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zepskies · 22 days

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Lost on You - Part 6

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: The pros and cons of tangling with Soldier Boy...

Song Inspo: “The Voodoo House” by Rick Springfield

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut and more smut, angst, a Noir sighting, death, and even some hurt/comfort if you squint.

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Part 6: Drowned & Spellbound

Countess was bound to get back at you for this.

You found that you didn’t give a shit as you sat across from your companion with a crystal glass of champagne in hand. You stared up at the tall arched ceilings and ornate chandeliers, the beautiful tapestries and landscape paintings, and most impressive of all, the tall, intricately carved walls of the Oak Room.

You’d heard about this restaurant, but you’d never in your life even stepped foot into the Plaza Hotel. You were now very glad you changed into a proper dress, as well as fixed your hair and makeup.

Across from your intimate table, Ben held his bourbon with a relaxed set to his shoulders. No doubt this was like getting a burger at Chilis for him.

“Enjoying the scenery?” he remarked, taking a sip.

You smiled a little bashfully. “It’s beautiful here. I’ve never been to a place like this.”

Ben’s answering smile was predictable. Stick with me, baby doll. I’ll show you a whole new world, it seemed to say.

“Sinatra comes here from time to time,” he said, pointing at a small corner stage with a piano. “He’s known to take that spot over there and do a tune or two, if he’s got enough whiskey in him.”

Frank Sinatra?! Now that was exciting. You couldn’t help but glance around to see if you spotted him, or any other famous person for that matter. When you heard a chuckle, you looked over and found Ben’s amused face.

“What?” you said with a smile.

“What, I’m not enough celebrity for you?” he teased, rolling his shoulders. “I stormed fucking Normandy, you know.”

You did know, but you leaned in closer, giving your amused attention. It didn’t take long for him to launch into an hour compilation of war stories from back in his day. You’d heard many of them before, but you made it seem as if you were hanging onto his every word.

You realized though, that you could sense him lying with your abilities. Every word that came from his mouth when he talked about his past, his achievements, his exploits in the war and how he helped Vought build a better America afterwards…

It was all complete and utter bullshit.

It took all you had to keep the incredulous frown off your face as you fought to remain invested in his stories. Okay, the one about him taking LSD with the Beatles during Woodstock was true, but other than that, complete and utter bullshit.

You ate mostly in silence as you allowed him to keep talking your ear off, just offering small interjections here and there while he devoured his steak. He seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

You supposed this was what it was like to date the most famous man in the world. No wonder Countess got sick of him.

When he finally rested for a beat, ordering yet another glass of bourbon (you’d lost count at this point), you took your chance to learn something real about him.

“So you’re from Philly, huh?” you said. “What about your family?”

Ben pulled back on you then, his expression falling closer to stoicism.

“What about it?” he said.

“Well, I just realized I know a lot about your career and the amazing things you’ve done for this country, but I don’t know all that much about you,” you said, meeting his eyes. “Like…did you have siblings? What were your parents like? Did you have a dog growing up? That kind of thing.”

You laughed a little to lighten the load, but Ben only softened slightly. It took a moment for him to answer you.

“I was an only child,” he said, again, sipping at his glass. “No dog. Money was too tight for that.”

Again, a lie, you sensed. Not in the first answer, but the second one. Who the hell lied about having a dog?

Or maybe, it was the bit about money being tight. You knew his backstory from the documentary Vought made of him back in ‘75. He was the true “rags to riches” story, according to the narrative, having grown up poor and struggling to survive. It was the one thing you thought you could relate to him about.

But apparently, that wasn’t true either.

“And your parents?” you prodded.

“They were normal. I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say,” Ben said, a little more snappish than you expected. You blinked, taken aback.

You slid your chair a bit closer, so that you were sitting beside him rather than across from him. You laid a hand on his arm, over his jacket.

“Look, I don’t just want to date Soldier Boy, America’s first superhero,” you said, looking up into his eyes. “I want to know you.”

Again, it took him a beat. But eventually, he lowered his glass back to the table and rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin.

“My mother was a singer at a club. A little crooner, like you,” he said. He eyed you with a slight smile. “That’s where she met my father. As the story goes, she was singing ‘Are You From Heaven’ when he walked in. She saw him, and it was like the uh…the fucking thunderbolt, from the Godfather.”

You smiled. All of this, you sensed, was true.

“They were married within a year,” he said, though he paused, as something distant passed through his eyes. “Pneumonia got her in the end. She was young…but she lived long enough to see me when I got back from the War. A hero.”

He picked up his drink again, maybe this time to distract himself.

“Hers was the last funeral I ever went to,” he said.

And that admission was the most surprising of them all. It managed to strike a familiar chord of grief within you when he looked over at you. You both felt and saw the weight in his gaze.

Maybe he was telling you this on purpose. Maybe he was, in his own way, trying to relate to you about your own mother’s death.

Tears began to sting behind your eyes, but you managed to blink them away. You slid your hand over his on the table. You felt him stiffen slightly, his body tensing up at your touch. You frowned when you saw the glint of wariness cross his face.

“I won’t compel you again, Ben. I promise,” you said. As long as you don’t give me a reason to.

Your hand traveled up his arm, soothing along his neck, your palm finally resting against his cheek. His green eyes stared into yours.

Soon enough, his wariness bled away into desire.

He hooked a foot around the leg of your chair and drew you in even closer, making you yelp in surprise. He smirked, having finally gotten the jump on you for a change. He wrapped an arm around your waist and brought you in closer.

You looked up at his handsome face with wide eyes. A blush dusted your cheeks, warming your face. His smirk softened around the edges, just a little, and he took his chance to engage your lips in a searing kiss.

And maybe this time, you were the one who was caught.

Ben peeled his lips from your neck to give the server a firm no on dessert, “Just the check.”

The guy was good at his job, and was back with the check within a couple of minutes. Ben slapped a significant wad of cash down on the table and guided you up along with him. Breathless as you were, you held onto his arm to keep you up right. The only time you parted from him was at the foyer of the restaurant, where the staff brought your coats.

A limo was waiting outside. With a hand on your lower back (and creeping down to your ass), Ben ushered you in first before he slid in.

“Head back to the Tower,” he told the driver, even as he was pressing the button to raise the partition. “And fucking step on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

You already had a fist in his dress shirt when he turned his attention back to you. You pulled him closer at the same time he leaned in to cage you more fully into his arms. While his mouth ravaged yours, sucking in your lower lip and dragging his teeth across, your hands slipped under his coat and blazer to help him shrug them off.

He similarly ran one of his hands under your coat, up your side and over your breast, squeezing through the fabric. You gave him an encouraging sound, and he dragged a sleeve down along with the bra strap to expose your breast. He palmed you with that big, warm hand, rolling the nipple under his thumb.

None of it was an act when you moaned into his mouth and squeezed his shoulders tight. At this point, it wasn’t just about the game. It wasn’t just about using him. Despite everything—his arrogance, his callous, asshole behavior, his lies—you couldn’t deny that you wanted him. Right now, he was the only thing you wanted.

His lips dragged down your neck, igniting your skin wherever he sucked and teased. You held him there with a hand on his cheek, but it soon wound up into his hair. God, it was softer than it looked.

One of his wandering hands made its way under the skirt of your dress and between your thighs, teasing your slit through your panties. Your breath hitched, but you spread your legs wider for him across the seat. You felt his smirk against your neck.

“Finally ready for me, huh?” he said. “Kept me fucking waiting long enough.”

He didn’t even bother taking off your panties. He just pushed them to the side and dragged his fingers between your slick folds.

“Fuck, your wetter than Niagara already,” he remarked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes because you knew he couldn’t see it. Smug bastard.

But he was withholding his fingers, just tracing along your pussy and teasing your entrance. Your core was already throbbing with need. Your hips began to undulate against his hand.

“God. Ben, please,” you panted in his ear.

Apparently, that was all he wanted to hear. You uttered a shameless moan when his thumb found your clit, causing a shiver down your spine and a tremble in your core. Soon enough, one of his long fingers slipped deep inside you, all the way to the knuckle.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You didn’t want the driver to hear you.

“I gotcha, sweetheart. Gotta get you real ready for me,” he muttered. “You’re gonna take my cock so well, I can already feel it.”

On his last words, he added a finger and curled them inside you, exploring your inner walls and finding that special spot that made you keen into his ear. His thumb worked your clit at the same time, until you clenched on his hand so hard it had you gasping. He swallowed it with his mouth covering yours, all while he drew out your first release with his fingers stroking inside you.

It was a solid preview, you thought, when the car finally rolled to a stop in front of Vought Tower.

Again, you held onto his arm mostly for balance as he led you to the elevators. Your legs felt like jelly when you tried to walk in your heels. Ben hit the button a bit too hard, but you understood it. Every second that ticked by while you two waited for the elevator was entirely too long.

When it finally opened, he guided you inside and pressed the button for his floor, the penthouse suite, all the way up nearly 80 floors.

A mischievous idea hit you. It had you slipping your hand under his coat and blazer again, tracing the seam of his belt. Ben glanced down at you in knowing amusement, but he let you unbuckle his belt without comment.

He just stared at you with a fire in his eyes while you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. You dipped your hand inside the waistband and slid a slow hand along the full, impressive length of him. You smiled when it hardened fully at your touch.

“Is all this for me?” you said, even as you leaned up for a kiss.

“If you can handle it,” Ben said.

Then he obliged you, bowing his head to meet your kiss. You kept things slow as you sensuously licked into his mouth. You tasted bourbon on his tongue before you broke the kiss, just to lower down to your knees in front of him. You held onto the back of his strong thighs while you mimicked what you did with your tongue in his mouth, just further down as you outlined his cock through his underwear.

Ben tried to cover his moan with a grunt, but you sensed his powerful arousal. You had his full and undivided attention, especially when you hooked your nails into the band of his underwear and finally freed his cock. You took it in hand and licked a long stripe across the underside of it, from base to tip. He shuddered. His hand shot out to brace against the elevator wall, shaking the entire compartment with his strength.

Your tongue circled around his sensitive head, licking up beads of precum from the slit. But just when you finally wrapped your lips around him and took him as far as you could into your mouth, the elevator stopped, chiming your arrival cheerfully.

He didn’t even wait until he had the door to his apartment closed before he dragged you towards him with a hard kiss. Your coat and his had already been cast to the floor, along with his blazer and tie. His dress shirt was halfway there when he hefted you into his arms effortlessly.

You grabbed his face and met him with a kiss fueled by lust and passion. You felt wild. You felt free. You felt like this was a sin you were meant to commit.

Ben forcibly unbuttoned his pants with one hand and kicked out of them while you broke open the rest of his shirt, scattering buttons across the floor. It allowed you to run your hands over his warm, tan skin, every dip of muscle across his arms and shoulders, and down his solid chest.

He smirked at the way you were eyeing him, exploring him.

“Like what you see, baby doll?”

“Almost as much as you do,” you quipped back. He huffed at that.

He walked you over to the bed, where he dropped you down towards the center. You yelped and how high he’d dropped you from, but you were smiling when he prowled over you on his hands and knees like a predator. His hands slid up your smooth thighs, bunching up your dress all the way up to your hips. You raised up to help him get it over your head. Your hair was already wild by now; you pushed it out of your eyes with a huff.

His hands slid under you again to unclip the bra. It was flung off to parts unknown, along with your panties. He paused in between to trail open-mouthed kisses down your body, between the valley of your breasts.

He turned his head to start toying with one pebbled nipple, swirling his tongue around it. Your fingers threaded through his hair along with your moans as he relentlessly teased your sensitive flesh with his teeth.

"You gonna sing for me, sweetheart?" his voice rumbled smoothly against your skin. "Pretty soon I'm gonna have you screaming for me."

He continued his exploration, his lips dragging down your stomach. And then…

“Oh,” you back arched off the bed. He devoured your pussy with the same tenacity as he had your mouth. His tongue pushed into your entrance while his nose brushed your clit.

Soon enough, your juices coated his stubble-laden cheeks and ran down his chin. His strong hand on your lower belly held you down while he finished his work, his lips moving to suck on your clit. His thick fingers pressed into your channel and worked you open.

You gripped at his hair tightly, cursing and pleading with his name, until you uttered a strangled yell. Your inner walls clenched hard as you came on his tongue.

But you were only able to take maybe one or two breaths of recovery before you felt the thick head of his cock breach your entrance, pushing his way in all the way to the hilt.

You gasped and bit your nails into his shoulders. “Jesus Christ!”

“Not quite,” Ben grunted, though he smirked down at you. “Now let’s see how well you take me. Still so fucking tight.”

Your core contracted around him, still sensitive and pulsing from your orgasm. He didn’t give you a moment more to catch your breath as he began a steady, almost punishing clip inside you. He was stretching you in the most delicious of ways, hitting places deeper than his fingers had been able to reach. It felt so fucking good, all you could do was hold on for the ride.

You wrapped your thighs tighter around his hips, digging your heels into his ass. He ducked down to kiss you, rough and demanding. Your lips met his sloppily, before he dragged away to bite and suck where your neck met your shoulder. You winced at the pain tinged with pleasure, but your eyes rolled shut as you grabbed a fistful of his hair.

Each of his deep strokes inside you was edging you closer to another cresting wave of pleasure. You slipped a hand between you to find your clit, but Ben grabbed your hand and pinned it beside your head.

“Look at me,” he demanded in a near growl.

Your eyes blinked open with a start. You met his gaze. Sweat lined his brow. His other hand was squeezing the flesh of your thigh, opening you up wider for him. You let out a shuddering breath.

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you,” he said, “But first, say my fucking name.”

“Ben,” you gasped, as he shifted the angle of his thrusts. The coil in your lower belly was tightening, your muscles bearing down and clenching on him.

“Say my fucking name,” he repeated, releasing your wrist to lay a heavy smack on your ass. The impact rattled up your spine and you jolted, accidently raking his back with your nails. You felt him shiver then. He moved his fingers down to strum at your clit.

And he got what he wanted. He had you screaming his name along with your release. His body locked up as a strangled shout fell from his lips. He coated your inner walls with his spend as they fluttered around him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, satisfied and spent.

He grabbed onto the headboard in order to hold himself above you, else he would crush you with his weight. You ran your hands up and down his chest more lazily as you each caught your breath.

Thank fuck for the pill, you thought airily. Because clearly this man didn’t care about condoms.

He eventually pulled out of you, making you shiver at the loss. He rolled off you and stretched out on his side of the bed. You turned your head to look at him. He gave you a relaxed grin in return, like the cat who got the cream.

In that moment, it really hit you.

There’s no going back now.

About a week later, you and Ben had developed a kind of…rhythm.

Yet another glass tipped over and shattered on the floor. He didn’t seem to care as he thrust into you from behind on his dining table. Your moans of encouragement were loud and genuine; your nails scraped across the stained tablecloth, incidentally shoving another plate overboard.

Your quiet dinner had been interrupted halfway through dessert. The moment you’d sucked a ribbon of chocolate off your spoon, Ben had reached for you, pulling you into his lap. You’d been all too willing to let him suck the sweetness right off your tongue.

“That’s it, baby, fucking sing for me,” he growled into your ear. His hand crept around your throat, giving a warning squeeze. You grabbed onto his wrist to keep it there. You held onto him like a lifeline. Sometimes you felt like his cock was going to split you in two. But his iron grip on your hip kept you from going anywhere.

His release ultimately hit him before yours. He grunted as his movements became sloppy, but he still pushed into you. You purposefully clenched on him, stealing his breath this time.

He let go of your throat so he could bury his hand between your folds. He rolled your already sensitive clit between his fingers until you cried out, your body locking up on him outside of your control. Your orgasm hit you in a warm, heady wave. Your legs shook, and you slumped onto the table.

Ben was right there with you. For a moment, all he could do was grip the edge of the polished mahogany and stare at the newly formed hickey on the back of your neck. He swiped your hair out of the way so he could see it better. He knew every mark that he’d put on you, even the ones he couldn’t see right now, under the pretty dress you…sort of had on.

“You okay?” he chuckled.

You huffed in amusement, despite your exhaustion. “I could’ve sworn the damn table was going to crack in half.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he remarked.

He slipped out of you, giving you one last smack on the ass. He didn’t bother to lower your skirt before he dragged up his pants and belt.

“Wanna join me in the shower?” he posed.

You did your best to fix the fallen straps of your dress and ruined bra, along with your hair and lipstick. You found your underwear clinging to a wall sconce. You grabbed that too and slipped it on, then you offered an apologetic smile.

“Raincheck?” you said. “I should go back to my place and get some training in.”

Ben rose a brow. No matter what he offered, you were never one to stay very long after a good fuck…

Not that he minded.

It was usually him giving the excuses to leave, trying to avoid the inevitable clinginess of women after sex. Still, this time he wouldn’t have minded the company.

Maybe next time.

Ben smirked as he drew near you again. He slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him. You held onto his arms and peered up at him questioningly.

“You mean to tell me you’re gonna walk downstairs, ride the elevator some thirty floors, and walk back all the way to your apartment with my come between your legs?” he asked.

He had to admit, the thought aroused him. Your cheeky little smile did too. Your hands came to rest on his chest, and you leaned up for a slower kiss. It was no less heated as your tongue slipped against his. You pulled away just as slowly, letting your teeth drag against his lower lip.

“Goodnight,” you said.

And you walked away from him. He enjoyed the show you gave him as your skirt swished against your thighs. By now he knew your every curve in intimate detail, and still he hadn’t had enough of you.

He knew he’d be feasting on you for a good long while.

News traveled fast in Vought Tower.

Especially about your little trysts with Soldier Boy. You knew by the too-polite smiles the staff gave you now, as well as the wide, cold berth Crimson Countess was giving you too. You had expected more of a retaliation from her, but you remembered that day in the gym all too well.

She probably thought you and Ben wouldn't last. Either that, or maybe she was afraid of antagonizing him. Maybe she was biding her time, waiting for her moment to get back at you. Either way, you weren't going to drop your guard around her.

In the meantime, Tessa was friendlier to you, and Tommy had finally stopped hitting on you. Swatto tried not to even look in your direction.

Mindstorm, of course, continued to be a hermit, but even Black Noir was more distant with you, which was the one change that disappointed you. The two of you sometimes shared conversations in the breakroom like you had that first day. You’d started to think of him as a friend.

So the next time he tried to pass you while you were making coffee in the morning, you finally said something.

“Hey."

It wasn't your most elegant start, but he paused, in that subtle way of his when his helmet was on. He looked over at you over his shoulder.

“Um…do you want some coffee?” you offered, raising your own mug.

Noir shook his head.

“Okay. Well, uh, how are you?” you asked. “Any exciting missions lately?”

Noir just stared at you. You didn’t blame him. You knew you sounded lame.

So you switched tactics. “Oh, yeah. How’s that movie pitch coming?”

At that, Noir tilted his head slightly. He took his helmet off, revealing his furrowed brows. It was like he didn’t know how to talk to you anymore, which confused you.

“I’ve actually got an audition coming up,” he admitted. “There’s this new movie, Beverly Hills Cop. It’s action, and it’s uh, funny.”

You smiled. “That’s great!”

“I’ve asked around, and I heard Eddie Murphy’s my main competition though. He’s got more experience in comedy,” he said, sliding a hand across the back of his neck.

You shook your head. “Yeah, but superheroes always make the studio more money. And I’m sure you nailed your audition. This could be really great for you!”

A smile flickered across his lips.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said. But the longer he stared at your face, the more his expression fell. “What the fuck do you see in him?”

Your smile fell as well. “What?”

“You’re new…boyfriend, or fuck buddy, or whatever it is you’re calling it. I mean, really,” Noir said. “The guy’s probably a walking STD. He doesn’t give a shit who he hurts, or who else he fucks, for that matter.”

Your lips pursed as you fought not to be hurt by his words. You schooled your expression.

“The idiots who get caught by him deserve to have their hearts broken,” you said dryly.

“But not you,” Noir pointed out. “If you see through his bullshit, then why are you with him? For power? Like Countess, you think you gotta be with the big swinging dick in the room to get any respect?”

His disdain cut into you, and like all things, he had deadly accuracy.

“I have my reasons,” you said. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re a fucking man.”

“Right. Still black though, in case you forgot what I looked like under this goddamn suit,” Noir snapped.

Your face warmed with embarrassment, and maybe shame.

“You think you’re so much smarter than everyone else,” he said. “That somehow, you’re better because you’re afraid to get your hands dirty. Well, guess what, Sirena. You’re no fucking better than Countess. You’re just like the rest of us.”

Your lips trembled with anger, but you didn’t have an easy retort this time. Noir left you seething where you stood.

Ben reclined in one of the plush office chairs and folded his hands.

“Let’s make this quick. I’ve got shit to do,” he said.

You were more quietly polite as you sat beside him. Inside, you were wary. Why had they asked for you and Ben into a meeting together? It felt like you’d been summoned to the principal’s office.

Across from you was Madelyn, perched on the corner of the conference table, while Stan Edgar sat beside her in a chair. He shared a look with Madelyn, whose smile was unreadable. Arthur sat to Stan’s left.

Madelyn addressed you and Ben first. “Well, as you know, Red Thunder is about to launch next week.”

Ben inclined his head expectantly.

“We would never want to meddle in your personal business. However—”

“Spit it out, sweetheart,” he said, with a superficial smile. You shot him a glance, seeing how Madelyn managed to keep her polite façade. She was almost a better actor than you.

“We believe it would be prudent if you kept the status of your relationship…discreet for now,” said Stan. “Along with your breakup with Crimson Countess.”

“Why should I give a flying fuck about that?” Ben asked.

“Because Red Thunder isn’t just a political action thriller,” Stan said. “There’s also a romantic storyline.”

“You and Countess are meant to be in love in the movie,” Arthur finally chimed in. He seemed impatient with Stan’s roundabout way of saying it. “It’ll be better for everybody if you and Countess do the red carpet together, like we planned.”

“And the press tour as well,” Madelyn added.

Ben rolled his eyes, but you let out a small breath and nodded in agreement.

“That’s understandable,” you said. You looked over at Ben, waiting for him to agree too. You knew he wanted his movie to do well. He just didn’t like being told what he couldn’t do, even in the public eye.

He eventually nodded. You gave him a smile, making his lips tug upwards as well.

Yeah, you thought. We can hide this for a couple of months.

There were times when you could do nothing but blink at the sea of cheering people on both sides of the red carpet.

So many flashing lights.

You had never been to a movie premier before, and it was as exciting as it was overwhelming. A security team flanked around your group as your other Payback team members approached the photo op section.

Ben was just ahead of you, looking dapper in a dark green Armani suit. He was escorting Countess, who admittedly looked elegant in her Oscar-worthy red dress (not that she was winning an Oscar for this movie). It had a large skirt though, and it made it hard for him to even stand close to her while they posed for photos.

He had that debonair look perfected as he greeted press and guided Countess by the small of her back. She was giving a good performance herself, smiling up at him, occasionally rubbing his arm where she held onto him.

You would never admit to the sliver of jealousy pricking your heart, so instead, you focused on the poses Madelyn’s PR team had drilled into you as you took pictures alone. Your stylist had opted for something different than your usual black or violet color schemes.

Since this was your first red carpet, she wanted you to try something new. So she’d put you in a white ‘20s style gown, complete with intricate silver beading down the skirt. You felt a bit like a chandelier, but it did drape nicely off your form.

You shuffled along the queue of press and photographers. Black Noir and the TNT Twins were behind you in the lineup, while Countess was taking an opportunity to bask in the limelight, getting her pictures taken on her own as she showed off the billowing skirt of her dress.

Meanwhile, Ben had a hand in his pocket as he posed by himself. You sensed he was getting bored, even with so much attention on him.

“Hey, why not you two together?” a photographer called out to you and Ben, gesturing at you to get closer to him. You blinked wide eyes, but you did as you were told. Ben looked over at you, a smile tugging at his lips. He slipped a hand around your waist and guided you to his side.

While the photographer snapped away, Ben leaned over to your ear.

“You look stunning,” he said. His voice was smooth and baritone. “But I know I’m gonna like that dress even better when it’s a crumpled mess on my floor.”

You resisted the urge to bite your lip. Instead, you glanced up at him over your shoulder. You two shared a small, secret smile.

Click.

And the secret was out.

That brief, intimate moment between you and Ben became plastered across every tabloid in the city, and even some of the “respectable” magazines.

SOLDIER BOY + SIRENA SECRET AFFAIR?!

And various headlines of the like. Even Johnny Carson had something to say about it on the Tonight Show.

“Now, it’s Soldier Boy’s business of course, but if it’s true, I do feel a little sorry for Crimson Countess. Don’t you?”

The crowd in studio, much like the rest of the fans, were divided. Most women were sympathizing with Countess, while most men seemed to be supporting Soldier Boy (and you by extension).

This wasn’t how you wanted this to happen. It was no small amount of chaos from a PR perspective, and it had quickly made you a polarizing figure in the media.

You just didn’t expect how it would affect your real life, as you headed down Broadway after a successful mission. Not only had you stopped a man from shooting up a bank, but you and the TNT Twins had saved the entire staff and patrons inside. Without collateral damage this time.

You were just stopping off to grab a coffee from one of your favorite cafés when you noticed a woman waiting for the bus. She was glaring at you with a gas station slushie in her hand. You’d fully intended to ignore her, before she shouted something at you.

“Homewrecker!”

You frowned. Jesus, it wasn’t like they were married.

“Excuse me?” you said incredulously.

“You heard me, fucking hussy,” the woman said. She was wearing a red Crimson Countess-themed watch.

You rolled your eyes and aimed to walk past her. That’s when she tossed her slushie and hit you on the side of your head. You gasped as red berry syrup and ice drenched you and ran down your suit. It even stung your eyes.

Anger and instinct took over. When she approached you, you shoved her hard by her shoulders.

“Back off!” you shouted. You just didn’t realize that your eyes glowed with power when you touched her. You’d compelled her on accident.

The woman’s face went blank. Not only did she step back from you with her hands raised in surrender, but she kept walking backwards, all the way to the street.

Your eyes widened as you reached out to her. “Stop!”

You ran to her, but it was too late. Unfortunately for her, the bus arrived right on time.

You sat in Arthur’s office, your hands still shaking, your face, hair, and chest still covered in a sticky film of slushie syrup. He handed you a towel to clean yourself off and returned to his desk. It didn’t do much good.

“Thank you,” you said in a small voice. And you said again, “I-I…it was an accident.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. This isn’t our first rodeo,” he said. “The clean-up crew’s already working on the site of the incident.”

“What,” you cleared your throat. “What about her family?”

“Why do you think we have lawyers?” Arthur said. His smile wasn’t reassuring. “So just go back to your room, clean up, and relax. We’ll take care of this.”

Dully you nodded. You peeled yourself up from the leather chair, and you made the trek back to your room. You showered and got changed, but you still felt dirty. In your mind, you kept seeing the bus split that woman’s face into the pavement.

You were restless, so you got dressed into something comfortable and didn’t even bother with makeup when you went up to the penthouse. Ben let you in, though he frowned at the state of you.

“I heard what happened,” he said.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Tears stung at your eyes. You looked so small and fragile at that moment, Ben couldn’t help but soften ever so slightly. He guided you inside with a hand on your back.

“You hungry?” he asked. “Can have the chef bring something up.”

You shook your head and plopped down on his living room sofa. He made you a drink instead—a vodka soda with a lime, just like you liked. You stared at it, then you downed it all in one long go.

Ben raised his brows, but he sat beside you.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

You set the glass down heavily on the coffee table and gave him a tearful look.

“How is that possible?”

“She disrespected you,” he said, with a note of darkness in his voice, in his eyes. “You had every right to hit back, put her in her place.”

You turned his words over in your head, but you couldn’t accept them. You didn’t want to justify this. You knew it was wrong.

Ben’s hand slid across your thigh, drawing your attention.

“If I’d been there, believe me. That shit wouldn’t have even had the chance to come out of her fucking mouth,” he said coolly.

Somehow, you’d already known that. You just didn’t know if it was his way of being protective, or if it was just him taking a slight against you as a reflection on him, as a man. Either way, it didn’t really make you feel better. Your tears bubbled over, no matter how much you held them back.

Ben’s frown deepened, though he hesitated for a moment. He tugged you over into his lap, where he reached for your cheek and got you to meet his eyes with your red and shiny ones. He captured your lips in a kiss.

If all else fails, distraction.

He worked your sweater off, then your bra, and guided you down onto the sofa. There he kissed his way down your neck while undoing the button on your jeans. You raked your fingers through his hair.

“Ben,” you whispered. “I—”

“Just relax,” he rumbled.

You fell into the pull of him, letting his mouth and his touch intoxicate you. You didn’t want to let him make you forget. You didn’t want to let this be okay.

But you couldn’t help it. You wanted him, and maybe this time, you needed him too.

AN: A little smut, a little angst, a little involuntary manslaughter. What else in the world of The Boys, amirite? 😅 But how do you like how her relationship (or not quite relationship) with Ben is developing?

Next comes even more supe debauchery, and a big monkey wrench...

Next Time:

You grabbed the nearest bottle of alcohol, went over to them, and subtly touched Countess’s bare shoulder.

Give that shot to Tommy, you compelled her.

With that small trill of your power, Countess stood straighter and beelined straight for Tommy. She grabbed him by the back of his head and surprised him with a deep tequila kiss.

Gross.

You grimaced at the sight, but when you looked back at Ben, he was smirking in amusement. He slid an arm around your waist and spoke closely in your ear.

“Let’s have some fun.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 7

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zepskies · 1 year

Text

Break Me Down - Part 6

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

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

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

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: This chapter is a heavy one, but ultimately shifts her relationship with Ben…

Word Count: 6,700

Trigger Warnings: (18+ only.) Attempted sexual assault, violence, mentions of domestic violence, torture, and past trauma. Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Part 6: A Hot Meal

Frank informed you the next morning that Simone, the new chef, had to call in sick. Apparently she’d slipped a disk in her back after yesterday’s festivities.

Poor thing. You wished her a safe recovery, and an STD panel.

But that left you and a handful of hungry men gathered in the kitchen like stray cats.

Soldier Boy’s crew was a mere few. Some were former military, all were gruff, grisly-looking guys.

Frank was their leader, stocky and stoic, and an ex-Marine from the Dominican Republic. Followed closely by Saul, who was a taller blonde from Idaho, and ex-Navy.

Then there was Lorenzo, appropriately nicknamed “Loco,” who reminded you the most of Frenchie. Loco was Colombian, lean, and covered in tattoos, but generally the most laid back and always cracking jokes (dirty or otherwise).

You’d learned that he’d been in the same unit as Frank. And he was the one who took the second shift on watching you in the beginning of your imprisonment.

And finally, there was asshole Tony, the only true local. But you didn’t hold that against the rest of Colombia.

He at least was still sleeping after an all-night job, according to Frank.

You assumed Ben was still in bed as well, because he hadn’t yet graced you all with his presence.

The rest of them were staring into either the fridge or the pantry, trying to work out breakfast.

“I could whip up some eggs,” Loco said.

“You mean those rubbery shits you made yesterday?” Saul quipped. Loco frowned, but shrugged in admission.

“We’ve got cereal,” Frank pointed out.

“Cinnamon Toast Crunch?” Loco asked hopefully.

“Raisin Bran.”

“Maldito hijueputa. I can’t live like this.”

You watched them fumble around like they’d never seen the contents of a fridge before, shaking your head in disbelief. Were all men really this helpless?

You sighed and stood up from your stool at the breakfast bar.

“All right, guys. Step aside,” you said. “My powers are limited, but I can attempt an omelet of some kind.”

Frank discreetly let out a relieved breath, while Loco made fervent Catholic blessings to the Virgin Mary. Saul seemed to be reserving his judgment until he tasted said meal.

You smiled and took out two cartons of eggs, some evaporated milk, onions, garlic, ham and cheese, and some fresh spinach you found in the vegetable drawer. Then you rooted through the pantry and found the seasonings you needed, like sea salt, pepper, and oregano.

Yvette taught you this recipe, and it was one you’d been successful with before. So it stood to reason that you could do it again.

Within half an hour, you were serving sections of two massive omelets to each man (seriously, it might as well have been a quiche), with a generous portion for yourself. Though you still saved a large piece for Ben…and yes, even Tony.

Loco took a huge bite and moaned. Saul frowned in disgust and shot a fist into his shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up, man,” he reproached.

“But it’s hella good,” Loco said, rubbing his shoulder. He offered you two thumbs up and a wide smile. “Gracias, corazón.”

“You’re very welcome,” you said with a laugh, and fought hard not to blush in embarrassment. Frank gave you a rare, conspiring smile.

Who would’ve thought a hot meal could make you friends among criminals?

“Even Saul’s got nothing to complain about,” Frank remarked, noting the other man’s silence in his thoughtful chewing. Until Loco teasingly prodded him in the side with a fork.

Saul made a sound of irritation around a mouthful of food and fended him off with a warning look (and a threatening butterknife).

Loco tsked. “You have to untighten your asshole, my friend. You will give yourself a hemorrhoid.”

“You are my hemorrhoid,” Saul snapped.

You stifled a giggle.

Frank wore a deadpan look, but amusement still glinted in his eyes.

“He’s just mad because Loco put peanut butter in his gun last night,” Frank told you in a lowered voice. But Saul still heard it, because his frown deepened while Loco’s grin edged into a smirk.

“You know how hard it is to unjam that shit out of the slide?” Saul said. “Even the safety’s clamming up now.”

“Shit, I should’a put jam too!” Loco said. “PB&J in a barrel, no?”

Saul punched his shoulder again in the same spot as before. Loco made a pained sound, but took the abuse with a good-natured smirk.

“Very mature,” you laughed quietly.

“Fucking children,” Frank agreed, with a sip of his coffee. But something told you that he was fond of these assholes.

And that’s how Ben found you all.

He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, for a moment just watching his crew eating, joking, laughing—with you at the center of it all.

He’d been standing here long enough without them noticing that he was actually getting annoyed, until Frank finally looked over and straightened a bit.

“Sir,” he said. All eyes in the room went to Ben, who raised a brow and strolled in with a casual, lazy gait. He nodded at his men, who all greeted him back with respect.

He noted you tightening up too, your expression turning more careful as you lowered your eyes and continued eating.

There was something about it that annoyed him. But he ignored that for now, in favor of heading over to the pan on the stove.

“Your plate is over here,” you mentioned, sliding over his breakfast. “Coffee’s still hot in the carafe.”

Ben flashed you a sly smile. “All right, sweetheart. Why don’t you get me a cup?”

He knew you’d frown, just like that, with annoyance glinting in your eyes. Try as you might, you couldn’t hide it all the time—your stubbornness. You were mouthy too, with an answer for fucking everything.

But when he took the proffered plate and tried the eggs, he raised his brows in pleasant surprise.

“Okay. So you can cook,” he said. “Good to know.”

You raised a brow at that, but you handed him a mug of black coffee. He took a sip and made a face of disgust.

“Jesus, could at least put some sugar in there.” He passed it back to you. “Fix that for me, would ya?”

Your brow twitched again, but you took the mug wordlessly. Saul got up from his seat at the bar and washed his plate in the sink himself before he left, followed by Loco, who thanked you one more time before he followed Saul’s lead.

You gave Ben his coffee while you started putting the leftovers away and soaking the pan in the sink. When Ben next took a sip, he coughed as his tongue was assaulted by sweetness. He shot you an irritated look.

“What the fuck is this?” he snapped.

You looked over at him with widening eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. Too sweet?”

Your face was all innocence, but he was starting to figure you out. He caught a gleam of satisfaction in your eyes. His lips twitched, not sure if they wanted to smirk in amusement or frown in annoyance at your audacity.

Ben glanced over at Frank, who stood near you with an empty plate. Clearing his throat, Frank set his plate in the sink and also washed it himself.

Ben dumped his coffee there and gave Frank a look—one that said to fuck off.

His subordinate actually hesitated, making Ben’s frown deepen. But the man eventually left you and Ben alone while you finished up the dishes and Ben ate his breakfast. He didn’t mind complimenting the chef.

“You surprise me, sweetheart. Now, if you start cooking more often than you eat up the pantry, I may need to keep you around,” he remarked teasingly. And he dumped his plate into the sink while you were busy washing the large pans you’d used.

It was meant to be a joke. He’d said worse things to you before and you’d volleyed back playfully, or at worst case, brushed it off. So the way your head whipped towards him with a glare managed to take him by surprise.

“Maybe if you put as much energy into feeding yourself as you do into fucking your way through South America, you wouldn’t be such a helpless asshole,” you said.

It changed the air in the room, making it tense as Ben raised his brows at you. He straightened to his full height and approached where you stood at the kitchen sink.

“Care to fucking rephrase that?” he asked.

Did this bitch really just call him helpless?

You had one hand on the counter, maybe to steady yourself. Your chin took on a defiant tilt as you stared up at him and crossed your arms.

“At least your team has the decency to say thank you,” you snapped. “You can’t even be bothered. What are we, your fucking slaves? Should the whole fucking world bow to suck your wrinkly dick?”

Your vitriol somewhat put him on his heels. He stared at you, incredulous.

“I knew that doe-eyed Mary routine was a fucking show,” Ben growled. “Behold the salty cunt underneath. When yesterday, I know for a fact you were contemplating sucking on my cock like the fucking slut you are.”

Your expression became enraged. You aimed to slap him, with even your nails poised to scratch at his eyes, but he knew the attempt would hurt you far more than it’d hurt him. He grabbed your wrist and threw it away from him.

You huffed, irate beyond belief, and tried to walk away from him before you said anything else you’d regret.

But Ben’s hand closed on your arm again and whipped you around. You saw the anger in his eyes, the effort he was making to hold himself back. You both knew that with just a fraction of strength, he could crush you. He could end the game.

You were angry enough right now that you didn’t care.

“Do it,” you challenged. “Bat me around until I act right. You supes call yourselves heroes, but I don’t see anything noble about you.”

Instead of your arm, Ben gripped the counter next to you as his nostrils flared. His fingers bit into the tiles, cracking through them and making you flinch.

“Go to your fucking room,” he ordered. “Before I take you up on that offer.”

Before he loses his shit, you interpreted.

Your sister’s words again managed to cut through the red of your temper.

Protect yourself.

You hesitated, trying to slow your breath. Then, you lowered your eyes. And you scurried back to your room.

You only released your tears when you were blessedly alone.

Meanwhile, Ben was fucking fuming. He took it out on a potted plant, smashing it on the kitchen counter. He watched the fractals of clay spin off like bobble tops and the soil scatter across tile and in the sink.

All the while, he refused to actually acknowledge how your words had affected him—other than infuriating him.

You were stubborn, with a smart goddamn mouth. You clearly hated him, and not just because you tried to help Butcher put him back to sleep.

But he’d been spotting hints of attraction behind your blushes, whenever he teased you. He was mollified, slightly, with the knowledge that your body was interested, even if your mind was having a hard time being persuaded.

Ben could work with that.

But another part of him wondered…what the fuck was it about this girl?

Why does it matter if she’s fucking into me or not? What the fuck do I care? He certainly wasn’t wanting for pussy.

He should’ve gotten rid of you a long time ago. In fact, he should’ve shipped you back to Butcher, better yet, with a bullet through your skull so his band of morons would get the message…

But there was something about you. He’d known it from the moment he saw you in that club. When you broke dumbass Tony’s foot with that lethal goddamn heel, wearing black leather and a sexy gleam of confidence in your eyes as you walked away.

To continue your hunt for Soldier Boy.

If Ben was honest with himself, (and he wasn’t), you had a fire he just didn’t want to dim.

You were avoiding him. That was obvious. And maybe Ben was avoiding you too, a bit.

He whittled away the next couple of days with lines of coke, weed, and booze, among other things. Still, none of it managed to dull his mind enough to get a full night’s sleep. Because every time he closed his eyes, he dreamed of being in a metal coffin, unable to pry his eyelids open.

Most of it was flashes of memory mixed with nightmares. Of being frozen and defrosted, his head held underwater just to see how long he could go without breathing.

Being electrocuted on every surface of his skin to see which parts of him were more sensitive than others, less or more durable. What affected him more, bullets or acid, electricity or burning.

Then the serums that lit his blood on fire, making him feel like his bones were liquifying from the inside out…

Ben would wake in his large bed, covered in sweat. And it took a hell of a lot to even make him dewy.

The problem was, this was happening more often. Thanks to his abilities though, he was able to function on less sleep than most people anyway.

At night, sometimes he walked through the dark and empty halls of this huge fucking mansion that felt empty as shit, even when he crossed one of his men.

Sometimes, he wondered what it was all for—the long years of his life. Sometimes he wondered why he was still here, with no team, no family, no fame, and no real fucking life.

In the morning, after he cleared through the brain fog of post-drugging, Ben wandered downstairs and slurped down a mug of coffee.

Simone was back, and she dutifully put together a frittata for him. Really, he was craving some plainer eggs and bacon, but this would do, he guessed.

After he finished eating, he wasn’t really sure what he wanted to do. The drugs were starting to bore him, as were the women, if he was honest.

Ben ventured near the French doors leading to the backyard. He noticed you sitting outside in the garden, surrounded by little yellow flowers. Your mouth was moving, but he could barely hear you.

Slowly he opened the door, so you wouldn’t hear him. Ben approached from behind, but didn’t go far. He just got close enough to hear you softly singing, letting the wind carry your voice away. But now he heard you perfectly.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say…if I didn’t care, would I feel this way?”

You had a good voice, he acknowledged. And just within the safety of his own mind, it reminded him of the way his mom used to hum along with the radio when she cooked.

His mouth quirking, he returned inside and fished for the phone in his pocket. He scrolled through his contacts and found the number for his favorite escort service here in Colombia.

Now that your anger had died down, you were feeling a bit guilty. You felt more than justified in raking Ben over the coals, and when you thought of how he’d snapped back at you, it still made your blood boil…

But somehow, your guilt remained. Maybe there’d been a better way to say those things. A gentler way that his massive ego could accept.

Though you snorted as you walked through the halls that were now second-nature to you. It was late at night, but not too late that your brain could be calmed and cajoled into sleeping.

He doesn’t understand gentle, your mind reasoned. All that gets through his head is brute force. And sometimes, not even then.

But he’d had every chance to lose his temper violently with you. While he’d certainly been an asshole, he hadn’t tried to break you. Just the kitchen counter.

Curiouser and curiouser…

Without meaning to, your feet brought you close to his door. Your hand was poised to knock…but you hesitated.

Then you heard the sounds coming from within, lusty feminine sighs and male grunting, and you grimaced. Memories of your previous experience in opening Ben’s door flit through your mind and made you blush.

Nope, not this time. You made a sound of disgust and backed away from the door, then fled back down the hall.

With a sigh of boredom, you supposed you could use a midnight snack. You’d just have to go it alone this time.

Fine, you thought, suddenly petulant. And you would make something good too. Something that took some effort, and he wouldn’t get a single morsel!

You went down to the kitchen and rifled through to find the ingredients you needed to make one of your mom’s old comforts: chocolate chip muffins. You didn’t have a Betty Crocker box mix, but you thought you remembered Yvette’s recipe to make them from scratch.

You found a mixing bowl and threw in the powdered ingredients first—the flour, baking powder, sugar, salt. Then you added the vanilla extract, the eggs, vegetable oil, milk, and whipped them up into a batter. You dipped a finger in to taste it so far, and you smiled with a pleased hum.

“Whatever you’re making, it already smells good.”

Your smile fell as you looked up. Tony walked into the kitchen with his booted foot.

You wanted to sigh. What the hell does this bitch want?

His long hair was tucked behind his ears, and he was dressed in tactical gear this time, complete with a belt, though curiously devoid of his gun.

The last time you’d seen him in this ensemble, he’d been kidnapping you. Maybe Soldier Boy sent him off on an “official” errand of some kind, like buying drugs off a cartel or something.

“Good evening,” Tony said with a nod. You nodded back at him, watching him as he approached the kitchen island. You made sure it remained between the two of you as you went to the fridge for some more milk. The batter was a bit too thick.

“What’re you making?” he asked.

“A roast chicken,” you sassed. He shot you a dry look and surveyed the ingredients across the counter. He reached for your open bag of chocolate chips and stole a few, scooping them into his mouth.

Rude, but you didn’t comment. You knew you shouldn’t snipe too much with him.

“Whatever it is, mind saving some for me this time?” he asked. “I heard you made breakfast for the guys the other day.”

“I did saved you some,” you replied. “Not my fault if the self-proclaimed King of Everything ate it all.”

In most ways, Ben was a bottomless pit.

Tony started to curve around the kitchen island. You didn’t miss the move, and you stepped carefully in the other direction.

“What? I just want to grab a beer,” he said, giving you a teasing smirk. “You afraid of me, mi vida?”

You were really sick of men giving you unearned endearments.

“Oh, yeah. Fucking petrified of the one-legged wonder,” you replied. Your voice was dripping with sarcasm. Tony’s sly façade fell into irritation.

There it is, you thought.

“You really are a bitch,” he said tersely.

“Takes one to know one, bitch,” you rejoined. It wasn’t your wittiest comeback, to be sure, but it still seemed to infuriate him. You should’ve been trying to diffuse his temper, not goading him. You just didn’t really think he would try anything after what happened last time.

But you were wrong.

Tony went after you, swifter than you thought possible with that big-ass boot. You muttered a curse and tried to evade him, but he grabbed you by your hair and yanked you back, making you shriek in both surprise and pain.

You had no choice but to twist and aim a shot to his throat with your elbow. While he choked, you aimed another blow to the bridge of his nose, knocking his head back.

You should’ve just fled the kitchen. Guaranteed, you could’ve outrun him. But his audacity made your temper snap. You followed up with a well-lined fist in the same region of his face, once, then twice, and he uttered a shout of pain as you both felt the crunch of his nose breaking.

But then he managed to grab your arm. The two of you grappled, him slipping his foot out of the way when you tried to drive your heel into his boot.

“Can’t get me twice, you fucking cunt,” he hissed, and pulled something from behind his back. Your eyes widened, thinking it was a gun.

And it was a gun. Just not the kind you anticipated.

A shock of electricity ran through your entire body as he tased you in the side, right below your ribs. You convulsed as he did it, unable to move until he relented. It made a few seconds feel like minutes of agony.

You couldn’t even scream. Even when he stopped tasing you, you gasped in air and lost control of your legs.

Tony hooked an arm around your waist and propped you up against the counter. With whatever strength you had, you raised your head, dazed and still in pain as you tried to grasp his shoulder.

He smirked down at you. With one hand, he ripped open your shirt so hard that the fabric burned against your already tingling skin. You gasped as you finally realized what he was about to do.

“Nnn…” you uttered, shoving weakly at his shoulder.

“Shhh,” he said. His cold and lustful blue eyes roved over your heaving breasts still held in your bra, the expanse of your skin. He was able to get a grip of the button on your jeans before you summoned enough strength to fight back.

You shoved your hand against his face, trying to impale his eyes with your nails. But Tony ripped your hand away.

“Fucking bitch. Even now you won’t behave,” he muttered.

He heaved you higher against the counter and pinned you there with a hand wrapped around your throat. He started squeezing, chocking precious air out of your lungs, but you kicked at him, bit your nails into his hand and clawed and fought as hard as you could when he tried prying your legs open with his knee.

You tried crying out, but it was just whimpers making it through his tightening hand around your throat. He got frustrated enough to just break the button on your jeans, ripping the zipper down in the process.

Then, two large hands closed on Tony’s arms.

Both of you looked up and found Ben’s steely green eyes. With a tightening of his jaw and a single upward shift of his grip, Tony’s arms broke. Bone struck through the skin, and the man screamed a horrific, blood curdling sound.

The hand wrapped around your neck released, letting you take in precious air. But that also meant you had nothing propping you up on your shaking legs.

You slumped to the floor against the kitchen island, then watched in horror as Ben grabbed the side of Tony’s face and bashed his head against the counter—over and over until his skull split open.

Nostrils flaring, Ben took in long breaths as Tony’s mangled body fell to the floor in a bloody heap.

Then he turned back to you. Your vision was a bit hazy as you tried to look up at him. Hot tears slipped down your cheeks as he slowly kneeled down to you, and helped you stand up.

“Easy,” he murmured. “You’re all right.”

But you couldn’t stay on your feet.

You made an uneasy sound, and Ben caught you when your legs couldn’t support you. You struggled to raise your head again, but you managed it.

Ben’s eyes roamed over your face and tried to discern what was happening. They held the question that he spoke out loud.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

What’s wrong. What a damn question, you thought.

Blinking, you tried your best to focus on his bearded face.

“He tased me,” you told him through shallow breaths.

Ben’s jaw clenched again, but all he did was nod. After a beat, he swept you up into his arms. You gasped, but he looked down at you in silent question. You nodded and relaxed against him, briefly closing your eyes.

You wouldn’t know how that small gesture affected him as he carried you out of the kitchen. And up the stairs to the second floor, all the way to your room.

He was careful in laying you down on the bed. You were still crying, and now embarrassed for your own modesty as you grabbed a blanket and tried your best to cover yourself, your ruined shirt hanging from your shoulders and all.

By the time you looked back over your shoulder, Ben was gone.

However, a few minutes later there was a knock at your door. You sniffed.

“Who…” you tried to speak, despite the pain and coarseness of your voice. “Who is it?”

“Frank,” came the response. You didn’t know if you wanted him in here.

But after a long moment, he spoke again.

“I’ve got some water for you,” he said through the door.

You licked your dry lips and tried to swallow, even though it hurt. Water, you could definitely use.

With a sigh you said, “Come in.”

Frank entered with a bottle of water and a med kit. You eyed him warily as he dragged a chair over and sat across from you where you laid on your bed.

“Can you sit up?” he asked.

You weren’t entirely convinced that he was here to help you. But his brown eyes were calm and steady, and you didn’t detect a threat in them.

“I was a paramedic before I enlisted,” he said.

You blinked in surprise. You eventually obliged him by sitting up, but you still held the blanket around your body. Ben must’ve filled him in…and sent him to check on you.

Tears welled up in your eyes again. Because every time you thought you had Soldier Boy figured out, the humanity of Ben surprised you.

“Can I see where he tased you?” Frank asked.

Though you hesitated, you opened your blanket enough for him to take a look at your bruised side. Sighing through his nose, Frank nodded. He wore medical gloves, and he raised his hands to prod at your neck.

You whimpered and leaned away from his touch. Frank slowly dropped his hands away from you. His eyes softened.

“You asked about my family,” he said. You gave a belated nod, once you remembered that conversation from a few weeks ago. Had it only been a month since you’d gotten here?

It felt like a year.

Frank held your gaze, and you remembered asking him. Got a family? Wife and kids?

He hadn’t answered you. You’d thought maybe there was a story there. Now you knew for sure that there was.

“I have a daughter,” said Frank. His tone held the weight of sincerity, just as his words held an underlying promise.

Your tears fell. You nodded and allowed him to finish patching you up.

He then left you alone, saying that he would bring you something to eat in a little while. But after the door clicked shut, you allowed yourself to let go.

You mostly spent the next day in your room. Frank came by to check on you, to offer you something to eat. You took what he gave you, but you only nibbled. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to enjoy eating.

You imagined it getting clogged in your throat, as a hand wrapped around it. First Antonio’s, then your father’s hand.

You remembered when you were thirteen years old, and you finally snapped back at him when he tried to cut down your mom again with his drunken cursing.

You remembered the dryness of his hands, one of them closing around your neck and squeezing until you saw black spots encroaching on your vision.

And your mom intervened, threw herself onto him. You held your little sister in the closet. She was far too little to understand what was going on, but she knew it was bad.

You covered her eyes, and you watched through the slits as he beat your mom within an inch of her life.

You remembered fumbling with the landline, whispering into the receiver until police sirens circled through the windows and illuminated the dim house.

You remembered until you had to shut your eyes against memories and hot tears.

It was another day before your room felt like a suffocating cage once again. Night had fallen, according to the TV guide, approaching midnight.

You had to gather your courage, but you got dressed into one of your new plain shirts and jeans (which Ben had bought you, you were reminded).

When your stomach growled, you frowned. You hadn’t been able to keep much down for the past couple of days. Sighing, you reached a hand for the doorknob.

Your fingers hesitated on the brass, but you remembered something Louisa told you the day she graduated from high school.

You hugged her tight with the broadest grin and kissed her cheek. With tears in your eyes, you held up her hand, which held a diploma with honors.

She had a chance to go to college—something you hadn’t had. But you were going to make sure she did.

“You’re a rockstar, Lou. I’m so damn proud of you,” you said. She laughed and wiped a tear from your cheek.

“It’s only because of you,” she said. “You’re a rock, sis. Even when you’re not.”

Your sister was a smart little shit, wise beyond her years. And that had stuck with you ever since.

You’re a rock. Even when you’re not.

Even when that insidious voice inside whispered things. That you were weak, not strong enough, not smart enough. A burden on your family, on your friends. A disappointment. A bitch with an attitude and not much else.

But you sucked in a shaking breath and frowned at yourself, your brows knitting together.

No, you thought stubbornly.

And you opened the door.

With cautious steps you made your way downstairs. You forced yourself to keep walking, your heart rate climbing, until you reached the kitchen.

You didn’t know what you expected, but Ben standing there and staring into the fridge was not it.

It was the first time you’d seen him dressed down, in sweatpants, a soft-looking gray shirt, and some old man loafer slippers. You couldn’t help a smile at the sight.

Maybe he sensed a presence behind him, because he perked up and glanced over his shoulder. Finding you standing there with a small smile, if a bit awkwardly, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said.

“Hey,” you replied with a nod, and you braved entering the kitchen. It was spotlessly clean, almost as if nothing had happened in this room.

Except for the large section missing from the kitchen counter, revealing the cement underneath. Likely it had been too damaged to be repaired and needed to just be torn out and replaced.

Your gaze roamed across the counter to the spot where you’d been assaulted. You couldn’t help focusing on it, so long that your vision started to glaze over.

Until you realized that Ben was slowly approaching you. He had a beer in hand, which he must’ve grabbed from the fridge. You sucked in a breath and looked up at him.

“You’re up and about pretty late,” he remarked.

“So are you,” you returned with an attempt at a smile. “I got hungry.”

Ben huffed in amusement. “Figures…though not gonna lie, was feeling peckish myself.”

He gestured at the fridge dismissively. “There’s not much.”

He could’ve woken up Simone, you were ready to point out. But maybe, just maybe, something you said had gotten to him. Maybe he’d wanted to just figure it out for himself, but didn’t know where to start.

“Let me take a look,” you said instead. You went first to the pantry and took a brief inventory. “You feeling sweet or savory?”

“Savory,” he replied after a moment. He went over to the breakfast bar and sat down with his beer while you continued to rifle through.

“Hmm, how about spaghetti?” you suggested.

Ben raised a brow. “It’s almost midnight.”

You shot him a small grin. “So? You’re hungry, right?”

You could tell he wasn’t totally into the idea, but he shrugged.

“All right.”

You hummed as you gathered all the ingredients you needed. Ben watched you lay them out across from him on the counter: onions, tomato sauce, various seasonings, and more. He eyed the entire head of garlic you were getting ready to peel.

“Jesus, you tryin’ to kill a vampire or something?” he quipped. You gave him a wry look.

“Have you ever made spaghetti before?” you asked. This was as basic as it came, but the way he was looking at the vegetables told you the entire concept of peeling, cutting, and throwing them together into a pan was foreign to him.

“Probably,” he said with a shrug.

Meaning never, you interpreted. Ben really just had no idea how to cook, you realized. You didn’t understand how a century-old man was so lacking in everyday skills…

But maybe you did. The files neatly stored in your brain reminded you that he’d grown up a rich kid. Very rich. Then after he became Soldier Boy, he’d all too soon reached the pinnacle of fame. He’d made so much money in four decades that he’d probably never needed to do a menial task in his life.

Maybe you could get him to try.

However, you hadn’t realized it until now, but even after a full day, your body hadn’t fully recuperated from what you’d gone through. Maybe it was the latent stress, but you already felt tired, your body heavy.

With a growing idea in your mind, you finished peeling and crushing the garlic and grabbed two onions. You held up one of them for his view.

“Would you mind helping me?” you asked.

Ben sat back in his seat, crossing his arms.

“Do I look like Betty fucking Crocker to you?”

“Do you have to be so rude?” you clipped back. His lips twitched in amusement, until you sighed, and took a break from standing up straight to lean against the counter. Your side was starting to twinge from where you’d been tased.

“What’s the matter now?” he asked. His brows knit together, and you could almost swear you saw concern in his eyes.

But you pressed your lips together. It really pained you to admit it, but…

“Still a bit shaky,” you said, lowering your eyes. “I…honestly don’t know if I can finish this.”

For a moment, Ben just stared at you.

He frowned, then made a sound of annoyance.

“Christ,” he muttered, and finished off his beer before he stood. He took his time coming around the island to meet you.

“Fine,” he deadpanned. “What is it you want?”

A smile grew across your face, bright and grateful. You handed him an onion.

“Peel and chop this, please.”

You made room for him at the cutting board and gestured for him to move in there. Ben considered the onion in his hand and took the knife from you. And after a beat of hesitation, he cut the whole thing in half.

You made a halting sound, lightly touching his wrist. “I’d peel that first if I were you.”

“I know what the fuck I’m doing,” he retorted, but you read the defensiveness in his eyes.

Hiding an amused smile, you relented and let him do it the way he wanted. But you did notice that he started peeling off the first layer of skin before he started cutting again.

Meanwhile, you found a sauce pan in the cupboard and a pot for boiling the pasta. And the two of you fell into a strange, companionable silence while cooking together.

Until you noticed him glancing at your neck. You knew there were bruises there, still purplish, but healing. It reminded you to gather your courage for something else.

“Thank you,” you said, with difficulty. “For…for saving me.”

Ben’s gaze met yours, but all he did was nod. You’d expected him to be his usual cocky self about it.

“Why did you do it?” you asked. He paused in his truly horrendous cutting; irregular pieces of onion were all over the cutting board, but he was still going for the second one.

Then he huffed. “Would you rather I hadn’t?”

“Be serious,” you said, before you could censure yourself. He raised a brow at you.

“You know what?” he said. “Think what you want about me, but I’m not a fucking animal.”

His frown deepened, like he was offended at you just for asking.

Well, fair enough.

So you let it go as the two of you cooked together.

But as Ben was peeling the stubborn hide off the vegetable, it slipped out of his frustrated hands and rolled away. Thankfully it stopped just shy of falling off the counter.

You couldn’t help a small giggle at his expense. He had the strength of twenty men or whatever, but he couldn’t chop an onion to save his life.

Ben shot you a wryly amused look. “Oh, you better not be fucking laughing at me.”

That just made you laugh in earnest, even though you covered your mouth with your hand. His grin deepened at the sound, despite the embarrassment making his face and neck warm up.

He grabbed the hateful head of veg and looked anywhere but you as he got ready to try again. There was no way he was letting you, or this fucking onion, make a fool out of him.

But your soft hand soon covered over his. You offered him a genuine smile, your eyes gleaming.

“Want me to show you a trick I learned?” you asked.

He hesitated, but he eventually moved over and let you in on the action. You took up the knife, held down the onion, and cut the ends off first. Then you were able to more easily peel off the rest of the outer layer.

“You can do this part any way you want, really. But I like to cut it down the middle first, then chop up one half at a time like this,” you explained.

And you felt Ben move in closer behind you to watch your methodical work.

The heat from his proximity actually made you start to blush like a damn school girl. You tried to stamp it down, but heat flared into your cheeks when his hand covered yours and took back the knife.

“All right, all right, I got it. Move over,” he said. You huffed, but you grinned and let him continue…

By the way his eyes later lit up when he tasted the meal, you knew he really did like your cooking. Now, you didn’t want to feed his outdated views on gender roles…but you could admit, seeing him enjoy something so simple as your grandma’s spaghetti recipe was gratifying.

It wasn’t the first time you’d shared a decent moment with Ben. But it was the first time that it hadn’t felt like an act. You didn’t know what to do with that—or the conflicted feeling making your heart ache.

And you certainly didn’t want to find anything about him endearing.

AN: So first of all, sorry for all the angst and TWs in this one. But here lies the end of Tony's fuck ass. ✌🏽 And maybe she's starting to understand (and trust) Ben a bit more...

Next time: Two weeks later, Ben is getting under her skin in the worst (best) way. (AKA: the moment we've all been waiting for...)

You should’ve just pushed him away already…but his nearness was mucking up your good sense.

The truth was, you weren’t afraid of him. Not anymore. And maybe you didn’t hate him.

Maybe…

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” he asked you.

Your lips parted, halting on a reply.

Keep Reading: PART 7

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