#that hand on the back of hughie's neck

[ex0rin]

Hughie Campbell | The Boys S01E05: Good for the Soul

[figthoughts]

soldier boy just can’t keep his hands out of your underwear no matter where you are and how many times you tell him. 18+

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

“not here, ben!”

“we’re in public, ben!”

“butcher’s right next door, ben!”

ben just doesn’t give a shit. his fingers would slip past the waistband of your lace panties and quickly find their way between your thighs, feeling your soft clit with the pads of his fingers.

your eyes dart to the motel door and you let out a breath as you feel him gently rub your pussy, “b-ben, no. the others will be back soon.”

soldier boy laughs, used to your usual worry about getting caught with his hands down your pants. you’re always so concerned about other people when he’s trying to make you feel good.

“sweetness, just shut the fuck up and let me touch you. got it?” he says lowly, his rough fingers speeding up on your clit.

you hum softly, your pleading expression starting to soften as he slips a finger down to your entrance, sliding it in. you gasp quietly as he pulls you backwards onto his lap, his chest pressing against your back as his hand works between your thighs.

your head drops back onto his shoulder as he curls his finger up inside your pussy while his thumb circles your clit, earning little groans and gasps from you. his other hand snakes around your neck, keeping you pressed against him. a gaspy moan leaves your lips as you melt into him.

“you love it when i play with your pussy like this, don’t you? you like the idea of the others catching us, huh, baby?”

you groan softly as he squeezes your neck, your hips starting to roll with his touch, “mmm, yes, sir.”

“good girl,” soldier boy murmurs into your ear and slips another finger into your cunt, his movements becoming harder as your pussy clenches around his meaty fingers.

you feel the knot begin to tighten in your stomach as he fucks in and out of your cunt, his thumb still roughly circling your clit. you groan as your hips jerk forward and you feel him harden beneath your ass. he groans softly as you rub against him.

“you gonna cum, baby girl?” his deep voice rumbles in your ear. all you can do is groan and nod, the pleasure from his hand clouding your brain. soldier boy chuckles and tightens his grip around your neck, forcing a strangled moan to escape from your lips.

“that’s it, cum for m—”

the door of the motel room swings open and butcher and hughie storm in, grumbling about something to each other.

you clamp your legs together in shock as both their eyes drift to you and soldier boy, and his hands wrapped around your neck and in your underwear.

the pair of them take in the scene in front of them. hughie immediately averts his eyes as his cheeks heat up from embarrassment, meanwhile a big stupid grin grows on butcher’s face.

“no fuckin’ shame, you two.” butcher mutters, his voice low and gruff. he shakes his head and chuckles, dumping his bag on the table as hughie awkwardly clears his throat.

your eyes are wide and you’re speechless, too embarrassed to say anything. soldier boy’s fingers continue to move as you squeeze your thighs together, your hand on his wrist silently begging him to stop.

“could learn to fuckin’ knock, ya know? fuckin’ blowjob brothers,” soldier boy grumbles back, secretly enjoying the fact you just got caught together like this, but frustrated you want to stop. he sighs and pulls his hand out from between your legs. your grip on his wrist loosens.

he pulls your head back with his hand on your throat. he moves his lips next to your ear and whispers, "don’t think we’re not finishing this later."

A/N: editing this high lol lowkey I think it makes it easier to focus anyways send me some requests if ur a freak. <333 (i promise i’m working on my current reqs, i’m just a busy girl! but they’ll be out soon)

requests and feedback are welcome!

[writingbyshiloh]

Who Fell First vs. Who Fell Harder, ft. The Boys

Featuring: Butcher, Hughie, and Frenchie

WC: 500

CW: General The Boys world, confessions, fluff etc

AN: Struggled on the parts for my girl Kimiko and MM so I had to leave them out. Mon ange means my angel, no beta

Billy Butcher - Butcher knows how you feel about him. It’s hard not to see the way you look at him after a few too many beers, and how you care about Ryan. How you frown and scrunch your brows together when he comes back hurt and you treat his wounds first. But it’s dangerous. Hunting down supes and his morals makes it hard for him to imagine a life with you. Butcher doesn’t even venture into the possibility that he could like, let alone love someone, in case they leave him or worse, die. He realizes his feelings when you get injured in the field. As Butcher wipes blood from your nose he can’t help but admire how pretty you are that all of his feelings hit him at once. And he knows he's fucked. 

Hughie Campbell - Hughie knows he is in over his head. He can’t even handle half the stuff Butcher does let alone take good care of himself. But you think he's so cute and smart, it’s hard to not be a little in love with him. Your feelings only grow the longer he's on the team, becoming more confident in himself and his capabilities. You’re in love with him but it doesn’t hurt unless you really think about it. Hughie is focused on surviving, not wondering why his pretty teammate always goes out of the way to help him, even at his lowest. Hughie comes to his feelings about you at the WORST possible time. Arms poised, ready to shoot a gun (with improper technique but if you both live then you can teach him later), his feelings bubble up to the surface and he blurts out how deeply he loves you, while you're both trying not to get shot.

Frenchie - Frenchie falls first. He assumes it’s lust and that one night with you would get it out of his system. He swears to MM that one night is all he needs, a man can’t be tied down, right? Until it becomes two until it’s three. Until it morphs into a friendship. Even after sleeping with you three times, your pretty smile still sends his heart reeling. You just think he’s being sweet, giving you French pet names that make you smile, letting you choose what show for the both of you to watch. It happens one night, both of you practically sitting on top of each other to watch your favourite show, and it hits you. You’re in love with your best friend. And you need to let him know immediately. Tipping your head back against his shoulder, you catch his eyes. 

“Frenchie?” you ask softly 

“Oui, mon ange?” 

“I want to kiss you.” You tip your head back against his neck to look at his eyes, then his lips. They curve into a small smile. You can’t help yourself, overcome with emotion that you twist and manoeuvre Frenchie until he is flat on his back and you’re lying on his chest. 

“You have already, mon ange. We’ve done a lot more than that,” he says, one hand coming up to stroke your face and the other on your back. 

“Yeah, but I love you.”

[anundyingfidelity]

AFFECTION — Soldier Boy

Summary: During a mission, Soldier Boy receives a hug from you unexpectedly. He likes it.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female supe!reader.

Word count: 0.9k

Warnings: canon violence and language, reader is kinda hurted, descriptions of blood and stuff, AU where Ben is working with the team on missions (which is what should've happened on the show btw), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy lmao, Ben and reader are totally opposites and I live for that. Based on this post.

Note: soooo I'm still making some arrangements to my Soldier Boy long fic and instead I have this short drabble in the meantime. Hope you enjoy it hehe.

the boys/jackles tags: @k-slla

(if anyone would like to be added to my tags just tell me^^)

��� if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

You groanned, feeling the hard wall hit against your back. It was hard to believe but you thought probably you wouldn't go out of this alive. Your body ached and not even your strenght could stop this guy.

Fucking Butcher, why did you have to follow him to suicide again? Just a couple of cunts, he said. But he forgot to mention they had a weird improved dosis of V injected.

You fell to the ground as the man walked towards you. He was extremely tall and well-buff. No sense the Compound V on his system made him better, or at least that's what he thought. He was tossed to the ground by your side, and you crawled to the corner of the small room.

The distance was not enough to let you run away. You stayed there, watching Soldier Boy's big frame over the man. He used his shield, beting him to death and destroying his face and neck during the process. You were so damn sure his loud groans of pain would remain on your mind at least for a couple of days.

"Fucking pussy," the old man said, wipping some blood off his face. He got on his feet ungracefully and grabbed his shield back. He turned to look at you, still sitting on the floor. "You okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

He held you a bloody hand, which you took to stand up. There was an akward silence as you and Ben left the small room, you followed him around the dirty basement, filled with lifeless bodies and fluids on the ground, to meet with Butcher and Hughie.

"Guess those were all," Butcher announced.

"I have the remaining dosis," you took the tube from the pocket of your pants and showed them with a smile on your face. "Was the last one."

"Excellent," Butcher grabbed it and tossed it to Hughie, who saved the tube on a bag.

"We made it out, huh," you mumbled.

"Well, we're still down here, so," Hughie shrugged and three pairs of eyes narrowed at him. "What?"

"Just think positively, for once," you pleaded with a fake sharp tone. "Isn't that hard, y'know."

Ben rolled his eyes.

"We're on a fucking shithole, the kid's right. Let's go now before any of you fuck this up," he ordered and passed by between Butcher and Hughie, hitting his shoulder intentionally in the process.

You quickly followed behind his long soldier strides. "Wait!"

Soldier Boy scoffed and closed his eyes slowly only to open them again. You stood on his way with a big smile and wide eyes. Bruises and blood adorned your face and neck, your clothes were also splattered with dry blood and dirt after killing those clandestine stupid supes on an undercover mission at night, and still you acted like nothing had happened. He stood in place, with Hughie and Butcher standing behind expecting what the fuck you'd be doing this time. Sometimes he thought you were so fucking annoying.

"The fuck you want?"

You opened your lips to say something but nothing came out. Once you closed them, you beamed again and closed the distance between him and you. You wrapped your arms around his strong waist and rested your grubby check against his chest. He tensed visibly under your hug and after a moment you pulled away, your hands behind your back with a shy smile. Hughie and Butcher were clearly holding back a good laugh. They knew better not to mock Soldier Boy, not yet though.

Ben blinked a couple of times, trying to process what happened.

"What the fuck was that?"

You giggled. "Affection."

He wrinkled his nose. "Disgusting."

You gasped and faked sadness on your voice. "Why? I was just saying 'thank you for saving my ass'."

"It's fucking nothing," he rolled his eyes and started to walk again to guide the team outside, with the other two men with playful smirks on their faces following behind.

"Ben!" you quickly caught his pace to stand by his side. "Thank you, okay? Probably you don't like physical contact but I do. And this is how I show others that I care about them and that I'm thankful. I also give hugs because I like them and–"

"Shh!" Ben raised his hand, suddenly stopping his tracks by the end of the stairs that'd lead you outside. He turned and looked at you with that grumpy face of his. "I said you're welcome, sweetheart. Now we need to go, you can talk to me about your hugs shit later."

He pointed to Hughie and Butcher. "Now, you, cocksuckers, go up."

Butcher grinned, going first. "Sure, cap."

"You shut up," Soldier Boy warned, Hughie gulped and nodded, and made his way up on the stairs.

You stood there, with a smile on your lips. Always that fucking, idiotic, stupid smile, even after hard missions like the one you just had. It was like if you were the only one who didn't seem scared of him or anything else. Sure, you were a supe and a smart asset on the team. But still, a very peculiar lady through his eyes.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Once Butcher and Hughie were out of sight he finally talked.

"Do it again."

"Excuse me?"

"The stupid hug, do it again."

You raised your eyebrows, eyes bright as you realized his request. "Really?!"

"God, woman. Do I need to fucking repeat my—?"

His words were cut by your strong hug. You crashed against his frame so hard he lost balance for a bit. He was certainly surprised by how warm your hug it actually felt. You angled your eyes to see his face.

"Thanks!"

You let him go and got up the stairs. He barely curved his lips at how happy you climbed them. Yeah, well he actually liked your stupid hugs.

soldier boy / reader

[zepskies]

Lesson Learned

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: There’s only so much teasing Ben is willing to take. He has no choice but to punish you.

AN: Here we go! lol. This is the highly requested Part 2 to This One’s For You, over in the BMD-verse!

Word Count: 2.2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, edging, teasing, fluff, and feels.

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

You gasped, your nails raking through his hair. Your grip threatened to rip out a few strands as you panted into his neck.

“Ben, please…for God’s sake…”

“Please what?” he said. There was grit in his voice when he spoke into your ear, but he was all too controlled. Taunting.

Asshole.

He was relentless, dragging his fingers inside your quivering pussy, rubbing his thumb around your clit, but almost never where you wanted him. Your thighs were shaking on either side of his frame as he had you naked on your back, writhing in the middle of your shared bed. You’d sucked him off until his spine rattled and his eyes nearly crossed, swallowing up as much as you could of what he had to give.

Still, he wasn’t satisfied.

“I’m sorry!” you burst in frustration, but you also had to stifle your laughter. Your husband narrowed his eyes at you, spying the hint of your smile.

“How come I don’t fucking believe you?” said Ben. With his elbow digging into the bed beside your shoulder, his occupied fingers curled inside you, finally brushing against the sensitive ridge of your inner walls. It drew a faltering moan from your lips. 

“What exactly are you sorry for?” he demanded. He bowed his head and laid a biting kiss along your throat. “Use your fucking words.”

You exhaled roughly, gripping his hair tight again. Now that he couldn’t see your face, you could allow yourself to grin in amusement.

Three Days Ago…

Ben was tired and more irritable than usual when he stepped into the Flatiron Building. The night before had been a battle of wills between him and his infant daughter, who’d been finnicky, having a hard time going back to sleep. He’d done his best to help her get back to sleep, since you had been dead to the world and unable to leave the bed (or so you’d seemed).

Now, he took the elevator up to the right floor and used his key to get into the office suite, where Butcher and the rest of your delinquent friends were already dicking around.

Some horrible French rap was playing on the Bluetooth speaker. Kimiko was flicking tiny pieces of paper across the dining table, into a “goal” made by Hughie’s hands. Frenchie wore a “Kiss the Cook” apron as he pulled a fresh batch of croissants out of the oven in the kitchenette, while M.M. swept the excess flour stains off the counter. 

Annie was trying to get Butcher to smoke his cigarette out on the balcony.

“Really, you had fucking cancer. You’d think you’d try a little harder to take care of yourself,” she said. Butcher gave her a wan smile, and blew a coil of smoke upward between them.

“Nice,” she said flatly.

But all that stopped when Ben strode into the room. They stared at him, each starting to smile, no matter how much some of them tried to hide it (like Kimiko, with a hand over her mouth).

“What the fuck’re you staring at?” Ben snapped. “We got a job, right?”

Butcher cleared his throat and recovered first. He dabbed his cigarette on an ashtray on the dining table and grabbed an iPad to give to the supe.

“Yeah, got us an escapee. Our little slumlord, Sapphire,” he said.

Ben frowned. Sapphire was the supe who nearly vaporized you a couple of years ago, after they broke up her drug ring. While he read the file documenting detailing her escape and what the CIA knew of her whereabouts so far, Hughie shared a look with Kimiko and Annie before he spoke.

“So, uh, how’s Lila doing?”

 Ben shot him a look through furrowed brows.

“Fine. She’s with her mother,” he replied. Hughie predictably asked about you, and again, Ben said you were fine at home with the baby.

“Lila’s almost a year old, right?” Hughie asked. “Aw man, that’s gotta be a fun age, right? I mean, fun, but challenging. All the crying, the diaper changing. Getting her to sleep through the night must be tough.”

Ben’s attention piqued at that, and not in a good way. His dark suspicion grew when his gaze flicked up to Hughie’s dumb fucking face, and then the rest of them, with their dumbass smiles. Biting her lip to stop herself from smiling, Annie pressed a button on her phone.

All of a sudden, Ben heard his own voice playing from the speaker.

“H-Hey there, Delilah, what’s it like in New York City?”

“Now ain’t that a lovely warble,” Butcher remarked. Ben shot him a warning glare, but the Brit raised his hands in amused surrender. He crossed his arms and continued to smoke as he watched the scene unfold.

Ben tossed the iPad onto the kitchen counter and strode over to Annie with menacing steps, intending to put an end to this bullshit. She grinned and tossed her phone over to Kimiko, and Ben glowered, changing directions.

“I'm a thousand miles away, but girl, tonight you look so pretty. Yes, you do. Time Square can’t shine as bright as you…I swear it’s true.”

Kimiko’s eyes widened at the angry supe heading toward her. She tossed the phone to Frenchie next. The phone bounced between his flour-stained hands as he yelped in surprise.

“Oh, shit,” he uttered, when Ben began stomping his way.

“Hey there, Delilah, don't you worry about the distance. I'm right there if you get lonely. Give this song another listen…”

“A voice like warm butter,” Frenchie praised. He quickly tried to move from side to side to evade his attacker. “You should be proud, Monsiuer Grincheux! A man soothing his baby is a beautiful thing.”

“Shut your fucking cockhole,” Ben gritted out, but he still reached out when the phone sailed under his arm—only to land in M.M.’s hands. He froze with widened eyes, not wanting to be in the game. But it was too late, for him and Ben.

“Hey there, Delilah, here’s to you,” his voice sang, more quietly, more tender, deep and baritone. “This one’s for you…”

A brief pause. And then—

“What the fuck’re you doing?”

M.M. managed to pause the video. A beat of utter silence, and then...

Everyone burst out into laughter. Hughie started it; he was damn near folded in half, leaning heavily on his girlfriend as he wiped a tear out of his eye. M.M. tossed the phone back to Frenchie, whose entire frame was shaking with restrained glee.

Ben’s jaw worked as he contemplated how exactly he was going to kill every one of these cocksucking morons.

And then you. Because how else had they gotten that video? You had to have sent it somehow before he got ahold of you last night.

“All right, enough!” he bellowed.

The entire room fell silent.

“First of all, erase that shit right now, or it’s coming out your ass,” he barked, pointing at Frenchie. The other man jolted and did as he was told.

“As for the rest of you, I better not hear another fucking word about this, or so help me Christ, I’m gonna do some barbecuing.” 

About three days later, Sapphire had been caught and re-imprisoned, and Ben returned home. He found you in the living room. He was taciturn to your happy smile when you welcomed him with a hug around his waist, though your smile fell after he didn’t respond to your kiss.

He slowly lowered his gaze down to you, and you knew.

Biting your lip, you soothed a hand along his cheek. “So, how’d it go?”

“Fine,” he said, but little else.

In fact, Ben didn’t speak to you for most of the evening. You tried cooking him a good hot meal, but he barely said two words to you. The only thing he did, before he was even showered and changed, was venture into the nursery to lay a gentle hand on his daughter’s head as she slept, over her downy brown hair. He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead.

After that, he strode past you in the doorway and slammed the door shut in the bathroom.

Aw shit. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help chortling with laughter. You should’ve known he’d be a great big man child about this.

So you decided to call your mom and see if she could take Lila for the night.

You had some damage control to do.

Now…

He'd brought you to the edge of your pleasure three times before he withdrew his mouth or his hand from your body, not letting you touch yourself, not letting you come—driving you to the point of frustrated tears.

You grabbed his head with both hands and guided him to look you in the eyes.

“Baby, please. Stop torturing me,” you pleaded. You used every tool in your arsenal to make him break, giving him soft, tearful eyes. You leaned up and pressed gentle kisses to his cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips.

“I need you,” you whispered, drawing him into deeper, messier kisses. Part of him started to falter. He briefly closed his eyes and breathed into your kiss.

But then, he stubbornly broke from you with a frown.

“Nice try. You’re not getting off that easy,” he said. “Now say it. Why the fuck are you sorry?”

You huffed in aggravation, but you twined your arms around his neck and brushed slightly sweaty strands of his hair away from his forehead.

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you,” you said, even though your mouth began to curve upward. “It was a sweet thing you did, and I’m glad I captured it. But I am sorry that sharing that moment with our friends bothers you so much.”

“First of all, they’re your idiot friends,” he said. You wanted to interject on that one, but you knew he wasn’t in the mood, and you didn’t want to fight with him for real.

“Second of all,” he began…but he didn’t have any more words after that. They were caught between his irritation, and his unwillingness to even voice what it was he felt. Eventually, he found them.

“There’s some shit that needs to stay between us,” he said.  

You smiled, but you mercifully drew him down for another slow kiss.

“Okay, okay. I hear you. It’s not that big a deal though. You love your family, and look! Your macho-ness is still very much intact,” you said, gesturing at his very much hard cock pressing against your thigh. “Now are you gonna fuck me like a man, or do I need to find a vibrator that will?”

At that Ben looked down at you with a raise of his brows. His lips twitched, mostly at your audacity. Shaking his head, he slid a hand behind your neck and drew you in for a kiss, fueled by passion and frustration in equal measure.

You wrapped your thighs around his hips, urging him closer. His straining length pressed against your center, the wet tip slipping against your glistening folds. He groaned at the sensation.

“Please,” you repeated, licking into his mouth for a sensuous kiss.

The once-iron grip on his restraint finally broke. Ben slid a hand between you to hold himself to your entrance. With one smooth thrust, his cock buried deep inside you. Your moan of relief echoed his own. If nothing else good came out of this situation, you two hadn’t had the time or the energy to go at it like this in a long time.

He grabbed your thigh and angled you higher, so he could sink in at an even better angle as he began to rut into you.

With all of his earlier edging and teasing, you were already so close. Your inner walls fluttered around him, welcoming him home and gripping him tight. All it took was a few well-placed swipes of his thumb over your clit to have you tumbling over the edge—a delicious cresting of pleasure that made you arch off the bed, biting your nails into his shoulders, a cry caught in your throat.

Ben fucked you through your release, all while chasing his own. His grip on your hip tightened as his thrusts grew ragged, his own breathing shallow and rough, until his balls tightened and his body locked up on him. He spent himself inside you, coating your inner walls until he had nothing left.

He just barely managed to keep himself from smothering you as his body relaxed. You still welcomed his weight on you, soothing your hands up and down his back while you both caught your breath. Your thighs slipped from his hips, your feet meeting bed and sliding out a little.

Ben brushed your sweaty hair away from your face. Looking down on you now, his face gentled from its hardened angles and furrowed brows. You smiled lazily.

“Still mad at me?” you teased.

Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he let out a rough exhale through his nose.

“Something tells me you didn’t learn your lesson,” he said, somewhat incredulous, and yet, amused.

Your smile was undoubtedly cheeky, even as you leaned up to give him a sweeter kiss.

“Sure did, baby,” you said against his lips. And another kiss. “Lesson learned, I promise.”

He really did roll his eyes this time.

AN: 😂 Ben just can't win, can he?

Translation: Monsiuer Grincheux - "Mr. Grumpy" in French

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, Ben has his Adventures in Babysitting moment in Green:

Summary: Ben spends the day alone with his daughter, to varying degrees of success. When you get home, it prompts a serious conversation.

▶️ Keep Reading: Green

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[muldermuse]

im sorry im thinking about having a daughter with butcher and she’s like 3 okay (looks so much like him but she gets her sweetness from you)

you go on a lil vacation to somewhere hot and invite hughie and annie bc they’re basically part of the family, your daughter terrifies hughie but annie adores her so they always offer to take her off your hands so you can be alone

you spend all day at the beach and butcher is basically leering at you all day. you know the bikini is a bit too much but the look on his face when you put it on was so worth it. when you’re sunbathing on your front- his hand is basically fixed to your ass, can’t stop whispering filth into your ear every time he rubs sun lotion into your back

you watch him paddling with your daughter in the sea when hughie awkwardly comes over, “me and annie can…uh…we can take her back to our room before dinner…maybe give you two some time…i mean it’ll only be for like an hour or so but-“ butcher makes his way over and you can’t wait to tell him

you pack your bags quickly and both press kisses to your daughters face, telling her you’ll be back soon. annie shouts that you’re gross as you try not to run back to the room

he fucks you so hard and slow in the shower, one hand wrapped in your wet hair and the other massaging your breast. his chest is firm and strong against your back, your neck strained but desperately trying to look in his eyes. the water is beating down on you and it feels so good, you begin to feel like you’re floating. “fuckin’ pussy is so good darlin’”, your moans in response aren’t even coherent- all you can do is nod and look up at him with your glazed over doe eyes

his thrusts are still hitting your gspot precisely and you cum with a cry, “good girl, giv’ it to me. c’mon give me all of it” your legs buckle as soon as your orgasm ebbs away, before you can beg for a reprieve from his cock stretching you out- butcher turns you and presses your back against the cool tiles. his head burrows in your neck as his thrusts become erratic, his breathing laboured as he cums deep inside you- slurring about what a good girl you are

🫡

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Reacting To Your Tattoos

A/N: I have so many ideas for The Boys cast! Be sure to look out for more posts! I'm updating my request list to include them 😊 I'm sorry I've been a little MIA! I'll be getting back to requests asap! Hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated ��

Butcher loves them. This is not the moment to say something, to react, but he definitely takes notice. You got hurt, really hurt, and the only way to save you was for Annie cauterizing your wounds, buying you a little more time. Butcher didn't need to hold you down, you'd already gone limp, losing all color in your face. He begs you to wake up, to stay with them. There was so much blood. So much red. He was covered in it, seeping through his shirt. Your jacket was thrown off, the collar of your shirt torn, ripped, for easier access to your shoulder and they both discovered the tattoos. Your chest, your arm, neck, you were covered. He had a feeling there were far more, wondering why you never showed any of them. You were always so bundled up, he never even questioned it. He warned you this was going to hurt, though he wasn't even sure you could hear him. Still, as Annie's hands grew bright, he cringes, hoping you were too out of it to feel anything, hoping this would all seem like a far away dream. Hoping you won't mind the large scar that will warp your ink.

Hughie is pretty intimidated by them. The Boys are already a scary looking group, but meeting you, he thought you were going to bite off his head. Your body was pretty covered. After getting to know you, he realizes how wrong he was. You're snarky and stubborn, but you're also thoughtful and funny. If it were up to you, you'd never hurt a fly, just Vought. Still, every so often you'll do or say something that reminds him of that first impression, especially when you feel threatened or your friends are threatened. You'll show up with a few new ones, filling in the gaps. When it comes to open wounds you're ready to treat it with a strong drink and duct tape. When it comes to your tattoos, you're meticulous in your aftercare. He's never seen you so serene looking as when you're taking care of them, so gentle. Something about that makes him feel like he shouldn't be witnessing it, but he's grateful that he is. When they're in tricky spots, he's the first to offer to help. He works with nervous hands, afraid he'll do something to ruin it. You just laugh, walking him through it.

Annie knows all about your tattoos. They are, after all, linked to the V in your blood. You didn't start developing them until your late teens, your parents assuming the V they injected was a dud. Images started appearing and with them, your powers. By the time she met you, you were covered. You didn't like showing off to The Boys. You still had a long way to go to gaining their trust. Parading around the fact that you were a Supe wasn't going to help. Still, when it was just you and Annie you were less reluctant to show her. All kinds of images adorned your skin: weapons, insects, animals. You liked the weapons the best. The thing could project itself from your skin as if it were real. In seconds, you had a sword in each hand, as real and sharp as if you'd physically gotten one. The best part? Your skin was indestructible. Every few months, maybe years, a new tattoo would appear, giving you a leg up in the fight against Vought. She thinks you have by far the most interesting powers of any Supe she's met.

M.M. hates them. Because they're linked to the V you got as a baby, he sees them more of a warning than anything else, the way brightly colored animals are poisonous. He hadn't realized the first time you met, what they were from, and you were smart enough not to tell him. It was only when you were fighting for your life did you use your abilities: the circles on the back of your neck, layered, you let out a sonic scream that shattered windows, set off car alarms, and drew blood. The group that had attacked you were coughing it up, it was running down their necks from their ears. M.M. was far enough away not to be affected, but the way he tells it, he was *this* close to having his insides turned to goo. Some were safe enough to run away. The ones who were closer dropped dead with a wet squelch. He trusts you even less for not telling him. When he breaks the news to everyone else, he's shocked to find out that they either knew (like Annie) or they were unfazed, more impressed than anything else, like you'd become this great asset. You apologize profusely, but you know it'll be a long time before he can even look you in the eyes.

Frenchie thinks they're so cool. He went with you once and got one of his own: while you were getting a rather large piece finished, he wants to get a smiley face on his ass cheek. Despite the discomfort, Frenchie's all giggles. He's more than excited to show this off to everyone he decides to moon. You try to tell him how to take care of it, but he waves you off. He's eager to show The Boys. He's lucky it heals properly and by the end of the week, everyone he comes into contact with has seen it. Besides that, his favorite thing is to study the ones you have. They're intricate and beautiful and some of them are pretty silly. You never understood the sentiment that there had to be some grand kind of meaning behind them. If you like it, you get it tattooed. He asks questions about them, most done all over the world or, a couple, in prison. He thinks you look badass, especially when you shed the bulky layers and show off what they normally don't get to see. Your back piece is his favorite. When you're wearing something with a low back, or disregard a shirt completely, he can't help but watch you. You're careful, covering them with clothes or makeup so that whatever illegal thing you're doing can't be traced.

Kimiko asks a lot of questions. Did it hurt? Why that image? What does it mean? How long did it take? You never mind, in fact you like talking about them. You spent enough time getting stabbed, you wanted someone to ask. She especially loves the ones on your hands. They look beautiful as you sign back to her. Some are still a little raised despite how well you took care of them, those are her favorite. She touches them delicately, afraid it might hurt, but you assure her they're all healed. She watches when you're getting changed together, how they move with your skin and muscles. They make her smile knowing you feel so much more at home in your body because of them, something you admitted to her late one night after a few drinks. They help you like yourself, covering up insecurities, making you feel cuter/cooler than you would without them. She's always the first to notice when you get a new one, making a point regardless of the situation to tell you how nice it looks and that she likes it a lot.

Bonus! Homelander thinks they're horrendous. Disgusting. Just another way you've defiled your body. He can't stand to look at them and made sure you understand that. Around him, you keep them covered, either by clothing or makeup. You know better than to draw attention towards them. Regardless of how you acquired them (Compound V or just an aesthetic choice) you know not to bring them up or let anyone else bring them up. A-Train noticed the one of the back of your neck and that put Homelander over the edge. You were both thrown out of the room. You consider yourself more than lucky. He could have killed you, both of you, but he was feeling generous. He had bigger things on his mind. You knew working for Vought would lead to sacrifices, uncomfortable situations, but being interrogated by Homelander about your tattoos was never something you ever considered. He thinks about using his lasers every time he sees them poking out from your sleeve or pants. But he needs you. As long as he needs you, you're safe. The moment you stop being useful, he's going to cut off every individual image until there's nothing left. Until you look normal again.

[hom3landr]

That Unwanted Animal

18+

Homelander x Soulmate!reader

You don’t love Homelander. Even when he looks like everything you’ve ever wanted.

Loosely based on this post from @blindmagdalena

His t-shirt is soft under your hands as you cling to him. The baseball cap shields his features from you as presses you against the alley wall. The blue fabric rubs against your cheek as he thrusts up into you. The both of you avoid eye contact and as you bury your face into his shoulder, the scent of his cologne nearly chokes you. You thought it would be easier like this. You’d believed that maybe without the suit you could pretend your “lover” was a normal man. Maybe the two of you had met at a bar, or a doctor’s office, or while walking dogs in the park. You could have been an ordinary couple with a soulmate story fit for a Hallmark movie.

But a change of clothes can’t distract you from the fact that this man, your soulmate, is the very man you’ve dedicated your life to bringing down. It’s a sick joke, isn’t it? You love your team. Hughie is always there with a shoulder to cry on. M.M. gives good advice. Frenchie and Kimiko have become almost like siblings to you. Even Butcher you hold fondness for, as infuriated as he often makes you. They’re your family and yet you’re here fucking enemy #1 in a filthy alley and he’s going to make you come.

You bite his shoulder to keep from crying out as he effortlessly holds you up. It would be easier if he was bad in bed. The soulmate bond would still suck ass, but at least you wouldn’t derive pleasure from it. He came so fast the first time you fucked him that you’d initially been relieved. It had been perfect until he’d spread your legs to lap his own come from you until you’d shuddered helplessly against his tongue. You’d gone home and cried after, despite the pleasure still pulsing warmly through your veins.

You can’t even say it isn’t consensual. Your bond causes you to ache for him viscerally. Hell, this time you sought him out. He didn’t even protest when you laid out your terms. He had seemed more amused than anything. When he showed up wearing civilian clothing like you demanded, you almost turned him away with tears pricking at your eyes.

He looks soft, human, like someone you could love, a real soulmate. Even as he pumps into you, the peek of blond sticking out from beneath the cap makes you ridiculously endeared against your will. If only he was anyone else…

Soulmates have always been romanticized to a ridiculous degree, despite everyone knowing a story of some person who is enslaved by their mark instead of liberated. There are many things that can tie two souls together besides love. Yet everyone still longs for the day they find their match, in hopes of the happiest of endings. You had been no different.

You whine and clench around him as he angles himself differently, his cock sliding even deeper into you until it feels like you're choking on it. Your mark burns and the empty pit in your stomach that lingers in his absence is washed away with each heated pulse. The nausea of being away from him finally subsides with each brush of your skin against his. He sighs happily into your hair, as the same sense of belonging envelopes him. This feels right and it makes you want to scream.

“Mine,” he growls against your temple.

“Yours,” your bond answers for you.

You only ever fuck him in comfortless places.

Your heels dig into his ass and you rock yourself into his thrusts. He nips at your ear gently…affectionately. He can’t distinguish between true love and the oppressive obsession that comes with a mate. You don’t love him. Things would be easier if you did.

Why couldn’t he be anybody else?

“Is this good?” He asks needily. He can sense your distraction. He wants to be good for you. He wants to please you. You flutter around him and one hand strokes the back of his neck tenderly despite the mental torment that you’re facing. No one has ever been so attentive during sex before. He makes you feel cherished. Even when you beg for him to make it hurt, he refuses. The same hands that have commited endless cruelties hold you like something rare and precious.

You don’t answer and you can feel his petulant frown against your skin as he waits for feedback.

He adjusts you effortlessly in his grip so he can stroke you exactly the way he’s learned you like it. You whine desperately as you leak all over his fingers and drip onto the ground below. He sighs at the feeling.

“I love you so much.” He whispers intimately into your ear. His sincerity makes you want to weep. “You’re everything I ever wanted.”

It doesn’t matter how many times you rebuke him or refuse his offer to take you home with him. He still believes that you feel the same. He believes that one day he’ll find you soaking wet at his penthouse door, having run across the city in the pouring rain to him, confessing how much it hurt to push him away. He wants the satisfaction of knowing that you abandoned your team from sheer want of him. He thinks of your situation as a romantic comedy that hasn’t hit the emotional climax yet.

It’s pathetic and delusional and you hate how close you know you are to fulfilling it. You don’t love him…but you know you could.

Despite how hard you try to resist, you come hard and you sob into his neck at the intensity of it. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear as he rubs you through it. You kiss him to shut him up and he groans into your mouth as he releases inside you. He kisses you back desperately, seeking whatever crumbs of affection you let yourself give him, using them as proof to fuel his delusional fantasies.

Once you’ve both ridden out your respective orgasms, he finally pulls back to look at you. The softness in his eyes belongs to a kinder man. Your stomach flips. His cap has been knocked slightly askew and he looks human. He frowns slightly and the hand he was using to bring you pleasure brushes something off your cheek.

“You’re crying.” He remarks, hand now cupping your cheek as his thumb strokes your skin in an attempt to comfort you. You want him to be rude to you the way he is to everyone else. You want him to mock you and make crass disrespectful remarks. You open your mouth to reply and a broken sob comes out. He hushes you softly and leans down to kiss the tears that roll down your cheeks

“I love you.” You confess finally, the truth is bitter and shameful in your mouth. You’ve finally stopped lying to yourself

“You say that every time. Are you actually going to follow through or are you going to deny yourself some more?” He asks dryly, cocking his head at you. His grip flexes as he continues to press you against the wall.

You both know the answer. Just like you both know that one day the answer will be different.

Your team better succeed before then.

[magicalqueennightmare]

It's the Heat

Billy Butcher x Reader

It's the hottest summer in years and the safe house Frenchie's contact handed over to the boys has no air

It's just a smut(ish) drabble

You turned over for what felt like the millionth time. You appreciated having a safe place to crash until Grace could help all of you out of this tight spot but for the love of christ they couldn't have thrown in a singular working air conditioner?

The one fan that had been alloted per bedroom was the only thing keeping what little sanity you had. MM had his own room, Kimiko was in with Frenchie, Hughie was with Annie and that meant you were stuck with Butcher.

"For fuck's sake,if you flip over one more time I'm kicking you out of the bed" you groaned hearing his voice behind you. "It's feels like the seventh circle of hell in here" you turned to face him and the bastard was laying back across the bed with his eyes closed. He'd shed everything down to his boxers,no wonder he wasn't complaining.

You were wearing a tank top and thin cotton pants but they felt like they might as well have been made of wool. He opened one eye and smirked "Strip down. Fan feels pretty decent when nothings stopping it" you knew he was purposely fucking with you but the idea did sound promising.

You shrugged and lifted your bottom off the bed to wiggle the pants off your hips, you cut your eyes at Butcher to see he now had his head propped up on one arm watching you. The look in his eyes told you he didn't mind the view and honestly the fan did feel better already. Butcher was a lot of things but you knew you could trust him to the extent of not touching without consent and well you'd gotten dressed in front of the entire crew before so you figured why not and pulled the tank over your head and tossed it to the floor along with your pants.

"Fuckin hell" he muttered and you cut your eyes at him "Something wrong Butch?" He rolled his eyes "The heat is diabolical" you nodded, closing your eyes as the fan rotated in a pitiful attempt to cool your bodies "I'm tempted to go sleep in the tub but either I'd wake up pruney or Frenchie would toss ice cubes in for shits and giggles"

"That's an idea" Butcher mumbled so you cut one eye at him "What?" He just smirked and got out of bed. He glanced back over his shoulder before stepping into the hall.

-------------

A few minutes later Butcher walked back into the room carrying a plastic bowl and sat it down on the nightstand "How bad do you want to cool down?" Ok that made you curious "Pretty bad but not sell my soul bad" he smirked but this one was one of those that made your stomach flip. "Cmere luv, let me help ya out"

He sat down on the bed and leaned back against the wall before patting between his legs. You worried your bottom lip with your teeth for a second before moving over and getting comfortable with your back against his chest "How's this supposed to help" "Trust me" "Said the devil to Cain"

"Funny" he leaned up to grab something out of the bowl then told you to close your eyes. "I will stab you if you fuck with me Billy" you warned and he chuckled "Love a woman that doesn't mind a little maiming"

----------

You closed your eyes and after a moment felt something cold hit your neck. A light gasp escaped you but as it moved further down your neck with Billy's fingers working to ease the muscles trying to tense from the cold a moan slipped from your lips from the pure relief the cold brought to your heated skin.

"Sounds like you're enjoying yourself so far" he teased and you wiggled closer into his chest "I didn't exactly say stop" "You're fucking bossy" he scoffed before grabbing another ice cube out of the bowl and continuing down your chest. When his large hand cupped your breast, teasing the sensitive mound with the ice, your breathing quickened just a bit.

His mouth was close enough to your ear you could feel his lips brush your skin when he whispered "Want to keep going?" You turned to look at him, your lips brushing lightly against his as you spoke "Please"

He moved the ice to his left hand to free up the right one to grip your chin "I got ya" he spoke right before the ice teased across your other breast, making you arch into his touch "Fuck Butcher" the relief from the heat was beginning to mix with the pleasure from him teasing your now hardened nipple with his fingertips.

He leaned closer and you met his lips halfway. The kiss was tentative, teasing but made you moan lightly when he rolled his tongue against yours. You felt his fingers dip under your panties, the cold sting of the ice prickling goosebumps up onto your skin.

He broke the kiss and you knew from the look he gave you that he was asking for the go ahead so you let your legs fall apart further "Glad this place didn't have air conditioning" he chuckled as his fingers slipped down further.

You walked out of the bathroom the next morning, dressed in a pair of shorts and a tshirt. You were looking for your sneakers and Frenchie because he could do pretty decent dutch braids.

You walked into the kitchen and Hughie cut his eyes up at you over his cup of orange juice as Annie said "How'd you sleep?" You felt like you were missing the joke but you shrugged "As well as I could with the heat" Frenchie laughed from his place at the stove "I'm sure it was hotter with Butcher on top of you"

You felt your cheeks warm as they all started laughing even Kimiko and MM. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse Butcher walked in behind you "Who said I was the one on top?"

[deansbeer]

♱ american made ⎯⎯ SOLDIER BOY.

⎯⎯ your encounter with soldier boy at the flatiron building proves he's nothing like his disappointing son, homelander.

YAP SESH! so this was meant to be posted days ago … but i got super busy 'n totally forgot about it. but it's finally up <3 love me some soldier boy every once in awhile too.

WARNING(S) smut | smoking | mild degradation ( towards homelander ) | semi-public sex | rough sex-ish | mentions of past relationships | strong language. ୨ৎ EIGHTEEN PLUS! ADULT CONTENT | minors do NOT interact.

୨ৎ JENSEN'S LIBRARY.

୨ৎ CAI BOT — based off this FIC.

you hadn't expected to find soldier boy lounging on butcher's desk, smoke curling from his lips as he took another hit from his joint. the flatiron building was usually empty this time of night, save for butcher who you could hear talking in the other room.

"well. if it isn't america's former sweetheart," soldier boy drawled, his eyes trailing over you with an intensity that made your breath catch. "came to see the brit?"

you shifted your weight, suddenly aware of how alone you were with him. "i needed to discuss some things about homelander."

"that fucking disappointment," he scoffed, taking another drag. "you know, hughie told me about you. america's sweetheart turned rebel. gotta say, that's pretty hot."

the way he said it made heat pool in your stomach. you'd heard stories about soldier boy, about his reputation before payback turned their backs on him, but nothing prepared you for the raw magnetism he exuded. maybe it was because he reminded you of homelander — or rather, homelander reminded you of him. but there was something different about soldier boy. something more primal, more authentic.

"what else did hughie tell you?" you asked, taking a step closer.

soldier boy's lips curved into a smirk. "enough to know that you're wasted on my sorry excuse of a son." he stubbed out the joint and stood up, closing the distance between you in two long strides. "tell me, sweetheart, did he ever make you feel like a real woman?"

your breath hitched as he backed you against the desk, his hands gripping the wooden edge on either side of you. "soldier boy—"

"ben," he corrected, his breath hot against your neck. "my name's ben."

what happened next was a blur of sensations. his lips crashed against yours, tasting of marijuana and whiskey. your hands found their way to his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his suit. he lifted you onto the desk with ease, stuff scattering to the floor.

"fuck butcher and his precious fucking desk," he growled, pushing you back until you were lying flat on the wooden surface. "been wanting to do this since i first heard about you."

your clothes seemed to disappear under his experienced hands, and soon you were bare beneath him. soldier boy took his time, his eyes drinking in every inch of you. "now this is what i call a view," he muttered, his voice rough with desire.

you could hear butcher still on the phone in the next room, his muffled british accent a reminder of where you were. but soldier boy didn't seem to care, and truthfully, neither did you.

he knew exactly how to touch you, where to kiss you, how to make you fall apart. each thrust was calculated, powerful, making you bite your lip to keep from crying out. his experience showed in every movement, every angle he hit perfectly.

"you're all mine," he growled in your ear, his pace relentless. "no other man gets to touch you, look at you, think about you. understood?"

you nodded desperately, your nails digging into his back.

"say it," he demanded, slowing his movements teasingly.

"i'm yours," you gasped, and he rewarded you by picking up his pace again.

the desk creaked beneath you, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if butcher would notice the scattered papers, the slightly askew angle of his workspace. but those thoughts disappeared as soldier boy brought you to the edge again and again.

when it was over, he helped you straighten your clothes, a possessive glint in his eyes. "you should come around more often," he said, lighting another joint. "might make these meetings with butcher more interesting."

you couldn't help but smile, even as you heard butcher's footsteps approaching. soldier boy didn't move away from you, if anything he moved closer, making it clear to anyone who walked in exactly what had happened.

from that moment on, everyone knew you belonged to soldier boy. the boys never commented on it directly, but they saw the marks he left on your neck, the way his eyes followed you whenever you were in the room, the possessive hand he kept on your lower back.

and honestly? you wouldn't have it any other way.

[bohemianblasphemy]

Masterlist ✨

Here is my masterlist!!

It will be updated overtime as i write more , as always requests are open for the characters below xx

Enjoy lovelies!!!

Last updated: 24/12/24

Billy Butcher (The Boys)

It Will Come Back

Patience

His Rival

Getting Hurt

Feel this? It's all for you

69

You look better with my hands wrapped around your neck’

"Swallow it. All of it."

Mark me

Morning After

Massages

Flustered Butcher

Unconscious after battle

SupeDad!Butcher Headcanons

Birthday Sex

Angsty Butcher

Let Me Show You

Bar fight

Butcher sleeping with Maeve angst

Shower BJ

Shut the fuck up, Billy

Rainy day cuddles

First date

NSFW soft!butcher headcanons

Baking a cake

Birthday Fluff

Birthday Fluff 2

Right Here Waiting

Nonsense

Wedding night

Espresso

Tearing your clothes

Facefucking

Sick

Billy comforting reader

Horny thoughts

Guess

Sitting on his face

Sleep deprived

Eras Tour

Thigh Riding in the Office

Office Sex

Secret Relationship

Butcher comfort *trigger warning for mental health talk*

Dyslexic Reader

Neurodivergent Reader

Argument with MM

SFW Alphabet

A hard day

Ass play

NSFW Alphabet

Tentacles

Virgin Reader part 1

Virgin Reader part 2

Cuddly Butcher

ExBF! Butcher comfort

Being saved by Butcher

Eating pussy headcanon

Remembering things about you

Magic fingers

NSFW Headcanons

Softer headcanons

More horny thoughts

Daddy’s Home (part 1)

Daddy’s home (part 2)

Soldier Boy (The Boys)

Revenge on Butcher

Hughie Campbell (The Boys)

Headcanons

Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)

Halloween

NSFW Headcanons

Steal My Girl

Secrets in Ink

Bruises on Hips

Fingering on the counter

Dean Winchester (Supernatural)

Headcanons

Sam Winchester (Supernatural)

Headcanons

Riding Sam

Gabriel (Supernatural)

•Back to You

Castiel (Supernatural)

Headcanons

[burntsaltsblog]

hi hi!!

if you could write a billy butcher x reader about finding out that butcher is using temp v and the reader finds out that he could die.

orrrr

when billy comes out of mind readers trance, angst on lenny and his family, comforting him, him pushing the reader away but then needing to be comforted.

just a thought, i love your stories, thank yooou!!

hello!! thank u!! ur so kind <3 i wrote an imagine a little while back about the reader finding out about butcher taking temp v right here

thank u for ur request and i hope u like this little imagine i whipped up based on ur second request <3

tw: this story contains a retelling of abuse. pls don’t read if that may be triggering for u.

༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻

"I'm not waking him up," declared Mindstorm once again. He was quite bold for someone so old, frail, and, most noticeably, naked.

"Alright then," I shrugged. "Say goodbye to one of your eyeballs." I strived forward, pocketknife outstretched, before Huhgie grasped my shoulder tightly, halting me in my tracks.

"Stop. There's no need for violence," Hughie said, trying to calm me down.

"Haven't you lived long enough in this world to realize that violence is the only way to get what you want?" I growled at him, tearing myself out of his hold. "You're not leaving until you wake up our friend," I continued, facing Mindstorm. "And I don't care how many fingers of yours I have to cut off in the process."

Mindstorm narrowed his eyes, and I quickly looked away so as not to meet the same fate that Butcher did mere hours ago.

"I'll teleport you. Anywhere you want to go," Hughie offered, and I sighed at his meek attempt to reason with the stubborn supe. "The options are endless. I can take you to fucking Anartica if you want, and then you'll be far, far away from Soldier Boy. All you have to do is wake up our friend first."

Mindtsorm studied Hughie, and I could see the cogs turning in his head as he pondered this proposition. "You haven't seen the inside of that guy's head like I have. He's real messed up."

"You're one to talk," I muttered, glaring indignantly on Butcher's behalf. Hughie promptly elbowed me in the ribs, signaling me to shut up, but I scowled at him as well. I was highly protective of Butcher, and this situation only intensified that. Hughie should be thankful I hadn't sunk my knife into Mindstorm's jugular for his little comment.

"Just think about it," Hughie said, his voice significantly quieter. "Wouldn't it be nice to live in a place where you wouldn't have to worry about Soldier Boy breathing down your neck?"

Mindstorm grumbled under his breath, reluctantly agreeing. "Fine. I'll wake him up. And then," he pointed to Hughie, "You're taking me to Jamaica."

"Yes, deal." Hughie nodded vigorously. "I heard Jamaica is lovely this time of year." He chuckled nervously, and I rolled my eyes before stomping over to Butcher's body, falling to my knees beside him.

I hyper-analyzed Mindstorm's every movement with narrowed eyes as he sunk to the forest floor and placed his hands on Butcher's temple. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, whispering unintelligible words.

Anxiety riddled my body as each silent second passed by. I laced my fingers through Butcher's lifeless ones and willed him to wake up. "C'mon, Butcher. Please wake up," I whispered as unwanted tears stung my eyes. Until now, I hadn't considered that Mindstorm might not be capable of waking him up. But I was wrenched from my worries when Butcher gasped loudly as his eyes flew open.

"Oh, thank fuck," I sighed, full of relief that was soon replaced with worry.

Butcher's pupils were blown as he frantically looked around the woods we were gathered in. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and panicked apologies fell from his chapped lips. "M'sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."  

"Sorry for what?" I asked, confused.

"S'all my fault," Butcher mumbled. "It's all my fuckin' fault. I killed him."

"What is your fault?"

But it was as if he didn't hear me. Butcher continued looking in every direction as if the trees held a secret he was searching for. "Butcher, look at me," I shook his shoulders gently. "Butcher, please."

Butcher's eyes finally landed on me, and I cupped his cheek, tracing the tense lines to soothe him. "There, we go," I praised softly. "Good job. Now, can you breathe for me? Give me a nice, deep breath, yeah?"

I inhaled slowly, showing him how to do it, and he mimicked my actions. "That's it." I smiled. "You doing ok?"

Something inside Butcher snapped, and his demeanor hardened as he forcefully shoved me away. "Get your bloody paws off me. M'fine," he grumbled, rising to his feet on shaky legs. Hughie immediately reached forward to help steady him, but Butcher slapped his hand away. "Oi, I said I'm fine; I don't need help from either of ya' cunts."

I was stunned as I watched Butcher walk several yards away before fishing a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and swiftly lighting one.

"Here," Hughie said, offering me his hand and helping me stand.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked lowly, continuing to eye Butcher from afar.

"His mind is just catching up to the present time. He'll be fine in a little while," Mindstorm interjected.

I looked at the supe, wanting to know more details about Butcher's recovery timeline, but saw that his attention was already on Hughie, regarding him expectantly. "You owe me a trip."

"Oh, right," Hughie replied before turning to me. "You stay here with Butcher while I take Mindstorm to Jamaica, ok? I'll be back as soon as I can."

I nodded wearily and watched Hughie and Mindstorm disappear with a resounding pop.

༺༻

"I'm worried about Butcher," I mumbled to Hughie as we perched on our motel bed together. "We haven't heard from him since we checked in hours ago. How do we know he's still in his room?"

"He has the same locator app on his phone like the rest of us. If he went somewhere, we'd know," Hughie replied, keeping his eyes trained on the cracked television displaying re-runs of old sitcoms.

I shook my head, rising to my feet. "I don't know. I have a bad feeling. I'm going to go check on him."

"Are you sure?" Hughie asked, glancing up at me as I headed for the door. "Butcher hasn't been in the best mood since waking up."

"And that's precisely why someone needs to check on him," I said, slipping on my boots and unlocking the door before pocketing the rusted motel key. "I'll be back in a minute." I looked back at Hughie, but he was distracted by Chandler Bing singing "I Will Survive" on the TV and giggling profusely.

I decided to leave him be and wordlessly slipped out of the door.

Butcher's room was next to ours, so the entire trip consisted of three and a half steps. I lightly knocked on his door and waited for him to grant me entrance, but that never came.

"Butcher? Are you in there?" I called through the door and strained my ears for an answer. But I heard nothing besides an ambulance that wailed on the highway behind the motel.

I sighed, biting my lip before I made the rash decision to try opening the door. To my surprise, the knob turned easily before the door swung open on hinges that squeaked in protest.

I peered inside as I hesitantly stepped over the threshold. "Butcher?" I tried again as I slowly roamed the room. The bed was still made, and the only proof that the room was inhabited was Butcher's overnight bag that he'd dropped on the floor by the door.

I was just considering leaving when I heard a small clamor from the attached bathroom, and I tiptoed over to peek through the cracked door. My breath caught in my throat at the scene before me, and I swiftly shoved open the door before falling to my knees beside Butcher's crumpled form.

"Jesus," I breathed as I closed my fingers around his chin, angling his head to better look at his face. His eyelids were drooped, and I was about to question him for his lethargic state when I spotted the empty bottle of whiskey that he clutched to his chest.

"Butcher, can you hear me?" I asked, tapping the side of his face, trying to revive him. He groaned, popping his lids and staring blankly into my face. His eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of the alcohol he had ingested.

"Butcher," I prompted again. "How much did you have to drink? Please do not tell me you had the entire bottle in one night."

"Oops," he said, pursing his lips lazily.

I sat back on my heels as I cursed harshly. "Fuck, are you trying to die of alcohol poisoning?"

Butcher chuckled softly, running a hand down his face. "Don't worry 'bout me, love. It would take a lot more than a little bottle of booze to send me to God's front door."

I squinted at him as I deliberated about how to handle this situation. There was no way I could leave him here on the dirty bathroom floor. "Can you stand?" I asked, wanting to move him to the bed so he could lie down properly.

"As it so happens, m'quite comfy here. Why don't ya' come and join me?" Butcher drawled, holding his arms out unevenly and curling up the side of his mouth in a smirk.

"As delightful as that offer sounds, I'm not really in the mood to curl up on a floor that I'm fairly certain has about fifteen different STDs on it."

"Well, I’m all clean, doll, and that's the only thing ya' need to worry about."

"You know, I hate to break it to you, but you're a terrible flirt when you're drunk," I snorted. "Now, can you at least try to stand for me?"

Butcher huffed out gruffly. "Fine. But if I fall over on me arse, it's your fault."

"Fair enough."

I guided his arm around my shoulder and slowly stood with him. He was a little wobbly at first, but after gathering his bearings, we shuffled out of the bathroom and into the bedroom with my assistance. Butcher collapsed on the bed before gazing around, puzzled. "Where's me whiskey?"

"You drank it, remember?" I snickered, gesturing to his disheveled appearance. "That's how you ended up like this."

"Huh."

I sat on the edge of the bed and cautiously ran my fingers through Butcher's dark, tangled hair, pulling it back from where it had stuck to his forehead, slick with a light sheen of sweat. At first, I thought he might push me away as he did earlier today, but to my surprise, he closed his eyes, and a slight sound of contentment vibrated in his throat.

"S'nice."

A smile played at the edge of my lips, and I kept repeating the action, watching the tension that the whiskey couldn't remove from his body dissipate. I thought Butcher had fallen asleep when he whispered almost too quietly for me to hear. "You're too good for me. All of ya'"

"That's not true, and you know it," I replied immediately.

"But I'm a bleedin’ murderer," he said louder as he opened his eyes, and my heart clenched when I saw he had tears in them.

"Butcher, we've all killed people. You're no worse than I am. Or Frenchie or MM."

Butcher shook his head adamantly. "No. I killed him, an innocent fuckin' person."

"Who?" I pressed, wanting to understand the source of his pain. "Who did you kill?"

"The one person I was supposed to protect." Butcher's voice broke, and he coughed weakly. "I shoulda been there to protect him, but instead, I fuckin’ killed him when he needed me the most."

Even in the midst of my confusion, I didn't cease stroking Butcher's head, wanting and needing to console him in any way possible. "I'm sure it was an accident. You're not a killer, Billy. And there's nothing in you that would ever convince me otherwise."

"Ya' don't understand," he croaked, looking up at me with sad, hazel eyes. My throat tightened, and I swallowed harshly to clear my emotions. Seeing Butcher so tormented clawed at my heart, especially when I didn't know how to help him.

"Then explain it to me," I plead softly.

Butcher looked unsure, and his unease was palpable. "I've never told anybody before," he admitted lowly.

"You don't have to tell me. But, Butcher, it might help to talk about it." I paused briefly as I carefully chose my following words. "Does this guilt you're feeling have anything to do with what Mindstorm did to you today?"

Butcher nodded, closing his eyes. "It's the one thing from me past that I've tried to outrun. But today, it finally caught up to me."

I was quiet as I watched the internal battle rage within Butcher. After several deliberary minutes, he omitted a sigh and began to tell his darkest tail.

"I had just turned eighteen. I'd been counting down the days until my birthday when I'd be a legal adult and could get the fuck outta my mum and dad's house. My old man...he was a fuckin' cunt. His temper was uncontrollable, and he loved to take it out on my younger brother, Lenny, and me."

Lenny.

I had heard a bit about Lenny from Butcher's aunt last year, right before her house blew up, but I never got any details. All I knew was that he had committed suicide as a child. It was tragic and involved a sort of heartbreak that I couldn't even comprehend, so I never asked Butcher about it.

"I tried to take the brunt of my dad’s shite to shield Lenny, but I was a kid, so there wasn't much I could do. There were times when little Lenny would be so hurt-" Butcher's voice wavered, cutting off the ending of his sentence, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he composed himself before continuing. "Our mum never hit us, but she never tried to protect us either. That twat of a woman never lifted a fuckin' finger as she listened to us scream."

Butcher's eyes drifted behind me as he recalled the painful memories. "I couldn't fuckin' take it anymore. I decided that on my eighteenth birthday, I'd run away to join the army. The idea of being shot at was worlds betta' than living under the roof of my piss-poor excuse of a father. But I couldn't take Len with me." Butcher paused, hesitating. "Even after he begged me to."

"Our father was awful to him," Butcher said, meeting my gaze, and I saw fresh tears well in his eyes. But he couldn't suppress them this time, and they ran down his face, wetting his cheeks. "He beat Lenny far worse than he ever did me. I think he was bitter that I'd been able to escape, and hurting me little brother was his act of revenge."

"I'm so sorry, Butcher," I mumbled, knowing that my apology did nothing to ease his pain.

"After six months, the army gave me a short leave of absence, and I used it to visit Lenny." Butcher's tears increased as his voice grew strained. "He looked terrible. He'd lost so much weight and was covered in bruises, so he didn't even look like the same person."

I softly dragged a finger under each of Butcher's eyes, wiping away his tears, but every tear I collected was quickly replaced with a new one. Carefully, I urged Butcher closer so his head could rest in my lap. I resumed running my hand through his hair, hoping it would have the same calming effect on him that it did before.

"He blamed me for our father's behavior," Butcher continued. "He said that I had abandoned him when he needed me the most. He said he couldn't fuckin' bear it anymore, and he'd rather be dead than be beaten every night by the one person who was supposed to love him more than anything."

Butcher closed his eyes and breathed shakily through his nose as he uttered the tragic ending of the story.

"And then he pulled out a gun and shot himself."

His words hung in the air and settled over us, blanketing Butcher and me in a morbid and melancholy feeling.

"And it was all my fault."

I was startled by Butcher's accusation of himself. "What are you talking about? It was your father's doing. You weren't the one beating Lenny halfway to hell every night."

Butcher looked up at me, slowly shaking his head. His eyes were puffy as they continued to dispel tears of his anguish. "If I hadn't left, Lenny woulda been safer, and he wouldn't've been driven to suicide. I practically signed my brother's death certificate."

"Butcher-"

"If I had just stayed, then my father wouldn't have-"

"Butcher-"

"So it's my fuckin’ fault that-"

"Butcher! Your brother's death was not your fault, do you hear me?"

I hauled Butcher up from my lap and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, forcing him to look at me. "How dare you try to take responsibility for the actions of a fucking monster. You are a good person, Billy. And I will spend every day telling you if that's what it takes for you to believe me because I can't bear to sit back and watch you punish yourself for a crime that you did not commit."

Butcher looked stunned by my outburst as he opened and closed his mouth without dispelling any words. I had never seen Billy Butcher speechless, but I assumed it looked like this.

"You're one of the best people I know," I continued, wanting to finish everything I had to say. "And I'm going to personally hunt down Mindstorm and rip his stupid, little shrimp dick off and shove it down his throat for forcing you to relive something so horrific. And then I'm going to cut his toes off and- what?"

Butcher had lowered his head, and his shoulders shook ever so slightly as he chuckled.

"Oh, you think I'm bluffing? Hughie dropped him off in Jamacia, so all I have to do is get on a plane and- seriously, Butcher, what are you laughing at?" I asked incredulously. How on earth could he laugh at a time like this?

Butcher raised his head, regarding me softly as his laughter died down. "No one has ever protected me like you do."

His profession took me aback, and I raised a brow, needing him to elaborate.

"Hughie said ya' almost carved Mindstorm's eye out after he put me to sleep."

"And I would've carved out both eyes if he didn't stop me. Buzzkill."

A smile played on the edge of his mouth as he shook his head back and forth. "You're something else, ya' know that?"

I bit my lip as I looked down, but Butcher grasped the side of my jaw so it'd meet his eyes again. "Why do you do it?" he whispered.

"Do what?"

"Take care of me. Anyone else on the team woulda let me drown in me whiskey on that bathroom floor, but not you. Why?"

I swallowed audibly as I stuttered. "I, uh, just thought it was the right thing to do."

"No, s'not it," Butcher murmured, raking his teeth over his bottom lip. "There's more to it. I don't believe you spent your whole evening consoling the broken mind of your boss because ya' thought it was the right thing to do."

When I didn't reply, Butcher sighed, leaning his forehead against mine and closing his eyes. "Why are ya' so hellbent on convincing me that I'm not a fuck up like I know I am."

"Because I care about you. More than I probably should."

Butcher pulled back, searching my face for any hint that I may be joking, but when he saw nothing but the raw truth, he nodded. "C'mere."

He drew me close before pulling me down on the bed till I was curled up on my side, and he was directly behind me with his chest up against my back. Butcher slung an arm over my waist as he nuzzled his nose in my neck, breathing me in.

"Stay for the night, please. I don't wanna be alone."

I reached for his hand, which rested on my stomach, and intertwined our fingers. "I'm never leaving you."

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i hope u liked it!! i'm accepting more requests right now, so pls send one in if you'd like!!

-xoxo

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 25: Are Family Reunions Always This Awkward?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twenty five of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this one 18+ because it's got some heavier things in it, a few more sexual references, and it's kind of dark (more sad). Dark themes, Angst, Cursing, Sexual References, A little bit of heavy making out, Family Problems- A LOT of family problems, Homelander being a freak (he is), References to rape (It's only for a moment, but it doesn't make it any less terrible), Homelander is really bad in this chapter, Oedipus Complex (It's Homelander), Threatening, Past Trauma, Death Mentioned, Kidnapping. Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: One last warning, Homelander is a freak. Honestly the guy creeps me out in general, but in this he's especially creepy. AND It did not bring me joy to write this. I struggled with it, but I think it’s the thing that has to happen to move this story forward. And this chapter legit has the biggest tone shift in the UNIVERSE of tone shifts.

“Are you angry with her?” Ben’s voice rumbles up through his chest as you lay beside him. You were sharing the same pillow, faces inches apart, breathing the same air. His hand was tracing shapes into the small of your back, arm draped heavy over the curve of your hip, but it was a comforting weight. It reminded you that he was there and that he wanted to be, and you were getting used to that.

"A little." You breathe with a frown. Your hands are locked at the back of Ben's neck, gently dragging through the hair at the nape of his neck the way you know he likes. He groans softly at the movement, leaning further towards you as you do. "But now learning about everything that happened with Charlie, I get it. He was manipulating her the same way that Vought manipulated us for so long, the same way that they manipulated Homelander as he grew up."

Ben frowns at the mention of your son.

Rosemary had been calmer about the reveal of Homelander as her brother, but you figured that maybe you needed to let her wrap her head around it.

Maybe she was more focused on what Vought had done to me.

After Rosemary's confession this morning the day had been spent trying to figure out what you were going to do about your son. Butcher, Hughie, and Legend had been just as surprised at the news. And you knew that Butcher was waiting for some kind of hesitation to proceed with the plan to kill Homelander, but he wouldn't find any.

Homelander needed to be stopped, he was a monster, and you knew that there wasn't a shred of humanity left. It broke your heart to admit that to yourself, that your son was a monster, but it was true. Homelander became the thing that Vought warped and twisted him into. There was no semblance of someone that you could care about left, no reminder of humanity in his eyes.

At least that was what you told yourself, and it was what you told Ben, but deep down you wished that you were wrong. You wished that maybe there was something left behind, something redeemable.

He grew up without a family in a cold lab, raised by monsters who did with him what they wished.

You think to reason with yourself. Maybe it was because you remembered what Ben said that Vought tried to do to him. It was true of course, Vought had tried to do the same thing to Ben and you when you took the serum. And maybe it did work on Ben a little bit, the façade that he adopted for Soldier Boy did seem to lean in the direction of warm-blooded American symbol that Vought wanted, but Ben was different and so were you.

"If you're not sure about this, we can try to talk to him." Ben whispers leaning his forehead against yours.

"I know. We can try, but I don't think Butcher is really going to go for that plan."

"I don't give a fuck about him. I only care about you."

"Uh-huh?" You smirk. "You don't care about anyone else?"

"Huh?"

"No body else? Because you and Lou looked pretty cozy earlier playing go fish."

They had. Lou had won and Ben was trying his best not to be upset that he got beat at a card game by a four year old.

"That little girl is a shark. Just like someone else I know." Ben snorts out a laugh and pulls you closer to him, so much so that you can feel the ghost of his smile against your lips.

“Well I never-“ You smile nudging your nose into the space between your faces.

"Fine, you caught me. I do care about her, and I care about Rosemary. Even if she does fucking hate me.”

“She doesn’t hate you as much as she thinks she does.”

“Hmm.”

"But I knew it." Your lips brush against his. "You're such a big softie."

Ben rolls his eyes. "Only for you Sweetheart." His hand stops tracing shapes against the back of your shirt and instead flattens against your back to pull you tighter against him. Your fingers thread through the locks of his hair, loving the way he feels pressed up against you, loving how after all these years it feels the same way and how it still feels like he was made for you and that you were made for him. When you were with Ben you didn't feel fat, because every soft part of you molded against the hardness of his muscles so perfectly that it made you feel like you belonged together.

"You know, I don't really like go fish all that much." Ben's smirks, kissing you back enthusiastically, his beard scratching against your skin in a way that makes everything else fade into the background. "I wouldn't mind playing some strip poker with you though."

"Oh really? What a surprise. Because you've always been better at poker than me."

"That's exactly why it would be fun." He rolls you over on your back, his large body over yours, his hips fitting between your legs, bringing them up around his waist with his free hand as he keeps kissing you.

"You're a man of simple tastes I guess." You laugh into his mouth, tightening your grip in his hair, tugging at the strands.

"Nothing simple about you doll." He all but growls against your lips. "And the only thing that I want is you."

The kiss deepens enough that you can feel yourself quickly losing yourself in him, but that's the way it always seemed when he kissed you. It felt like you held your arms out and spun in a circle until you were drunk and your head was spinning so fast nothing else seemed to fit, but Him. Time seemed to slow, the earth stopped spinning, everything around you was gone and the only thing left behind was Ben. You wondered if it was like that for him.

"Fuck you taste like strawberries." Ben mutters into your mouth.

Of course you did. You had ice cream before you came to bed, taking bites from Lou's bowl when she wasn't looking.

Ben tasted like the vanilla ice cream he’d had that he chased down with a glass of whiskey. You could feel yourself getting drunk on the sweet and vintage taste, sinking further into the mattress with his comfortable weight on top of you.

You moan into his mouth, moving your hands from his hair to grip his shoulders so tight that Ben could feel the bruises from your fingertips forming against his skin, but he didn’t care. You knew he liked it, knew that he liked that you were the only one strong enough to do that to him. He drags his lips down to kiss along your jawline, finally finding the place just in its shadow to suck another mark to replace the one that had faded a few days ago.

“Ben-“ You giggle, feeling the tickle of his beard against your skin. “You’ve really got to stop doing that.”

The words held no power, you didn’t want him to stop, didn't want any of this to end. It wasn't just because it felt good, it was because it felt right, the two of you together finally.

“Doing what?” He smirks up at you innocently.

Sometimes you hated how pretty he was, it meant that he got away with whatever he wanted and you were along for the ride. But in a pinch it was a good thing. When the two of you were children, Ben's good looks and charms had gotten the two of you out of trouble more than once.

“You keep giving me hickeys and it’s going to scar our daughter for life. Not to mention Lou asked me what it was today and I wasn’t about to have THAT conversation with a four year old.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” He drops his lips back down to the same spot. “I remember everything you like.”

His words are breathed against your skin, caressing something deep inside that makes you shudder beneath him.

Immediately you're transported back to the night of your birthday, when Ben made love to you and made you feel seen, understood, and loved for the first time in your life. The memories of that night wash over you in full color, moments that you wished to relive over and over again with Ben.

“Did you think I would forget?” Ben purrs as he continues to kiss along the hollow your throat, igniting something that you hadn’t felt in forty years. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that night. Ever be able to forget how it felt to finally make love to you, to finally have you the way I wanted for so long, and to finally show you how much you mean to me.”

He raises his head from your throat, hands gripping your waist tightly to keep you wrapped around his body. His green eyes shine with mischief, his dark hair falling forward into his face as he stares down at you, seeing through you like no one ever has. His expression softens. “Because you do y/n. You mean everything to me” His voice is quiet, but it doesn’t make what he said any less important.

You gently cup his cheeks, pulling his lips back down in a fierce kiss that burns through your body. Ben smiles into your mouth, letting his guard down and as he does you leverage your weight to roll him over on his back so now you’re in his lap and he’s staring up at you, his eyes shining with something that almost makes you grab the front of his shirt and haul him back up to you for another kiss.

You smirk widely at him, hands planted against his toned stomach. He’d gone to bed without wearing a shirt again and you were far from complaining. You lean forward, your lips barely brushing his ear. “What makes you think I’ve forgotten what you like?”

“Fuck sweetheart. I won’t complain about anything you do to me.” Ben groans. His hands are holding on to your hips, pushing up your shirt to rest on the curves of your pelvis. "As long as I get to be with you, I'll be happy."

You kiss along his jaw, feeling the heat of his body radiating up through where you’re touching.

“Sweetheart?” Ben’s voice is strained, hands splayed wide over your hips. The roughness of his palms is comforting and familiar, the warmth of his skin  soothing. No one else ever seemed to be as warm as him. 

 Your lips drop to his throat as you kiss along the skin loving the tickle of stubble against the tip of your nose. “I’m a little busy at the moment baby.” You hum against him  as you begin to such a mark into the hollow of his throat, because you’re the only one able to do that to him.

Ben moans softly as you do it, shuddering below you, and it makes you feel powerful that you’re able to do that, to make him fall apart and make him lose himself in you the way he always seems to consume you.

“Y/n-“ Ben breathes  as you wrap yourself tighter around him, continuing to suck on the same spot. “Hmm?” You pull back to look at his face, raising a hand to push back the dark strands that have fallen into his eyes with a gentle hand.

You still were having a hard time with that despite everything. That Ben genuinely wanted to be yours the way you were always his. Somewhere deep down the little girl you used to be was finally content, finally able to hold the little boy she had loved for decades.

“I never said thank you.” He murmurs sitting up so you slide back into his lap and he’s able to hold you to him, his arms circling your waist.

“For?” Your arms link behind his neck. You can’t stop the soft smile that pulls at your lips when you look at your best friend. It was weird to think that you’d known each other so long and not know what you were missing, not know how perfect this would feel.

He kisses you again. “You always take care of me. Always have taken care of me.” Ben drops his lips to brush against your shirt over the scar the bullet left behind just over your heart.

You knew he was thinking about the day that you took a bullet for him and you wondered how much he thought about that. If the memory haunted him, if all the memories of your deaths haunted him.

“Well somebody’s got to. You’re a mess.”

“Not when I’m with you.”

“No.” You say happily keeping his head pressed against your chest. “That’s because I do my job. It's difficult sometimes but-"

"Shut up." Ben groans.

It's quiet for a few minutes as you stay there, gently stroking your fingertips in the way you know he likes, the dark strands shuffling through your hands.

He breathes deeply, as if he wishes to breathe you in, to pull you into him until there's nothing left but him and you. "I missed you so much Sweetheart."

"I missed you too Ben."

"And I-" His voice cracks with emotion, his next words getting caught in the back of his throat.

"Ben?" You cup his cheek worried. His bright green eyes have dimmed and you see something pass through them that looks almost like shame. "What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry."

"What did I say about apologizing?"

"Not for Countess. I'm sorry if the way you loved me ever felt like a burden.” He swallows.

You remember the words you said to Rosemary earlier about what love should be like.

“Ben- do you want me to tell you the truth?”

“Always.”

 You sigh, stroking your thumb across his cheekbone. “Sometimes it did, but only because I’d loved you for so long and it always felt like I was trying to hold on to who you were before you became Soldier Boy and trying to run to catch up. Like I had to change who I was to keep you happy and I really just wanted you to be happy Ben. You weren’t happy when we were kids and you were so excited about being supes and I-“

“I was happy when I was with you.” Ben whispers leaning his forehead against yours. “When you were gone I wasn’t. When I went away on those stupid filming trips and you were at your apartment all I thought about was getting back to you. I didn’t care about the films or the fame, if you weren’t there I didn’t see a point. And all I wanted was for you to be happy too, but not like that-“

“It wasn’t always bad, just sometimes. When I’d have to intervene between you and someone else or when you’d come to my apartment smelling like someone else or when I’d occasionally walk in on you and another woman in your apartment or at herogasm.” You sigh. “I didn’t have a right to feel the way I did. I shouldn’t have been jealous, you didn’t belong to me-“

“But I do.” He doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look remorseful for sharing too much. “Always. And I swear that I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you, choosing you like you chose me that night.”

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you sit there on his lap, feeling the familiar contours of his body wrapped around yours. “I don’t regret it.” You murmur. “You are my family. And I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You’re not going to lose me. I love you sweetheart.”

“I love you too Ben.”

He kisses you fiercely, taking away any pain from the past and finally making you forget the moments he was gone, because now he was here and he wasn’t going anywhere. Ben presses his forehead back into your chest, tightening his grip on your waist.

You take in a deep breath smelling the comforting smells that you ascribe to Ben, but there's another smell that's coming from somewhere in the room. It's familiar, but you can't place it. In the corner of your eye something is moving, and you glance to the right noticing for the first time that the sliding glass door is open, the floor length curtains fluttering in the breeze and you knew for a fact that you’d left it closed.

“That’s so cute.” A familiar voice says.

Your entire body goes cold, the warmth you felt with Ben fading almost instantly. Ben's head shoots up from where it was resting on your chest, to stare at something or rather someone behind the two of you.

"You know, it really is every kid's dream that after all these years-" Homelander sighs happily. “ their parent's still love one another."

He was lounging in one of the sitting chairs at the opposite side of the room, his ridiculous cape draped over the back like a train as he watched the two of you in bed.

You can't move, can't breathe.

 He's here. How is he here? How did he find us?

You rack your brain trying to think about what to do, but all you can do is hold on to Ben. It wasn't that you were afraid for yourself, you knew that you could take him down if need be, the exact thing that you'd been considering the entire day, but you mind drifts to Rosemary and Lou upstairs.

 “But I can see why dad loves you so much mom. I mean you are so beautiful and you look really good for your age." His eyes glimmer black in the light and he has the audacity to wink.

Ben’s body immediately pushes yours behind him to block you from view. “What the fuck do you want you sick son of a bitch?” Ben snarls.

“Don’t talk about mom that way.” Homelander grins. But it’s the smile of a shark, pretty until it gets too close. All teeth and gums and things that come in the darkness to swallow you whole.

"How did you find us?" You swallow still thinking of Lou upstairs sleeping comfortably.

"I have you to thank for that mom." Each time he says the word 'mom' you try not to flinch. "I was flying by to see Stan when I watched the two of you 'talk' and when you left I followed you here."

I did this. I'm the reason why he found us. I was too wrapped up in what happened to fucking check if anyone was following me.

"You know the other day when we first met I was angry that you were able to hold me off, but watching you with Stan," Homelander chuckles. "That was inspired. Something special. I didn't realize how powerful you really were. And that tornado the other day- wow."

Another cold chill traces the length of your spine.

How long has he been watching us? Flying around outside of the house, staring through windows, watching from the shadows, marking our every move?

Another thought follows. He knows about Lou.

"I'm so honored to have a mother like you. And Soldier Boy as a father." Homelander's eyes trace over the two of you appreciatively. "It's a dream come true."

There was something haunting about the way he spoke to the two of you, almost as if the child that grew up in a lab was coming out, almost with childlike wonder and awe.

"I can't believe they tried to keep our family apart for so long." Homelander's gaze softens when he stares at the two of you. "That Vogelbaum and Stan Edgar decided that it would be better for me to be out of your lives but here I am after all these years, reunited."

Ben's right arm tightens where it's wrapped around your waist, his hand pressed into you back as he puts himself between you and Homelander. You can feel his skin heating with the force of his rage, hear the way his heart has begun to beat faster as he tries to think of a way out of this.

You weren't going to tell Homelander that he was your son, you thought it would be easier that way, with him not knowing that fact. Thought that it would be easier for you to dispose of him if he didn't call you 'mom' but now? It was harder.

Harder to look at him when you could see the subtle ways he looked like Ben, see the proud nose that reflected your father, smell the hairspray that covered the dark brown he must have had, see the strong jaw, the same one that you'd traced with your fingertips on Ben's face, and see the small freckles under the smudged makeup of Homelander's cheeks, the same ones the Ben and Rosemary had.

"I was angry when I found the files at Vought, when I saw exactly how hard they worked to keep us all apart. But I'm here now-"

"What the fuck do you want?" Ben spits.

Homelander blinks for a moment confused. "Isn't it obvious? I'm here for you. I want to be apart of this family. I see how you are with Lou and Rosemary and I want that. And I can't wait for you to meet your other grandson Ryan. I'm finally going to give him the family he deserves."

"We don't want anything to do with you." Ben's eyes narrow and Homelander frowns.

"I understand." Homelander stands from the chair he's sitting in, and this time Ben rises from the bed. He's shirtless, but with Ben it didn't matter what he was wearing, he could look damn intimidating when he wanted to. "Butcher's told you all about me right?" Homelander tsks. "Little William Butcher. He's always had it out for me-"

"He has a right to." You narrow your eyes and slide out of Bed so that you're standing beside Ben.

Homelander tilts his head to the side as if trying to think about what you're trying to say, but then he laughs. "Oh you're talking about Becca right? Little tease. I'm sure dad here can relate to the idea that some women, just really do ask for it, right?"

Your jaw tightens in repulsion as a wave of nausea comes surging up from the pit of your stomach realizing exactly the type of monster Homelander was. He wasn't a hero, he was a predator, a venus fly trap complete with all the pretty things to draw you in only to swallow you whole and leave no semblance of yourself behind.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Ben spits. "I'm a lot of things, but I'd never do that to a woman, not if she begged me to stop, not if she didn't want it."

Homelander shrugs. "Don't knock it til you try it."

"You're sick." You could feel your eyes shifting to purple, the room beginning to tremble with the force of your anger and disgust.

"No." He holds up a finger. "I'm not. That's just William, making you believe that I'm unhinged."

"Butcher has not made us believe anything. We've seen it." You respond. "I've seen it in the way you look at people, seen it in the way you smile, in the way you fight, seen it in your eyes-"

"You don't know-"

"I do. Something about us Homelander, is that when you've lived as long as we have, we know what a monster looks like."

"I'm not a monster." His smile drops into a frown.

"You are."

"I'm your son-" Homelander sputters.

"You might be our blood, but you're not our son." The words break you to say, but you hold it together. "Look I'm sorry. Sorry that you grew up that way. Sorry that they turned you into this. Sorry that Ben and I weren’t involved in your life, that we couldn’t have prevented the man you became."

"But-" Homelander glances from Ben to you in confusion.

"My father always saw the good in people." You continue, feeling the emotions at war in your chest, the ones that tell you that this man is your son and the ones that tell you this man is a monster. Your eyes skate over him. “But I don’t see any in you. You’re unredeemable. And as much as it hurts us to push you away, because you of all people need a family.   We're going too, because we don’t see any good in you."

Homelander stands there surprised, and you see the façade fall for just a moment, noticing the anger, pain, suffering, sadness, and rage that war within him, each emotion skating across his face in tandem with one another.

"But I found you." Homelander's eyes are misty. "I'm here. I'm your son! I'm your blood." He repeats, his voice breaking in a way that tugs at your heart.

"You might be our blood." Ben repeats watching Homelander. "But you’re not our son. You're just a disappointment."

If you didn't know Ben, you wouldn't understand the weight of those words, but you knew Ben better than anyone, knew how many times that his own father shouted those words at him. You remembered the nights that Ben crawled in through your window after the fights and when he thought you'd fallen asleep you could feel Ben tremble. You hated that his father did that to him and you worked hard to make sure that he didn't hurt as much as he had, just as Ben worked hard to make sure that you didn't remember the things your mother had said and done to you.

Before Homelander can respond, you feel someone else enter the room.

"Aunty y/n? I couldn't sleep. I had a nightmare and I can't find mommy." You hear Lou's voice say and your head turns to the doorway that leads into the basement. Lou is standing there, rubbing her eyes with one hand wearing her matching pink polka dot pajamas. Homelander turns his head to look at the little girl, the red in his eyes fading as he does, a sickening smile beginning to twitch against his lips.

"You must be my niece, Lou." He takes a step towards her and Rosemary appears in the doorway behind her, quickly pushing Lou behind her.

Rosemary does not back down from Homelander's gaze. It wasn't in her nature. She was too much like Ben and like you for her own good.

"And there's sissy." His smile is triumphant as he glances back at you and Ben.

"I'm not your anything." Rosemary's eyes narrow at Homelander.

His frown vanishes again, this time replaced with a snarl. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous this is?" The playful cadence in his voice is gone. "He was gone for forty fucking years and you brought him back into your lives! So what about me?" He shouts so loud you're sure the house is shaking, gesturing at Ben angrily.

"It's different." Your voice is cold.

"How is it different?"

"Because Ben is human." Rosemary answers. "You're not."

You turn to look at her in shock. It was the first time that she'd defended him since he got back, the first time that she had said something remotely kind about Ben to you or in front of him. Ben looks just as stunned as you do.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Homelander takes another step towards Rosemary, but she doesn't back down. "I am human. More human than you. I see the world for what it really is. I don't follow the rest of the fucking sheep like you-"

"You've been poked, prodded, and told that you were a god every day of your life. Just because we have powers does not mean that we are gods. We bleed, we live, and we die. And maybe somewhere along the way we're lucky to be loved and to love." She snaps. "But you don't. You can't feel love or remorse. You're a fucking monster not a hero. You think you're a hero just because Vought has given you that title. You're nothing more than a little boy chasing after a family you never had and you never deserved. You're not my brother, you're not their son, you're not our family. You're just something that was cut out of my mother, another scar, another manipulation, another science experiment that went wrong, and another way that Vought has ruined her life."

Lou cowers behind her mother, holding tightly to her leg, while Rosemary's hand circles behind her daughter to hold her tighter against her. It was the same thing that Ben was doing to you. You felt genuine fear for the first time in years, fear that you would lose them because of this.

Because Homelander was unhinged, manic, and insane. He might have kept it all hidden under the blonde hair, blue eyes, and the smile, but you saw through it. You'd met supes like him before and you knew that you would meet others in the years to come.

"You got everything didn't you? A loving family? A mother who loved you? A home? You got to be in your child's life. You had everything I didn't have." His voice is eerily calm. "And for what? So you could work at a fucking hospital and degrade yourself, our bloodline, and the fucking power you have to be a slave to other people?!”

Rosemary freezes.

"That's right I know all about you. Know all about all of you. Know about that fucking freak Charlie they inserted into your life, know exactly how much Vought wants Lou. Vought has files upon files about each of you, everything you’ve done, your powers." His eyes flick to the little girl hiding behind her mom. "And yet I'm the disappointment." Homelander's eyes flash back to where Ben and you are standing, something murderous building behind them, before they focus back on Rosemary. "I should have had your life. I'm the one who deserves it! I'm the hero. I'm the one who's more powerful."

You knew that the situation was growing worse by the minute, but with Lou thrown in the mix you weren't sure how this was going to go. You didn’t want her in the line of fire, wished that she had stayed in bed upstairs.

"Mommy I'm scared." You hear Lou whisper as she clutches on to Rosemary tighter.

"Don't be scared Lou." Homelander smiles wide, so wide you can see all his teeth. "This will all be over soon."

The words chill you to the bone, but before you can react, Homelander flies at Rosemary knocking her back through the bathroom wall and away from Lou. Her body crashes through solid tile and bathroom mirror with a resounding crack that echoes through the bedroom.

And just as you leap forward to take him on, Homelander grabs Lou.

There were only a few moments in your life that you’d ever known genuine fear. The day you got the serum, the day that you took the bullet for Ben and you thought you were going to die, and the day that you went into labor. But this was different. Seeing Homelander holding on to Lou wiped away any of those other moments in your life.

Your entire body catches fire with anger and fear. "Put her down." Your voice is unrecognizable, hands clenched into fists. You felt your eyes shift back to a threatening purple, everything in the room trembling under your power, the wood paneling on the wall beginning to peel back and reveal the concrete underneath.

What kind of sick person uses a child as a shield?

Lou squirms in his arms, but Homelander just holds her tighter against him. "Why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't I'm going to-" Ben snarls taking a step towards him. Ben's body has already begun to glow, seeping out from his heart as the force of his anger grows with every passing second.

"You're going to what?" Homelander's smile is sinister. "Because it seems to me that you can't do anything to me without poor little Lou here taking the brunt of it."

Rosemary appears covered in plaster, dust, and with pieces of mirror in her dark hair that catch the light in a way that makes her hair sparkle. "Put her down you narcissistic asshole." She snarls, her eyes turning red.

You figured it was because he had touched her, but deep down you hoped that Rosemary still had apart of your power, so you didn’t have to worry about her dying.

Lou tries to reach for her mom, but Homelander holds her closer to him. Tears have begun to trickle down her little cheeks. "Mommy?” She sobs quietly.

"Shh. It's okay sweetie." Homelander purrs bouncing her in his arms. "I've got you."

"Please put her down." You say it calmly, but you can feel your heart jumping around in your chest, beating against your ribcage. You didn't know how to fix this and didn’t know how to appeal to him, not after you'd spent the past twenty minutes telling him that you wanted nothing to do with him and that he wasn't your son. “We can talk this out. She doesn’t have to be apart of this.”

"Sorry no can do. I’m kind of tired of talking to you and to him.” Homelander gestures to Ben with his free hand, who isn’t glowing anymore.   “You might not want me apart of your family, but I want Lou apart of mine."

"What?" You croak.

"I think she should meet her cousin. And I think that Ryan would do a lot better with another child in his life, especially one that's supposed to be so powerful." Homelander continues rocking Lou back and forth. "But don't worry. I'll make sure that she's taken care of. And I’ll make sure she reaches her full potential.”

His eyes lock on yours and the chill of his words set in.

“Wait what?” Rosemary says.

But you understand too late.

Homelander shoots upward through the ceiling with Lou screaming in his arms as pieces of rubble crash down into the bedroom Ben and you share.

"No!" You scream in horror and rage, and rise up off the ground, but before you can follow behind Homelander, Ben wraps his arms around your waist to hold you down against him, refusing to let you go alone to face Homelander. “Ben let me go I can-“ By now your voice is nothing more than a shrill scream, tears pouring from your eyes as you struggle against his iron grip. “Please let me go! I have to go after him-”

“You’re not going to face him alone!” Ben shouts back holding you tighter.

But he can’t stop Rosemary.

She flashes past you in pursuit, up through the hole in the ceiling that Homelander left behind, and leaving you to sob and beat your fists against Ben’s chest wishing that it had been you instead.

A/N: Alright I had to make the first part just a little bit spicy to feel better about the devastation at the end of this chapter.

And I know another cliffhanger, but I promise there is something coming after this and we are quickly reaching the end of this series. 😊

I also want to let everyone now that I have decided to end this series when we get there without any reach into season 4. I do have some very cute ideas for little fics between this reader and Ben following season 3.

However, I am going to write an alternate ending and when we get to season 5 of The Boys with Soldier Boy back in action, I am going to release it and write for season 5, I think. That’s the plan right now, but who knows? I've also got some great ideas for other series I might want to start eventually.

Also anyone getting Syndrome vibes or is it just me? It was not intentional 😂

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist please let me know :)

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[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I’m really hoping you guys still like the long and fluffy chapters, because this is the longest and fluffiest chapter yet. Call this a calm before the storm, but the calm is tooth-rotting fluff and the storm is... a secret. Chapter Title from Welcome Home, Son by Radical Face

Word Count: 23.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Everyone goes into lockdown, waiting for Stand Edgar to come through. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, so much fluff, pining

Read on A03!

Chapter 13 - Chapter 15

It wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. You were burning and burning and burning, and Homelander was laughing. Holding you by your neck to make you watch as Neuman and Zoe and Hughie burned. Crushed under falling bricks, unable to escape Homelander, escape you. The longer you looked, the more people appeared. All burning. Butcher and Annie and MM and Frenchie and your sisters and brothers and father and- 

You couldn’t find Ben. Where was Ben. He didn’t leave you, he wouldn’t leave you, so where was Ben. You must have groaned his name, called for him, because Homelander yanks you back further, hissing in your ear.

“Soldier Boy won’t save you, because you don’t need to be saved. You belong here, with me. I love you, not him. He left, and I’m still fucking here.”

You shook your head. Ben wouldn’t leave you. Homelander must have found a way to kill him because Ben wouldn’t leave you.

“Are you sure about that,” Homelander sneered. “Because I don’t see him anywhere. But maybe I missed him. Here.” He lasered through the bodies and stone, guts and blood flying through the air and turning to ash. “Hm, nope. Still no Soldier Boy.”

You start to scream, and everything is just fire. Ben didn’t leave. He was somewhere, in pain, and you couldn’t find him. He couldn’t find you. And you were burning everything as Homelander laughed, because that’s what you were for. Homelander’s amusement, to help him burn the world, and you couldn’t find Ben-

Your sweat is cold, and evaporating around you. Scorching heat is drowning the air of the room, and the only thing that isn’t uncertain—isn’t melting or only drifting away in smoke—is something strong and powerful around you. Something grounding you in a world where your screams are becoming sobs, everything is hot but not burning, and Ben is there. He’s the thing around you, caging you against him as the dream faded and reality became sharp once more. It hadn’t been real. This was real. Ben was real.

He’s humming, and you can feel the sound in your bones. His voice really is terrible—he’s off key and offbeat and for someone who speaks in such a natural baritone his voice sure does crack a lot—but it’s more than enough. It rolls through you, and you don’t care how awful a rendition of Moon River this is, it’s Ben doing it. And that’s what brings you back down. It’s Ben who's humming, Ben whose hand is against your head, combing fingers through your hair. Ben who you can feel the warmth of as your fire dies out, and Ben who you can smell all around you. Pine and salt and gunpowder, not blood and barbecued flesh. Ben.

You pull back slowly and meet his eyes. His mouth is tight, jaw clenched, and he’s waiting for you to speak first. It takes a second, and your voice is hoarse from the screaming, but you find breath and croak, “How long was I out?”

“Almost thirteen hours. It’s 3am.”

“Did I wake yo-“

“No,” Ben grunts. “I was up. Working.”

You blink at him. “Working?”

“Making myself damn useful.”

You tilt your head at Ben, eyes quickly scanning to room for what he could mean. All the drawers and dressers are open, clothes are scattered in heaps that seem patternless across the floor, and Ben’s shield has been moved to the bedroom. The answer clicks, pushing through the exhausted haze of your brain, and you look back at him.

“Were you packing?”

Ben nodded curtly. “Starlight said they could keep Neuman in temporary lockdown, but they’ll be here in the morning to move us out.”

“Do you need help?”

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Ben detangles from where he’s holding you, pulling the blanket up over you as he stands. “Rest.”

“I just slept for thirteen hours.” You say with a flat look, pushing the blankets away, and Ben glares down at you.

“And you’ll sleep for thirteen more.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you snap. “I want to help. I want to be useful-“

“You can be useful, and fucking rest,” Ben retorted, not budging. “I can pack my damn self.”

“Can you?” You look around the room again, at how he’s tried to sort everything into piles that you couldn’t make sense of if you tried. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you threw everything onto the floor and called it a day.”

He scowls. “I have a system.”

“Well, teach it to me, and I’ll help.”

“No.”

“Ben, please, I want to help. I need to help.” Any anger is quickly flooded by fear. Fear that you’re not useful, a burden, he’s not letting you help because you’ll just fuck it up and blow everything up-

“I told you, you’ll be helpful by fucking resting.” Ben leans down, holding your face gently between his hands. “You just took on a nuclear blast alone. Even for you that’s a shit ton of power, and you need damn rest. You're tired.”

He's right, you are tired. Your whole body is aching, and your eyes are heavy. Everything is heavy. But you still shake your head weakly.

“I just need to help,” you reach up to hold his arm and squeeze. “I’ll sleep in the van, and when we get to Jersey. Please.”

Ben sighs, and kisses your forehead. When he meets your gaze again, he’s searching your face for something, lips drawn in a frown. For a terrible moment you think he’s going to tell you just to sleep. That he’ll take care of it and that you’d be of more use asleep than helping him-

“If you stay in bed,” his voice is low and quiet. “I’ll be your arms and you can sort things your own stupid way.”

“Oh,” you nod, his hands still against your cheeks and jaw. “Yeah. Deal.”

He grunts, standing once more and walking to the center of the room. He turns, giving you an expectant look, and you survey his mess.

“So was there a method to your madness? Or were you just talking out of your ass when you said you had a system.”

“There was a goddamn system,” Ben grumbles, and you raise your brows at him. He sighs. “I can’t fucking remember what it was.”

You feel your mouth tug upwards. “Old man-"

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You’re no fun,” you’re smiling a little more, and he rolls his eyes. “We’ll start with two piles. Stuff that's yours and stuff that's mine.”

“How will I be able to fucking tell-"

“Do you wear bras, Benjamin?” You drawl, and he huffs.

“Brat.”

“I’m not the one who doesn’t know what his own clothing looks like. Two piles.”

Ben starts to shuffle through the room, throwing your things onto the bed and his next to his shield. You watch him move silently, hands fidgeting in your lap, and thank the universe that both of your wardrobes have been designed to withstand nukes. The way Ben is ripping everything from the floor and chucking them to their place he’d have probably torn everything he’s touched otherwise. At some point you realize that you’re wearing the same jeans and shirt from yesterday, and though they’re still technically intact the fabric is thin. One wrong movement from tearing. 

You start to stand, and Ben’s head snaps up from where he's been glowering at a pile of his boxers, your shirts, and mismatched socks. “What the fuck are you doing.”

“Going to the bathroom?” You give him a flat glare. “Am I allowed to do that, your highness?”

He grunts, attention returning to the pile. “Be fast.”

“I’m going to take the longest shit you’ve ever seen in your fucking life.”

You take several, slightly unsteady steps, and suddenly Ben’s arm is wrapped around your torso.

“I can walk-“

“I have fucking eyes,” he snaps. “You almost fell over.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“No, it’s not,” Ben scans over you, then around the complete mess of your room. “I’m going to carry you to the bathroom, you’re going to shit, and then you’re going right back to the fucking bed.”

He doesn’t leave time for argument, dropping down to hook his free arm under your legs and pulling you upwards.

“You know, I think you carry me more places than I walk at this point.” You mutter, and Ben rolls his eyes.

“I don’t see you fucking complaining about it.”

You shrug, “it doesn’t feel like a battle worth the effort.”

“Because you like it.”

“No, because it’s a stupid fight to have.”

Ben nods, winking as he lowers you onto the toilet. “And you like it.”

You glare at him as stands. “Fuck you.”

He chuckles, leaning down to quickly kiss you, and you lean forward into it. When Ben pulls away with a long suck of your lip, he’s smirking again. “Not until after you shit.”

“Wait,” you grab his arm as he moves to leave. “Can you get me some clothes?”

“Clothes?” Ben frowns. “For what?”

“Wearing?” You giggle at his scowl. “I need to change, these feel like they’re about to fall off my body.”

“I don’t see the issue with that.”

You whack his shoulder, pushing him out of your grip and back to the bedroom. “Shut up, you horny old man. Get me clothes.”

Ben leaves the bathroom with a grunt, closing the door behind him. You listen to him move around the room, tapping your foot in restless bounces, and right when you’re flushing a knock sounds on the door.

You stand, your legs a little steadier than before, and open the door. Ben is holding a large pile of shirts, pants, and underwear, still frowning as he looks down at you.

“This shit smelled clean,” he grumbles, thrusting the clothing forward. “Take what you want.”

Humming, you sort through your options. Ben seems determined not to let go of anything you don’t explicitly request, making this a little difficult, but you manage to turn through the pile without removing things from his arms. Most of the underwear is lacy and thin—you didn’t even know you owned anything like this—and you give him an amused look.

“I am almost positive I have clean underwear that isn’t lingerie.”

“You might,” he winks. “But I seemed to have missed it.”

“What if I just don’t wear underwear?” You tease, and Ben’s whole body stiffens. “Because I am not wearing,” you hold up a black pair made from the most itchy fabric you’ve ever felt, lined with bows. “These.”

“Promise?” He growls, staring at you with a gaze that’s far too intense for this early in the morning. You throw the underwear at his face, and he doesn’t even flinch.

You giggle, and he glares at you through the sheer material. Returning to the pile, you pull out a large, white t-shirt. “This is yours.”

“You’d look better in it.” Ben snaps his head forward, causing the underwear to fall back to the pile, and grins at you. “And just it.”

“Uh huh,” you wrinkle your nose at him, but still take the shirt anyway. “Pants?”

Ben nods at a single pair of shorts, and you glare at him.

“It’s the middle of February.”

“And? You’re a damn living furnace.”

“I can still feel cold.”

“We’ll get you a fucking blanket. You’re resting on the ride anyways.”

You sigh, but take the shorts, along with one of the slightly less lewd underwear options. “I’m never trusting you with clothing again.”

“Thank fuck.” Ben looks at the clothing in your hands. “You done?”

At your nod you think he’s going to close the door, but instead he drops all the clothing to the floor and reaches up to grab your face, pulling you towards him. You let out a small squeak of surprise, and he chuckles as your mouths meet.

It’s a long, gentle, lazy kiss. Sloppy and all tongue, one of Ben’s hands gliding into your hair as the other drops to wrap around you. He keeps going and going until you’re all but falling into him, and the moment your moans become his name he’s gone. Leaning back, smirking down at you as you try to catch your breath. You can feel him, all of him, the powerful thing in his chest and the hunger in his blood. It’s so painfully familiar, and it’s everything.

“Cunt,” you mutter through your teeth, and he laughs.

“Get changed, then get your ass back in bed.” He moves back down to kiss the scrunch of your nose, and then closes the door with a wink.

You flip him off through the wood, and hope he feels it. You have to lean against the wall of the bathroom to change—something you will never tell Ben—but you manage, and when you return to the bedroom it’s a little cleaner. Ben’s succeeded in separating the clothing into piles, and is glaring at your pile like it’s just insulted his mother.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask, walking up behind him.

He doesn’t look away from the clothing. “You have too much fucking shit.”

“I’d say I have a pretty average amount of shit.” You hum, glancing at Ben’s own, much smaller pile. “It’s just a lot in comparison to your shit.”

Ben follows your gaze. “I have exactly as much as I damn need.”

You shrug. “As long as you’re happy with it. But don’t shit on my parade just because yours is tiny and pathetic.”

“As you’re aware,” Ben says your name with a smirk, arm slinging around your shoulders and tugging you into his side. “Nothing about me is tiny or pathetic.”

“I don’t think I am aware,” you meet his eyes, letting your challenge show across your face. “I think you need to prove it.”

He makes a deep sound that moves from somewhere in his chest to yours, and the lust almost explodes inside him. Inside you. Ben picks you up—your legs scrambling to wrap around him—and kisses your neck, then your jaw, then tugs at your ear with his teeth. He’s everywhere, crossing almost every part of your face with his mouth, holding you with one arm as the other roams your body. The only place he isn’t is where you need him the most, against your lips, pressing your tongue, inside you in the only way you can allow without completely shattering for him.

You fall back onto the bed, sinking into the mattress as Ben all but eats you alive, and your hands start to scrape at his back, up his neck, trying to leave some sort of impossible mark that proves he was here. That he did this to you, so the world will know that at some point he wanted you half as much as you need him. He still won’t just kiss you, biting and sucking and licking every single inch of your face except your mouth. If you could control yourself a little more, you’d stop moaning and whining his name to tell him to just kiss you.

“Ben,” you try to hiss or snap at him, but it’s just a breathless whimper against his ear. You’re starting to grind up into his body, and the groan that leaves his throat only spurs you on. “Fuck, Ben, you di-“

That does it. His mouth crashes into yours, burying you between the bed and him, just Ben, Ben, Ben, tasting like coffee and bruising you with his hands and the hunger and strength of everything in him. You think you scream his name into his mouth—you can hear a needy and loud sound but can’t really tell what’s happening to you save for the thirst and fervor for Ben—but he just keeps going, pressing his hips down until you’re pinned beneath him. You could live like this, you decide. Safe and desired under Ben’s body, nothing to worry about except trying to show him that he’s everything, no pain to feel except the ache all over you for him.

When Ben sits up, grinning down at you, he might be glowing. It might just be the haze and feverish heat he’s planted in your head, but you could swear he’s glowing. You try and pull him back down, but he just hangs above you, not ever moving an inch.

“Get your ass back down here, Benjamin,” it’s supposed to be a firm order, but even to your own ears it sounds like a plea. “You can’t just fucking do that-“

“Do what?” His voice is mockingly innocent, especially given the feral look in his eyes and the rumble of want you can feel from his chest. “You’re gonna have to be a little more fucking specific, Sunshine.”

“Fuck you.”

He doesn’t take the bait this time, remaining right above you but still too far away. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ben leans down so he’s whispering in your ear. “All you have to do is fucking ask.” 

You almost do. You almost beg, give in, tell Ben to do whatever he fucking wants to you as long as he’s doing something. Anything. Everything. Just as long as it’s him. But that cruel voice that lives in the back of your head creeps forward, reminding you the truth. Too much. That’s too much. This will have to be enough because if you go any further you just fall into Ben forever. You’ll give him everything, because he’s everything, and when this is over you’ll have nothing. So you can’t give him all of you, and he doesn’t want it anyways.

You’re silent for a second too long, and you feel something confusing and rough pierce in your ribs from Ben’s body. But he just leans down, giving you one last gentle kiss before standing. Leaving the air around you cold and empty without him. He’s gone from view, and when you sit up you find him hauling out boxes from the hallway.

“Where did those come from?” You ask, still a little breathless, and Ben shrugs.

“The French Prick and Kimiko dropped them off around midnight. Said to use them for transporting shit.” Ben looks up at you. “The French Prick said Kimiko wants you to text her when you’re awake.”

“Oh,” you smile slightly, looking around the room. “Where’s my phone?”

“Left it in your jacket,” Ben jerks his head to the dresser. When you start to stand, he drops the boxes and shoots you a glare, stomping over to your jacket. “Sit the fuck down,” he grumbles, fumbling through the pockets. “I’m the fucking arms.”

“You need to pack, I can get my phone myself-“

“No,” Ben pulls your phone out, stalking to your side. “You need to sit there, be beautiful, tell me what to do, and stop fucking moving.”

You snatch the phone from his hand, sticking your tongue out at him even as your face heats. “I’m helping you unpack in Jersey, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“We’ll fucking see,” he grumbles. “Fucking Jersey.”

You snort as he returns to the boxes, watching him kick them across the floor. “What’s your agenda against Jersey? What did it ever do to you?”

“It’s a shit state for fucking pussies.”

“You say that about every state that isn’t New York or Pennsylvania.”

“That’s because those states are fucking worth something.”

“I thought your whole thing was loving America,” you cross your arms, tilting your head at him. “Only liking 4% of it isn’t very patriotic of you, Soldier Boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ben grunts, attention still on the boxes. “And I don’t only like 4% of America.”

You hum. “If we go by state, 2 out of 50 is 4%. If we go by population, you might be just breaching 10%.”

“I like more than two states.”

“Really,” you give him a bored, disbelieving look. “Name one more state you like.”

“Massachusetts,” he looks up and winks. “It gave me you.”

“Kiss ass,” you mutter, and Ben chuckles.

“Yep.”

“Name one more,” you lean forwards a little, watching him hunch down to the clothing. “And divide them into smaller piles.”

“What?”

“The clothes, divide them into smaller piles. Pants with pants, shirts with shirts, etcetera.”

Ben shoots you an exasperated look, but starts to chuck his clothes around into slowly building bundles on the floor. “Fucking bossy,” he grumbles, and you scoff.

“You told me to be,” your tone is annoyed, but you can feel the smile stretching your face. “Name another state. California? That will get you a big population grab.”

“I fucking despise California,” Ben mutters. “Bunch of fake pussies with plastic tits taking boner pills.”

“What about Washington? First state to legalize weed. You love weed.”

Ben snorts. “Weed not being legal never fucking stopped me before.” He looks up at you with a frown. “MM said we could order shit now, right?”

“Yeah?” Ben opens his mouth, and you cut him off. “We are not ordering you drugs.”

He scowls. “Why the fuck not.”

“Because we’re literally moving to a federal building. We’re going to be living in the FBSA Headquarters. They’ll notice if you DoorDash cocaine.”

“What the hell is DoorDash.”

“Food delivery service,” you watch Ben start to throw clothing into the bins. “Are you not going to fold them first?”

“We don’t have time to fucking fold them.” He mutters, and you blink.

“Ben,” you say slowly. “What time are they coming by to pick us up?”

“Five.”

You look down at your phone, the clock reading 4:45, and look back up at Ben. “Benjamin-“

“I got fucking distracted,” he grunts. “You’re just as much to blame as me.”

“As I,” you correct, and he rolls his eyes. “And if you had told me-“

“You would’ve tried to help, and passed out on the floor.” Ben snaps, slamming the lid over the first box. “And we’ll be fine. We’ve got time.”

“But-“

Ben moves back to the bed, dragging the remaining boxes behind him. “I can fucking handle this. Text Kimiko.”

You glare at him, but open up your phone and poke through your messages. There’s one from MM—telling you about the van coming at 5am—two from Butcher that you don’t look at, and one from Mallory, asking you to clean the house before you leave. You would’ve, or at least tried to, if you’d gotten more than a day’s evacuation notice. So you send her an apology, and move onto the last unread message. 

Kimiko: Second Hottest Person on the Team

Are you ok?

I told Soldier Boy to make sure, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention

You glance up at Ben, who’s violently throwing your clothes into different piles.

“Can you please not rip my clothing,” you watch as he chucks a bra across the mattress.

“Your shit is built to withstand the goddamn sun. It won’t fucking rip,” Ben grumbles, but does throw the shirt in his hands less like he’s trying to pitch a fastball.

You look back down at your phone, responding to Kimiko.

I’m okay. Just tired.

You pause, watching Ben pick up the pile of pants at your side and dump them in the bin.

And Ben did tell me. He just has a resting bitch face.

The response comes almost immediately.

Kimiko: Second Hottest Person on the Team

Good

I’ll see you at the apartments

You blink at your screen, about to text back and ask why she’ll see you—because the team should be laying low after Neuman—and what she means by apartments plural, but Ben’s head shoots up, looking out the door and down the hall.

“Wha-“

Ben raises his hand, and you fall silent with a frown. His jaw clenches, dropping a pair of your jeans back into the bin, and says through gritted teeth, “There’s someone downstairs.”

“Ben-“ He’s walking out the door, and you hiss in a hushed tone after him. “Ben, it’s probably just Butcher-“

He glares back at you. “No it’s not. I know what Butcher fucking sounds like. Stay here and be quiet.”

“Benjamin-“

He’s gone, and your finger starts to tap anxiously. He said to stay here. And you trust him. But he’s also a paranoid ass, and might be about to attack Butcher or Hughie or MM because of it. But he said to stay here, and it might not be just one of your team members-

An unfamiliar voice shrieks from downstairs, and you don’t even think before you sprint out of the bed and down the stairs, skidding to a halt when you see Ben pointing a gun at an unfamiliar woman. She’s frozen in fear, shaking as Ben shouts at her.

“Who the fuck are you! Who do you wor-“ Ben looks up at you with a scowl, snapping your name. “I told you to fucking stay upstairs.”

“What the hell-“

“Take, take a step back and put your hands up,” a shaky voice interrupts you, and you look up to see another man—dressed in the same black suit as the woman—pointing a gun at you with a shaky hand. “Your behavior is hostile, and I will, I’ll shoot. I’ll do it.”

You sigh, realizing what’s happening. “Oh my god-“

“You shoot her and I’ll rip your fucking spine out and shove it up your goddamn asshole,” Ben roars, and the woman on the barrel end of his gun makes a weak sound.

“That’s, that’s a crime sir-“

“See if I give a single goddamn fuck-“

“Holy fucking shit,” you shout, raising your hands up. “Everyone calm the hell down, now.”

“Ma’am, I have been authorized to use force-“

“Fucking Butcher,” you mutter, before raising your voice and giving the man a glare. “I bet you have been. But shooting me will only make him,” you point to Ben. “Angry.”

“He, uh, he already seems pretty angry-“

“Angrier. Just put the gun down. That means you-“ you turn to Ben with a glare. “As well.”

“Not until they tell us who fucking sent them-“

“The FBSA, dumb dumb. They’re here to transport us, not try and kill us.”

Ben returns your glare. “You don’t fucking know that-“

“Yeah, I do.” You cross the room, over to the shaking man. His gun raises a little higher, aiming at your forehead, but he lowers it when he sees your bored expression. You stop in front of him, stepping to the side to give Ben a better view, and jab a finger at the man’s jacket. At the clearly displayed Agent Moore, FBSA badge pinned to it.

Ben scoffs, and lowers his gun. “How the fuck was I supposed to see that.”

“With your genetically enhanced vision?” You snap, and give the woman an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about him, he’s not house trained.”

“Shut up,” Ben grumbles, and you stick your tongue out at him as you return to his side. “They could’ve damn knocked.”

“And you could’ve asked questions first and shot later.”

“I fucking did. Do either of them look dead?”

You look between the agents, both trembling in fear but very much alive. “No.”

Ben gives you a smug grin. “Who’s unobservant now?”

“Still you.”

“Um,” the woman—squinting at her chest you can make out Agent Cortez on her badge—looks between you and Ben nervously. “We’ve been told by Director Grace Mallory and William Butcher to collect you both and bring you to the FBSA headquarters.”

“We’ve fucking figured that out-“

“We,” you raise your brows at Ben. “Who’s we?”

“Christ on a cross,” Ben mutters, only loud enough for you to hear, and you smile sweetly at him. “She,” Ben gives you a pointed glare. “Figured that out.”

“Will you, will you be compliant?” The man—Agent Moore—fidgets with his gun, and you feel Ben tense against you.

“Yes, we will be.” You elbow Ben. “Right?”

“Whatever.”

You roll your eyes, and look back at the agents with a close-lipped smile. “He’s grumpy.”

“Stop calling me fucking grumpy-“

“Stop being grumpy. And give the agent her gun back.”

Ben scowls. “No.”

“Ben-“

“I’ll be compliant,” his face twists at the word, lips curling like it’s disgusting on his tongue. “But I keep the fucking gun.”

You sigh. “Fine. Do you need help with the clothes-“

“No.” Ben shoves the gun between his pants and body and glares at the FBSA agents. “Wait here. And if they try anything-”

“They literally can’t hurt me. I’ll be fine.” You give him a slight pout. “But if you’re really worried, I’m sure I could come with you and help-“

Ben snorts, and turns to climb back up the stairs. “Nice try, brat.”

“Cunt!” You call after him, flipping off his back.

His laugh echoes through the house, and vanishes into your bedroom.

You glare at the spot he vanished, and turn back to the living room and to see the agents watching you with wide eyes and pale faces.

“Uh, I’m really sorry about that. But he’s kind of…” you sigh. “Vigilant. And I think we were both expecting someone from our team-“

“Is it true that you’re more powerful than Homelander?” Agent Moore blurts, and your blood turns cold.

“I, uh, I don’t-“

“Jerry,” Agent Cortez hisses at Moore, still looking at you wearily. “Director Mallory said not to talk to them-“

“But you saw her file!” Moore whispers back, also not looking away from you. “And we watched the Firecracker videos together-“

“Shut up,” Cortez snaps, voice dropping to an almost panicked, hushed tone. “We’re just supposed to get them and go. Not ask questions about their powers.”

“But her powers are confusing! She has like a million!” Moore wrings his hands, gun waving in the air. You should probably be worried about that, but you’re more annoyed with the whole conversation. You can understand why Ben was so whiny about this in December. It is annoying having people talk about you, in front of you, like you’re not there. And you do not have a million powers. You have—if you count the whole immortality thing—five.

“And there’s the whole weird thing with Homelander saying Soldier Boy kidnapped her!” Moore continues, still practicing terrible firearms safety. “But she doesn’t look kidnapped-“

“Shut up! Soldier Boy has super hearing!”

“But she doesn’t! This is weird, Lily! Yesterday the news is saying that Soldier Boy forced her to kill Vice President Neuman and Homelander arrived too late save them, then we’re getting a text at 1am saying to take them to HQ, and now-“

“I can hear you, you know,” you sigh. “And Ben didn’t kidnap me. You shouldn’t believe everything you see on TV.”

Both freeze, watching you like you’re about to attack them. Cortez stutters out, “We’re sorry, we didn’t-“

She’s interrupted by Ben shouting your name down the stairs. “Where the fuck is your phone!”

“In my hand!” You call back. “Are you almost done?”

“Can you ask the FSBI pussies if they have blankets?!”

You frown. “Blankets?!” 

“For the ride!” Ben’s face pokes out of the door, drawn in a stupidly handsome glare. “You’re fucking napping on the way to Jersey, Sunshine.”

“Oh, piss off.” You wrinkle your nose at him. “You can’t make me nap, I’m not a child-“

“I won’t have to make you, you’re going to sit down and pass out right the fuck out. You always pass out.”

“I don’t always pass out.”

“How many times have I carried you into the house?” Ben drawls, and you scowl.

“Fuck you.”

Ben winks, not with company over, Sunshine. You’ll make them deaf with all your damn screaming.

I’m going to fucking strangle you. You glower, and he chuckles, vanishing back into your room.

“Ask about the fucking blankets!” He yells, and you turn back to the agents with a sigh.

“We don’t have blankets,” Agent Cortez says nervously, looking past you, up the stairs. “Is he going to be mad?”

“He’ll whine like a little bitch,” you raise your voice to make sure Ben hears you. “But he won’t hurt you.”

“I am not a little bitch.” Ben appears back at the top of the stairs, somehow carrying three of the four large bins at once.

“But you whine like one.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, descending back into the living room. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re comfortable, is that a damn crime?”

“Not on its own, but if you murder a bunch of FBSA agents about it, yes.”

Ben drops the boxes on the floor, glaring at the agents. “You pussies think you can handle carrying these outside?”

“Um,” Cortez blinks at him. “That will restrict our view, and we’re not supposed to let you out of our sights.”

“Well, you already fucking failed there.” Ben snaps, and you stomp on his foot. “What?”

“Don’t be a dick, they’re doing their best.”

“If this is their fucking best, I’d hate to see their damn worst.”

You ignore him, turning back to the agents. “Can you please help us bring our stuff out to the car?”

“I guess…” Moore mumbles, and Ben nods sharply.

“Good,” Ben grunts, marching back up the stairs. “And if she tries to help you, shoot her.”

You sigh. “Please do not shoot me.”

“Then don’t try and fucking help!” Ben’s voice carries down the hall, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m not made of glass, you asshole! I can carry a box!”

“Maybe,” Ben appears once more, holding the last bin and his shield, your jacket tossed over his shoulder. “But you shouldn’t goddamn have to.”

“I don’t have to,” you snap. “I want to help. I’m wide awake right now, and I feel fine. I’ll use a favor, Benjamin, don’t test me.”

“Fine. One box. The suits can carry the other two.”

You smile at him, wide and easy, and he just grunts. As Cortez and Moore awkwardly pick up their boxes you pull your jacket off of Ben and shrug it on. He doesn’t stop watching you—lips pulling down as you pick up your box—knuckles white on his own box.

You nudge Ben’s shoulder with yours as you walk to his side. “No sentimental goodbyes?”

“Goodbyes?” Ben’s voice is sharp, and you feel something contract in his chest. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“No, goodbyes to the house.” You blink at him, following the agents to the front door. “I’m going with you.”

“Good.” The thing loosens, and you could swear you hear Ben let out a small huff of relief. “And I’m not saying goodbye to a fucking house.”

“What, no emotional attachment to the sofa or the stove?” You tease, and Ben gives you a glare.

“Those are just fucking things. I don’t give a shit about a sofa. I can get a sofa anywhere.”

You hum. “Not at a McDonalds. Or a Sephora.”

“What the fucking hell is a Sephora.”

“You have a phone now,” you grin up at him. “Google it.”

“Why would I do that when you can just fucking tell me.”

“Because I won’t get to laugh at you trying to spell Sephora.” Ben scoffs, and you examine his bored, neutral face. Whenever your arms brush you can feel something that’s lazy and warm rooted in his chest, so it’s not like he’s bored of you-

Yet, the bitter voice reminds you. Bored of you yet.

“You really don’t give a shit that we’re leaving?” You ask softly, a little afraid of the answer. Afraid that he doesn’t give a shit about the house because it’s meant nothing to him. That’s he’s happy with this—with you—because of the lust, or because kissing you is just easier than trying to kill you. But he hasn’t been trying to kill you for a while, and the kissing only just started. But maybe that’s less about you and more about the convenience. He’s horny and you’re there. But he hasn’t pushed you, and if it was just about the convenience he would’ve fucked Drug Boobs at Frenchie’s weird club. Why didn’t he fuck Drug Boobs? If it’s about convenience why did he leave Drug Boobs? To find you, before the kissing had even started? Why did he go out of his way to get you home? Not home anymore, and why doesn’t he care about that? That it’s not home anymore? He doesn’t have to care, but why doesn’t he? Why doesn’t he care-

“It’s just a fucking house. We can get another.” Ben’s grumble pulls you from your spiral, and you frown up at him.

“But-“

“You’re coming with me.” Ben says your name, voice firm as he exits through the door. “That’s all I give a fuck about.”

Your whole body becomes warm, even as you follow him into the chill of the winter dark and wind. “Okay,” you whisper, and Ben looks down at you. His face is cast in shadows, and golden light of the street lamps makes him glow. It’s not just the haze of your thirst from before. He’s shining.

“Are you going to get fucking mad at me if I kiss you?” he grunts, and the shake of your head feels frantic.

“Never-“

Ben doesn’t waste any time, dropping his bin and shield and crashing into you. His warm hands holding your face, calluses rough against your skin, making you feel holy. Making you feel so safe under the wide night, because all of the sky and its stars could fall and collapse onto you and it would still just be Ben. The gravity of him would keep you close, and he’d hold the sky, and you’d worship him for it. Give him everything you have and more for making you feel this. For touching you like you’re not broken and shattered and missing pieces that are covered in ash and blood somewhere in upstate New York. For holding you like he could fill the cracks lining your head with gold and fire and him. That’s what makes you drop your own bin—your hands shooting up to sink into his hair and rest on his beard as his own arms drop to circle you—and push back into him with every single part of you that’s still worth something. Worth half as much as the zealous way he’s touching you, worth a quarter of the enormous and consuming ardor that’s climbing from Ben into you. Making every part of you beat against your body, telling you to maybe just carve your soul out of wherever you keep it and give it to him.

When you’re both breathless—your body alert and electric and that powerful thing in Ben like thunder—you separate in unison. Ben rests his head against yours for a second, one arm tight around you as its opposite moves a hand to your face, tracing your cheekbones lightly. He’s watching you, you’re locked into him. His eyes and smell and body and Ben. It’s when his hand moves a lock of your hair, plastered to your forehead from sweat, that you feel the weight of it crash into you. This is everything. This is the whole world, this is more than the whole world. This is you and Ben, and you-

One of the agents coughs, and Ben’s head snaps any from you, jaw clenched with his arm around you. “What the fuck do you want.”

“Um,” when you manage to look away from Ben, you see Moore looking between you with a blush. “Mr. Butcher just asked us to please hurry up.”

“Butcher said that?” You frown, and Moore scratches the back of his head.

“He used some other words too. And didn’t say please.”

“Other words, as well,” Ben corrects, and you feel a rush of pride through him. Through you—something dangerous and close to breaking out of your body swelling—even as you sigh.

“I’ve created a monster.”

“And that’s your fucking cross to bear, Sunshine.” Ben presses a kiss to the top of your head and peels himself away. Picking up his shield, his box, and your box. “Now get your beautiful ass in the car.”

“Give me back my box-“

“I can’t hear you,” Ben starts to walk away and you can hear the cocky smirk on his face as he says your name.

“Yes you fucking can. Don’t play dumb with me, Pretty Boy-“

Ben drops his shield and the boxes in the trunk of the agent’s SUV. “You’re tired.”

Your whole body suddenly feels like there's a weight on it, your head falling to a sleepy daze. “Stop fucking doing that.”

“Doing what?” Ben’s face is a picture of mock innocence as he returns to your side. “I didn’t do a damn thing.”

“Fucking cunt-“

“Brat.” Ben scoops you into his arms, carrying you into the car. The concrete, unyielding care and protection of Ben wraps through you, dragging sleep closer.

“I could’ve walked,” you mumble against his skin, your head buried in his neck.

“But you fucking didn’t, so here we are.”

You hum a muffled, faint insult—even you don’t know what it’s supposed to be—Ben chuckles. It rumbles through your guts and sits comfortably somewhere in your hips, and Ben’s grip loosens just enough for you to slide down his body as he sits. You can feel his warmth, smell the pine and gunpowder of him, and he’s humming again and god it’s terrible, but it’s somehow the best sound you’ve heard in your life. His hands start to trace patterns against where he’s holding you, and your whole body goes limp as your mind clears to Ben.

You don’t even know where you are. You could be buried in the sand of a desert, or floating through somewhere far in space, or dropped in the middle of the arctic circle, but it wouldn’t matter. Because Ben is touching you, kissing you until you can’t think about stupid things like where you are. It’s just Ben, it’s just you, and everything else is temporary. This is sacred, and could destroy the universe if you wanted it to. And when everything else was gone, it would still just be you and Ben.

He’s everything beautiful that’s ever existed. He’s the ocean in the summer, vast and consuming and the more you look the more you realize there’s no end. He’s the stars you prayed to as a child, so rare and peaceful when the city's blaring car horns and glowing billboards always drowned out the sky, such a small solace to see from the roof when your eyes were blurred with tears. He’s the songs you loved to sing when it was easy and uncomplicated—in the car and in the shower and into a microphone until drunk frat boys bought you a drink—making you feel like a little more than just a heart in a wide world, making you feel like there’s something you can shape with your will as your voice called like a siren to passers by. He’s every drop of sugar that’s ever hit your tongue, every soft patch of grass under your feet, every single smile and laugh and victory.

He’s above you, and kissing you, and touching you on every part of your body and in some spaces between. He’s growling filth into your ear, but it’s all just a blur of deep sounds that fall in time with your moans. Grinding against you and sucking your upper lip. Nose bumping yours and strong hands kneading your skin and ass and breasts. Knee pushing between your legs and tongue tracing your teeth. It’s all just Ben, and he’s yours. He’s not leaving you to rot in this fever. He’s grown something in you and you’ve grown something in him and now they need each other. You need each other to keep them alive. These wrathful and bloody and forgiving and luminescent things inside you. That you could survive without, but don’t want to. You have them now, and if you have any sort of power over your life you’ll use it to keep them. Keep Ben.

Your eyes blink open, and the first thing you hear is a too happy, over-saturated ding. There’s the rumble of the engine, the beat of Ben’s heart where your head rests against him, and another ding. You raise your head up—rubbing your face and letting your eyes adjust a focus in the dark car—and Ben squeezes your hips where he’s still holding on his lap.

“Go back to sleep,” he grunts your name, and you look up at him through bleary eyes. “We’re almost there.”

“How do you know that?” You mumble, and he shrugs.

“We’ve been driving for a million fucking years, we have to be close.”

You twist around slightly to see the front of the car and raise your voice for the agents to hear. “Excuse me-“

“Soldier Boy is correct, ma’am,” Cortez answers you before you can even ask the question, and you feel the smug satisfaction run from Ben into you. “We have approximately seven minutes until arrival.”

“Thank you,” you turn back to Ben, and are met with his smirk and overly pleased expression.

“Fucking told you.”

“Shut up,” you hit his arm, wriggling around so your back is pressed to his chest, using him as a very large, annoying chair. “And don’t tell me to go back to sleep.”

Ben scoffs at the drop of your tone and grunted words at the end, and you grin into the air. “Your impression of me is fucking terrible.”

“No, it’s not. I think I could’ve made it as a Soldier Boy impersonator at Voughtland if college fell through.”

“You would’ve been the worst fucking Voughtland impersonator in the world, Sunshine,” Ben’s chin drops to rest on your head, and you can feel every word he says through your blood.

“Why, because I’m a lady?”

He snorts. “You are not a fucking lady.”

“Fuck you,” you grumble, and a flash of hunger carves into your lower stomach. “And if they painted a beard on me, put a banana in my pants, and gave me a stupid helmet nobody would’ve known the difference. I’d have thrived.”

“They would’ve given you their shit corporate script to memorize and you’d have quit on the spot. No swearing,” Ben says your name mockingly. “You’d have exploded.”

You shrug, tapping your fingers where his arms wrap around you. “You seemed to manage. And you swear a lot more than I do.”

“I have better self control than you.”

That makes you snort. He has no idea how good your self control is. Every single second you’re in his presence alone you’re restraining every single instinct to just fuck him. To ride him or let him bury inside you, to damn every single piece of you that will never be able to recover from it. “Oh, fuck you.”

“When we get there, I’d be more than happy to.” Ben’s mouth is pressed into your ear as he taunts you, and he’s actively proving himself wrong. His deep voice is rolling through your body, his lips are taunting your skin, and you’re exercising godly amounts of self control to not jump his stupid bones. “I’d even be willing to do it here, but I didn’t take you to be an exhibitionist-“

The car stops with a jerk, and Ben’s hold you tightens as you slide forward against his legs.

“We’re here,” Moore’s looks at you in the rearview mirror, and you can see him fidget with his gun. “We’ve just been told to drop you off and move your belongings inside. Mr. Butcher will show you your…” He trails off, eyes flicking between you and Ben. Folded into each other, almost every part of you touching. “Apartment?”

Ben doesn’t think twice about Moore’s anxious guess—nothing in him twisting with disgust or annoyance—and starts to adjust your body so he can carry you out of the car.

“I can walk inside,” you slap Ben’s arm, squirming away from him. “You don’t have to carry me everywhere.”

“But I can-“

“But you don’t.” You roll off his body, and he scowls down at you.

“Just let me fucking help-“

“Ben,” you reach up to hold his face from where you’ve landed, head in his lap and feet hanging off the back seats. He stills completely, still glaring, something bloody and desperate running around inside him. “I am a grown woman. I will tell you if I need your help with anything, and right now I don’t.”

He’s still frowning. “Fucking swear it.”

“I promise I don’t need help walking the ten yards to the building.”

Ben’s scanning your face, something building taut against his chest. “If you even fucking stumble-“

“Then you can carry me everywhere for the rest of time and lord it over my head.” Your words are meant to be sarcastic and bored, but they come out a little too breathy, a little too hopeful. That Ben would be there for the rest of time, insufferable and annoying and right at your side. The bloody thing coursing through him becomes forceful—pushing up into his brain—and his hands cover yours.

“Deal.”

Ben pulls you upwards without a warning, and the small sound of the surprise that escapes you is swallowed into his mouth. He rolls you over in seconds, pressing you deep into the seats, and you really hope that the agents left the car at some point. Because nobody should have to witness the way he’s making you unravel, hear all the wet and lewd sounds from just the way Ben kisses you. With tongue and teeth with his body strong against yours and your legs hooked around him-

“Well, good bloody morning to both you twats.”

You start a little, Butcher’s sneer barely pushing into your brain enough to take you away from Ben’s mouth sucking against yours. Ben draws back first, looking over his shoulder to where Butcher’s voice came from. He’s blocking Butcher from view, not shoving you away from him, and one arm even pulls you a little off the seat so your head buries into his chest.

“Couldn’t fucking pick us up yourself, you pussy?” Ben drawls, and you hear Butcher’s laugh.

“Well, I’m sure as shit regretting that now. Could’ve gotten a front row seat to the sex show.” Butcher’s twisted smile appears in your vision as he ducks down. “Ready to admit you’re fucking him now, Love?”

Ben answers before you can. “She’s not a fucking liar. She hasn’t.”

“I just caught you two snogging like rabbits-“

“Well, we haven’t fucked.” Ben’s words are harsh and cold—the sour feeling returned—and the only thing that stops you from being overtaken with guilt is the stronger, almost overpowering steel like care that pulsing through him.

Butcher doesn’t seem worried or off put by Ben’s angry, defensive words, but you don’t think Butcher is capable of being worried or off put by anything. The only sign that he understands the unspoken, violent promise of Ben’s tone is that he raises his hands, palms up, and stands back out of your sight.

“Bit touchy, ain’t we,” Ben tenses against you, and you can hear Butcher’s scoff. “Well, you can keep not fucking later. Let’s get a bloody move on.”

He grunts, and starts to pull you up with him, but you whack his shoulder, dropping your legs to the floor of the car.

“I’m walking.”

Ben glares at you, and removes his arm from around you slowly. He doesn’t leave though, just looks down at you with none of that steel waning from inside him. Like he’s waiting for you to tell him to go.

You smile at him. “You should haul ass before one of the agents touches your shield.”

“They wouldn’t fucking dare,” he grumbles, but moves off you all the same. You grin after him, and avoid meeting Butcher’s eyes as you scoot out of the car.

The FBSA building is more or less what you expected. Tall, broad, black steel and long windows that reflect the rise of the sun. You’re parked around the back at what looks like a shipping dock, and Ben was, in fact, just in time to stop Moore from trying to pick up his shield. You see the chronically nervous man jump back as Ben rounds the car to the truck, his hands raising up shakily as Ben glares at him. You start to follow—if Ben tries to stop you from carrying a box he’ll get one thrown at his face—but Butcher shoots out an arm, stopping you in your path.

“Someone took their job of looking after Soldier Boy very seriously, didn’t she?” Butcher says lowly, and you glare at him.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. “You don’t get to pull any sort of morality card on me, Butcher. I know what I’m doing, and it’s not your business.”

“It’s my fucking business if you’re compromised.” Butcher hisses. “If you’d choose him over the mission, because you’ve got a bloody school girl crush on the fucker.”

You wouldn’t choose Ben over the mission. You wouldn’t let it come to that. You’d make sure that, at the end of the day, what needed to be done was done.

What if it did come to that? Something small and fearful whispers in your ear. What if it was Ben or the mission? And there wasn’t a trick or a move out of it? What would you do then?

It’s terrifying how quickly and against your will the entirety of you goes Ben. You’d choose Ben. It wouldn’t ever matter, because you’d fight tooth and nail to make sure you got both, but if it came to it, Ben. Every time you’d choose him. He might not choose you, but you burn the world to keep him awake and smiling with casual ease. You’d promised, and for some reason that’s more than just a school girl crush, that’s what matters. You trust him, he would keep you safe, keep you free, and so you’d always choose Ben.

But Butcher doesn’t get to know that, so you just say, “Fuck off, you dickwad. I’m not fucking compromised.”

“What are you going to do when he leaves?” Butcher growls. “When we’ve knocked Homelander off the map, and he’s shipped off to the fucking edge of the world? You think he’ll write you letters? Sweet little sonnets?”

No, because he’d said you could go with him. But Butcher doesn’t get to know that. “That’s not your fucking problem.”

“I’m just reminding you, Sunshine.” You loathe the way Butcher says that. Cold and angry, harsh in his mouth and screeching against your ears. “He’s not a bloody white knight, swooping in and saving the princess from the evil Vought Tower and the Homelander dragon. He’s just another, older, bigger fucking monster collecting a prize to keep on his shelf.”

Fury might blind you. Might eat you alive. The world becomes all bright white, closing in on you, pressing on your chest until it snaps.

“Butcher,” you say slowly, clearly. “I let you say a lot of fucking shit to me. I let you mock me and throw me to the wolves for the sake of the mission you claim I don’t care about. But if you ever-“ you spit the word, letting a bit of the fire that lives under your skin turn to smoke in the air. “Tell me how to fucking feel or think about something again, I will burn you alive. You don’t know anything about what it was like. What Homelander did to me.”

“Fucking tread lightly,” Butcher’s jaw is clenched, teeth gritted. “Becca-“

“Was the one he hurt,” you snap. “He hurt Becca. Not you. And he hurt me the same fucking way he hurt her. For years. But you only remember that when it’s convenient for you.”

“You better shut your mouth-“

“Or what?” You take a step forward, and Butcher flinches back. You hate it, it makes your skin crawl at how fast he retreats, but you don’t care that you hate it. The words are rocketing out of you, and you have no desire to stop them. “You can’t kill me. You can’t even fucking hurt me. You can’t do anything to me that won’t break me more than Homelander already has.” Something is wrapping around your throat, and your words become choked. “He fucking broke me. He broke Becca. And you might have gotten hurt in the fallout, but that’s fucking nothing compared to being the one that he actually hurt. On purpose. So never fucking tell me what to feel again.”

Butcher’s silent, staring at you with an expression you’ve never seen on him before. You don’t get time to read it—to try and figure out if he just started plotting your disappearance or might be feeling remorse for the first time in his life—because Butcher starts to speak again in clipped, frosted words.

“It's the twenty-first floor,” he chucks a lanyard at you, a badge with the name Jane Smith at the end. “Go left, then right, and you’ll be in one long hallway. You’re the last door when you go left. You’ll be expected in the dining hall at 7pm. Don’t be fucking late.”

With that he whips around, and stomps into the building. You’re stuck in place, watching him walk away as the world starts to spin around you. Everything feels big and hollow and you’re afraid. You’d blown up, and they already didn’t trust you. They barely even liked you. And you’d just threatened Butcher when he already thought you were dangerous. And you were dangerous. He was right. You were a walking volcano, a living hurricane, more powerful than Ben, more powerful than Homelander. You were the dragon, you were the monster-

You’re pulled back to the ground when Ben’s arm slings around your shoulders, and when the world becomes clear again you look up to see him glaring at where Butcher had slammed the door into the building. “About fucking time.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That Butcher gets his ass handed to him,” Ben looks down at you. “Don’t you fucking think about apologizing to that pussy. I’ll put tape over your mouth.”

“You’ll what?!”

“You’re going to feel damn guilty, and you’ll try to tell Butcher you’re sorry, and I’ll fucking gag you so you don’t.” The bloody steel is back inside of you—inside of Ben—and his words are simple and firm. “The asshole deserved that. He’s no fucking better than me, and he’s not ever goddamn close to being better than you.” 

Something warm blooms in your chest, and you don’t know if it’s yours or Ben’s. It’s familiar—like it belongs there—where others' emotions usually feel foreign and strange. But the line between you and Ben has started to blur, might have been blurred for a while, and you can’t always tell anymore. But the warmth makes the world lighter, and Ben’s arm around you makes the fear that Butcher will toss you to the curb seem less daunting. He couldn’t touch you, because Ben was here. He must see the look on your face—the gentle way you can feel it relax as a small smile crawls over your mouth—because he pulls you a little closer into him.

“Got your shield?” You ask softly, and Ben jerks his head back to the car.

“The FASI chucklefucks are bringing everything else up.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re refusing to say FBSA on purpose.” 

“They should come up with a better goddamn acronym,” he mutters. “Maybe then I’ll be fucked to learn it.”

You laugh, and try to shrug him off your shoulders. “Go get your shield, Pretty Boy. I want to go inside.”

He didn’t move away, remaining heavy around you, and when you look up at him expectantly he’s watching you carefully, studying your face. “You’re not mad about Butcher seeing us in the car.”

“I wish you’d ask questions like a normal person,” you mutter, and he rolls his eyes.

“Sunshine-“

That sounds better. The way Ben says Sunshine—long and low, lined with some sort of care even when he’s glaring at you—makes time slow a little and your heart flutters in your chest. “I’m not mad,” you tell him, and it’s easy to do so. It’s the truth, and Ben makes the truth simple. “He would’ve seen it eventually. And he was going to be pissed off no matter what.”

Ben nods slowly, and something wired scratches under your jaw. “And if I kiss you in front of the rest of them?”

“As long as you’re not gross about it-“

His hand draped near your neck grabs your jaw, holding you still as he leans down. He kisses you so lazily, as if time is something he could pull to a halt or simply didn’t matter. Time could turn and the world could go with it, but Ben would stay here and keep kissing you. In the light of the morning, with both of you wearing casual clothes, with Ben’s arm wrapped around you, with the air clean and cold, this feels like it could be normal. Like if someone passed you on the street they wouldn’t think twice about it, because there’s nothing strange or violent or complicated about two people kissing like this. About one of them holding onto the other’s shirt to pull them closer, or the other tangling their hand in the hair of the first, because why wouldn’t they? Nothing’s odd or notable about you chasing Ben’s mouth when he starts to move away, nothing’s remarkable or worrying about him laughing when you do and giving you just that little more you wanted.

When Ben eventually does pull back he’s smiling, and everything in him and around him is comfortable.

“Ben?” You whisper, and he raises his brows at you.

He hums your name, and you can feel the warmth of his breath when it leaves his mouth. He says it in a teasing, drawn out manner, and you smile at him.

“If you ever put a gag on my mouth, I’ll burn it off and bite you.”

Ben laughed, that big chest laugh he does when there’s nothing to stop him, and it carries away into the wind. “Is that a promise?”

“Fuck you.”

“If you want,” Ben winks, starting to guide you over to his shield, arm never dropping from your shoulders. “I’d let you bite me without all the trouble of a gag.”

“Cunt.”

“Brat.” He picks up the shield, and glances back to the building. “Let’s get a move on before Butcher finds his excuse for balls.”

Getting into the building is worryingly easy. Ben pushes through the steel doors that hopefully will just lock behind you, and there’s nobody waiting when you walk inside. There’s an elevator next to the stairwell, but the stairwell says floors B-20, no roof access, so you step into the elevator and pray. There’s no 21st floor button, but there is a scanner that you press the Jane Smith badge against, and the elevator starts to move.

Ben leans over you, frowning at the badge. “Who the hell is Jane.”

“It’s a movie reference,” you frown at the photo Butcher chose for you, because you recognize it as your school id photo and can’t imagine how he got his hands on it.  “They can’t put my real name there.”

“Because you’re dead.”

“Legally dead,” you grin at him as the elevator slows. “As you well know, I’m very much alive.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to fuck you if you weren’t,” Ben grumbles as you walk off the elevator. “I’m into some kinky shit, but that’s just fucking disgusting.”

Your face heats, now plagued with thoughts of the kinky shit Ben might be into, a spiral not aided by the words want to fuck you playing on repeat in your head. In order to distract yourself, you focus entirely on finding the apartment. “Butcher said to take a left-“

“I heard him,” Ben starts to herd you down the hall, and you let him. “He practically fucking screamed it.”

“That might just be your super hearing, Ben.”

“Or Butcher’s a loud fucking ass.”

You snort, and let Ben continue to move you until you stop in front of a tall, metal door with no handle or visible lock.

“How the fuck are we supposed to get in,” Ben grunts. “Dumbasses forgot to add a doorknob.”

“You know, it’s really amazing you were able to get anywhere when you left Russia, let alone to America,” you hum, raising the badge for Ben to see. “You’d really be lost without me holding your hand through the maze of the modern world.”

“I keep you around for a lot of fucking reasons, beautiful.” He mutters, squeezing your arm. “But the modern world isn’t one of them.”

“Okay,” you shrug. “Tell me what I’m going to do with this.”

Ben’s brows knit, eyes darting between the badge in your hand and the sleek door, eventually finding the scanner. “Put it there.” 

“And would you have been able to figure that out if I hadn’t done the same thing in the elevator?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You laugh, and scan the badge. The door slides into the wall with a pleasant whirring sound. Opening up to the apartment. Your apartment. With Ben. It hits you hard, right in the chest, that this is your apartment with Ben. Not a safe house that you’ve been locked into for the sake of a plan. This is purposefully for you and Ben, with one bedroom and one bathroom for you to share. With Ben.

It’s nice. Almost empty—completely devoid of the generic suburban decorations of the safe house—but nice. Really nice. High ceilings, large windows, polished floors. The type of apartment you used to dream of having, that would cost a small fortune if you were actually paying for it. From the door you can see a small kitchen area, fireplace, a flatscreen TV, and a staircase. There’s a staircase. That goes up to a loft strip.

That spurs you into action. You grab Ben’s hand and pull him through the door behind you, gaping around you.

“Jesus fucking Christ woman, slow the hell down-“

“Holy shit.” You breathe. “This place is fucking awesome.”

“It’s okay-“

“No, Ben, it’s fucking awesome.” You point up at the loft strip that leads to a single door. “Look at that shit. That’s awesome.”

“It’s a normal fucking apartment-“

“Maybe for you, rich boy.” You say, nudging him lightly, a wide smile still on your face. “Some of us lived with rats and radioactive mold for most of their lives.”

“Radioactive mold?” 

You shrug. “That’s what the inspector said.”

“Why wouldn’t you just fucking move?” Ben sounds genuinely confused, like he can’t possibly fathom why you wouldn’t just leave. You can feel it, as well. The almost naïve confusion. “Go somewhere that doesn’t have radioactive fucking mold.”

“I have terrible news for you about how much an apartment in New York costs and how much the average waitress gets paid.”

“Waitress? When were you a fucking waitress?”

“I have more terrible news about how expensive college tuition is,” you shrug. “It’s like this for most people, Ben. So can you please acknowledge that this is fucking awesome?”

He’s watching you, his jaw clenched, and you can feel something rolling around in him, pushing into his throat before dropping to his stomach and bouncing all the way up into his brain. It takes root there, and he swallows heavily.

“This is fucking awesome.” His tone is bored, but when you grin at him you can see his face soften in time with something against his ribs.

“Thank you.” Ben only grunts, and you tug at his hand. “If you put down your shield we can go look at the bedroom.”

The shield has barely crashed to the ground when Ben is picking you up, getting a steady grip under your legs as he makes beeline for the stairs. He climbs them two at a time—your nails digging into his shoulder less for grip and just because you can—and kicks the door at the end of the strip open.

You’ll look around the bedroom later. Right now it’s all Ben, kissing you before he’s sat on the bed with an already open mouth, running his tongue over the roof of your mouth. Releasing your legs so you can use them to drag your body closer to his, using his now free hand to drop around your hips and rub the skin of your thigh. Releasing you for only a second to pull your jacket off to touch your bare arms and drop a hand under your shirt—his shirt—to rub your back. But not higher, or lower. Right where you’ve asked him to stay.

It gets harder to keep him there every time. When he’s groaning and growling into you and taking every single moan and whine you give him like he’s starving. When you can feel that he is starving. You can feel the hunger growing larger after every moment like this one, feel the rough and consuming thing that’s devout and savage push closer to the surface. It’s harder to pretend it’s not everything when it is, when you can feel every part of him against and around you. To pretend you don’t also want him inside you, making your head empty and the world just Ben. It’s harder to remind yourself that you can’t give all the way in, because fuck it would be so easy. Easier than pretending you’ll be fine like this. Easy to worship him and make him burn and burn with him.

After what might have been only a second or a whole decade, Ben leaves you for breath, dragging you up the bed with him to rest at the headboard. He seats you between his legs, your face against his neck, and just holds you. For another year—or what feels like one—Ben just holds you as you drift in and out of the rest of the world. Eventually you tilt your head up to look at him, and he’s staring at you, mouth slightly parted and inches from yours.

“What time is it?” You ask quietly, some part of you afraid that you’ll speak too loudly and wake up from this dream.

Ben’s voice is steadier than yours, but still low. “Noon.”

You press your face back into his collarbone. “We should probably do something.”

“Like hell we should,” Ben mutters. “I think we’ve earned one goddamn day not doing everyone’s jobs for them.”

“But-“

“One day, Sunshine. You can panic and plan all you want tomorrow, but today you’re not doing jack fucking shit.” He glares down at you, and you’re melting into him. Into the sturdiness of him, into the smell of him, into the feeling of his determination on your shoulders. “You can do whatever the hell you want, as long as it’s pointless.”

You glance nervously around the bedroom. Just like the rest of the apartment, it’s nice, but in a bland catalog way. The sheets are gray and cotton, the walls are eggshell white, and there’s a very sad plastic plant in the corner of the room. “What about a list for Mallory?”

Ben narrows his eyes at you. “A list for what?”

“Our apartment. Things we need or want.”

He tenses, and for a second you think he’s going to throw you off his body and run. That the word our made him catch a hint of your need for him, and he doesn’t want to deal with it. The only thing that keeps apologies and backtracking rationalization from falling out of your mouth is the content in him growing. Merging with the hunger.

“Fine,” he grunts. “But you stay in bed.”

You nod, craning your neck away from him. “Where’d you put my jacket?”

“Probably on the floor.” His grip on your tightens. “Why.”

“It has my phone in it.” You start to stand, but Ben keeps you against his chest. Kissing you one last, quick time before relaxing. He doesn’t fully let you go until you’re out of his reach, and watches you intently until you’ve grabbed your jack and returned to his side.

You empty the contents of your pockets—Ben hand resting easily on your hip as he watches silently—which ends up being the blue sunglasses, your phone, and a tube of lip gloss that had appeared out of thin air. You set the sunglasses carefully off to the side, leave the lip gloss thoughtlessly on the mattress, and pick up your phone to set to work.

You kill six hours like this. Leaning against Ben, who silently watches and holds you the whole time, and typing up a list for Mallory. You start simple, obvious. Basic groceries, with extra strawberry cream cheese and malt vanilla ice cream. A few durable cookbooks. Shampoo and conditioner, whatever’s cheap for you and a very specific brand you go out of your way to look up for Ben. Lots of toilet paper, a spare fire extinguisher, and a coffee machine. Maybe a laptop. You like sitting like this—In bed with Ben all around you and both of your bodies relaxed and spread out—but you also like watching TV. And you just saved the president, if you speak in very broad and hypothetical terms. You think you’ve earned a laptop. Then you start to have fun with it. With asking Ben stupid questions about colors that he entertains with one word answers—you don’t bother to ask about green or blue because you already know the answers will a yes and no respectively—and trying to find decorations get any sort of reaction other than a bored grunt. So far you’ve only garnered reactions of disgust, courtesy of a Deep life size cardboard cutout, a truly horrible leopard print bed set, and limited edition Soldier Boy set of china with his smiling face printed on every plate and cup.

“If you buy those, I’ll smash them.” He growls against your ear, and you look back at him with amusement.

“I’d have thought things with your face on them would’ve earned a resounding yes from you, Pretty Boy.”

“You get my face for free every fucking day,” he snaps. “Vought can suck my dick, turning a profit after they fucking stabbed me in the back.”

You pout at him, “but they’re collectibles.”

Ben snorts. “If you just want to eat off my damn face, all you have to do is ask.”

You slap his arm against you, attention returning to your phone. After several more attempts that prove fruitless, Ben squeezes your thigh.

“That,” he grunts, pointing at the screen. “Get that.”

It’s a carpet, dark green and fluffy. It’s so simple, such a common thing to see in any house that Ben’s concrete focus on it throws you.

“The carpet?” You clarify, and he nods with a low sound of affirmation. “Okay.”

His eyes shoot to you from where he’d been staring at the carpet. “If you don’t want it, just fucking say that-“

“No, I want it,” you stop him quickly. “If we want to give a shit about aesthetics I’ll have to change a few things, but that doesn’t really matter.”

“I’ll fucking live if you hate it-“

“Ben, this is the first thing you haven’t been either apathetic about or actively hated. I’ll live if I have to change the color of a pillow or some shit.”

He pauses, then gives a rough nod. “Fine.”

You give him a small smile. “Fine.”

When 6:45 hits, it takes a lot of work to get Ben to please just come to dinner. What eventually gets him is telling him that you’re going, with or without his ass, and he can either sulk like a child about it or just fucking go with you. Then, even as he glares at you, Ben hauls himself out of bed and follows you out of the bedroom. At some point the agents had dropped off the bins, along with Annie’s Nightmare Makeup collection and the same toiletries from the safe house. Half-empty bottles of shampoo, your body wash, and Ben’s stiff toothbrush. If you had more time you’d start sorting through the bins—you have very little faith in Ben’s ability to have properly organized them—but dinner. And you’ll have time later. Lots of time, here, with Ben, to throw clothing at his stupid handsome face and yell at him about pointless things. All the time in the world.

It takes a while to find the dining hall. There’s not a map of the floor or building, or a large neon sign pointing in the right direction. Ben drags you around for about eight minutes of attempts to just figure it out our fucking selves, and you’re a second away from caving and texting Kimiko when Ben stops abruptly and you slam into his back.

“What the hell-“

“Found it,” he grins down at you, gesturing to a door with a plaque by the side that reads Dining Hall. “I fucking told you I could.”

“Yeah, we’re only,” you glance at the time on your phone. “Ten minutes? Fuck, Ben,” he doesn’t budge as you slap his chest with a glare. “We’re late. Butcher said not to be late-“

“Butcher can suck my fucking dick until I get off,” Ben mutters, pulling you forward by your hand. “If the pussies were so fucking worried about us being late they should’ve done something about it.”

You’re going to protest, but Ben pushes the door open roughly to reveal a room that qualifies less as a dining hall and more as a middle school cafeteria. Tile floors and basic kitchen appliances, an unattended food service area, and low tables with benches. The only people in the room aside from you and Ben are grouped around one of those tables in a deep conversation. You can see almost everyone. Butcher is standing at the head of the table, and doesn’t look up or acknowledge you as you enter. Annie and Hughie are sitting on one bench with their backs to you, and Kimiko and Frenchie are across from them as they all poke at plates of varying food in front of them. You walk across the room slowly, Ben trailing behind you, and when Kimiko sees you she smiles and gives you a wave.

Did you see the rooms? She signs with a grin. They’re huge!

You laugh, and pull your hand from Ben’s hold. Does yours have stairs as well?

And a rain shower! She nods. We should’ve moved here months ago.

Before you can respond, we moved echoing in your head, Butcher’s voice cuts through the air. “Glad you could be fucked to join us, Love.” 

“You didn’t tell us where to go, you ass,” you mutter. “We had to find it.”

“Sure you weren’t just too busy fucking-“

“Can we not do this over dinner, Butcher?” Annie sighs. “It’s late, and it’s been a long week. I just want to do the briefing and go to bed.”

Butcher scoffs, and glares at you. “Sit the bloody hell down so we can get this over with.”

You flip him off, and round the table to sit beside Kimiko. Ben follows, dropping with a grunt beside you and placing a hand on your thigh, and you glance around the table.

“Where’s MM?”

“Getting dinner,” Hughie points to the empty food service bars. “You have to go all the way back into the kitchen, everything won’t be fully operational for a while.”

“So we’re all living here?” You ask with a frown. “Everyone gets their own apartments?”

“Well, me and Annie are together,” Hughie looks nervously at Ben, silent and stiff at your side. “Like, uh, you guys. Butcher and MM each have their own, and Kimiko and Frenchie have a two bedroom.”

“How did the FBSA even get the budget for this?” Annie wonders. “What could they possibly plan on doing with it after?”

MM appears behind Butcher, a tray in his hand. Not looking at you. “It’s going to be for supes who want to jump off the Vought ship.”

Hughie nods. “I sat in on the pitch when it happened. The idea is that maybe if we protect them, house them, we could contract the less, uh, violent supes. For better stuff.”

“Better stuff,” Butcher snorts. “Ain’t no supes doing better stuff.”

Ben’s hand tightens against you, and you feel your own body tense. At your side, Kimiko glowers at Butcher, and across from you Hughie pulls Annie a little tighter against him.

“Butcher,” MM says with a glare, dropping at Annie’s side. “Read the fucking room, asshole.”

“I can’t believe I let go this fuckin far,” Butcher mutters, surveying the team with a scowl. “Bloody one to one ratio.”

“Yeah,” Annie rolls her eyes. “Because going up against Vought with just four random guys was going really well for you at the beginning.”

“At least I didn’t have to put up with a bunch of whining, overpowered cunts-“

“Butcher,” MM snaps. “Can we just get this shit over with without anyone shooting or punching anyone else?”

“Whatever, but Starlight fucking started it-“

“No I didn’t you dick-“

Butcher raises his voice over Annie. “We’re waitin on Stan Edgar to come through, and until then we’re on lockdown. No quick trips to a bodega, no walks around the block, no nothin. Vought’s on high alert, the government's on high alert, you two twats-“ He points at you and Ben. “Got your faces all over the news. There’s a damn man-hunt, hashtags about freeing Homelander’s girl from Soldier Boy and avenging VP Neuman.”

“Avenging?” Frenchie asks with a frown. “Madame Neuman is alive, no?”

“Not to the public,” MM shrugs. “Easiest spin, fastest way out, was to make it seem like Bonnie and Clyde nuked her. Fits in with the whole terrorist narrative.”

“So why do we all have to be on lockdown,” Annie crossed her arms. “If it’s just them taking the fall?”

“Because Homelander’s about to go on a bloody rampage,” Butcher drawled, and everything becomes cold inside you. “He just lost a major ally, missed the Anomaly and Soldier Boy by a hair, and is feeling the pressure. So until Stan Edgar comes through, Mallory’s benched us.”

“What do we do if he finds us?” You ask softly, blood pounding in your ears, fire scratching at your skin. “If someone tells him where we are?”

“Nobody knows except us, Mallory, and some agents Mallory handpicked.” MM says firmly, still not fully looking at you. “This place is designed to protect people from him. We’ll be fine.”

“And we’re just supposed to sit around on our fucking asses until Edgar makes good?” Ben glares around the table. “Jacking each other off and pretending everything’s just dandy?”

“I’m not happy about it either, Gov.” Butcher sneers. “I’d like nothing more than to fucking rip Vought a new one while they’re in crisis. But unless you’re willing to go nuclear and flag Homelander down for a bloody one on one, we’re waiting.”

You can hear Ben’s jaw grind, and his grip on you is like iron. Hot and violent anger is flooding through him, and his voice is cold. “Fucking watch it.”

“You fucking watch it, Soldier Boy,” MM hisses. “We’re all stuck here because of the deal you made. Don’t act like you’re some sort of victim or hostage. You can leave whenever you fucking want, and we won’t stop you.”

Ben stands suddenly, and Hughie flinches backwards across the table. Annie catches him from falling, and MM doesn’t even twitch.

“I’m not fucking going anywhere,” Ben hisses. “And that deal is the only thing that will help you with Homelander. So fucking watch it.”

MM doesn’t back down, holding Ben’s glare, and you grab Ben’s arm. Holding him at your side. “Is that it, Butcher?” You ask, leaning slightly over to meet Butcher’s cold gaze. “We’re waiting for Edgar, no leaving?”

“Yep,” Butcher drawls. “Now call your dog off.”

You ignore him, tugging at Ben’s arm slightly so he looks down at you. Can we just go?

Ben examines your face—his anger not fading, but becoming wrapped in the stone resolve—and nods. Whatever.

You address no one in particular. “Is there anything we have to do while we wait?”

“I was thinking we could do dinners together,” Hughie mumbles, voice a little unsteady as he looks between Ben’s braced stance and MM’s expression of twisted anger. “But, uh, that seems like a bad idea now.”

“No, it’s good. Team building,” you stand slowly. “Good idea. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

You start to drag Ben away from the table, away from the violent tension building in the air.

“I am not doing fucking team building with those pussies.” Ben mutters in your ear as you walk back down the hall.

“It’s just dinner, Ben.” You sigh. “You’ll only have to sit, brood, and not kill anyone.”

He grunts, but drops it, moving his hand into yours. He’s silent as you return to the apartment, dragging you up to the bedroom before you can start to unpack.

“We’re not going fucking anywhere for a while.” He snaps when you start to protest. “You can unpack in the morning.”

And he’s right. That’s what makes it so easy to leave the bins downstairs and just go to bed. You aren’t going anywhere for a while. You’re going to be here, with Ben and his stupid fluffy rug you’re going to ensure Mallory buys. You’ll spend the days with Ben the same way it’s grown to be, easy and simple and good. He’ll hold you at night, make sure the nightmares don’t come, and keep touching you. He won’t leave. You won’t leave. And the bins will be there in the morning.

The days blur together. Unpacking only takes one morning, and things from the list start to appear in the hall outside your door. In only three days, you have almost everything, and the apartment feels like yours. Yours and Ben’s.

The time is filled without thought. Training your fire and singing, holding Ben’s head in your hands as he grumbles about not needing this—though he’s stopping saying he never fucking had shell shock in the first place—and teaching him everything about the internet. By the end of the week he sort of understands social media but thinks it’s fucking stupid, and can passably navigate a browser by himself. You don’t stop trying to get him to play Candy Crush, but every time you try and grab his phone Ben shoves it in his pants, giving you a glare that says I fucking dare you, Sunshine.

You always flip him off, because you won’t cross that line. You’ll touch him everywhere he lets you, but not there. Not unless you want to explode. The more days pass, the more Ben touches you everywhere but there, the more that becomes certain. If you let him do more than kiss you, more than have you grind on him in silent desperation as he grows hard against you, both of you never finding relief together, you’d turn into a beacon of fire and undying desire. You’ll never recover. So you don’t cross the line, and try to pretend you can’t feel his own strain for you whenever you’re touching him. Because it’s not the same as yours. Maybe more than lust, you can admit, but not the same.

You’re getting stronger. Ben is still pushing you, albeit with more underhanded, horny tactics that leave you aching when he pulls away with a mocking grin, but it works. Because you’re stronger. You still can’t fully control the illusions, but they’re never hazy anymore. And you can make things happen. If it’s a sad song you can’t stop the rain, but you can make it blend with sunlight until a rainbow mist fills the room. A bubblegum pop song will still be over-saturated and feverish, but you can choose to add something more concrete than just a strobing flash of lights. Moon River still opens the sky and brings in cooling wind, but the room is covered in blooming strawberry flowers. And your fire is powerful. Becoming less like an uncontrollable parasite and more like a muscle. A phantom limb you can move in time with the rest of your body. It’s no longer a part of you that you wish you could remove. It sits under your skin, humming softly, and only comes out when you tell it to.

Dinners are weird. Every night everyone slowly gathers in the dining hall, exchanging small talk and discussing everything except the looming threat of Homelander and Vought and the possibility that Edgar could fail. Ben silently sticks to your side and rarely engages in conversation, but nobody makes any attempts to make him do more than that. It’s the only time you see MM and Butcher, but some afternoons you’ll watch TV with Kimiko while Ben sulks upstairs. Then Ben calls Hughie his name instead of Cocksucker during dinner, and the whole table falls silent. Staring at him with wide eyes and frozen faces.

“What the fuck are you pussies looking at?” He grumbled, poking at the broccoli you’d dumped onto his plate.

Annie blinks a few times before speaking. “You just-“

“Nothing!” Hughie yelps, and you have a feeling he doesn’t want to call attention to it and cause Ben to backtrack.

“It’s clearly fucking something-“

You cut him off with a swift kick to the shin, shooting him a look of I’ll tell you later. Just let it go.

No, they’re being fucking weird. He scowls, and you roll your eyes.

If you don’t drop it, you’ll be sleeping on the couch.

You’re bluffing, because if Ben sleeps on the couch you’ll wake up screaming and alone, but you sell your glare well enough that Ben scoffs, this is fucking blackmail, and doesn’t say anything else.

After that, Annie and Hughie will text you to eat lunch. Then Annie stops looking at Ben judgmentally after another week, because she stops by to collect you and Ben answers the door before you can.

“I’m not here for you,” she snaps, and Ben glares at her, but steps aside. Revealing you, in shorts and one of Ben’s shirts. You’ve started to develop a habit of just taking them, and if Ben’s noticed he hasn’t stopped you. You think he might have started to leave them out on purpose, because every time you wear one he coughs and walks very quickly into the bathroom.

“Sorry.” You’re shuffling around the room, turning over pillows and crouching down to look under furniture. “I lost my phone-“

“It’s upstairs,” Ben grunts. “It died. I plugged it in.”

You nod, and start to move to the stairs, but Ben’s legs are longer and he gets there first. Stomping up to your room without a word, and returning with your phone. When you and Annie leave—Ben grumbling a goodbye and kissing the top of your head—Annie coughs as you walk down the hall.

“Um,” you look at Annie, who’s watching you carefully. “You two seem comfortable.”

“We are,” you say softly, and Annie nods.

“And you’re really not fucking?”

“Despite Butcher’s constant bitching, no.”

“Why?”

That makes you gape at her. “Annie?”

“You’re wearing his shirt,” she says your name slowly. “He seems like maybe 10% less of a violent ass. It’s not my business, but, I don’t know. He called Hughie his name. I’d have been comfortable betting you two were fucking like a month ago. Now it feels insane that you aren’t.”

“It’s complicated,” you sigh. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

She nods, and drops it. That night, she still doesn’t talk to Ben, but also passes him salt when he asks you for it. Two days later, she brings Hughie with her to your apartment, and suggests you eat there instead.

“Is that okay, Ben-“

“I don’t give a shit,” he grumbles. “It’s your fucking apartment as well. Do what you want.” 

“Will you eat with us?”

Ben looks between Annie and Hughie, still in the doorway. “Fine.”

It’s a slightly awkward meal, Ben sitting next to you, only answering questions with one worded snaps. But nobody explodes, or makes cruel comments, so you count it as a victory.

They still don’t let you touch them, but Ben touches you more than enough to make up for it. Butcher is still crude, making snide comments about you and Ben, but it’s been almost two weeks of this and he hasn’t mentioned your outburst. His remarks remain in the realm of mocking and vulgar, but there’s no mention of you being compromised, or Homelander. MM still won’t fully meet your eyes, and you don’t blame him. You try not to think about it, but something small keeps gnawing at you. It grows quiet when Ben holds you, because he does it so carefully and gently. And you tell yourself that this Ben isn’t that Ben. That was Soldier Boy. Ben won’t even let you say Soldier Boy anymore.

Would he still do that? The small thing asks, and you don’t really have an answer. In December you would’ve said yes. In December you would’ve pictured the callous, sadistic man you threw a knife at and not hesitated to say yes. Now you picture him smiling at you, calming you after a nightmare, holding you tightly when the cracks Homelander left on you start to open. And that Ben wouldn’t. Your Ben wouldn’t. And what scares you more than the certain faith in that statement is the your part. How smoothly your brain calls him your Ben. Like he’s as much of a part of you as the fire has become. How even when you try to double back and correct yourself, reminding you he’s not your anything, every part of you just goes no. Your Ben.

That’s a thought that will have to wait a while to fight. Until after this is over. Hopefully you can keep pushing it down until this is over.

It’s something that starts to creep over everyone. That if Edgar comes through, if everything somehow falls into place, this could be over. By the end of March, this could be over. Flowers could start to bloom and the sun could start to herald spring in a world without Homelander. This could all be over.

“I miss my drugs,” Frenchie grumbles over dinner. “When we finally are allowed outside, I am getting all my drugs back from Madame Mallory and having a very good day.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, but gives you a look of I’ve been missing drugs from fucking months. Don’t see me whining about it.

You literally do nothing but whine about it, Benjamin. You wrinkle your nose at him. After one week in the safe house you’d started asking me for drugs every day. We weren’t even friends.

He rolls his eyes, and tugs you a little closer into his side. We’re friends now. Can I have drugs.

No. You elbow him, and your attention returns to the group.

“I think I’m going to eat a whole donut shop,” Annie is saying. “I miss donut shops.”

“I’ll second that,” Hughie nods. “And I’m never wearing a hoodie again. Or a baseball cap. Or anything that covers my face.”

Frenchie nods. “Oui. No more covering up. I’m going to streak in the park.”

“That’s not what I meant-“

“We ain’t out of the woods yet, cunts.” Butcher snaps over Hughie. “I wouldn’t start celebrating and bloody daydreaming before Edgar even comes through.”

“It’s good for morale, Butcher.” Annie shrugs. “Gives us something to look forward to.” Butcher grunts, and Annie looks at you. “What about you? Will you go back to Boston?”

You pause, because you don’t know. You don’t have anything, really, in Boston. Or New York. Even if Mallory gets you declared alive, you’ll have to spend a lot of job interviews explaining the three year gap in your resume. Your old friends might not be able to talk to you without pity or morbid fascination. You could go with Ben. A very large, hard to ignore part of you really wants to go with Ben. But you haven’t told anyone about that offer, and now doesn’t feel like a great time to breach the topic. Not when you haven’t even decided yourself.

Ben speaks before you can answer Annie. “Is your sister in Boston?”

“What?” You blink at him.

“Your sister.” He repeats through a mouthful of food. “She in New York, or Boston?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t really matter-“

Ben shoots you a glare, you said you’d stop saying things don’t fucking matter, Sunshine, and says aloud, “you need to talk to her.”

“No, I don’t.” You snap. “I’m not bringing her into this. Fucking drop it, Benjamin.”

“You said you’d think about it-“

“And I did, and I won’t. So drop it.” You turn back to the table, which has fallen into nervous silence. The conversation picks back up slowly, and Ben is filled with that sour tight feeling against you. You tap his leg lightly and he looks at you with a frown.

What.

Are you mad? You blink at him, and he rolls his eyes.

Don’t be fucking stupid. His face relaxes a little. You can’t start to rely just on your looks, beautiful.

You smile lightly at him. Worked for you.

Ben snorts into a cough. Brat.

Cunt, you’re grinning fully now, and when you glance at MM he’s watching you with a frown.

That night there’s a knock on your door while Ben is in the shower, and you gape in surprise when you open it to see MM on the other side.

“Soldier Boy was right,” he grunts, and you stare at him.

“What?”

“You need to talk to your sister.”

You sigh. “MM, it’s really complicated-“

“No,” he snaps. “It’s not. Rocket science is complicated. This is real simple. That motherfucker isn’t right about almost anything, but he’s right about this. You need to tell your sister you’re alive.”

“Please don’t-“

“A second chance at shit like this is real rare,” MM says your name firmly. “I’d kill for it. Butcher would kill for it. Almost all of us would do real dark things to get another shot at family. Don’t waste yours, not when it’s being offered.”

“What if she gets hurt?” You whisper. “What if I bring her into this and it gets her killed.”

“Well, considering she was still calling the Starlight Fund every day before the number went out of service, I’d bet that’s still a fucking danger right now.” MM shrugs. “At least now she wouldn’t be in the dark.”

“She kept calling?” you feel the blood drain from your body, your skin starts to itch. There’s no smoke, and the fire is secure inside you, but you’re still staring with a tight face at MM. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t think you’d listen to me.” He mutters. “But for some fucking reason you might listen to him.” MM jerks his head up to the loft strip. “I’ll text you her number, it’s still in my phone.” 

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

MM nods tightly, and starts to leave. You almost reach out to stop him but jerk back at the last second. You can’t touch him. The movement still catches his eye, though, because he turns back around. “What?”

“I’m,” you take a deep breath. “MM, I’m really, really sorry about-“

“You don’t owe me shit.” He stops you with a raised hand. “But remember that you don’t owe him shit either.”

“I know. I’m still sorry.”

MM sighs, looking you up and down. “Just, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

The words echo around in your head as MM walks away.

You know what you’re doing. Butcher said you don’t, MM says he hopes you do. You do. You’re walking upstairs, and you know why. To wait for Ben.

Your phone buzzes only a minute later, and you stare at the number MM texted you. Violet’s one tap of a screen away. Right there, just a centimeter from your thumb, is the ability to hear your sister’s voice for the first time in years.

The shower turns off, and Ben enters the bedroom in only sweatpants. On almost any other night you’d be fully distracted by it, his bare chest and damp hair and the smell of his drifting around in the air, but you’re still staring at the phone.

He notices. “What’s wrong with you.”

You watch him as he drops on the bed. “I need your help.”

“With what.” Ben’s whole body grows rigid, his hands fisting as his eyes start to dart across you, around the room. “Who the fuck-“

“I’m fine,” you reach out to place a hand on his knee, and the consuming paranoia in his body hits you in the chest. You make your words a little more firm. “I’m really fine. I,” you take a heavy breath. “MM gave me my sister’s number. I’m going to call her.”

“Oh,” Ben relaxes slightly, but is still frowning at you. “The fuck do you need me for.”

You shrug. “Emotional support?”

“Emotional support?”

“Like if I need to hit someone. Or cry.”

“Oh,” he nods, looking you up and down. “Fine. Go.”

“Now?” You chew at your tongue, head shaking slightly. “I can do it tomorrow, it’s late, she might not even pick up-“

“Now,” Ben scoots a little closer to you, holding your eyes with his. “Or I’m not doing that support shit.”

The world starts to spin, and it must show on your face because Ben’s hand covers where yours still rests on his body. He’s silent, warm and real against you, and everything feels sharper. You take another large, long breath and Ben nods slightly, looking down at the phone number displayed in blue light on your phone. Waiting for you.

Your thumb presses it, and the ringing echoes through your room. The only thing that keeps air moving in and out of your body is Ben. Still touching you, making the tight anxiety around your throat loosen just enough to keep breathing.

The ringing stops suddenly, and a static hum fills the room for a second before a voice replaces it.

“Hello?”

Her voice sounds the same. It’s a little deeper, and a little more tired than you’d heard it before, but she still breathes the heh in hello. There’s still the slight hint of a Boston accent in her tone—because she’s the only one of you and your siblings who got that trait from your father—sitting in an odd combination with the slight southern lilt she’d given herself from watching old cowboy movies.

“Violet?” You breathe out, because that’s all you can manage.

“Who is this?”

You swallow, glancing at Ben as you say your name. He’s watching you, completely still save for his thumb, rubbing a circle on your hand. The line is silent for just long enough to think it dropped.

“That’s not funny,” Violet finally hisses. “I don’t know who this is, but screw you. I don’t know what the hell your problem is, or why you’re doing this, but screw you.”

“No!” You yell, voice high and panicked. If she hangs up, you’ll lose her. She won’t pick up a call from your number. You can’t lose her again. “It’s me! I swear, Violet, it’s me. I’m alive. You were right, I’m alive.”

“This is just cruel-“

“Please, please just-“ You scramble for some sort of proof, something that will convince her. “You were five. You were five and I was thirteen, and we were at one of Mom’s parties. I sang Tommy Dorsey, and my dress gave me a rash. You did a ballet routine, and Mom made you wear a tutu, and you gave it to the senator’s dog to eat the next day.”

The line is silent again, and you’re staring at Ben with wide fearful eyes. What if that didn’t work?

He shakes his head. It fucking will.

He’s right. Violet breathes your name through the phone. “If this is you,” her voice is cautious, but still there. Still on the line. “What was the last thing you said to me? Before you disappeared.”

“We were on the phone,” you say frantically. “I told you that if I got my PhD tomorrow I’d break you out of mom’s house, drive you to the Cape, and we’d spend a week getting drunk on the beach. You told me you were sixteen, and I said I’d pavlov you into thinking you were drunk. Then I said it probably wouldn’t happen anyways, because I’d only been working on my PhD for three years and normally it takes at least six, and you told me being normal never stopped me before.” You take a strangled breath, and wait.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. “Where the shit have you been? What happened? You just completely vanished,” she says your name, voice growing louder and louder. “You disappeared off the face of the earth for like two years and then you’re all over the news with a different last name and you’re Homelander’s girlfriend. People are saying Soldier Boy mighta kidnapped you and nobody will give me a single straight answer-“

“It’s complicated,” you say, feeling Ben’s tense. “Where are you?”

“In New York, I’ve been crashing with a friend. What the shit is going on?“

“I can’t say much over the phone. If you text the address to this number, I can send someone to get you. I might take a few days-“

Violet shouts your name, crackling over the speaker. “Someone to get me?! Where are you?”

“I can’t say that either.”

“Well, what can you say?”

Ben snorts, and you glare at him. “It’s-“

“Is someone else there?” Violet interrupts you. “Who else is there? Are you in danger? What’s going on-“

“I’m safe,” you don’t hesitate to say it, even as you scowl at Ben. “I’m fine. Violet-“

“Who was that, then?”

“Ben,” your words are half answer, half a hiss at the man himself. Because Ben is grinning at you and being very distracting as he starts to move closer.

You wanted me here, he winks, and you hit him.

“Who the hell is Ben.”

“Uh, Soldier Boy.”

“Soldier Boy?!” You wince at the volume, and Ben laughs again. “What do you mean Soldier Boy?! He’s there?! Right now?!”

You take Violet off speaker, even though you know Ben will still be able to hear her. It’s about the principle. “I really can’t explain over the phone. Soldier Boy didn’t kidnap me, I’m safe, and I can send someone to get you. Please.”

“Fine, but I want answers.”

“And I’ll give them to you. In person.”

“Good.” There’s a beat of silence, and Violet says your name softly. “I’m real happy you’re alive.”

“Yeah, I am as well.” You smile softly, because that’s the truth. “Thank you for not hanging up.”

“Is Soldier Boy really even hotter in pers-“

“I’ll see you soon,” you say loudly, because Ben definitely heard that. He’s smirking at you, and you can feel his smugness through where his leg is now pressed against yours. “Text me the address. I love you.”

You can hear Violet huff. “I love you too. Killjoy.”

The line drops, and Ben leans forward.

“Well? Am I hotter in person?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Fucking rude,” Ben drawls your name. “After all I did to help you.”

You scoff. “You just sat there, Pretty Boy. I did all the talking.”

He shrugs. “And you did a damn good job. I’m proud of you.”

The thing you’ve shoved deep, deep into you, the bigger thing you keep trying to ignore, flashes bright and hot through your body. “Thank you,” you whisper, and Ben grunts. “Do you, would you be okay if she came here?”

“Of course I would be.” He frowns. “I’m not going to get on your ass about this and pussy out when you finally fucking do it.”

“Would you stay here? Or go wherever we have to go to meet her?”

Ben pulls you fully against him, kissing the space between your eyes. “I’ll go wherever the hell you want me to, beautiful.”

It’s so difficult to just gently pull his mouth down to yours in thanks, and not climb on top of him and let him bring you the one place you need him to go. Into you, and against you, and with you forever.

But you manage to keep your senses, and smile against his lips. “Even Florida?”

“Don’t fucking push it,” he mutters, and you laugh. He lowers you onto the bed, keeping you tight between his body and the mattress, and you’ve never felt so calm and safe. Every time he does this, it somehow gets better. Every time he chuckles and it echoes through you, every time you can feel the hunger—now indistinguishable from the affection and what you’re afraid to call devotion—and every time his beard scrapes against your skin, rough and real, it gets better.

Butcher had been right. Ben isn’t a white knight. But you didn’t need a white knight. You didn’t want a white knight. A white knight would just put you in another, more golden cage. Would try and make you smile like you hadn’t been locked in a tower with a dragon. A white knight would try and save you, make you better. Ben didn’t need you to be better. Ben just made you better, in his own fucked up little way. You smile because he’s there, not because he told you. You scream and he screams with you. You need him and he doesn’t leave because it’s inconvenient. You burn and he burns with you. And he would never put you in a cage. He’d—if you were lucky—keep holding you like this and making everything better.

And that was just another reason, another thought, that made the thing you’ve pushed away rise to the surface. Closer and closer to breaking out. Flooding everything. 

Ben made things better.

————

She was a live wire. Scrambling around Ben, waking him up in the middle of the night to ask him how she was supposed to face her sister after everything. She’d given Mallory the address the same night of the call at Ben’s insistence—waiting until morning was fucking insane—and hadn’t stopped tapping Her hands or climbing up the walls since. It was making Ben wired. He could almost feel Her fucking anxiety, and he wasn’t even that annoyed by it. He was more pissed at the FBSI, because why the fuck couldn’t they just go faster? After all She’d done for them, asking for too fucking little in return, they could at least pretend to give a shit about her. Mallory had told them two days, and if forty eight hours passed by even a single extra second, Ben was using the gun he’d stashed under their bed to break out and go get Her sister. Anything to make Her stop asking stupid damn questions and looking so nervous.

“What if she doesn’t like me anymore?” She asked him as he entered the bedroom, foot tapping as she sat crossed-legged on the bed. “What if I tell her everything and she doesn’t understand?”

“That’s the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever said,” Ben crossed the room, saying Her name. “You’re too fucking smart to be saying something so damn stupid.”

“But-“

Ben leaned down and kissed Her, holding her perfect face gently with his hands. It was an easy, effective, mutually beneficial way to shut Her up when she started to go into overdrive, when Ben could hear the gears of her brain start to grind and still not manage to move faster than her impressively quick mouth. She always let him, too, because Ben had worked out when She was mad at him for something fucking stupid—like when he’d kept carrying Her around and she’d yelled about treating her like a fucking doll—and when She was mad at Her.

The former She was always, annoyingly, fucking right. Ben had been treating Her like she was delicate, when she might be the least delicate person he’d ever met. But he’d wanted to help her. Give her one fucking thing that she didn’t have to do for herself. And it was so easy to carry Her, because Ben was doing something for her and he got to touch her. Hold her against him. He hadn’t told Her that, because he wasn’t an emotional pussy, but he’d settled for asking before he picked her up and letting her rant at him about modern media and how to navigate the internet. It always made Her look alive as she’d spiral adorably into the most off-topic, complicated rant about something Ben had never heard of and didn’t need to know. But that was something he was doing for Her, and she’d smile at him the whole time. So he let her.

The latter, She was always wrong. When she was mad at Herself it was always over some sort of stupid shit that she seemed to know was stupid, because she’d let Ben swallow her words and make a small sound when he pulled back.

“She’ll understand,” Ben grunted, still holding Her face. “And you’re impossible not to like, it’s one of the worst damn things about you.”

A smile tugged Her lips, but she still looked so fucking sad. “I hurt people. I killed people-“

“They all fucking had it coming. And I would rather you kill a million people and get back to me than keep your hands clean and I never see you again. I’m sure your goddamn sister would feel the same.”

“Yeah,” She’d finally relaxed a little, leaning forward as she held Ben’s wrists. Heart beating a little faster, but not in panic. “But that’s because you’re insane, Benjamin.”

“You like it.”

She laughed—full and light and the best sound Ben had heard in his life—and leaned up to kiss him again. Ben crawled over Her, pushing her further into the mattress with his mouth and hands, and practicing fucking astronomical amounts of control to keep it that way. To not fuck Her stupid until the bed broke, to not worship her until she proved his theory that the only sound better than her laugh in the whole world was his name, moaned from Her lips as she came.

The Thing was quiet lately. Such a normal part of everything, so deeply ingrained into Ben that at this point he’d accepted it wasn’t going away. As long as She was alive, somewhere in the world with her heart beating, the Thing would sit in Ben and try to keep her safe. If She left him he’d still let her, because he’d always let her. But the Thing would never stop clawing at him to get back to Her. And Ben was going to have to find a way to live with that.

He’d started to take photos of Her wherever he could get them and not be caught. He was fucking good at it now too, and he wanted to show Her. The only thing that stopped him was that she’d ask questions about it, and he’d be exposing the Thing to the air, so he didn’t. But he’d filled up his whole camera with Her. He’d filled up his fucking life with her. Stupid songs were more beautiful because She liked them. Food tasted better because She’d given it to him. Movies Ben would’ve hated even a year ago were better because She’d mouth the lines and tell Ben pointless facts about the production. Mamma Mia wasn’t annoying because she knew all the awful songs by heart, and Kung Fu Panda 2 was, in fact, the best movie ever made because she said so. She’d explained shit about art and allegories and doomed narratives the whole way through, and even though Ben didn’t remember a single thing she’d said he’d never forgot the way she’d smiled. Looking between him and the screen with frightening intent, her words too big and her tone too fucking serious with such a wide grin on her perfect face. Even the stupid off-brand Soldier Boy sunglasses she wouldn’t just throw in the fucking trash made blue a not completely dogshit color. Because She wore them.

And as Ben stood with Her in the elevator the next morning—watching Her taps and gnaw into herself—she was so fucking perfect it might be killing him. She had barely slept—rolling around above Ben until he’d locked his arms around her and kissed Her until she was tired—and it had given her bags under her eyes and a manic look across her face. Her hair was messy and she was wearing his shirt again and she smelled like flowers. Ben had never seen something so fucking beautiful in his goddamn life. That was true every single time he saw her. She managed to outdo herself every fucking time.

He wrapped an arm around Her, and the Thing hummed softly in Ben as she stilled quickly and leaned into him. Her hand shot up to hold his, and her whole body relaxed when he kissed the top of her head. Ben held Her steady as she took a sharp inhale at the elevator’s ding, and her nails dug into his hand as the doors opened.

The similarities between Her and the woman that steps into the hall are immediate. The woman is a little shorter, and She has slightly sharper features, but their noses are almost identical, and their hair has the exact same texture and color. The woman walked the same way too, long and careful steps off the elevator. Staring at Her.

The woman said Her name softly, and her voice was a little higher than it had been over the phone. But Ben liked the name the woman says Her name. Long, clear, and with the care that should be used to say it.

“Violet.” She breathed, taking an unsteady step forward.

They just stared at each other for another second, and it occurred to Ben somewhere from the back of his brain that She might not touch her sister. That it might have been ingrained into Her not to touch people so deeply that she wouldn’t touch anyone but Ben. He was about to tell to just damn do it because if Ben wasn’t able to touch her for a fucking week—let alone three whole years—he’d lose his mind, but before he could She made a choking sob, ran at the woman—Violet—and pulled her into a hug.

They both just stood there, Violet started crying too after barely a second, and Ben started to feel like he should maybe go. She could handle this—She could handle anything—and maybe she’d want a moment alone with her sister. Ben would rather shoot himself than interrupt this, so he was going to just back away and text Her that he’d be in their room.

Ben took a single step back, and Violet’s head shot up to meet his eyes. “Oh my god, that’s Soldier Boy.”

He nodded curtly, frozen as he waited for Her to explain it, because he sure as shit didn’t know how. Ben had no fucking clue how to explain what was going on, between them or with the whole fucking shit show their lives were. He would let Her, because she loved talking and explaining shit—she real was fucking good at it—and it wasn’t Ben’s story to tell.

“Yeah, it is.” She pulled back with a sigh, looking at Ben over her shoulders with a small smile. Her eyes scanned over him, brows raising slightly. Going somewhere, Benjamin?

Ben scowled. No. Shut up.

“What the shit is going on?” Violet gaped at Ben as they detached, and he felt a little bit like a fucking zoo animal. “You promised answers,” Violet said Her name again, giving her a glare. “I want them now.”

“You would like them now, please, Vi.” She grinned, tone teasing. “I’m gone for three years and suddenly you’re forgetting all your fucking manners. Not very lady-like of you.”

“Wow, you’re exactly the same, you sarcastic cunt.” Violet muttered, and She laughed.

“Cunt isn’t a very polite word-“

“You taught it to me,” Violet grumbled. “Give me my explanation now, please. You bitch.”

“Fine, but first.” She pulled Violet back into another tight, long hug, and Ben waited until She spoke again. “I really fucking missed you.”

Violet smiled, and Ben watched her squeeze Her back. “I missed you as well.”

They returned to Her and Ben’s apartment silently, Ben didn’t miss any of the confused looks Violet kept shooting him as he trailed after them. When they reached the door and She scanned the badge, Violet shook her head but still didn’t speak, and when they entered their apartment, Violet gaped around as she was led to the sofa. It was a little less wide-eyed awe than Her gape had been, and more completely confused.

Violet turned around, and gave Ben one last look before she spoke, “can you start talking very soon? Because this is crazy. Batshit crazy.”

“You might, uh,” She sighed, looking back at Ben nervously. “You might want to sit down. It’s a long story.”

“Is he,” Violet nodded at Ben. “Gonna be here the whole time?”

“Yes,” Her answer is immediate, and Ben is filled with stupid goddamn pussy warmth at the firmness of her tone. He was going to be here, because She wanted him here. The whole fucking time.

“Fine.” Violet dropped onto the sofa, and looked at Her expectantly. “Go.”

“Okay,” She sat down slowly, voice a little hoarse, and Ben didn’t even think as he crossed the room. Sat silently at Her side, pressed his leg against Hers. He ignored the baffled look from Violet, because nothing was more fucking important than the way She had let out a steady breath once Ben was touching her.

She glanced at him with a small nod. Thank you. Before she turned to fully face Violet. “Ready?”

Violet nodded, and She took one last long breath.

“I guess I’ll start at the beginning.”

“The beginning?” Violet frowned. “Like your suicide?”

“I didn’t commit suicide. I mean, obviously, but I didn’t try to either. I got kidnapped.”

Violet glanced at Ben. “Kidnapped?” She repeated slowly. “By-“

“Not by Ben. He’s still in Russia at this point. And I kind of kidnapped him a lot more than he kidnapped me.”

“You kidnapped Soldier Boy?!”

“Nobody fucking kidnapped me,” Ben grumbled at the same time Violet shouted, and She gave him a flat look.

“You are not being helpful.” She shoved him slightly with her thigh. “And it’s complicated Violet. We’ll get there, but I have to actually tell the fucking story.”

Violet nods, and She continues.

“Homelander. Homelander kidnapped me. He kept me in a dungeon for two years, and um,” She swallowed, staring at the floor, and leaned back slightly into Ben. “Hurt me. He’d just found out he had a son, Ryan Butcher, and he wanted more. So he hurt me. Then he wanted to be immortal, so he started testing a new compound V variation on me. He moved me into a lab for the scientists and they tested the V on me. I escaped, and the CIA kind of recruited me. William Butcher, you’ve heard of him?” She stopped, glancing at Violet, who nodded.

“He’s the dude who killed Madeline Stillwell. The same night you vanished.”

“Yeah, well, kind of. I think technically Homelander did that. But you’ve got the right guy. He’s the one who recruited me to his team, to kill Homelander. It’s Butcher, Starlight, Starlight’s boyfriend Hughie, this French dude who’s pretty chill, Kimiko, who’s mute but super sweet, and um, MM. Big guy, probably OCD but a really good dude. And me.”

“Cause you’re a supe now,” Violet says slowly. “You got shot with V.”

“Four times, yeah.”

“What powers did you get?”

She stared a little more intently at the floor. “I’m immortal. I don’t have invulnerable skin like him,” she nodded at Ben. “Or Homelander. But I have a regenerative healing factor that’s really powerful. I can survive being hit with a nuke. It helps with my healing power.”

“Healing power?”

“I can transfer wounds from others onto myself. I have a theory that it’s less about the wounds and more about the biology, though, because I can do mental stuff as well.”

Ben tensed at that. Because it made more fucking sense, sure, but She hadn’t mentioned that to him. That Her healing his alleged shell shock might just be biology manipulation. She’d said she was fine though, and it had been a few months-

“Is that it?” Violet asked, pulling Ben’s attention. “Can you explain Soldier Boy now?”

She gave a small, huffed laugh. “No. Not even close. Each shot of V added something, immortality and healing was just the first. The second was, um, empathy.” Her hands started to tap in Her lap. “I can feel people’s emotions when I touch them. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you first-“

“I don’t care,” Violet snapped, and Ben decided he liked her. “Keep talking. Second shot was empathy. Third shot?”

“Sensory manipulation. But I’m kind of terrible at controlling it, and it only happens when I sing.”

“You’ve gotten a lot damn better though.” Ben muttered, and She shot him a dirty look. “You fucking have, Sunshine. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Fine, I can control it a little. But not completely.”

Ben nodded with satisfaction, and Violet gave him another confused frown before looking back at Her. “Fourth shot?”

“Pyrokinesis. Really strong pyrokinesis.”

“How strong?”

She answered slowly. “It alone makes me stronger than Homelander.”

“Oh,” Violet’s eyes widened. “That explains the CIA.”

“Yeah, and him.” She pointed to Ben, and Violet’s eyes followed. “I’m stronger than tall, dark, and stupid here. So I made the genius pitch to wake him up and use him against Homelander.”

Ben scowls. “It was a genius pitch. And I’ve been a fucking delight.”

She grins at him. Don’t be a baby. I’m teasing you, Pretty Boy.

He rolled his eyes. Shut the fuck up.

Make me. She stuck her tongue out at him, and turned back to Violet as the Thing pushed inside of Ben. “We lived in a safe house for a while, and after Neuman we’re here. The FBSA’s new supe compound. That’s it.”

She’d glossed over a lot of shit, but the explanation seemed to satisfy Violet. She nodded slowly, looking between them, and asked. “You’re friends? You and Soldier Boy?”

“Um,” She looked at Ben, and he shrugged. Whatever She said he’d take. He’d take and let it feed the Thing, because at least it was something. “Yes. We’re friends. Good friends.”

“Good friends,” Violet repeated slowly. “And you live together.”

She narrowed her eyes at Violet, and the room was silent for a second. Ben felt like he was missing something, especially when Violet just sighed and moved on.

“Just to recap,” she said slowly. “You’re a supe now. You’re more powerful than Homelander and Soldier Boy. You’ve been working with the CIA to kill Homelander. Soldier Boy didn’t kidnap you, you’re friends with him,” Ben didn’t like the way Violet said the word friends, like it was a fucking lie or joke. “And you can’t leave this place, which is a government supe compound.”

She nodded. “I know it’s scary and dangerous, but I can ask my boss Mallory to keep an eye on you. I don’t know if it will be better or worse to put a detail on you-“

Violet says Her name firmly. “I’m gonna be fine. I don’t need a detail, that’s crazy. Just,” she smiled sadly. “Can you not do the fix it thing for only two hours so I can talk to my sister?”

“I don’t do a fix it thing,” She muttered, and Violet gave Her a flat, bored stare that was uncannily similar to the one She always gave Ben.

“Uh huh. Do they feed you here? Is there a bell to ring?”

“We have a kitchen, Vi.” She snapped, gesturing over the couch.  “I can make something.”

“I’m not tryin to die-“

“I can fucking cook now, bitch.” She said proudly, and Ben felt the Thing hum again. “So I’m going to make something, and you’re going to eat it, and then apologize for being fucking rude.”

Violet scoffed, but followed Her when she stood and walked to the kitchen.

Ben trailed after them and watched. Watched Her, completely at ease, with someone that wasn’t him. Laughing about Her childhood, telling stupid stories, still brushing against Ben comfortably whenever she passed him. Letting him see this piece of Her from before. Still fucking wanting him there, with her, when it wasn’t about death and violence and the dark. Still fucking perfect, casually telling Ben to get the stuff he’d put on a shelf too high for Her to reach. Sitting across from him as they ate but keeping Her foot pressed against his. Talking to Violet about movies Ben hadn’t seen—but She gave him a look that promised they would watch them—their mother still being a bitch, and Violet’s life in the past three years. She was, apparently, a dancer. Going to some fancy fucking school for it.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing that as a career,” She said, shaking her head. “Ballet?”

“Of course.” Violet shrugged. “I want to use my talent. Unlike someone.”

She laughed. “I didn’t need lessons for my talent like you did. It’s not my fault I’m just a fucking natural.”

“At least I can carry a tune. Kid me blindfolded could dance better than you now.”

“You don’t know that,” She muttered. “It’s been three years. Maybe I’ve gotten better.”

“Have you?”

She scowled at her plate, and Violet laughed.

“You can dance,” Ben frowned at Her. She could definitely fucking dance. The memory of it was carved into his brain. “I’ve seen you dance.”

Don’t help me, Benjamin. You’ll make it worse. She glared at him Violet snorted.

“Did you see her dance at a club or something?”

Ben looked between Her and Violet, deciding the numb feeling of Her kicking him under the table would be well worth some fucking answers. “Yes.”

“Ah, that’s not the same.” Violet grinned, and her voice turned to the haughty, mocking impression of their mother they'd been doing all morning. “She can dance like a slut, not a lady.”

“Fuck off,” She snapped at her sister before turning her glare to Ben. “And not a single word from you.” She didn’t kick him, but threw a crumpled napkin at his face. Ben caught it and winked at her.

I like that you’re not a lady, beautiful.

She scoffed. You would.

Violet hummed, looking between them, and She sighed. “What?”

“I’ve never seen you do that with someone who’s not family.”

“Shut up,” She muttered, but Ben leaned forward.

“Do what?” He grunted, because if he didn’t find out what the fuck Violet was talking about he might explode.

“That silent communication thingy she does. I’ve only seen her do it with me and our siblings. And a few of her closest friends.”

“Violet-“

“It’s a creepy talent.” Violet ignored Her, still addressing Ben. “Me and my brother tried to recreate it together once, but it only works with her.” 

“My brother and I,” She corrected without missing a beat. “And it’s not a talent. It just happens.” 

“But I’ve only seen it happen with people you-“ Violet was cut off as She threw another napkin.

Her face was tight, glaring at Her sister, and before Ben could demand more answers for what the fuck Violet was talking about, the door slid open, revealing the one pussy agents from their move.

“I’ve um,” the agent, it was the woman—the one Ben had taken the gun from too easily—looking at Ben, Her, and Violet grouped at the table. “I’ve been told to escort your guest out the front. For her safety.”

“It’s been three hours?” She asked with a small, sad frown that made the Thing riot.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Fuck,” She swore, standing slowly. Ben remained in his seat as Violet did the same, but moved his hand to the back of Her leg when she rounded the table. So he could just fucking touch Her. So She looked a little less like the damn world was spinning and her heart slowed just a little.

She paused a foot from Violet, arms tense at her side. “I don’t know if you want me to-“

“Can it,” Violet closed the distance, pulling Her into a tight hug. “I just want to hug you.”

Ben liked how fast She gave in. Comfortably, easily, muscles relaxing further where Ben’s hand rested. Because there was at least one other goddamn person on earth who saw that She was perfect, and just wanted Her. Not quite as much as Ben wanted Her, because that was simply fucking impossible. But still just wanted Her.

“You can’t visit frequently,” Ben heard Her say softly. “We can write off once, say you were just looking for more answers. But you can’t keep coming, or tell anyone, or really call, or text-“

“I know you’re not dead.” Violet squeezed Her. “I know I’m not crazy. Everything else is good by me.”

She looked over Violet’s head to Agent No-Gun. “Make sure she’s safe, please.”

Agent No-Gun nodded. “Of course, Ma’am.”

The hug lasted a minute longer before Violet pulled back, and gave Her one last smile. “Kick Homelander’s whole butt.”

When the door closed behind Agent No-Gun, She was swaying slightly. Her heart faster, her eyes glued on the door like it might open, or explode.

“Are you going to cry.” Ben asked, because if She was he needed to be ready. Figure out a game plan now.

She just sighed. “I’m not going to cry. I’m just. I didn’t-“

Ben stood and pulled Her into his chest. She’d stay there until her heart became even again. He’d hold her until she made him stop.

When She pulled back to look at Ben she wasn’t smiling. But her features weren’t too controlled, like something was being held barely fucking together inside her. She was looking at him, with a wide, open, soft, perfect face.

“Thank you,” She said softly, and Ben blinked.

“I didn’t fucking do anything-“

“You were here.” She buried her head back against him. “I’m just really fucking glad you’re here.”

“I’m not going a goddamn place without you,” he muttered, scowling at the air. “That’s that. So don’t fucking thank me.”

“Good luck stopping me, Benjamin.” Her words were muffled against Ben’s body, and he could feel her smiling into his chest. “Thank you.”

“Brat.”

She relaxed even further into him, and it made Ben smile like a fucking pussy into the air. She tilted her head up, staring at him with a gentle, simple perfect fucking smile. Looking at Ben like he was something she wanted.

“Cunt,” She whispered. And kissed him. She wasn’t horny, or mad, and Ben wasn’t doing anything except fucking standing there. Ben hadn’t asked, or initiated it because he was being mauled inside by not touching her. She kissed him, slow and so fucking easily. When She pulled back her whole perfect face was lighter, her smile bigger, and Ben returned it. Because why the hell wouldn’t he, when She was looking at him like that.

“You can’t fucking dance,” Ben drawled Her name, because he needed her to laugh a little. Be a little brighter.

She shoved at his chest, but didn’t try to get away from him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I could teach you,” he leaned down a little, bringing his eyes to Hers. “I’m a goddamn king of waltzing.”

“Wow,” She wrinkled her nose at him. “That is such fucking bullshit.”

“I fucking am.”

“You’re going to kill us both.”

Ben scoffed. “With dancing?”

“You’d find a way,” She shrugged, but was still smiling. “It’s one of your many skills.”

Ben started adjusting Her in his arms, dropping one hand to her lower back and moving the other into her own hand. “Sing.”

“Sing?”

“Something slow. No fast shit.”

She gaped at him. “You’re being serious.”

“Of course I am, I’m not a-“

“Pussy fucking liar,” She stuck her tongue out at Ben’s glare. “If you drop me-“

“I’m not going to drop you.” Ben snapped. He’d listen to Butcher talk for fifty straight years before he fucking dropped Her. “Sing.”

She watched him a little more apprehensively than Ben liked, but did. A slow song that sounded like wind and sunlight, with guitar and gentle symbols. Ben recognized it, he wasn’t sure from where but he was positive he did. He’d ask Her later, but right now it was about this. About holding Her like she deserved to be held, spinning her around and making her smile. Guiding her legs as he moved into the four-step waltz his mother had taught him, that had only been used for stupid fucking Vought parties or boring galas with pointless themes he’d hated attending. Making Her keep looking at him like that. Her perfect lips parted slightly, eyes clouded with something that wasn’t panic or lack of control. Just staring at Ben, touching him, wanting him there. Her voice was making the world fill with sunlight, making her somehow more beautiful, making an ocean breeze carry through the world and everything become just them. Together.

The song ended too soon, and She didn’t move away. She rested her head back against him, and Her heart was uneven again. Ben couldn’t figure out why, why the fuck was her heart like that when she looked so peaceful, but when She looked back up at him she was smiling. So he let it go.

“Thank you.”

Ben didn’t tell Her to shut up this time. She never fucking listened anyway. So he just kissed Her. Made her open for him as far as she could go, made her moan into his mouth. He’d mastered using every part of her body he was allowed to touch, worked out how to get her happy and wrecked in his hands from just kissing her. He’d stay here forever. As long as She was doing whatever fucking thing turned Ben into a weak fucking pussy that was consumed by just Her, he’d stay right here. He’d ask Her to sing again, because she sounded like a fucking angel, and he’d learn every way to keep Her there. With him. If She told him she’d go with him, when this was over, there wasn’t a single fucking thing that would keep him away. Mallory could threaten him, Edgar could call in his favor, Butcher could mock and hunt him, but Ben would stay with Her.

He’d follow Her anywhere, and listen to her rants, and put up with all Her insane shit because she was fucking perfect. Because She did the same, for him, for almost everyone, and there wasn’t a goddamn person who deserved the world more than she did. So, if She let him, Ben would give it to Her. The world was fucking shit, but every part of it was more beautiful when she was around. 

So he’d find a way, bombs and fists and blood and gunpowder, to give it to Her.

End Note: I can’t believe I Avengers Tower 2013ed the Boys. Also for everyone going “gross where did the plot go” do NOT worry. It is coming. It is very much coming. We're about to CRAZY.

If you want to, leave a comment! Every single one makes my day and fuels my soul, so if you have any thoughts at all, share them!

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods

[starboye]

pairing: hughie campbell x male reader

request: I'm getting on my knees and begging for a Hughie x male Reader fic 😭 I like em nerdy and awkward

warnings: smut, soft sex, edging, cursing

it's not like hughie was a virgin i mean he had girlfriend so he had sex before but there was something about you that made him feel like he was a virgin, like he could cum right now if he dared to look at you, you're face contorting in pleasure as you rode his dick and those moans were like the voices of an angel singing.

"c'mon hughie just look at me" you ask riding his dick with a steady pace "no" he sternly say "why not" you chuckle "i just cant" he says covering his face with his hands "i promise nothing bad's gonna happen" you reassure bringing his hands to your hips, his eyes open to see you smiling at him and he calms down for a second until he sees how his dick pokes at your walls giving you a slight belly bulge and he cant help but moan.

"yeah that's you so far in me" you say softly grabbing his hand and putting it over the bulge "shit" hughie mutters feeling his climax already coming "you gonna cum" you ask "mhm" hughie nods slowly looking up at you with desperate eyes "do you think you can hold it for me" you ask "yes" hughie says knowing that with just the slightest words he'd cum buckets.

"good boy" you coo leaning down to kiss him before moving to cover his neck in hickeys, sucking on his neck while occasionally nipping at it, with the way your was back arched hughie could see how easily you took his dick, the way you swallowed him up into your warmth and tightened around his dick, basically milking his dick for cum but he held back, obeying your order not to cum yet.

but it was becoming increasingly hard to obey that demand "can i please cum y/n" hughie asks bringing your attention from his neck to him "what'd i say" you question "hold my cum" hughie answers "that's right so that's what you're gonna do" you sternly say "i cant- please- i just cant do it" hughie stammers "you got this good boy" you reassure running your fingers through his hair, you words were the only thing keeping him from filling you up with his cum.

"you're so hot, do you know that" you say admiring him "please stop" hughie asks because if you start the compliments there's no doubt he'll be cumming "what i cant tell my hot boyfriend he looks hot or the way his dick is splitting me apart so well, making me feel so good" you say with a smirk as hughie whimpers.

"y/n" hughie lets out with a breathy moan "yes" you grin "please i... i just wanna cum" hughie whine rutting his hips erratically as you feel him shake under you after you edged him fr so long "then cum for me" you whisper and as those words enter his ears he cums, spurting into you as whimpers and moans fall from his mouth "gooood boy" you coo caressing his hair.

"did i do good" hughie asks looking up at you with an exhausted expression "you did amazing for me" you say before kissing him

taglist: @mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m

[muldermuse]

So I had this idea that Butcher gets into a bar fight w/ some pro-supe dudes. Then he comes to reader's place and lets her treat his wounds but her touch makes him all h0rny and smut ensues… (only if you feel comfortable the write something like this). Love your work !! xoxo :)

thanks for sending this through love! this is angst/smut with exboyfriend!butcher

he’s never an unwelcome sight at your door, even as an ex boyfriend- you can’t deny that your heart skips when you see his burly frame in your hallway. however, when his lip is busted and his eyebrow is leaking blood down his swollen face; any arousal quickly turns into concern

this isn’t the first time he’s turned up like this. it happened countless times in your relationship and somehow, you’re still his first port of call after a beating

you both understand the routine by now. he presses a kiss to your cheek (conscious not to get blood on your soft skin) and wordlessly makes his way to sit on the rim of your bathtub. you grab a bottle of whiskey and your first aid kit and follow him into the bathroom. you take off your shirt as you enter, leaving you in just a comfy bra

“no funny business, butcher” you warn “not having you cover another one of my shirts with blood”

“should start buyin’ ya scrubs” he huffs, taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle

his bloodied hand finds your outer thigh and rubs idle circles across the soft cotton of your joggers. he groans in contentment as you dab his cuts with anti-septic- butcher has a weird relationship with pain. it doesn’t escape you that it could be the longest relationship he’s ever been in- perhaps even the healthiest. he knows where he is with pain, he understands it. you loved him unconditionally and would’ve crawled through flames to save him- he never understood that

“what was it this time?” you hum

“some fuckin’ pro supe cunts. gettin’ in fuckin’ hughie’s face because they recognised annie. beat the fuck outta a cunt wearing some homelander shirt”

“how’s hughie?”

“fuckin’ fine and dandy darlin’. i took care of it” he states, proudly

“who’s taking care of you?” you question, the malice is intended and the obvious answer is what you want to hear leave his chapped lips. you take care of him- you just need to hear him say it. hear him admit that he knows what you do for him

he takes a longer swig of the whiskey allowing you to ruminate in the brief silence, “don’t need takin’ care of”

you dress the rest of his wounds in silence. you try to ignore the arousal his presence always causes you but you know how this is going to end. he follows you into the bedroom and allows the routine continue

your bedroom is illuminated through only your flickering scented candle. it smells like billy and you’ve probably got about 10 more unlit in your wardrobe- terrified that they’ll stop producing it or, more likely, terrified one day billy won’t come back to you

his cock slides into you perfectly every time as the trimmed hair at his base rubs deliciously against your clit. his kisses against your neck are desperate, you love knowing that the itch of his beard will cause irritation that should last a few days- a physical reminder of his presence. he holds off until you cum on his cock, digging your nails into his ass to pull him deeper into you whilst your walls squeeze him. he cums after a few more thrusts, licking and moaning into your mouth. he holds you against his heaving chest, a protective arm pinning your body to his

you’re on the cusp of sleep when you hear it, “you look after me love, always have…wish i could look after you”

to complete the routine- he’s gone when you wake up

and you await his return.