, he orders another.

Fuck, sometimes, he wishes he was normal like those youngsters, he thinks melancholically. Hell, he can't even get drunk to forget, to make mistakes, to feel alive again.

He comes to places like this because it's easier to blend in. He's rarely recognised among drunk and stoned people who are looking for some ass.

Ben's head whips to the side when he feels a gentle hand on his arm, caressing it tenderly. “You look sad…” He raises a brow at the girl, she's the same gal he saw when he first entered the club. “I can fix that…”

He lets her despite the fact he knows she can't fix shit.

After hours, Ben is lying naked in one of the club's rooms, beside him the girl who offered him help, the help that did him nothing at all. He knew from the outset this wouldn't work, but he gave it a shot because the girl looked somewhat akin to Rita Hayworth whom he had a crush on growing up.

He rubs his eyes with a groan as he sits up, deftly swinging his feet down on the floor. This is not good. Sex is never not good to him, especially if it's accompanied with some toots on fine breasts like this one had. God, she has two watermelons for a pair of tits. And boy did he fucking like tits. Big, medium, small, he likes all of them.

Ben glances at her, fuck, he didn't even ask for her name, but Rita-Hayworth-knock-off is a new mom. He can sense the milk hormone kicking in her system which she's trying to dial down with meds. Ben twitches his eyebrows; it explains why she's taken this road.

He shakes his head, looking at her, she seems in her early twenties, he can hazard a guess and say it's the same scenario. She met Romeo, got knocked up, Romeo left, big old daddy kicked her out. And now she has hers and her baby's mouths to feed.

Ben grunts as he reaches for his jean jacket on the floor, he grabs something out before he gets dressed in his clothes. He leaves her some money under the pillow.

Rita-Hayworth-knock-off wakes up after a while to find her payment under the pillow, and a piece of paper above it, with no trace of the handsome man. Her eyes widen when she flips it back and forth trying to comprehend what's that.

It's for you and your baby, not for the fucking pimp.

Rita smiles with tears in her eyes, hugging the check to her chest.

When his pursuit of pleasure has failed, Ben heads back home. And by home it means one of his private properties, a penthouse. He sighs as he slips the jacket off, tossing it on the armrest of the leatherd big sofa in the living room. He ambles towards the wet bar and pours himself a drink. He lets out an elongated sigh, it almost sounds longing and craving.

“Fuck…” He groans. You really did a number on him. His bodys is fucking raging with want and nothing besides having you will regale that burning desire to claim you. He guzzles up his drink.

He fucking met a broad twice and his body is acting up like a pussy. He's fucking Soldier Boy, the Soldier Boy. One fleeting girl can't bring him to heels like that. But again, the image of your sensual features, the rasp in your voice, the mystery in your eyes, they're all so fucking tempting him to coax you down layer by layer. He wants to see the girl behind this facade. Oh, he knows there's one behind that eloquent, sagacious mask. He wants to meet the one who's grinding on his vainglory's gears. He wants that woman, and he's intended to own her.

The world of Vought is a dreadful and dangerous place to be, but however the people in charge of making it dazzle with such glamour, they earn each penny they make.

You were fast to acclimate to the somewhat new atmosphere. Jack was proud of you, and you were happy you managed to do so.

You're always on time, with utter competence and professionalism; any lack of diligence is frowned upon. Your business is mostly tied to none other than Soldier Boy, the greatest hero ever lived.

Working with America's son is amusing to say the least.

In spite of his big headed self, he's actually good at taking orders and exerting them like a good soldier would. Through the days in the rehearsals, he's been unexpectedly nice to you, which makes you wonder what he really wants from you. You're not an idiot. Jack made sure of that. You know that Soldier Boy wants you; him practically eye-fucking you is a bit of a giveaway. However, he doesn't verbally express anything of the sort.

During the days at Vought, you've come to learn more and more about Soldier Boy, bits reporters would kiss your ass to divulge to them. But of course your professionalism and the NDA you signed prevent you from doing so.

You find Soldier Boy — or Ben as he emphasised to call him, is an interesting individual, as expected from a man of his rank and fame. But as any performer he's a complete hypocrite. Just like yourself. The first time in which he almost made you gasp was when he invited you to his headquarters in the tower so you could sniff some crunched crack with him. To kick back, as he put it. That shit is good, I'm telling ya. You discovered that America's golden son isn't as godly as his media pretence claims to be.

He's flawed, tremendously so. Just like you are. He has a short and firing temper that threatens to blow off at any second. And he isn't kind to those who don't make him happy. One time, he burst in the face of a poor assistant for not bringing his right order of coffee. Iced. He snarled at him.

And to add insult to injury, he's hard to please.

However, and oddly enough, he isn't as crass with the gentle sex. Especially with you. Maybe the fact he would fuck you at some time has something to do with that. Be that as it may, you enjoy the companionship of the supe, because there's a lot to him that intrigued you. Despite everything, his what is akin to giddiness that he shows when he's with you is growing on you.

Anywho, within the deepest layers of you, you envy him. He isn't on a leash like you. He comes and goes whenever and wherever he likes. He takes shit from nobody, and does whatever he wants. You wish you had anything close to what he had. The power, the money, the connections. You want to be like him, and not some bitch tied to her owner for life.

Today's the day you and Soldier Boy officially record the cover song after days of arduous rehearsals with the latter. Again, he's hard to please; you can't help but to think whether he made you and the rest of the crew reiterate when he didn't like that note, or when he disliked the harmony of the rhythm, or he was doing that on purpose just so he can spend more time with you.

You internally sigh, you shouldn't read much into the lines, but considering, you relish in the attention and you give him yours, the thing he wants the most as of yet. You wonder when he's going to get bored of you. Up close, Soldier Boy is the kind of a man who falls fast into ennui. It's only a matter of time before he tosses you aside and moves on to his next stimuli.

You're playing with fire, and you know that. Much like he is seeking the pleasurable sting, so are you.

Despite Soldier Boy's faults, he knows how to get the job done, whether it's on field or up on the stage, Legend muses. The latter can't but acknowledge that Soldier Boy is a talent. A magnificent and pure one at that.

Legend is glad about the fact this gal is being in Vought's favour. She has the voice and the looks, and he can feel it, everyone working in the studio can feel it. The chemistry between the two. Maybe, just maybe, he can consider making them a screen couple after the song hits the audience on cloud nine.

It's been a good day today. The records are going smoothly. The only thing that might've disturbed it was Jack Harold's presence in Soldier Boy's. The latter has a thing about the former. And casting professional shit aside, the man is hubristic and kind of unpleasant. Luckily, he doesn't come by often. Jack dropped by from time to time to establish his presence. Nothing harmful, yet.

Legend only hopes Soldier Boy keeps his cool in front of Jack just for a couple of days more. Legend watches the duo sing in a flawless consonance.

Everything is at ease until a rambunctious Noir barges in the studio, seeing red.

The music of “Just The Two Of Us” slowly dwindles away, as yours and Soldier Boy's melts into the walls of the recording room.

“You’re standing in my place, Soldier Boy.” Noir enunciates.

Soldier Boy wries a brow the young supe.

The palpable tension is a clear cue for the crew to scramble out of the recording room, because they know better not to get in between two supes. Legend watches from the control room, he notices that you aren't running like the rest of the staff. Instead you take the spot behind Soldier Boy.

The latter can hear your heartbeat quicken up and can distinguish it from Noir’s; each has its unique pattern like a thumbprint. And at the moment, Noir's is gushing with fury, and yours… Well, yours is bumping with fear and… excitement?

Soldier Boy scoffs at Noir, a small grin playing on his lips. “Your place?” He snickers, “Listen up, kid—”

“No, you listen to me, Ben.” Noir spits, “This is where you fucking stop getting in my way!”

Soldier Boy bursts out laughing, “Getting in your way? Kid, this is my hit, before your old man knocked up your mama.”

That's it. Noir couldn't take more insult into his wound and marches forward, launching an attack at Soldier Boy. However, the more seasoned supe grabs his fist in his first with ease.

Soldier Boy tilts his head, glancing at you over his shoulder, “You might as well get outta her, sweetheart, things are gonna get a little bit messy.”

You don't need to be told twice. Your feet hit the air as you scurry out of the room. But… Noir takes the shot and hauls you in his free hand and hurls you to the wall. You wail as you fall on the floor.

“You little shit!” Soldier Boy grits his molars and grasps Noir’s arms and fixes him to his spot before he headbutts the younger supe. Three hits were enough to make Noir stagger backwards, giving Soldier Boy the chance to punch Noir's cheeks, then depositing him unconscious onto the floor.

Soldier Boy lips twitch at the pathetic little shit, before he walks in your direction, crouching down to your level.

“Hey, are you okay, sweetheart?” Unlike the brutal scene from moments ago, Soldier Boy's touch is gentle when he holds you up to check for any injury. Luckily, and thanks to Soldier Boy, Noir couldn't exert enough power to cause any severe damage to you but manageable bruises and a sprained ankle.

Legend watches at the mess from behind the scenes as supe crisis staff pour into the room to clear that mess up. He doesn't heed anything of his attention but how Soldier Boy insisted on carrying you up in his arms to get patched up in his own personal quarters.

Legend lights up a cigar and wonders what kind of spells you cast on Soldier Boy that he's so smitten with you. Could it be you're a supe with hypnotising powers? Maybe, but if so, you'd have been within Vought's records.

But nothing of the sort was found on you. You're just a human with a pretty face and vocal talents that happened to captivate the mind of the current most important asset of Vought. He expected Soldier Boy to get bored and toss you aside after a couple of days when he was done with you. But Legend was gravely mistaken. For the past weeks, Soldier Boy only got more enamoured by your charms and was putty in your hand with only a bat of your pretty eyelashes. Legend kept an eye on both of you everyday to see how that was coming along, and it surprised him to say the least.

Perhaps they can use you to their benefit for a better communication with the supe, Legend says. Because as the days pass by, Soldier Boy is only getting older and out of touch with each day. He's become more tenacious and hard to deal with each day. Maybe you could become a key for a new affair. Who knows, maybe when the song is all the rage in the country, people will like the idea of pairing you together better than Soldier Boy with Countess. People would find a human girl paired up with Soldier Boy more appealing and more relatable. Legend flick the cigar in the ashtray on the dashboard in the control room. He shakes his head, and gets back to reality. There are two injured people in the mess today which makes him release a series of expletives as he huffs a vapour of smoke.

He sighs. The things he does for talents.

“Oww!” You groan as the medic dabs an alcohol-soused piece of cotton on your ankle.

“Careful with that one. She's delicate.”

Soldier Boy tells the medic as he patches you up.

When he's done, he leaves you with several plasters on your body and a swollen ankle wrapped with a white bandage.

Great. Now you're gonna be useless for few days. You sigh, already picturing the querulous frown on Jack's face. You're gonna miss a couple nights at his clubs.

“Relax, you’re gonna be fine.” He offers you a glass of whiskey with rocks. “I know you're no snowflake.”

You take a gulp of your drink and the searing sensation temporarily numbs the bitterness you've held for the most of your life.

You sigh again, placing the glass on the coffee table in front of you. In times of vulnerability like this, you can't be but haunted by the memory of your brother. The only family you had before your life took a shitty turn and snatched him away from you. Before you met Jack. Before you've become this.

You drown yourself in self pity and scoff. Life wasn't just a bitch by depriving you of your care-taker and protector, it also threw Jack Harold in your way who moulded you into what you are now. A complete hypocrite, who lives off kissing ass and sucking dicks.

Soldier Boy studies you before he pours you another. He knows you need another shot.

“You know…” You say after you feel the tantalising burn in your esophagus. “I didn't remember being roughhoused by one of you folks in our contract. Plus, what did he mean by you getting in your way?”

You usually won't care, but you're really curious what rubbed Noir the wrong way that he hurled you across the recording room. For all you know, and from what you've heard from the halls of Vought, he was on a solo mission.

Soldier Boy jeers. “The kid's delusional. He thinks I pulled the song from under his feet when in fact, Legend begged me to do it.” He swallows a mouthful of his drink.

You sigh again, “But isn't he a member of Payback? I thought you guys are like family.”

Soldier Boy sneers, “The kid needs to be reminded to respect the chain of command every once in awhile. He shouldn't have crossed me with such impudence.�� Then through his fleeting ire, a sly grin pulls at his lips as he tips your chin up, “And he shouldn't have touched what belongs to me.”

A bemused shiver roils through your spine at his claim of ownership of you. You can't be his. You're Jack's. The latter made sure of it. Being Jack's property would be a dread to any woman, but wanting to be Soldier Boy's is frightening. You saw what he did to Noir with a sliver of his strength, the fact he can snap you in two halves like a toothpick makes your bowels liquid. However, you can't ignore the twinge in your core when he said it. No, no. You learnt how to lie and be a fake bitch to other people, but not to yourself. You don't misinterpret the aching throb between your legs for this man. No, no. You crave to be his, you wish he'd snatch you away from Jack the way life snatched your brother away from you; once and for all.

You drum up what remains of your deteriorating aplomb and keep your chin up. “I wish to be compensated.”

Soldier Boy quirks a brow up. “You want compensation?”

You nod at your bruises, “If you want me to be yours, you must show me.”

He falls silent for a moment that elapses like a year. Then, another grin curves his lips up. “Show you…”

“I want you to show me something I've never seen… Can you do that?”

His grin widens, it almost resembles a shark's. “I think I can, dollface.”

After a few days, and after your bruises fade away into yellowish smudges, Soldier Boy keeps his words.

He sneaks you out of Vought after you two finish recording the damn song. Pleasure after business as he told you. You only thank Christ that you conducted the visuals a day before Noir came back and almost ruined your work.

He takes you to a building in the heart of the city, the sliding spyhole glides open, an eye peeks through it, and as soon as it perches on Soldier Boy, the door immediately clicks open.

You step in, dogging Soldier Boy's steps. He turns to you and smirks. “Welcome to Herogasm, sweetheart.”

🦅 Previous Chapter: A New Window

🦅 Next Chapter: Unmasked.

🦅 Somewhere In Your Heart Masterlist

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syrma-sensei · 2 months ago

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Somewhere In Your Heart, Ch.4: Unmasked.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Fem!reader.

Rating: Explicit.

Warnings: Herogasm (need I elaborate more?), implied smut, angst, emotional rollercoaster...

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Soldier boy lives through the ennui of his peak, but everything is about to change when he has a shift in his heart.

Herogasm.

A place where supes exert their whims and desires without being pried on. The rumours you heard were rife with obscenity and outrageousness. However, what you're beholding now makes you think that whatever you heard about the affair was ten times more downwashed than the veritable things occuring before you right now.

Everything is raw, pure, and carnal.

They're just like humans. Like you.

“It’s my thing.” Soldier boasts in the middle of the display debauchery.

He's just like humans, of flesh and needs; like you.

You muster up a salacious grin, sliding the laces of your dress down in order to strip off. Soldier Boy rushes and holds your hands to your arms to stop you.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing, doll?” He snarls.

Your grin doesn't waver, your brow quirks up playfully, “Getting naked? I'm feeling overdressed here.”

He lets another guttural sound. “Not in here.” His voice is commanding and you shiver.

He pulls you through the scenes of sex and pleasure. You watch supes having their way with other supes and normal people. You wonder if the normal workers consented to be here. You see men with women, men with men, women with women. No facades, no masks. You feel the thrill roil your belly at the sounds of naked flesh slamming against naked flesh. You fathom a strange kind of sincerity in this place, where one can be and do whatever they want.

“See, I established this…” He waves a hand around, “Back in 52, with Liberty.”

You raise a brow at the new info.

“Why?” You ask.

His brows furrow, “Why I built this? Because we fucking deserve it. We're gods among men, and we have gods’ tendencies.”

“But I see normal people here,” You chuckle, “I thought we humans were way below you and your kind.”

Soldier Boy stops in his tracks. Turning on his heels, his hand grabs your jaws, making you moan at the force. He pulls you in to whisper in your ear, “We can do whatever we want, fuck whoever we want. In time, you'll understand how privileged you are to be mine.”

“Words, words…” You snatch your head out of his grasp in defiance, “I only hear words and see no actio—!”

He shuts you up with his crushing lips. You moan at the rapturous strength in his hands as he pulls into his hold. You can feel the warm and firm muscles underneath his gear. His lips are full and ravenous against yours, for a moment, you felt as if he's going to swallow you whole. The way his lips covet yours ripples through your body down to your core; you moan again.

He breaks the kiss for a second, gazing down at you with half-lidded eyes, purring, “Do you want to be truly mine?”

You tear up as emotions burn both in your heart and eyes. The world's strongest superhero is asking you to be his. You ogle him through your tears. No man ever required your permission before. The leash Jack has on you makes you an available mount for anyone who's ready to pay Jack enough to let them have you.

Soldier Boy — Ben, didn't do anything of the sort even though he made sure whatever the thing had been going between the two of you was worth it. Yes. You want to be his, even if only for the night. You want to be claimed by this man, you want to feel it for once, that you have control over your life and do something of your choice.

“Yes.” You utter, your lips are still close to his. “Make me yours, please.”

Soldier Boy grins. That giddy and boyish grin is growing on you. The way his eyes light up at your acceptance.

He takes you to private chambers, and makes you his.

Ben cards a hand through your hair as your head lays on his chest. His eyes are gazing up to the ceiling.

He's just had one of the best nights of his life. The satisfying sensation of mirth is piercing into his bone. He finally had you, and his mind is at peace, for now.

However, he can't say the same thing about his heart which is bumping with nourishment under your ear. He hasn't felt this in god knows for how long. He feels happy. Truly happy. And it's not just the sex.

Fuck. It casts upon him that he doesn't want this to end after tonight. He realises he wants more of you, more of this. Whatever this is… he craves for more, more of you. More of this non-ephemeral happiness. He knows it. He can feel it in his bones that the cat and mouse game between you played out into something more. He's feeling sweet tingles in his body like a fucking teen boy. Be that as it may, he's fond of it.

He sighs softly, hand still buried in your hair.

Could it be?

Could it be you? The one with whom he wants to make his childish dream come true?

The one he'd make a family with?

He doesn't know.

The only thing he's certain of at the moment is that he doesn't want what he has with you to end, contrary to what he initially believed.

He feels you shift under his arm. You crane your face up to meet his. God, you're fucking pretty. Pretty can't even describe the happy glow you're in now. Pride sprouts in his chest that he made you happy. His little ol’ heart beats fast at the fact. His fancy is so tickled.

“Are you compensated, doll face?” He asks playfully.

Your eyes furrow, confused for a moment, then a blush invades your cheeks.

The sound of his deep chuckle makes your heart swell, it's refreshing. “Oh, I am. Plenty.” You giggle.

“Good, because you're gonna have to get used to my generosity.”

You blink several times at the sudden revelation that you sit up.

He mimics you as he sits up, noticing the silent panic in your eyes, “What is it?”

“I can't be yours alone.” You whisper. “Jack won't let that happen…”

He frowns, the mere mention of his name grinds on his gears. He grumbles, “That fuckhead can suck on my dick for all I care.”

You sigh, “Ben… you don't understand, he owns me—”

His lips seal yours. “Shh, I'm a jealous man, I warn you. I won't have my girl talking about another man owning her.”

A strange yet delightful shiver courses through your body. Did he just call me his girl?

“Then do something.” You tear up, emotions burning your eyes. “I don't want him. I want you. Please.”

He flinches when you hug him, crying into his chest. Fuck, he isn't good with sentimental shit. Sentiments are a women's department, not a seasoned soldier's like himself. Fuck! He should do something, but his body is alerted to do anything and you crying into his chest isn't making it better.

“Shh…” His arms reluctantly hold you back, a hand patting your back softly.

“Ben…” His heartstrings tug painfully at the way you say his name, the way you implore him. “Please don't let him take me back.”

His chin rests on your head, his hand still patting your back. “I won't. You're mine now.”

“Don’t let me go, please.”

Fuck this, he isn't good at comforting anyone, because he never did it to anyone neither was it done to him. Somewhere weird burns his eyes as he remembers his loveless childhood. It's as if the sound of your sobbing triggers it.

“I won't let anyone take you from me. You have my word for that.”

Soldier Boy is many things, but a promise breaker isn't one of them.

You don't realise that you dozed off on Ben's chest until you wake up after hours. Ben's side is empty. You groan as you rub your eyes. You hear ecstatic moans woven into music, it's still permeating through the door; the party doesn't stop.

You shift in your spot. Your core aches from sweet soreness.

You can't believe you just slept with the hero of all heroes, in Herogasm no less. Weeks of tantalising mutual pinning are finally put the button on.

Instead of being disappointed, it's glee that's undulating in your skin. When Ben and you started this game, you believed it would be a fleeting fling. But now, you don't want what it resulted to end. You want this to proceed with what it has to unearth in the future.

You aren't naïve, you aren't unaware of your circumstances. But your stupid heart, that you thought dead, is beating with such vehemence you don't recognise. With something alien to you…. could it be love?

You shake your head at the absurdity of which. But you can't help the smile that pulls on your lips as you remember Ben's promise. You're his now.

Jack taught you to always distinguish between business and pleasure. but here you are, in a mess of business and pleasure yet in neither. You're in a mess of what you forgot long ago. Life.

Ben has brought life back to your miserable existence, and whether you like it or not, your heart is beating for that man even if his feelings don't requite yours. At least he shows some kind of interest, a benign one.

As the sounds of passion keep pouring through the walls, you wonder if Ben joined in one of the activities you saw when he toured you around. Men like Ben tend to be heartbreakers, mean, and uncouth. And he's taken what he wants from you. You push the panicked qualms and doubts about whether he wants anything to do with you or not to the back of your mind. He promised. You remind yourself.

Trying to argue the muscle that is still palpating with vigour in your chest, Jealousy burns your chest at the thought of Ben being with another woman… or women.

Yes, you harbour something for Ben. Lust, love, adoration… you aren't sure, but it doesn't matter, nevertheless. You know he can't be yours the way you can be his. You try to reason with yourself. But alas. You can't accept it, you want him all to yourself just the way he wants you all to himself.

The thought of him with another drives you to sit up.

You find a nightgown hanging next to the bed. You're incredulous to wear it. Many people would have worn it, but you put it on, though.

You rush out of the room, and you're surrounded with naked people again. Back glued to the wall, you tiptoes into a corridor wherein a man and a woman are copulating.

You pass by them then you jolt when you hear a bellowing laugh, “And I tell ya, it was the best shot I had with my bitch of a sister in our entire lives.”

“Betcha.” You hear Ben say, “If it weren't for my order back then; they would've given me slip, because you and your sis decided to pussy out on the mission.”

You raise a brow. It dawns upon you that you never saw that side of Ben. The superhero side of him, if there's any. You're curious, so you encourage yourself to eavesdrop. You want to know more about him.

“You can't blame us, there were citizens in the building!” The other man grouses, “They’re on you, Ben.”

The latter snickers, “Those people were in the way, the mission was to croak the assholes and I did. More people could've been hurt if they'd ducked out.”

Your heart paces up as they talk. Why does this sound so familiar? A bile of bitterness lurches in your throat.

“Still… an entire building was on fire that day.”

“It’s been, what? 10 years? And you’re still bitter about it, kid?”

“Fuck no!” The man scoffs, “I just told you it was the best shot we had with Tessa! Plus, it's been only six years! Nope, can't forget the best day of my career.”

Your breath hyperventilates as the minutiae gets familiar and familiar with you, conjuring up flashes of the day that changed your life for good.

“Not bad for someone who always misses their fucking marks.” Soldier Boy's tone is tight.

Tessa… Tessa… Tessa. You rack your mind fumbling through the inkling of the name. Then it snaps. Tommy and Tessa, The TNT Twins. Two members of Payback. Soldier Boy, TNT Twins, a burning building, six years ago? Could it be the same incident that took your brother's life?

Six years ago, the shitty building you used to reside in was invaded by criminals chased by none other than Payback. You were out in a sleep over at one of your friends’ while your brother was at home sleeping. According to people who gave their account of the incident, the criminals set the building on fire to distract the heroes with rescuing the civilians from the flames rather than going after them. However, and simply put, Payback could catch up with them and annihilate the threat. One of the side casualties was your brother, and you in somehow.

With no close relatives to go to, you had to be dragged from orphanage to orphanage. Until you met Jack when you were sixteen at a bar, and made you what you are now.

You feel the urge to throw up. You were always aware that your brother was a victim to that incident. To those criminals. It didn't occur to you that his death sentence was uttered by Ben.

Tears swell up in your eyes, they exude out in two rivulets down your cheeks, you cover your mouth with your hands to prevent an audible gasp.

You swallow hard and try to pull yourself together. Turning on your heels, you put on your clothes, and head back home. Back to Jack.