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zepskies · 1 year

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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

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @yvonneeeee @fckinel @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @waters-2567 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow @buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird

#a hot meal #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy fic #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 6 #zepskies writes

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tornoleander · 5 months

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Steady Steady Jay animatic

Tiz done enough FEaST my jay angst people.

youtube

Been working on this for over a week It’s a lil wonky but I tried my best.

Time to hide under a rock cause people are going to be seeing it.

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edwinas · 16 days

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what gets me is that amerie and malakai were never given a chance. first malakai is being secretive and amerie spirals so they break up, then malakai immediately dates someone else leaving amerie heartbroken, they either don't talk or fight, then malakai tries to kiss amerie but she stops him, amerie starts getting feelings for someone else, malakai fucking leave for switzerland and writes amerie a love letter that burns in the school fire.

the saddest part is that amerie and malakai love each other but never confessed..... they never stopped being in love.

#heartbreak high #heartbreak high season 2 #heartbreak high spoilers #amerie wadia #malakai mitchell #malakai x amerie #amerie x malakai #they never had a chance to enjoy their relationship #or to even HAVE a relationship #then stopped talking until episode 6 #then malakai leaves without telling amerie???#compared to how many moment other couples had #these two got nothing #despite being one of the main couples #if anyone knows good malakai/amerie fic lmk!#my/rambling

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cecilysass · 3 months

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Milagro Fic Recommendations

These are good for any time of year, of course, not just February 14. But here are my favorite fics related to the season 6 episode Milagro, a long time favorite. (And @sisterspooky1013's favorite episode of all time: happy VD, girl!) I’ve been reading and sifting through these for some time, and I have tried to include some from all eras: newer AO3 fics, some written right after the ep aired, etc. But I'm sure I've missed some, so hit me with your own faves, please.

Because of Milagro's ending, this entire genre of fic tends to be heavy on the hurt/comfort and angst (which is fiiiiine by me), but that’s not all that’s here. Many of these are smutty, but not all.

Adagio - Terma99 A meditative, peaceful take on the aftermath of Milagro by a veteran author that includes both agents realizing something they had learned. Lovely.

Alma - 6hoursgirl (@sixhours) A lovely hurt/comfort Milagro piece. This one is Mulder POV, which is a little less common for post-Milagro, I think, and I like this characterization of Mulder as desperately wanting to help Scully, desperately wanting to protect her, but also a tiny bit scared of the intimacy and relationship he feels they’re on the cusp of. He’s so good-hearted and also a little dysfunctional here, and I love it.

Bated Breath - dreamingofscully (@dreamingofscully) This one has an original take on Scully's experience; it leaves Scully with clarity and new direction in her relationship with Mulder. DreamingofScully tends to write a more confident, in-charge Scully in the MSR than some do, and I appreciate it.

Beyond the Strokes of a Typewriter - storybycorey (@storybycorey) When Scully is stricken and ashamed that it’s been so long since anyone has seen her as a woman as Padgett did, Mulder is pushed to revelations. Mulder 3rd person POV. Very good smut build up. And nobody does a gorgeous feelings reveal from Mulder like storeybycorey, man.

I Believe - Diana Battis There are a lot of lovely, heartfelt hurt/comfort fics about the aftermath of Milagro (for obvious reasons), but this one is especially well done. Viewed from Scully’s third person point of view, it focuses on Mulder’s capacity for tenderness and guilt. Plus some smut.

Don’t Look Up - ArtemisX5 After Padgett's hallway revelation, Scully is horrified that she has no secrets left. But you know, Mulder is much slower on the draw than she gives him credit for. There is also such moving hurt/comfort in this.

Intimacies with Strangers -mldrgrl (@mldrgrl) This mid- and post- Milagro piece has Mulder and Scully simmering in tension and then boiling over. Their relationship is complex and painfully entangled, and I love how it plays out. There is also excellent Scully characterization. This one helps me to get more fully why she might have been drawn to Padgett initially, something I struggle with in the episode.

La Madrugada - h0ldthiscat A carefully told tale of RST that takes both characters seriously and is sincerely moving. Excellent.

Lacuna - Aloysia_Virgata (@aloysiavirgata) This is a longer work, not really a classic post ep per se. But I love this moody, angsty casefile set right after Milagro. This Scully has not come to terms with her emotions, is thoroughly freaked by how she reacted to Padgett, and hasn't even entirely worked out how she feels about Mulder. There is Scully/other here, but the ship is steering home. The end of this is so moving, but cw: dark themes in the casefile, extreme violence against children, traumatized agents.

Still Life - Seek_Its_Opposite (@seek-its-opposite) Ah, this is such a thoughtful and exquisitely written Scully character piece — and it contains some truly beautiful insights about Mulder, too. It suggests the heartbreaking idea that Mulder’s way of showing Scully respect (giving her distance) is continually hurting her. So tragic (and consistent with canon, e.g. Never Again.) One memorable line: “Every one of their fights is about how to care for one another, every last one.”

Alma Gemela - matchingfabric (@matchingfabric) After the events of Milagro, Scully (and Mulder) get accustomed to platonically sharing a bed for comfort. This is a slightly different take on post-Milagro. Exceptionally, irresistibly sweet. Oh, and smutty.

What did I miss? Tell me. And yes, I'm working on my own short Milagro fic that will be coming soon-ish.

#x files fanfic #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #msr #milagro #fic recs #fic rec list #love fic recs #season 6 #xf valentines day #valentines day

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theminecraftbee · 6 months

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hermit horror week day 6: season 6 or flesh

Cleo hums as she looks over her pirate crew. Her ship is coming more and more to life every day with the help of the new armor stand book. Bringing real pirates to life to live in her crew--it's been a dream so far. She has a real knack for it, to. Everyone keeps commenting on it.

It's funny, thinking she of all people would be good at bringing life to things. There's a joke about that, she's sure.

She flips through the book, tilts her head and frowns as the crew prepares her ship for the day. Hm, no. She needs to make some more edits, though, before she declares it done. Her crew is a little bit too all the same color, at the moment, and there aren't enough that are the right height, and...

She walks up to the nearest crew member. He looks up at her and waves methodically before going back to his programmed actions. She flips the pages in the book, finds the correct pages to nudge, and starts messing with his height to make the crew more varied.

There is a horrible snapping and popping sound as the crew member freezes in place, and his torso and limbs begin to stretch to match the new parameters. The skin twists around the bone. Bones break and regrow. She waits patiently for the changes to be done. Finally, the twisted cracking stops, and the crew member stands at his new height.

Cleo makes a face.

"Yeah, I'm not sure that's right either," she says, even as the crew member stands up to start going back to his tasks. He's sweating and shaking, which makes it a bit hard to judge, so she re-locks the armor stand in place, freezing him.

She thinks she got his limbs wrong the first time, actually; that's why the new height didn't work well. It'll be individual reposing, then.

She starts making adjustments in her book when she looks over her shoulder and sees her crew staring at her. She shudders. It's unnerving when that happens. It always makes her feel like--she brings life to her builds like this, but it's not like the things are alive.

But sometimes, when she's adjusting the scene...

"Well? You lot get back to work!" she says, and she goes back to adjusting the first crew member she has to make changes for. She'll start with the arms, since those are proportioned worst. She needs to make them a little shorter.

The terrible tearing and popping sounds continue as things break and relocate. Cleo sighs.

One day, maybe this will be less trial and error, and she'll have to hear less horrible bone breaking? Today, though, she'll be fine with it. She's a zombie, she's probably heard worse.

As she finishes setting the arm in place, there's a low, strange sound, like an aborted scream.

She's really got to ask the datapack author one day about that, she thinks, and she moves to the next arm.

#hermithorrorweek2023 #a bee fic #hermitcraft #zombiecleo #body horror #if my memory that armor stands were added in season 6 (and not before then) is wrong i'm sure this fic sounds real silly #anyway this is sort of for both prompts?#love some good armor stand horror bits amirite #this is a bit short i know its because i am having trouble making the words go tonight but i REALLY WANNA FINISH THE WHOLE PROMPT WEEK #so i made the words go that i could

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treasureguardingdragon · 8 months

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i have this idea of season six starting in the modern era, where merlin and arthur learn that in order to defeat the ‘big bad’, they have to get the round table back together again

how might they do that, if none of the characters are reincarnated, you may ask??

- gwaine would be in a random pub in the uk (there is no explanation as to how he got there—he doesn’t even know, himself)

- elyan and lance are brought as ghosts into the real world using the horn of cathbhadh. lance is trying to work out how to put on armour while having no physical form. elyan keeps walking up behind gwaine and deadpaning ‘boo’ at him, making him jump and spill his beer (every. single. time.)

- leon and percy wake up to find themselves in the crystal cave, fetched from the past to join the table

- gwen went on a quest, back while she was queen, to find the full prophecy surrounding arthur, merlin and her, only to never return (as far as anyone else knew). turns out, she had found a way to the future, travelling throughout pockets of history to learn about and complete the prophecy (because if anyone was going to do it, it would be her). on her way, she finds the lost soul of morgana, split during her year with morgause, and confused and frightened as her mind and purpose had not truly belonged to her

her and gwen look for a way to get her mortal form back, and make their way to join the round table alongside the others

arthur, merlin, gwen, morgana, gwaine, leon, elyan, percival, lance, all back together again and ready to fight their newest foe, just as it always should have been

#merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #knights of the round table #merlin season 6 #fic ideas #merthur #morgwen #arwen #gwen #arthur pendragon #guinevere #morgana

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bunysliper · 10 months

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Castle Ficlet: Knowing Me and You 1/1

Knowing Me and You

He approaches her slowly, as one might when dealing with a skittish animal, which makes her wonder exactly what her face looks like. Or if he's just anticipating an outburst from her. "You okay?"

Beckett snorts, crossing her arms over her chest only to drop them a second later. She's not upset – not upset with him, anyway. He's not the one at fault. "Well, I won't lie and say my pride hasn't taken a hit. But I'm fine, otherwise. It's just some stupid newspaper article, right?"

Castle winces. "I'll talk to Paula about-"

"Castle, don't worry about it," she says, pushing herself off the bench and moving closer to him.

He reaches out, catching her hands in both of his.

"Taking the number six most-eligible bachelor out of contention has to have some consequences," she adds, trying for off-hand. "But at least you moved up this year, huh?"

He shakes his head. "Yeah, there's being tongue-in-cheek bothered by it and then there's the hatchet job that they ran in the paper today."

She squeezes his hands. It's not his fault that the new author of the article had some strong opinions about the idea of the two of them together. It shouldn't even bother her at all; it's just some stupid yearly fluff piece meant to make members of high society feel good about themselves. So what if they think she's too low-brow for the great Rick Castle?

"I'll talk to Paula about a response. I won't ask for a retraction-"

"Which you've done once before."

"Which I have done once before, yes. I won't ask for a retraction, but I want to make sure it's clear that they're not winning any friends this time around. They don't know me, and they sure as hell don't know you, Kate. They don't know us."

Beckett nods. "That's very… sweet."

He kisses her forehead. "For the record, I stopped paying attention to that stupid article years ago."

Kate exhales, leaning into his touch. "I know you did."

#Fluffy Friday #Caskett #Caskett Fanfic #Castle Fanfic #Castle Fanfiction #My Fanfic #Picture Prompt #Season 6 Fic

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fine-nephrit · 2 months

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🥏 TXF Fic Rec #25: "Overnight Sensation" by Syntax6

Today’s fic is an “X Files meets police procedure” whodunit with some of the best Diana-induced angst ever written. Set after episodes 6x11-12, “Two Fathers/One Son,” Scully ditches Mulder to join the investigation of a high-profile serial killer case in Boston. Her partner and Diana Fowley soon follow suits, complicating things.

This is one of those holy grail fics that combine a top-notch casefile with great MSR, the type @syntax6 excels at. The fast-paced, action-packed casefile goes all out on elaborate plot puzzles and has a blockbuster scale to it. Syntax6 creates a cast of original characters for the local police force, and portrays Mulder as a brilliant, heroic, and ass-kicking investigator, bringing to life that “golden boy of VCU”, known mainly through hearsay not often seen in action. A must-read.

---

🥏 on author's site 🥏 audio version on @audiofanficpod read by @darkesttimelinestuff

length: novel, 88,000+ words season: season 6, 6x11 Two Fathers/One Son pairing(s): M/S UST o RST tags: Casefile, angst, jealousy, rift, holiday, pretend couple, good OCs, Diana Fowley rating: explicit/NC-17

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loserdiaz · 1 year

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i have to admit... the coma buck theory is growing on me. so... here's a drabble of eddie shaving buck's scruff while he's in a coma. <3 season 6b speculation

"I'm glad you're okay." Eddie murmurs. He always talks to Buck, hoping the man hears him even if unconscious. Hoping Buck knows Eddie's always there, that he'll never lose hope.

Buck's been in a coma for almost two months now and— it's been hard. It's been really hard, if he's being honest. Life moves on, shifts are scheduled, events at Chris' school happen and Eddie— Eddie feels like a part of him is missing all the time. Like a limb was amputated and he doesn't know what to do without it.

He always turns around when someone says something funny, wanting to see Buck's reaction and then he remembers.

"Today was a quiet shift." He smiles as he traces his fingers through Buck's beard. He kinda likes the scruffy look but he knows the man hates it and always made it a point to be clean and shaven. So Eddie will do it for him until Buck wakes up. "I know I'm not supposed to say the q words but if you hate it so much maybe you should wake up and kick my ass, huh?"

Eddie stops for a second, waiting with bated breath for Buck to react, to open his eyes and look at Eddie with that frown between his eyes and his nose all scrunched up. Eddie waits for the "You just jinxed the team, man!" but it never comes.

"Yeah, okay." He breathes out and prepares the materials. At first the nurses were supposed to do this but they did a sloppy job and they were too fast, never treating Buck with the gentleness and the softness he deserves. So Eddie might have yelled at them a little but hey, he got the job done. Whatever.

"Chris has a girlfriend, did you know? it's pretty recent and don't worry, I don't think they even kissed yet." He chuckles as he spreads the shaving cream with soft touches. "I know you'd say he's too young for that." He whispers and looks down at Buck. "He's growing too fast and you're missing it, Buckley." Eddie says with a strained voice and then shakes his head.

No. He can't do this. Not right now.

"Anyway. What else? Oh! There was this funny call today at shift…" Eddie talks and talks as he moves methodically.

Eddie's fingers flit over Buck's skin quickly, the blade becoming a steady rhythm of contact as it glides over his neck and jaw carefully and softly. From time to time, his hands meet either side of Buck's face, turning him this way and that to allow Eddie to reach the area he needs. It's— intimate and domestic in a way that makes him ache.

He even lets his mind wander, imagines doing this with Buck awake and instead of the hospital, they're in Eddie's bathroom— but it would be their bathroom. And Buck would be sitting in the counter sink, with Eddie between his legs. He would smirk and follow Eddie with his gaze, blue eyes happy and shining with love and a tinge of mirth. It's a nice fantasy.

Maybe someday, Eddie thinks.

Finally, he grabs a small towel and cleans Buck's face. His touch is feather-light as he gently wipes away the remaining shaving cream from Buck's skin.

Because of him being so focused on Buck's features, he doesn't miss the way the man's eyelids flutter like he's trying to wake up.

"Buck?" Eddie whispers, quiet and scared and reluctantly hopeful. "Hey, Buck? Wake up. Please." Eddie begs, his voice breaking in the last words as he lets go of the stuff, letting it fall to the ground and reaches a hand to grab one of Buck's, his fingers squeezing it almost too hard. "C'mon. I know you can do it."

Eddie waits, waits and waits and he starts to think it was a figment of his imagination, that he's slowly losing his mind.

But then —

He feels a slight squeeze, barely there. He looks down and Buck's hand is holding his.

Buck's holding his hand.

When his gaze goes back up, he finds himself looking at tired, confused blues.

"Hey, Buck." Eddie chuckles wetly in disbelief and excitement, though his voice is quiet and gentle. His vision goes blurry with tears that he quickly blinks away, not wanting to miss a second of Buck's face.

"Eddie." Buck rasps out.

Finally. Eddie thinks. After so long, he can finally hear Buck's voice. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Eddie truly thinks everything will be okay.

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hairmetal666 · 1 year

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Steddie Notes Part 6

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

They’re stuck in the Upside Down.

Nancy. Robin. Eddie. And Steve’s so fucked up from the bats, every breath, ever movement, has him in agony, and he just keeps seeing Eddie here, and it makes it all so much worse. This was never supposed to happen. And how was Steve supposed to keep him safe, keep them all safe, when he could barely stand upright from the pain?

Eddie walks a little way ahead with Nancy, fled after saying, “for your modesty, dude,” and throwing his battle vest at Steve’s face. It leaves Steve with Robin as they navigate the vines and random earthquakes to get to the Wheeler’s house.

“What’s wrong with you?” Robin asks.

Steve narrows his eyes. “You mean other than being dragged across a dry lakebed and eaten by fucked up bats?”

“Is it. Eddie?”

He bites his lips between his teeth. Of course Robin knows. She always does. “I hate that he’s part of this, Robs. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“You think it’s your fault.” It’s not a question.

“How can I not.” His voice catches and he has to clear his throat before he can continue. “You got dragged into this just by being friends with me. And now Eddie? If he wasn’t our friend—if he wasn’t my—he would be safe.”

“Steve. You know that’s not true. Chrissy was cursed already. She would have always died that night. Eddie was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not your fault.”

He nods, tears pooling along his lash lines. “We kissed,” he croaks out.

“What?” Robin shrieks loud enough to echo across the desolate, cursed landscape.

Eddie and Nancy glance back in time to see Steve knock his shoulder against her arm. “Quiet,” he hisses.

“Sorry,” she frowns. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner! When? How? Are you together now?”

His mouth twists. “No. I think I fucked it up? It was—fuck—when he came over after Chrissy. He was so upset, and I was comforting him, and it just happened. I feel like I took advantage of him.”

“So, you haven’t talked about it?”

He gives her a look again. “When would we have had the time?”

“Okay, okay. But he doesn’t seem mad. I mean, he still gazes at you all lovestruck and ridiculous.”

Heat bursts under the skin of Steve’s cheeks. “He does not,” he mumbles.

“But you do need to talk about it. Obviously. You two have been pinning for years.”

“It’s a year and a half. At most. Not even.”

“Feels like years to me.”

Steve scoffs, falls silent. “I’m scared, Robs. What if he doesn’t like me back? He was too upset when I kissed him, and—I pushed it too far.”

“You did pick a truly terrible time to kiss him, and you two should probably talk about that, but Eddie isn’t going to be upset that you have feelings for him.”

“How do you know? There’s no way you can be sure. I don’t want to risk everything.” “Steve, I—” Robin’s mouth contorts into a complicated series of o’s as she fishes for words. “We’re already risking everything,” she says. “With the Upside Down. With Vecna. When we’re back topside, you should take the time you need to talk to him, okay? I promise that, even if he doesn’t like you like that, he’ll still love you as his closest friend.”

He can’t think of the words to argue with, so he nods, stuffs his hands into the pockets of Eddie’s battle vest. His finger catches on something deep in the right pocket, accompanied by a telltale burst of pain. Steve hisses, retracting his hand, a drop of scarlet beads from a small slash at the tip of his index finger.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He wipes the blood on the vest—it’s already soaked with it, anyway.

“You okay?” Robin asks, her blue eyes sharp at Steve losing more blood.

“Yeah. Munson’s keeping sharp shit in his pockets again, is all.”

He reaches back into the pocket to find the offending weapon and finds a crumpled sheet of paper. An amused breath bursts out of him as he realizes what it must be, and he fishes it out with hesitation.

It’s crinkled and grimy with age, but Steve unfurls it anyway. It’s his own handwriting at the top: “You ever been in love?”

He doesn’t remember writing it, not clearly. There’s a vague recollection of wobbling around, crossfaded in his bedroom, scrawling words on the first acceptable surface he finds. Doesn’t remember giving it to Eddie, but he’s responded; it’s scrawled right there beneath Steve’s question: “No, but I think I’m falling.”

Steve stops in his tracks, staring at the note, eyes darting from the paper to Eddie. A bright pulse of hope sticks in his throat. They’re going to get out of the Upside Down, and when they do, Steve is telling Eddie everything.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

He doesn’t.

Nancy is taken by Vecna and then they fall into planning mode, apparently RV theft mode too (“don’t cha, big boy” is never going to leave his head), and in the panic and fear, there isn’t time.

There’s a little part of him, too, that doesn’t want to say, “I love you,” like it’s a good-bye. He meant it when he told Robin he still has hope, he does, refuses to accept any outcome that isn’t success, that leaves one of their rank dead.

So, he doesn’t talk to Eddie, and they’re in the Upside Down for their last stand and all the words and emotions pile up on his tongue but can’t find flight.

He, Robin, and Nancy turn to go, he’s already kicking himself for his silence, when Eddie’s voice rings out, “Hey, Steve?”

Steve turns fast, almost overbalances, but the meeting of their eyes steadies him. In the rich brown of Eddie’s, Steve thinks he sees all the things he wants to say echoed back. They gaze at each other in silence that thickens every millisecond until Eddie says, “make him pay,” and Steve lifts his chin in acknowledgement. He knows it’s not what Eddie means to say, thinks he understands why he can’t.

There will be plenty of time for their confessions when they get out of this alive. And they will. Steve is sure of it.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

It’s over.

It was hard. Bad. But it’s done. Vecna a smoldering ruin on the Upside Down version of the Creel House lawn.

Steve doesn’t feel triumphant, exactly. They’d almost died, strangled by the vines, briefly outmatched by Vecna. He is relieved, though. Eager to get back to the trailer park, to Eddie and Dustin.

They traverse the Upside Down, silent now and free of earthquakes, closing in on the trailer park in record time.

Up ahead, Steve makes out a hunched shape that must be Dustin in his ghillie suit. He wonders where Eddie is, but he’s not afraid.

He picks up speed to close the distance faster. “Dustin!” he shouts. He means it to sound excited, triumphant, but it’s strangled. His heart’s beating too fast.

Steve is near enough, makes out the dark heap at Dustin’s feet. Someone is chanting a high-pitched, unbroken rhythm of “no, no, no, no, no, nononono,” and it takes him several long moments to realize the sound is coming from his own mouth. He can’t make himself stop.

“Steve,” Dustin sobs. He’s covered in red, leaned over Eddie’s prone form.

There’s so much blood, congealing in dark pools on the grey earth.

“Eddie, Eddie, hey, hey,” Steve falls to his knees, fighting off the panicked keen building in his throat at Eddie’s mostly closed eyes.

“Babylove, honey, sweetheart, please, please look at me, okay?” There are bites on his cheeks that Steve avoids, tapping at Eddie’s cheekbones with shaking fingers.

Eddie’s eyes flutter, try to focus, but drift. “S’vie?” he rasps.

“Hey, hey, It’s me. We’re gonna get you out of here, but you got to stay awake for me, okay?”

“N’ver thought I’d go to heaven,” Eddie mumbles, he fights his eyes from rolling back.

Steve forces a laugh. “What a line, man,” his focus shifts. “Robin, Nancy, we need to stop the bleeding.”

They work in a flurry of motion, Steve talking to Eddie, struggling to keep him alert.

“You gotta stay with me, Eds. Okay? I can’t be without you. You know that, right? You’re everything, Eddie. Everything.”

Eddie smiles with teeth full of blood. “Whatever you say, angel,” he whispers. His eyes slide shut.

Steve swallows his scream, hefts Eddie into his arms, and runs.

(Part 7)

This is a rough one, please feel free to shout at me about it. Thank you so much for reading! One more part to go; and don't worry, nobody dies and there's a happy ending.

I can't add anymore tags, but I appreciate each and every one of you for coming on the steddie notes journey with me! 💜💜💜

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tornoleander · 5 months

Text

I know it’s been said, but Jay’s ‘bullied for growing up in a Junkyard’ Vibes are off the charts.

Parents saying how he hates talking about being born in a junkyard.

insecurity had to of come from somewhere.

In Skybound, Nadakhan overhears Jay mentions this insecurity and uses it against him several times.

(very good villain writing I would praise if they didn’t make him the creepiest creep to ever ninjago.)

#just saying if you add this in your Fic I love you #looking at you Mondo #and Finnnnn #mmmm Jay angst writers my beloved #ninjago #ninjago skybound #oli’s skybound insanity #ninjago jay #lego ninjago #ninjago angst #ninjago nadakhan #ninjago thoughts #skybound ninjago #skybound #ninjago season 6 #ninjago season 1 #ok back to my men whimpering rewatch #Oli shrieks

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wheatnoodle · 1 year

Text

back at it again lol

previous parts

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

—

the harrington mini-mansion is not a place eddie enjoys. the one good thing about it is it gave him steve. someone he knows has been through too much in that house. so, he hates it. he hates how big it is, how he knows it’s empty rooms and cold air in the vents. lights that are rarely turned off, glowing through the curtains even in the middle of the night. he hates that there’s a pool that none of them use and nobody really knows why. he hates that the three car garage has two vehicles gathering dust inside and the third in the driveway, not allowed in the same space. like a contaminant. he hates that steve is alone in this house. he hates that steve’s options in this house were to have parents around that drained and damaged his person or to have no parents at all.

he’s thinking about how much he hates it as he drives, white knuckling the steering wheel as the houses outside start getting more spaced apart, the floors multiplying, and he’s turning down a street that the neighbors surely think he has no business being down. eddie pulls into the driveway, next to the car not allowed in the garage, and kills his engine. he doesn’t want to do this here, have this talk. not in a place where neither of them feel safe, where there’s no room or item to seek comfort in. he needed to get steve out of that house, into his van.

he gets out, raises a fist to knock on his red door. no, steve won’t hear him. but he can’t just let himself in, that’s worse. is it? he weighs his options, using his hands as imaginary scales, taking out a quarter and flipping it (it rolls back up the driveway and he has to chase after it. like a loser. he fell too, did you know that? he fell chasing a quarter. his jeans have a fresh rip in them and there’s gravel in his cut up knee. that’s so embarrassing).

‘nobody saw that,’ he thinks as he stands up, pulling loose pebbles from his hair and stuffing the quarter back in his pocket. he didn’t check it. fuck.

deep breath. he takes out his key ring, flips to the copy of the harrington house key that steve gave him. steve told him only certain people get a key, special people. robin, dustin, max, and will all the way in california have a key. and so does eddie. because he was someone special.

no going back now. he unlocks the door, carefully pushing it open. he steps in, closing it behind him.

“steve?” he calls out into the empty foyer. he walks into the living room. “i know you’re here. your car’s outside.”

there’s a crunch under his right boot. eddie’s brows pull together and he looks down, spotting shattered ceramic on the floor. looking further, the stack of tapes usually by the tv is scattered across the hardwood. there’s more ceramic stuck in the white rug. he’ll vacuum that at some point. right now, concern sends his heart racing.

“steve?! where are you?” eddie’s louder now. his voice sounds frantic, shaking through quick breaths. he’s rushing through the first floor like a bat out of hell, shoving open doors and checking in cabinets. he’s yelling his name.

stairs. up the stairs. maybe he’s upstairs. why isn’t he answering? what happened in the living room? eddie runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time somehow without stumbling once. “steve? hello?”

eddie grabs the doorknob to steve’s bedroom, forcing it open harder than he needs to. his eyes are wide as they dart over the room and he’s panting.

there’s a lump under the blankets with brown locks sticking out. he sighs in relief, his shoulders dropping. his steps are soft, careful in a way eddie munson isn’t supposed to be. he makes his way over to the bed, reaching out a hand and laying it where he assumes a shoulder in. he rubs gently, trying to urge him into turning over.

steve pulls down the blanket and looks over, freezing at the sight of eddie. his cheeks are splotchy, his hair a mess from what he can assume was some rough tugging. he’s looking at eddie with these eyes that are huge and rimmed red. there’s unshed tears filled in his tear ducts and fresh tracks down his ruddy cheeks, and isn’t that just heartbreaking?

eddie sighs softly, squeezes his shoulder. “um…can we talk? like really talk. i get it if you don’t want to and would rather like never see me again, but i think we should talk and i also think we’d be more comfortable doing it at my place rather than yours, so i think we should head to the trailer first. wayne is at work so he won’t be in the way.”

steve’s eyes flick all over his face and he’s shaking his head slightly. he looks so lost. “i- i don’t know…don’t know what…”

and yeah, that makes sense. eddie should’ve realized that seeing as that’s why he was there in the first place. his face burns in embarrassment. how can he do this…think, think, think!

—

when eddie was four, he rode in the back of a police car all the way to a trailer park in hawkins, indiana. about two and a half hours away from his home. he’s woken up in the backseat by the nice policeman gently shaking his skinny, bruised knee. eddie takes his accepted hand and walks up the steps, watches as a grumpy looking man opened the door with a cigarette in his mouth and sleep in his eyes and he talks with the cop. the man lets out a heavy sigh and rubs a dirty hand over his face. eddie’s poking at the bruises on the insides of his elbows. next thing he knows, he’s curled up in a big bed and it’s so cozy, the softest thing he’s ever slept in, so much nicer than the pile of old clothes back home. the man with the cigarette sleeps on the floor next to him. he says his name is uncle wayne. eddie’s never slept so long in his life.

it’s only a day later when the withdrawals start to set in and eddie’s shaking, screaming, sobbing, hitting. wayne can’t communicate with him. he doesn’t know what to do. eddie’s gone nonverbal. he doesn’t calm down until he wears himself out, passing out asleep for another however many hours and wayne is left awake. exhausted, but awake and he searches through his old war things in a box in his closet and pulls out his book of american sign language. he had a friend back in the army who lost his hearing in battle. wayne learned for him.

he picks out a few words, like “scared”, “safe”, “breathe”. he practices them, slowly teaches eddie in the morning when he wakes up. eddie never learns much, just a few words here and there. enough to get his point across to his uncle in a moment of panic.

—

“okay…okay,” eddie nods his head to himself before sitting on the edge of the bed, making eye contact with steve. with an unsure hand, he points to steve. you.

“umm…alright…” eddie takes a deep breath, praying to whatever god there may be that he doesn’t butcher anything. he holds out his right hand, waves it once towards himself. come.

fingers to chin, bring to his ear. home.

finally, points to himself. me.

he does it again. “i’m taking you to my house,” he says outloud as he does, hoping he’s getting his point across.

warily, steve sits up. he nods once, twice. he won’t meet eddie’s eyes as he slips into his sneakers, his shoulders shaking and sniffles heard almost every breath. eddie gives him space, watches from afar. when his sneakers are tied, eddie offers him a hand to stand off the bed. he doesn’t take it.

with a hand hovering over steve’s lower back, he walks them out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and to the front door. he hands the keys to steve. gently pushes him in the direction of the car and signals he’s gonna be another minute.

steve’s brows furrow but he takes the keys, walking to the van to start it up and sit in the passenger seat. once the front door is closed, eddie turns around to face the mess on the floor. carefully, he picks broken ceramic from the rug and hardwood, stacking it in his hand. he makes his way to the kitchen to wrap the sharp bits in paper towel before double bagging it and throwing it away. he goes back to the living room and re-stacks the tapes in alphabetical order the way he knows steve keeps them.

he makes it out to the van and climbs in. steve is already curled towards the opposite window, staring out at the darkness of his front yard. from what eddie can see, tears are still actively dripping down his flushed face. he wants to reach out, wipe them away and kiss the booboos better.

he keeps his hands to himself and gets ready to endure a more than likely painfully awkward car ride.

eddie lifts his walkie to his mouth while steve is still looking away.

“i got him. over.”

—

taggie waggies:

@depressed-gays-of-marvel @kerlypride @thosemessyvibes @sadcanadianwinter @ineffablecolors @mentallyundone @awkwardgravity1 @thev01dd @flustratedcas @spectrum-spectre @hagbaby420

#part 6?#stranger things #stranger things season 4 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fic wip #stranger things fic #deaf steve harrington #deaf!steve #he’s just deaf man #hoh steve #hoh steve harrington #hurt/comfort #angst

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