#bmd verse

He held the ravioli poised on a pink plastic spoon. His daughter Lila sat in her highchair in the kitchen, boldly refusing any more of her lunch.

Her stubborn face reminded him entirely too much of you. But he needed her to eat. He wouldn’t have it said when you came home that he couldn’t feed a damn two-year-old.

He huffed. “Work with me here. Just a couple more bites.”

Lila made a shrill sound of refusal when the spoon came near her face. He knew she could use a spoon just fine. She was being difficult on purpose.

To demonstrate her resolve, she slapped at the ravioli with a chubby little hand, and it ended up splashing back into the bowl. A bit of red sauce splattered onto Ben’s cheek, with a pinch of it hitting his eye.

He blinked in annoyance. “Delilah Marie, I swear to Christ—”

She’s just a baby, a voice that sounded a lot like you infiltrated his mind. It still didn’t take away his aggravation.

“No!” Lila insisted. It was her favorite word, right behind Bluey.

She then pushed the bowl right off the highchair. It spilled ravioli and pasta sauce all over the floor in spectacular fashion. Ben was sitting in his own chair by the dining table, where he moved his feet back at the last moment. She almost got his Italian loafers.

“You gotta be f…” It took every scrap of patience within him to hold his tongue…and breathe calmly through his nose. He didn’t want to reward this destructive, disrespectful behavior, but he also knew that he needed his daughter to eat.

“Want some applesauce?” he said, as a peace offering.

Lila’s face scrunched.

“No applesauce, huh?” Ben muttered. He glanced at the mess across the highchair and the formerly white tile on the floor. “Your mother’s gonna have a conniption.”

“Mommy?” Lila asked. “Mommy’s home?”

“No, she’s not here right now,” Ben replied. “She’ll be home later.”

Lila seemed to understand, because that’s when she got upset again. Her red-stained finger drew a shapeless form in the sauce as she pouted. At least she wasn’t crying.

Ben sighed, once again, and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Fuck it.

“You want some ice cream?” he bribed.

Her sadness dissipated at the thought; she smiled brightly and nodded. “Yeah!”

“Yeah, I thought so,” he grumbled.

After a scoop of strawberry ice cream for each of them (she liked it because it was pink), Ben wrangled her up out of the highchair and declared, bath time.

He did fine with the bathing process. He’d helped you with this before, and so he knew what to do in order to wash the sauce off her face, hands, and even her hair. It was what came after the bath that remained a problem.

Lila was stubborn beyond belief, even before she could articulate what it was about the soft green onesie that she didn’t like. No, she wasn’t satisfied until Ben pulled out the yellow Starlight themed pajamas. Probably because they had “Auntie Annie’s” face all over them.

He rolled his eyes, but this wasn’t a hill he needed to die on. He dressed Lila and tried to tuck her into bed for her afternoon nap. The problem was, she refused to lie still in the crib.

Instead, she was bouncing on the balls of her feet, using the edge of the crib for balance. He’d be impressed, if she wasn’t trying to climb out and give him a small heart attack.

He grabbed her and gathered her against his chest. Despite the super strength you’d temporarily displayed off and on throughout your pregnancy, Lila’s powers were latent at the moment. Dr. Baker seemed to think Lila would start to display them once she got old enough. Like Ryan, who hadn’t started growing into his powers until around 10 years old.

So for now, Lila was a mostly normal two-year-old who could still get hurt.

Ben frowned. “This is the time you usually go down. Why do you have so much energy?”

She just giggled at him and put both hands on his face, over his eyes.

“Daddy, guess who?”

He sighed, but couldn’t help smiling. As usual, he indulged her.

“Could it be my baby girl?”

He waited until her hands came away from his eyes, and he opened them wide.

“There she is!”

She squealed and giggled and grabbed his hair when he kissed her cheek. In the comfort of his own home, he could afford to be this openly affectionate.

Aw shit, he thought, as something occured to him.

He finally realized why she was so fucking hyper. Maybe it had something to do with the giant scoop of ice cream she’d had for lunch.

Goddamn it. Ben sighed and unwrapped her arm from around his head.

“Okay, let’s watch some TV.”

Lila didn’t seem all that interested in watching anything, or even playing with her toys. She mainly wanted to jump on Ben’s stomach while he was trying to relax on the couch. He put on a football game you taped for him. Or recorded, as you'd said.

“All right, enough. Your old man’s trying to watch the game,” Ben said, bringing Lila down to sit in lap.

That lasted for about two seconds. Thereafter, she was climbing up his chest and trying to smother him with her little hands.

He took her hand from his nose so he could at least breathe in peace.

“Where’s Mommy?” Lila asked, as she sat on his shoulder and beat a little fist on the top of his head.

“She’s with your aunt,” Ben replied. “Well, not your real one, the fake one.”

Lila made a sound of confusion. Realizing that she didn’t know what the hell he meant, he rephrased.

“She’s with your Aunt Annie. They’ll be back soon,” he said.

He didn’t mind you wanting a day out to yourself. What he minded was the attitude you’d struck when he suggested dropping Lila off with Louisa, your actual sister.

“What, you can’t handle her alone for one day?” you’d asked.

His pride hadn’t allowed him to say no to that.

So here he was, with a wily toddler who was doing her damndest to suffocate him. Better attempts than this had failed, but it was still annoying while he was trying to watch the game.

Somehow, he managed to tune it out while he watched the ref make a bad call.

“What was that?! You gotta be kidding me!” Ben said, holding Lila to his chest even as he pointed and shouted at the TV. “Son of a bitch. What a pussy call that was.”

“Bish, bish, bish,” Lila said, making a game out of the word. It called Ben’s attention.

He forgot about the game for a moment when he looked down at her. His eyes widened a fraction, even as a smile pulled at his lips.

“What’d you just say?”

“Bishhhhhh,” Lila repeated. “Somvabishhhh.” Her lips squished like a fish. And then she giggled, like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

“Aw, fuck,” Ben uttered.

And he pressed his lips together with ever widening eyes at what he’d just said.

Lila grinned. “Fack!”

“Uhh, no. No. Don’t say that,” he said, trying to sound stern. Inside, he was trying not to laugh. He didn't really give a shit what she said, but you were particular about the kid not inheriting his vocabulary.

In fact, he was pretty sure you were going to go nuclear for this one.

“Why?” Lila asked.

“Because it’s uh…a bad word,” Ben replied, even though he wanted to roll his eyes at himself. This was what he’d become. A suburban dad.

"And it's not ladylike," he added.

“Fackkkk,” Lila giggled some more.

Christ on a cross. Ben bit the inside of lip hard to stop himself from laughing.

“Whatever. Just don’t say it around your mom,” he relented. He brushed his fingers through her soft brown hair. She preened at the attention, like the little showboat she was.

“Daddyyyy…” Lila wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled as deeply into him as she could, like a koala clinging to a shaking branch.

Ben sighed and rubbed a hand up and down her back as he cradled her against him.

These were the moments he didn’t mind. In fact, these were the moments he did his best to remember. They helped block out the older, darker ones that this kid would never know.

Ben woke to the shutter of a camera going off.

He blinked his bleary eyes open to find you standing there with a highly amused smile on your face, and your phone poised in your hand.

He groaned, but he soon realized that Lila was sleeping in his arms, on his chest. You leaned down and rested a hand on her back. You also greeted him with a kiss to his temple.

“Long day?” you teased quietly.

Ben gave you a deadpan look, one that had you straining to taper down your giggles. Though he drew you closer by your hip and squeezed the soft flesh over your white sundress. He took you in with a lazy once-over.

You looked good. Sexy as hell, really. Your face was glowing and relaxed, and he liked the shade of red you’d done on your nails.

“You have a good time?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied, massaging his shoulder. Though you arched a brow. “There’s a catastrophe in the kitchen.”

Ben blinked.

Fuck. He forgot about that.

“Yep,” he said, giving you a teasing smirk of his own. “Right on time for you, baby.”

You chuckled, though your eyes narrowed in warning. “Yeah, right.”

You still helped him put Lila down in the nursery for the rest of her nap. She yawned and turned over onto her back. You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, though you had to smile when it accidentally left the red mark of your lipstick behind.

You bit your lip and gently rubbed it off without waking her up. (An amazing damn feat, as far as you were concerned.)

Ben laid a heavy hand on your back, prompting you to straighten up and turn into his waiting embrace.

His lips curved as he looked down at you. “Hey.”

You laughed quietly. “Hey, yourself.”

Your hands glided up his chest, and further still to hold his face. You brought him down to kiss you, with your fingers slipping into his hair, and your nails dragging along his scalp. He hummed into your mouth.

“Miss me?” you teased.

Ben huffed. As usual though, his answer was in his actions. He held you close for a moment, just to feel you there.

Your arms slipped around his, clinging to his shoulders as you rested against him. This was your safe, comfortable place where you always felt at home.

But, you couldn’t help but break the spell.

“Come on. Clean up on aisle 12,” you quipped, reaching around to smack his ass.

Ben rolled his eyes, but when you pulled away from him, he followed you into the kitchen.

“You know, I had a lot going on. Your kid is a fucking menace,” he said. “Like a bull in a China shop.”

You scoffed. “She’s only my kid when she gives you a hard time. Where do you think she gets it from?”

“You,” he retorted.

You had to laugh at that one. It still didn’t get him out of helping you clean the kitchen from top to bottom.

After a long shower, waking an errant child from her nap, dinner, and a joint effort of getting Lila to sleep for the night, Ben joined you in bed wearing just his usual sweatpants.

You’d opted for some black satin, he noticed.

Good, he thought, for the night to come. You’d spent the whole day getting massaged and moisturized and whatever else women did on a day out.

When he rolled onto his side, you greeted him with a smile and a hand running up his arm, already pulling him toward you. His hand glided along your bare thigh as you hooked it over his hip.

“I need to tell you something, but you’ve gotta promise not to say anything to anyone,” you whispered in the small space between his face and yours, and you tapped his chin.

Ben raised a brow and squeezed your thigh. Whatever it was, couldn’t it wait until long after he’d undressed you?

“What?” he asked.

“Annie’s pregnant!” you said with a wide smile. “Six weeks. She just told me today.”

Ben blinked at that one. “Is it Hughie’s kid?”

“Wha…of course, it is!”

“Wow. Guess he had it in him after all,” Ben remarked. “Who woulda thought.”

You shook your head, but his grin made you laugh.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, through your remaining giggles, though you leaned forward and stole a kiss. It led Ben to want more, and more of you.

He started to ply you with slow, lazy kisses that grew deeper, becoming all-consuming as his tongue warred against yours. His hands dove under the satin covering your body, and his thumbs brushed the sides of your breasts.

“Maybe it’s time we go for number two,” he said.

You uttered another incredulous laugh, gripped a fist in his hair and tugged. “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me,” Ben said. He rolled you onto your back and pinned you there. “Ain’t no way we’re stopping at one. Lila needs a brother.”

“You can’t even handle one,” you teased. Your hands slid up his arms and then down his chest. “Baby, we can talk about having more kids, but—”

“And? We’re talking now,” he said. He dipped his head to start kissing a hot, wet line down your neck. It made your breath falter and your back start to arch. Your hips shifted against his, trying to find friction. You could feel his length hardening against your thigh.

“Ben,” you warned, and implored, but the graze of his teeth on your neck made you shudder.

Your grip on his arms tightened. “Please…”

“Please what?” he smirked against your skin. His hips rocked against your heated core.

This conversation was going into a no man’s land very fast.

You literally took matters into your own hands…by reaching down and grasping your husband’s cock through his sweatpants. You gave him a demanding squeeze.

His breath hitched. Ben paused, unlatching from your neck, and turning his lips toward your cheek.

“I’m listening,” he said, in a gritted voice. You smirked.

“We can, and we will talk about this,” you promised. “Just not when you’re about to be balls-deep inside me.”

You were back on birth control anyway (the pill this time).

Ben chuckled. His hand reached up and smoothed your hair away from your forehead.

“Fine,” he conceded. A smirk grew across his face. “But we can still practice.”

A giggle fell from your lips, just before he claimed them once again.

AN: A little callback to the BMD Epilogue at the end there. 😂

What did you think about the father/daughter time? And do you think Ben won against either of the ladies in his life? 🤣

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, in a drama-filled episode, you and Ben do what you two do best in Calculated Risks:

Summary: You and Ben argue about your commitment to being a working mom. When a rogue supe gets loose at Supe Affairs, mayhem ensues, putting not only your life at risk, but your daughter’s as well.

▶️ Keep Reading: Calculated Risks

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Ben was usually quiet in the morning. Relaxed and slow until he’d had his coffee and started his routine, with his newspaper at his favorite lounge chair, then breakfast in the kitchen with you.

You were making pancakes on a griddle, but you were also watching your boyfriend. He wasn’t just quiet. He was downright grouchy and taciturn.

What crawled up his ass? you thought. Though you had your suspicions...

“Breakfast is done,” you called to him.

He eventually joined you, sitting down at the breakfast bar. You served him a mildly enormous stack, and just two pancakes for yourself. In most respects, Ben was still a bottomless pit.

However, after eating the first couple of pancakes in silence, he pushed away from his plate and leaned back in his seat. You held your coffee mug between both hands and eyed him.

“You okay, baby?” you asked, repeating the very words you’d asked him last night.

He glanced at you through surly brows. “Yeah. You can stop asking me that.”

Right, you thought. He’d been twitching in his sleep, muttering, making sounds that had worried you enough to wake him with a gentle hand on his dewy arm. His response had worried you too—that haze of disoriented shock, followed by relief when he recognized your face.

You’d comforted him the best you could after his nightmare, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. You knew he wouldn’t now, either. That didn’t stop you from trying.

You set down your mug and soothed a hand up his arm, until your fingers disappeared under his shirt sleeve.

“What’s got you all sunshine and rainbows then, Mr. Grouch?” you lightly teased. “I even made you pancakes. Still waiting on my thank you.”

Ben didn’t want to answer, though he briefly glanced at you. He slurped at his coffee.

You sighed. A tick of annoyance at your brow.

“Okay," you said. "Well, since we had breakfast here, I figured we could go out for lunch later when we get to the city. There’s this amazing deli I could take you to—”

“We’re not going,” Ben said.

You blinked in surprise. Your hand fell away from his shoulder. “What?”

“I’ve got things to do,” he said. And without looking at you, he grabbed his half-full plate and got up to bring it over by the sink. He speared a few pancakes back onto the plate you’d served them up in before dumping his plate into the sink.

At least he was learning something about living with you. Now, if he really wanted to impress you, he'd wash that damn dish.

But for now, you wanted answers more than you wanted clean plates. You slowly got up out of your chair and went to him. You tried your best not to be accusatory when you asked your next questions.

“What do you mean? What do you have to do?”

He didn’t seem to want to answer you. Or maybe, he didn’t have a good answer, because he was fucking lying.

You laid a hand on his arm. “Ben. I need you to talk to me right now, because this is our first day off together in weeks. You know this was supposed to be our day. So you’d better have a damn good reason.”

He frowned angrily down at you. “We’re not going because I fucking said so. That’s all you need to know.”

You glared back at him, standing your ground.

You raised a brow. “That’s not good enough with me, and you know it. But if that’s how you’re going to be about it, I’ll call Annie and make it a girls’ day.”

You turned on your heel to walk away, but an iron hand grabbed your wrist. Holding back a wince, you frowned at Ben over your shoulder. His face was tight with irritation.

“You’re not going any-damn-where,” he snapped.

“You better let me go, right now,” your temper snapped right back.

This man was protective, but he had never been this bad. Not even after you got out of the hospital after Vought Tower collapsed. Granted, you’d been fully healed. He’d never outright tried to forbid you from leaving the house though.  

“What the hell is your problem?” you said.

He didn’t want to let you go, but after a beat, he released you. His frown deepened when you had to rub the ache out of your wrist.

He hadn’t meant to grip you that hard. Part of him relented…but then it firmed back up, when he remembered last night. The images were still filtering through his mind on a loop.

The alley, the blood slipping through his fingers, your pale, cold cheek, and lifeless eyes staring up at him.

“There’s something we need to discuss,” he said gruffly.

You tilted your head at him. Your face was tight and angry now, but you still followed him into the living room. You sat down together on the couch, and with crossed arms, you waited for him to speak.

His elbow rested on his knee while his hand swept over his mouth and beard. Then his gaze slid over to yours.

“You need to take Compound V,” he said.

To say that shocked you was an understatement. Your eyes widened, and your body went rigid.

“Excuse me?” you said lowly.

“There’s no way around it,” he said. Grit was laced in his voice, but you didn’t care.

“I’ve made myself very clear—”

“And you also said we’d revisit this little chat, so here we are,” Ben retorted. “You need to live in fucking reality. I can’t be with you 24/7. I don’t trust those CIA fucks to wipe their own ass, let alone keep an eye on you. Especially when I’m in the field.”

You just managed to lasso in your temper when you finally realized where this was coming from. You inhaled a couple of calming breaths. Your fingers tapped your knees. You sat up straighter before you turned to him more fully.

Your hand reached out to cover his on his thigh.

“Ben,” you started. Soft and even. “What did you dream last night?”

His face tightened further, his lips pressed into a line. It took him a moment, but eventually he answered.

“Nothing. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

“We both know that it does,” you chided.

When he just maintained his stoic façade, you slid closer to him on the couch. You curled a hand around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

You looked up at him.

He didn’t want to break.

You just waited until the green of his eyes met yours.

“Hey. It’s just me,” you said softly. “Talk to me.”

His brows knit together, slightly. His jaw clenched and twitched under his skin.

“I lost you,” he said.

Admitting to that was like admitting that his uniform was a lie; that he had no fear. That he was invulnerable. That he was a god in human form.

But you had become the last human part of him. To lose that would be to lose everything again, worse than 1984.

Somehow, you’d become his reason…for most things. He didn’t think you realized it, nor would he allow himself to tell you.

His eyes closed when you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You let your fingers sift through his hair, brushing it back and away from his forehead.

“Do you know why I want to stay normal?” you asked. "Albeit fragile and breakable."

He didn’t answer, but his eyes silently asked for one.

“Because I want to stay myself,” you said. “Power corrupts, and there’s a big chance I wouldn’t be the woman you loved anymore if I injected that shit into my veins.”

Ben frowned. He hadn’t considered that…but he still felt it was a price worth paying.

You moved off the couch and into his lap. He welcomed you with an arm curling around your waist and another moving up your thigh.

Your arms twined around his neck, and you kissed him properly, nice and slow. He tasted like coffee and maple syrup. His hair was soft between your curling fingers.

You parted from him after a while, just to press another comforting kiss to his temple.

“I know what I’m asking of you, and I’m sorry,” you whispered against his skin. “But we’ll figure something else out.”

“How?” he scoffed, his brows furrowing again. “In a few decades—”

“I thought you didn’t mind a few wrinkles,” you teased.

A smirk flickered across his lips. “You know what the fuck I mean.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But we have time. I promise, we’ll figure this out.”

Ben didn’t totally believe you. There was going to come a time where you were going to have to make a choice: between him and your principles.

It wasn’t fair, but that was the reality. Life wasn’t fucking fair.

Until then, maybe he could make one concession.

“If you want…” he said. You leaned back enough to see his face.

He met your gaze. “We can go to dinner later. In the city.”

A slow smile spread across your face.

“But we’re getting a private room,” he warned, squeezing your hips. “And we’re driving there and back. That’s it.”

Your smile warmed further, and kissed the corner of his mouth. You were sure you could convince him to go a Broadway show afterwards, if you plied him in a few key ways...

“I like the idea of a private room,” you said.

His fingers crept up your pajama pants, drifting down between your thighs. His thumb started to stroke warmth through your panties. It had you smiling, sighing, subtly pressing into his hand.

His smirk deepened.

“You do, don’t you?” he said.

You let out a breathy laugh at the change in him. It didn’t take much to get him worked up. So you hugged him close and spoke into his ear all the things you had planned for him tonight.

Before, and after dinner.

AN: Lol I love writing this lovable asshole. 💚 Especially in the BMD-verse.

I have more Dean imagines coming soon! Including a requested sequel to "You are Dean's one exception," in which Sam "crosses the line"... 🫣

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@this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

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We’re so gonna get in trouble with the homeowner’s association, you thought, but you couldn’t help a smile. You obliged him when he beckoned you over, and you slid the door open. 

“Almost done? I think our neighbors are going to complain again,” you said with a laugh. Ben rolled his eyes.

“It’s a bit of smoke, not a fucking forest fire,” he groused. “Let those uppity fucks complain. Bet’cha they won’t have the balls to say shit to my face if I go across the street for a little visit.” 

You soothed him with a hand along his shoulder. It also gave you an excuse to check on his progress. You considered this episode to be a success, considering the balcony wasn’t up in flames this time. And the steaks actually looked good. Not brittle pieces of charcoal, but not raw and bleeding either.  

“I think those are done,” you advised. Ben followed your gaze and nodded. He used his bare hands to turn the foil-wrapped potatoes, just because he could. 

“Why don’t you take ‘em in while I finish up these potatoes,” he said. “How’s the rest coming?”

“Good. I’m about to take the casserole out of the oven,” you said with a nod. Meanwhile, he placed the steaks in a glass dish that been sitting near the open grill. He handed it to you, but you almost dropped the steaks when the hot glass burned your hands. 

You hissed in pain, while Ben caught the dish with both hands. His brows furrowed, first in surprise, then in thinly veiled concern when he looked over at you. He reached out for your shoulder. 

“Damn,” he said. “Didn’t seem that hot…you okay?”

You looked up from your stinging hands and sighed at him in exasperation, but you couldn’t get all the way mad at him. He sometimes couldn’t gauge things like this when it came to what he could handle, versus what your normal human body could. 

“Yeah. I’ll just break out the aloe. First, let me get some oven mitts,” you replied grumpily. "Fuck."

Frowning, Ben followed you into the kitchen, taking the steaks in himself. 

You grabbed your favorite green oven mitts and carefully took out the veggie casserole. It smelled delicious, but Ben still peered at it over your shoulder when you placed it on the counter. 

“Don’t you look at my casserole sideways,” you quipped. “You need to eat more veggies.”

He leveled you with a dry look. “You saying I’m getting out of shape?”

“God forbid,” you gasped, jabbing at his firm abs with a mitt-covered hand. “I’m just saying, your super metabolism is compensating for a lot of booze and Taco Bell.”

Ben rose a brow at your cheekiness. He drew closer behind you, trapping you against the counter with one hand braced on the edge, and the other sliding up your jean-clad hip. 

“You’ve got some nerve. I don’t talk shit about the stash of Twix bars in your nightstand, do I?” he remarked. He nipped at your ear, making you flinch and giggle. His beard was also tickling your neck. 

“You’re peeping in my nightstand now? How dare you,” you teased. He snorted in response. 

“Please. Your purple vibrator isn’t exactly a fucking mystery to me,” he retorted. You felt his smirk growing against your neck. “Might wanna keep it away from the chocolate though. That could get fucking messy…unless you want it to be. I don't mind licking you clean.” 

Your body shook with the effort of containing your laughter. He was so fucking gross.

“Don’t you need to check on the potatoes?” you asked. “I don’t want to have to pressure wash the balcony again.”

Ben made a sound of agreement, but was sure to swat you on the ass before he went. You jolted, but you just shook your head with a blush and a smile. 

It had been over a year since you and Ben had moved in together. Already you’d had your first fight as a true couple, your first Christmas, and so many other challenges, large and small, that had all come to solidify one thing for you.

You were happy. Maybe for the first time in your life. 

It just came with some…small caveats, you reflected, as you reached into the fridge to find the jar of aloe vera. Before you slathered some onto your hands, you realized they were no longer red, and they didn’t even sting anymore.

“What the hell?” you muttered. You put back the jar and rested a hand on your hip. 

Well, maybe you hadn’t burned yourself as bad as you thought. 

With that oddity still in your mind, you pulled on your oven mitts again and took up the casserole with the intention of bringing it to the dining table. Admittedly, you were a bit distracted. You didn’t remember about the raised ledge in the doorway to the dining room until it was too late.

You tripped, and though you managed to make it to the table, you gasped when you broke right through the wood. 

The table just seemed to give up when you hit it, cracking in half, and sending you tumbling to the floor with hot casserole heaped on top. You were still stunned when Ben tore back inside. His green eyes were wide, his brows furrowed as he took in the state of you on the floor with the broken table.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, though he bent down to help you up. He checked you for injuries, but both of you found nothing. 

“I’m okay,” you said, a bit shakily. “I tripped, that’s all.”

Ben’s brows raised as he looked from you to the shards of the table. He knocked on the wood surface. 

“Cheap piece of shit. Where’d you get this thing?” he asked. 

You flickered at a smile and admitted, “IKEA.”

Ben shook his head. “We really need to broaden your palate.”

You insisted you were all right. But he insisted, without words, on checking you over again. His hands brushed down your shoulders and arms, your hands and neck.

He held your face in his hands, and he let out a deep sigh. You just smiled up at him, though inside, you were hiding a bit of worry yourself. 

That table hadn’t been cheap. It was solid pine wood. 

But Ben seemed to believe you. He also seemed a bit exasperated. 

“I should just layer you up in goddamn bubble wrap. The way you find ways to break yourself is beyond me,” he muttered. Your lips pursed. 

“I resent that—”

“I’m sure you fucking do.”

“Besides,” you said, a smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth. “What a pain in the ass would it be to unwrap me?” 

Ben huffed, even as his hands traveled down to wrap around your waist and pull you in close. 

“True,” he smirked. “You’re already a pain in the ass as it is.” 

You opened your mouth to mount an indignant protest, but he shut you up the only surefire way he knew how. His kiss was swift, deep, and left you humming into his mouth in surprise. 

But you soon pulled back, brushing a thumb along his chin. “We’ve got to clean up this mess. And…did you get the potatoes?”

Ben thought for a moment, but then his mouth firmed into a line. 

“Shit,” he muttered, and released you to run back to the grill. 

That night, you stood barefooted in your nightgown and took a moment alone in the bathroom to breathe. And to think. And to test the strength in your hands, by bending one of Ben’s metal wrenches like it was a useless paper straw. 

Okay, now you were panicking a bit. 

What the fuck? you thought. You had only ever experienced super strength when you were on V24 (which you had not taken, let alone the permanent stuff). 

But…if you thought about it, there had been one other time when you had felt this strong. And it had been when you were in the hospital, almost two years ago, after Vought Tower collapsed. You’d needed a surgery you might not have lived through. It was Ben’s actions that had saved you…after he donated his blood.

Unless he was somehow giving you transfusions without you knowing, there was only one other possibility you could think of for Ben’s DNA to somehow be in your system…

Holy shit, you thought. And you sat down on the closed toilet. Hard. Enough to dislodge a decorative dish that was perched on a shelf behind you. You gasped, but weren’t able to catch it before it hit the ground loudly. You winced and picked it up, even as you heard Ben’s steps approaching the bathroom. 

“You okay?” he asked predictably, through the closed door.

“Fine!” you said, your voice too high. You cleared your throat and tried to normalize your voice. “I’m fine, just dropped something.”

“Christ. You going for a record today?” he remarked. 

You rolled your eyes. 

A few minutes later, you finished in the bathroom and tried to act as normal as possible as you slid into bed next to your boyfriend. He was watching TV, but he glanced over at you. You knew he was silently assessing you, seeing if you were really okay. 

You gave him a smile and leaned over for a goodnight kiss. You attempted to be chaste, but he deepened it. He slid an arm around your waist and tilted his head, slipping his tongue between the seam of your lips. 

You welcomed him at first…but a tremor of warning flashed in your mind, along with the persistent thought that had followed you from the bathroom.

Should I tell him? 

You didn’t know why your inclination was to hold it in. There very well could be something wrong with you. But if your suspicions were true, then you wanted confirmation first. 

“What’s the matter?” Ben asked. He’d pulled back, sensing your distraction. You came back to yourself.

“Nothing, just tired,” you said, stroking his chest over his shirt. 

Ben looked into your eyes, his face more or less stoic. You saw the way he was trying to get a read on you though, like he didn’t quite believe you. You couldn’t blame him, but you could be very convincing when you needed to be.

He eventually nodded, letting you turn away from him to slip under the covers. Even though you felt the sting of your lie tingling unpleasantly down your spine. 

You met Dr. Tonya Baker at her office in the Supe Affairs building. She’d been Vought’s top scientist, up until last year. After Stan Edgar’s death and the company’s collapse, the CIA recruited Dr. Baker. 

You didn’t like her. Nor did you trust her, exactly, but she had assisted Dr. Vogelbaum when Becca Butcher came to him with a unique problem. Now, Dr. Baker was the only one left with the knowledge and resources to advise you.

And she was able to confirm your suspicions. She came back with lab results while you sat up on an examining table. 

“You’re eleven weeks pregnant,” she informed you. 

Even though you’d been somewhat expecting it, suspicion and knowing were very different things. You took in a shaking breath, and through your shock, you were smiling. Happy, and even relieved.

Until Dr. Baker spoke again. 

“The super strength is probably temporary. A side effect of the fetus’s genetics. But, it’s also advantageous for you,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “This makes it much more likely that you’ll survive the birth.”

Your breath ceased at that thought, not to mention her clinical delivery. 

“Always with that delightful bedside manner, Doctor,” you quipped. All of a sudden, you were feeling lightheaded. 

Or maybe you were just freaking the fuck out. 

When you got home that evening after work, Ben watched you. 

He knew something was off with you the second you walked through the door, pale and pensive. Still, you flashed him a greeting and a smile that didn’t reach your eyes on your way to the bedroom. 

So he followed you. And the fact that you didn’t even notice, even flinched when he dropped a hand on your shoulder, told him that you were more than just distracted. The last straw was when you walked into the dresser while glancing back at him. You hissed and shook out your sandle-clad foot. 

Now, you were injury prone at the best of times, but this was a bit much, Ben thought. 

“Geez, I didn’t even hear you,” you said, trying at a chuckle. “Normally you thud around in those combat boots like an elephant. We’re lucky no one lives below us—”

“What’s the matter with you?” Ben asked. He was never one to beat around the bush. 

Your eyes widened a fraction; unease crept down your spine, but you gave him a quirk of your brow. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You fucking heard me,” he said. His gaze was hunter green, serious, and focused down on you.

“I’m fine, Ben—”

“No,” he snapped. “There’s something off with you.” 

You bit your lower lip. It seemed your boyfriend knew you better than you thought. You’d had a plan though. You had wanted to wait until you had a moment to shake off your anxiety and focus on the good when you sat him down this evening.

But you should’ve known better. Ben was remarkably impatient, even when he didn’t know what he was in for. 

And he got tired of waiting for your answer. 

He changed tactics, reaching for your arms. His grip was firm, but gentle in brushing his thumbs back and forth across your skin. His mouth was in a line, and you caught the concern hiding under his furrowed brows. 

“What’s so bad you can’t tell me?” he asked. 

You looked up into his eyes. Despite yourself, you had to smile. I’m not playing fair, you realized. 

“Okay, come ‘ere,” you said. You took his hand and led him to sit with you on the bed. Pulling his hand between both of yours into your lap, you sighed and thought about how you were going to say this. 

After a moment, you got a burst of inspiration. You held up a waiting finger to him and went into the closet to pull out one of your 25-pound hand weights. It might as well have weighed a pound, for how light it felt. You brought it back to the bed, and Ben stared back at you quizzically. 

“So…I didn’t get that table from IKEA,” you confessed. “It was solid wood, and I really did break straight through it.”

He rose a brow. “All right…”

You then showed him your newfound strength, by breaking the hand weight in half with your bare hands. His eyes widened, making you giggle a bit. You deposited both metal heads into his hands. He considered them, then you. His brows were knitting together even tighter. 

“What the hell—”

“Remember when you donated blood for me, when I was laid up in the hospital a couple years ago?” you asked. “I got your super strength for a day or two afterwards.”

Ben nodded. You had been a bit more than laid up, but semantics, he guessed. He was getting more confused by the moment. 

“Well this time, I’m told it’s also temporary…for the next seven months or so,” you said with a playful smile. 

Ben considered your words. He turned them back and forth in his head… 

Finally, his gaze flicked from yours to the broken weights in his hands. And he tossed them to the floor with a heavy thud on the hard wood. 

You giggled in earnest when he reached for your face with both hands. His eyes searched yours for any hint of a joke, his jaw tight and working. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?” he asked. His voice was a hint unsteady. You smiled bright and covered his hands with your own as the beginnings of tears stung in your eyes. 

“Not this time,” you said. “Ben, I’m pregnant.” 

It took him a moment to register your words. You saw the moment it all finally set in, with new realization etching into his features.

Never once had you seen this man tear up. He turned his face away, but you still caught the edges of his emotion. 

You reached for his bearded cheek, turning him back to you. His eyes were red and starting to shine, even though he was fighting it. A muscle in his jaw clenched, and then eased.

After a beat, his hands moved down from your face to brush down your arms, down your sides and around your frame. He pulled you into his lap, for which you went willingly into his arms. And your tears fell in earnest when he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You knew what this meant to him, but you still couldn’t help but prod at him.

“Are you happy?” you teased, rubbing his back. Ben huffed and brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes. 

“What do you think?” he countered.  

Your hand moved down to slip under his shirt, gliding over the taut muscles in his back as they responded to your touch. You met him with a small smirk. 

“Show me,” you challenged. 

His lips quirked; that was all the encouragement he needed. Ben’s hands moved to tangle in your hair and squeeze the curve of your waist, bringing you flush against him when he kissed you. You inhaled deeply. Your nails dragged up his back, applying some pressure that made his shoulders twitch. 

You didn’t know what your newfound strength felt like to him, but for Ben, you felt solid in a way you hadn’t before. He could let go of some of his self-control and knead your hips with a force beyond bruising.

He could veer away from your lips and raze down your neck, and give your shoulder a love bite that would’ve drawn blood. Now it didn’t even break your skin. It did, however, earn him a pleased gasp. 

Maybe he’d just have to keep knocking you up, he thought. So you’d always be this strong.  

You started rucking up his shirt first, and had to push him back to even get it off him. After that, all bets were off.

It was a mad scramble to shed each other’s clothes, with Ben not being able to get away with his usual manhandling. Your smile grew, as you now had the strength to literally push back and make him work a bit harder for it.  

He smirked up at you when you managed to take him by surprise and push him back onto the bed. You’d successfully bared him for your gaze, but you still had your bra and panties on as you climbed over him and straddled his lap. 

Ben held himself up with a hand on the bed as the other slid around your waist and hooked you in. You took his face in your hands and gave him the full force of your passion.

Your lips claimed his in a devouring kiss, teeth clicking and tongues dueling for dominance. And you ground down your clothed core against his rising length, earning his groan of appreciation into your mouth.

With a flick of his wrist, your bra strap snapped off in the back. You huffed, knowing he’d probably broken the clasp.

Ah well, I’m about to need new ones soon enough.

The thought made you smile against his lips. You let him pull the bra down your arms and wherever he decided to fling it off to. You thought he might start traveling down between your breasts, as was a favorite path of his to map out.

But then, in one smooth motion Ben had you flipped over onto your back. He grinned at your yelp of surprise, but he didn’t give you a chance to recover. He latched onto your neck again, this time on the other side as he scraped his beard and teeth across your skin.

Meanwhile, you moaned encouragements in his ear while his heavy hand squeezed one of your breasts, rolled a thumb over a pert nipple. 

You trailed your hands down his chest, soothing over golden tan skin and freckles and sculpted muscle until you reached his hard length. You earned a straining grunt from your man as you teased the sensitive flesh, a thumb circling over its weeping head. 

Ben grabbed your wrist and gave you a warning look. “Can’t let me fucking concentrate, huh?”

You just grinned and took his hand instead. You dragged it down your body until you guided his fingers into your underwear, between your wet folds. 

“Ben, I need you,” you said. But your need was already in your eyes. Your skin was on fire wherever he touched, and deep inside, where you burned for him most. 

Ben felt it in your iron grip on his hand, now almost as strong as his own. Your legs curled up his thighs to wrap around his hips, teasing him with the soft promise between your inner thighs. So how could he do anything else but give you what you wanted? 

He teased between your folds with his fingers first. Gathering some of your wetness, he circled over your clit firmly. You whimpered as your back arched in response. 

“Gonna sing for me, baby doll?” he teased. Your breathing became more labored as his fingers continued to play with you, but you managed to offer a small smirk. 

“You gonna make me?” you asked. “Think you need to bring out the big guns for that one.”

Ben chuckled. As usual, you were being a little shit. 

So he brought you to the edge of your release, just with his fingers. You were starting to squeeze them tight with your inner walls, your moans getting more urgent. But he withdrew his digits at the last moment, leaving you panting and confused.

“What…”

He smirked down at you and wrapped his slick fingers around his cock, stroking himself a few times. You watched him with expectant, hungry eyes.  

“You want the big guns, I’ll fucking give ‘em to you,” he said. It made you huff, but you had to smile as he returned to you. He hooked his fingers on the hem of your panties and slowly, torturous, he pulled them down your legs.

Those same hands then traveled back up, gliding across your skin with purpose. Your breath shallowed in anticipation.

He eventually gripped your hips, pushing your thighs up a bit farther, and you lined his cock to your entrance. Your heels dug into his ass and added a bit of force when he pushed inside you. And your moans tangled together along with your bodies.

You fairly pulsed inside, and he felt it in your inner walls wrapped so fucking tight around him. His forehead briefly fell to your shoulder. Even though you were panting for breath, you still soothed him, carding your fingers through his hair. 

Normally he’d be going off at a relentless clip by now. But Ben started slow, rolling his hips back and forth into yours at a steady rhythm that managed to take your breath away and make your toes curl.

His name fell from your lips, reverent and pleased. You felt every part of him as he plunged inside you, and it was incredibly fucking hot.  

He took a moment to meet your eyes. He gave you a grin that softened the hard edges that so often lined his face in times like this. And you realized then what was happening.

Ben didn’t do slow. Not for long anyway. But it seemed like he’d taken your challenge to heart. In fact, you had a feeling he was showing you what he couldn’t quite put into words. 

When he reached a hand to part your folds and circle two insistent finger pads around your clit, you couldn’t help but grip his arms tight enough to bruise him. Your mouth opened on a keening moan.

Combined with his deep strokes starting to brush all the right spots inside you, it had you squeezing on him from the inside as you came hard, and made it known in his ear.

“Fuck—” Ben’s brows furrowed as your release finally triggered his own. And his voice joined yours, muffling in the pillow under your head. You shuddered as he spilled deep inside you. 

Your arms came around his back and held him to you for a moment afterwards, just stroking his back, his shoulders, his neck, whatever you could reach while you both caught your breath.

Eventually, Ben’s lips found your neck. You felt the shape of his smile grow there. 

“Too bad you’re already knocked up, or that could’ve been a great way to bring in our second kid,” he remarked.

This time, it took a second for his words to click together in your mind. As soon as they did, you uttered a laugh that shook both of your frames. You swatted his ass in reproach. He smirked down at you.

“I can't with you,” you said. Though you were still giggling. “You’re just gonna have to wait for the first one to come out of the oven.” 

Ben’s smirk evened out into a grin, his face almost boyish in his glee.

“Well, what can I say, baby? You’re a damn good cook.”  

AN: 😂 Well then. What did you think of how she broke the news? And Ben's reaction to finding out he's finally going to be a dad? 🥹

But of course, it's not going to be all sunshine and roses in Part 2. The reader and Ben reveal the good news to her family, and as we all know, he's hoping for a son...

Next Time:

“Hey,” she said. “You know how much I care about you, right?”

“And where’s this going?” you quipped. But you turned around and gave your little sister a half-smile. You knew what she was about to say.

“So what are you going to do about that?” she asked, gesturing to your man in the kitchen. “Mr. Macho wants his prized stud. What happens if he doesn’t get him?”

You sighed. “Ben’s wanted this for a long time. He’s got an idea in his head of what it’s going to be like, and…we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Keep reading: PART 2

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It hadn’t taken her long after meeting Ben to start treating him like a son; always asking about his missions with Supe Affairs, praising a job well done when he had a successful report, and offering a supportive word even when they didn’t quite go his way.

Ben maintained his usual stoic bravado, but you knew he secretly ate up the praise, along with Marie’s genuine, nurturing nature.

Every time you saw your mother, she would give you baked goods in tupperware—for both of you, she claimed. But you noticed they were most often his favorites. You had a feeling she’d won him over early on with her macadamia nut brownies. (She still couldn’t cook worth a damn either, but she’d been taking a baking class.)

So Ben continued to help her do the dishes, even though she insisted he was a guest in her home. He claimed he was doing it so you wouldn’t jump in yourself.

And now we’re family, you had pointed out. Then Ben gifted you with one of those smiles, subtle and pleased, just for you.

You felt somewhat lazy, just sitting at the kitchen table with your sister Luisa. She sat close to you with her arm looped around yours, and she rubbed your lower back, which you now realized had been aching more often. For God’s sake, you hadn’t even realized you were late on your period.

I need to take some time off work, even before this kid gets here, you mused.

Realistically though, you should’ve expected this might happen. You hadn’t ever gotten around to replacing your IUD after you’d gotten it removed a few months ago. And God knew, Ben didn’t know how to pull out. (And he certainly didn’t buy condoms.)

“What’re you hoping for, a boy or a girl?” Louisa asked you and Ben, disrupting the path of your thoughts. You turned to your sister thoughtfully.

She still had her reservations about him, but she seemed to be warming up to your boyfriend a bit more after you told her the news. Especially after Ben had explained one of his plans over dinner.

His first thought was to hire Frank and Loco back as your personal security throughout your pregnancy, and likely even afterwards.

It was a rare time when you didn’t argue with him; the idea made sense, especially if you were going to continue working in Surveillance at Supe Affairs until you went on maternity leave. And, it would just be great to see them again. Frank had already agreed to start on Monday, after giving his polite congratulations.

(You and Ben each got a package in the mail yesterday: a box of bonafide Cuban cigars for him, a maternity body pillow for you, and a hand-crafted toy box for the baby. Inside had been a white noise sound machine to help the baby sleep.)

But now, Ben brightened at Louisa’s question. He crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“A son,” he replied. How brow rose, as if the answer was obvious. “I’ll be able to bring him up right. Strong. Not like these beanie-wearing pussies running the fucking Starbucks.”

“Ben,” you warned. He crossed his arms at you, quite literally standing firm on his stance. But your mother just smiled and pat his arm.

“It’s okay, honey,” she said. “I understand what you mean.”

You raised an incredulous brow.

Oh sure, you thought. She didn’t mind salty language when it was Ben, but God forbid you or Luisa bang a toe in your mother’s presence. Nor did it surprise you that she was agreeing with him.

But then Marie turned to him more earnestly.

“The way you take care of my daughter, I have no doubt you’ll make an excellent father,” she told him.

Ben treated her with a charming smile that showed touches of warmth.

Damn, you thought, as you felt the telltale burn of tears in your eyes. But it wasn’t just about what Marie had said. You had hoped for this one day, but it seemed he was finally making room for your family in his heart too.

“Football. A man’s game,” Ben continued. “I’ll teach him, take him fishing. Everything my old man didn’t bother with, I’ll do it all. Bring him up right…”

As your boyfriend chatted away with your mom, you hid a tendril of worry. You wondered what would happen if the baby turned out to be a girl.

With a glance at your sister, her subtle, raised brows told you she was thinking along the same lines. You sighed and got up; once again, it was time to pee.

Louisa followed you into the hall and laid a hand on your back.

“Hey,” she said. “You know how much I care about you, right?”

“And where’s this going?” you quipped. But you turned around and gave your little sister a half-smile. You knew what she was about to say.

“So what are you going to do about that?” she asked, gesturing to your man in the kitchen. “Mr. Macho wants his prized stud. What happens if he doesn’t get him?”

You sighed. “Ben’s wanted this for a long time. He’s got an idea in his head of what it’s going to be like, and…we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Louisa’s lips pursed, like she wasn’t quite satisfied with that answer.

“And what about you?” she asked. “How do you feel about this?”

You blinked back at her in slight surprise, but then your expression melted into a soft smile.

“I’m happy, Lou,” you said. Tears welled up in your eyes, yet again. “I’m really happy.” 

Louisa relented then, squeezing your hand. “Good…then good. I’m happy for you too.”

And that was really all you wanted.

“What? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Ben said, peering harder at the ultrasound. The kind OBGYN faltered, though she again tried to point out that what he was looking at was actually a small foot.

“Congratulations,” she told you both. “She’s the right size for twelve weeks of development. And look there, you can even see the umbilical cord—”

“You sure this thing isn’t on the fritz?” Ben asked, bumping the ultrasound monitor with his hand.

“Ben.” You looked over at him with a glare. “Are you serious right now?”

He looked back over at you, and you saw his stubbornness in his frown and knitted brows.

“I’m just saying—” he started, but you didn’t let him get that far.

“You heard the freakin’ doctor. We’re having a girl,” you snapped. “I’m the one who has the transvaginal probe shoved up inside me, so shut the fuck up!”

Ben’s jaw worked as he barely held himself from barking back at you. It wouldn’t be the first time you levied your smart mouth at him, but it wasn’t often that you disrespected him.

“Excuse me?” he still groused.

His anger got waylaid though. He watched you heave a sigh and blink quickly, so you wouldn’t release the well of frustrated tears building behind your eyes.

The doctor looked between you both warily. You turned to her with watery eyes, and you sniffed to keep your emotions at bay.

“Continue, please.”

When the appointment with the OBGYN was done, you didn’t let Ben help you down from the examining table. Nor did you let him touch you, all the way to the car.

An hour later, you both made it back to the apartment you shared in Scarsdale. You stomped up the stairs ahead of him and beelined into the bedroom. You had half a mind to slam the door in his face, but you didn’t have the energy to be that petty.

Frankly, you were exhausted with a tinge of nausea. But you didn’t know if that was pregnancy sickness, or if you were just that anxious.

You sat down on your side of the bed, and you sighed when you heard Ben’s heavy footsteps enter in behind you.

“All right, that could’ve gone better,” he said. “But look at it from my point of view—”

That nearly unhinged you. Your stomach roiled, but you got to your feet and turned around to face him where he stood by the foot of the bed, arms crossed.

“It’s not all about you,” you shot back. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one carrying this baby. I’m not just a human incubator.”

“I fucking know that,” he retorted, but you raised a hand to silence him.

“And you’re not the only one who’s wanted this,” you said. Against your will, your eyes once again burned with tears as you held yourself. “You know very well what I’ve…that I didn’t have a normal family growing up.”

Ben quieted. His irritation softened around the edges, especially as your voice trembled.

“Don’t you know what it’s going to mean to me to give our child what I didn’t have?” you asked. “Stability, support, and…and love, from both parents?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks. And when he didn’t seem to have anything to say to you, you shook your head and walked away.

Ben let out a heavy breath. He followed you and stopped you in the living room. “Listen—”

“No, you listen,” you snapped, whirling around on him. “I would’ve been content no matter if it was a boy or a girl, and you ruined that today. You really did.”

His gaze briefly fell to the floor, before it met yours again.

“But even with that, I’m still happy,” you said, as your vision became blurry and wet. “I’m so damn happy…and so scared.”

When you finally broke down crying, Ben got a full picture of just how badly he’d fucked this up. He collected you in his arms and guided you to sit with him on the couch. There he held you as you clung to him and wept into his neck.

The longer it went on, the more he felt like an asshole—with the kind of uncomfortable, gut-churning remorse that only you tended to draw from him.

Ben hesitated, but he knew you deserved to hear him say it. (And you probably wouldn’t let this go until he did.)

“Okay, sweetheart, calm down,” he rumbled in your ear. Along with, "…I’m sorry."

The weight of that fell between you for a moment. You nodded, with a sniff, and he slowly rubbed your back.

“You don’t need to be scared,” he said. “My blood’s making you nice and strong.”

Well, technically it was the baby’s blood, and the super genes they held. You shook your head against his neck.

“That’s not it,” you said. “I mean, that’s part of it, I guess. Dr. Baker didn’t do a great job of reassuring me, but she did say that if the strength lasts throughout the birth, she didn’t expect serious complications.”

Fuck. Ben’s hand tightened in your hair. That...was a thought he hadn't considered. It now made his stomach clench, though he remained silent.

He wished you would’ve taken him with you to see Dr. Baker, but he guessed he couldn’t begrudge you for your worries. He knew he'd be having his own talk with the good doctor soon enough.

“I love my mom. She did her best, you know? But I…I’ve had to take care of myself for most of my life,” you explained, with a hand fisted tight in his shirt. “What the hell do I know about being a mom?”

Ben considered that with a frown. He pulled back enough to see your face, tucking his curled fingers beneath your chin so you’d look at him.

“You looked after your sister, didn’t you?” he reminded. “Made sure she was safe, and grew up right. Now you take care of me, like I take care of you… And you got no problem calling me out on my bullshit.”

That got a slight smile out of you. He brushed away another one of your tears with his thumb.

“You’re gonna be great, sweetheart. I never had any doubts about that,” he said, “The truth is, I couldn’t wait to fuck you raw to make this happen.”

You spluttered a laugh then, even though you were still weeping.

“Yeah, I know,” you said with a wry smile, stroking his bearded cheek. You leaned up and kissed the other cheek. He turned his head and went for your lips. The kiss was slow and tender while he held you where you always felt safe.

Ben grasped the hand on his cheek…and an idea flickered through his mind.

He parted from you, only to say, “Wait here.”

Your brows furrowed, and you blinked through wet lashes. “What?”

“Just stay put for me,” he said.

But he didn’t tell you what he was up to as he left you on the couch to duck into the bedroom. You took the time to wipe at your eyes and take some deep, calming breaths.

Ben came back soon after, seemingly empty-handed as he sat down next to you. You gave him a curious look.

He slipped a hand into his pocket. “Just for the record, I’ve had this for a while.”

And he pulled a black velvet box out of his pocket. You let out a shaky breath of surprise. The ring he pulled out wasn’t a flashy, gaudy thing like you half-expected. It actually looked delicate, and vintage, pale gold with filigree around the hexagonal stone. It glittered, even in the dim lamplight. 

“Where’d you find that?” you asked. But somehow, looking into his eyes, you knew what this was. 

“Besides those old pictures, the only thing I’ve got left of my mother is right here,” he said, holding up the ring for you. More burgeoning tears fell down your cheeks as your heart constricted. 

“Marry me,” he said, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. 

Despite yourself, a smile raised the corner of your mouth. “Hmm, I don’t know. Is that a question?”

Ben released a breath. Reluctantly, he smirked.

“Fucking figures that you’d make this difficult,” he said.

“You’re the one who fumbled at the goal line, Romeo,” you replied cheekily.

You then gestured at the ground in front of you. He raised a brow.

But, he obliged your demands, making a show of sliding from the couch, down to the ground. He parted your jean-clad knees so he could move in between them. He knelt one knee on the hard wood, and once again took your hand.

Ben somehow hesitated on the question, even though you both were hanging on his words. With your free hand, you smoothed his hair away from his eyes, subtly encouraging him. 

“If I had to go back, do it all over again,” he said, “I wouldn’t have done a damn thing different.”

You frowned at him. “Really?”

“That’s right,” he said. “Because I’m right where I want to be.”

You teared up all over again when you realized what he was really saying. You laid a hand on his chest, where his fiercest power resided. He squeezed the hand he held. 

“So what’s it gonna be, sweetheart. Will you marry me?” Ben asked. His smirk was almost boyish, despite his age. And yet, it was so very him.

You reached out with your free hand and slid your fingers through his hair, resting it at the back of his neck.  

“Yeah,” you agreed, with a beaming smile. “Let’s do it.”

He slipped the ring on your finger, where it fit well. And it was now the most beautiful thing you owned, not only for its shining beauty.

You pulled him in for a kiss. His hands burned up your thighs, squeezing your hips. But again, he hesitated. His lips pulled away from yours as his hand moved to brush your belly. It was already brimming with life. He’d seen the images, heard the heartbeat.  

“Thank you,” Ben said. His voice was deep and gruff.

You smiled. With a nod, you held him to you, laying a sweet path of kisses from his cheek, down to his neck.

“I love you,” you said.

He just nodded in response. His throat was tight at the moment. But you wouldn’t let him get off that easy.

“Say it,” you jostled him in your arms. “I’m only growing a super melon for you.” 

It earned you an amused look from him. 

“I love you too,” he said. His voice was a bit coarse, and laden with rare emotion. You pulled him into a stronger hug, which soon became him dragging you into his lap when he raised himself up onto to the couch. You took his face in your hands. 

“See? We made it here,” you teased. You knew he remembered the conversation you two had a few months ago, about waiting a little while to take this next step in your relationship. To have a family.  

“Soon. Not someday,” he’d told you. And you’d agreed.

You reminded him of it now while you stroked his face. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

He snorted at that. “You sure took your fucking time with that one, huh?”

“Excuse me?” you retorted.

Ben pulled you into a kiss before you could truly get going. Arguing with him was one of the things you did best.

But what you two ended up doing on the couch was second to none.  

A few months later…

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ben said. His tone was edged, his brows crunching. “What kind of development?”

You curled a hand around his wrist, shooting him a calming look before you returned your attention to Dr. Baker.

“What do you mean, Tonya?” you asked. Your other hand continued to rest over your belly.

At the seven-month mark of your pregnancy, you felt like you were beginning to resemble a parade float as you sat on the medical examining table in the doctor’s office. But you were grateful for Ben’s warm hand spanning the small of your back. It gave you stability as a coil of anxiety began to bloom in your chest.

Dr. Baker reviewed her charts once more. You didn’t like that gleam of scientific interest in her eye while she perused the data, then looked up at you and Ben from her narrow-framed glasses.

“Not with the baby. She’s doing very well,” she said.

That gave you a measure of immense relief.

“The development concerns you,” she clarified, meeting your gaze. “As you know, we’ve been monitoring you very closely.”

You nodded. The weekly checkups and monthly blood panels served to both soothe and increase your anxiety, but you knew that it made Ben feel better, that you were being taken care of in this aspect of your pregnancy.

To government knowledge, no one other than Becca Butcher had ever gone through a pregnancy of this nature. And Homelander had been created in a lab. This was breaking somewhat new ground (which was only in the top five of “things that made you nervous.”)

“I found something…interesting in your bloodwork,” said Dr. Baker. She pulled out two charts from her files and clipped them onto her whiteboard for you and Ben to see. They looked virtually the same, with one graph’s red bars slightly lower than the first.

“What’s that?” Ben asked.

“It’s your wife’s cell regeneration levels,” the doctor replied, pointing to the second graph. “Hers have become almost as high as yours.”

She pointed to the first graph for comparison. You leaned in closer to see as your eyes widened. With the weight of your belly making you off balance, you nearly slid off the examining table. Ben noticed and caught you quick. His arms came around you, though as the news donned on him, his face slid into shock.

“What?” he uttered.

“That’s got to be because of the baby,” you reasoned. “Is it…just temporary? Like the super strength.”

Even that was somewhat intermittent. Some days, you felt your aches and pains and experienced morning sickness and food aversions, like any other pregnant woman. On others, you were able to lift one side of the couch one-handed and vacuum up the dust bunnies underneath it.

“I believe that blood transfusion, as well as your pregnancy greatly accelerated the effects, but no, this isn’t an isolated incident.” Dr. Baker shook her head. “Your DNA has mutated.”

“Are you serious?” you nearly choked out. She nodded. Dr. Baker never joked.

“By my calculations, this process started before you conceived. Over the course of the past year, or more,” she explained. “Do you understand what this means?”

“Y-Yes, I think so,” you said. Your hand squeezed over Ben’s; it was the hand that carried the weight of your gold wedding bands. A lump of emotion rose in your throat. “It means…I’m going to heal from injuries quicker than normal. And…I’m not going to age like a normal person.”

“That’s likely correct,” she replied.  

That news fell in the room like a stone. You shared a wide-eyed look with Ben. Neither of you knew quite what to think just yet. Even though he was trying to maintain an even-keel expression, you could see his eyes were beginning to brighten with hope. Yours were too…though you were still confused.

“How the hell is this possible?” you asked. “I mean, Ben gave me his blood for a transfusion. But like you said, that was one time, two years ago now. And you said the pregnancy accelerated this, but that’s not how it started…”

Dr. Baker actually smiled. You didn’t like the wry turn of her lips. She crossed her legs where she sat at her desk and tapped her clipboard with her pen.

“How often would you say you two have sex?” she asked.

That was certainly not where you thought this conversation was going. You couldn’t help but blush.

“How is that even remotely relevant?” you asked.

You glanced at your husband, who merely gave you one of his smug smirks, while his thumb stroked your side. Fucking typical. 

“Once a week?” the doctor prompted.

Your face heated up further, and you had to cover your mouth with a hand. Your sex life wasn’t quite as…vivacious as it had been since before you’d gotten pregnant, but it was still a good one, even with your growing size. Ben was nothing if not creative.  

And you were still newlyweds, after all.

“Assume we’re doing a healthy amount of fucking, doc,” Ben remarked.

You gasped and hit his thigh, and finally covered your whole face in thorough embarrassment. He just smirked and took your hand so you couldn’t hide. It amused him that you still got like this.

He then pressed a kiss to the back of your fingers.

You sighed and held his hand back. I chose this man. Remember that.

“Again, what does that have to with this?” you asked, your voice a bit higher.

Dr. Baker’s lips flickered at another one of those smiles. “Well, how often did you use condoms over the past two years?”

You and Ben both snorted in response.

“He’s morally opposed to them, doctor,” you said dryly.

She nodded. “I assumed as much.”

Once again, Ben smirked, but Dr. Baker plowed ahead.

“Let me explain it this way,” she said. “Think of how HIV spreads sexually. The infected DNA is transmitted, and it eventually hits the partner’s bloodstream, affecting the entire body. What we have here is a similar case…if for the fact that this was a gradual effect, over the course of several months.”

Ben blinked, and a frown also tugged down his brows.

“Are you saying that I gave her my superpowers…like an STD?” he asked.

Your eyes became as wide as saucers.

Holy shit! you thought, and another one occurred to you. If this all started from the first time you and Ben ever had sex…then that was over two years of being dosed with literal super sperm.

“Not quite,” Dr. Baker said to him. “Just the essence of what sets your DNA apart, even from other supes.”

“Right. Because how the hell hasn’t this happened to anyone else who’s normal?” you asked. “What makes Ben different?”

Dr. Baker finally set down her pen. She folded her hands in her lap to address you with a patience that you didn’t often see from her.

“Remember, the serum he received was still a prototype,” she said. “Vought continued to refine the recipe after the ‘Soldier Boy’ project was successful. For example, the way his cells regenerate is one of those factors that needed to be weeded out, if Compound V was to be a successful product in the long-term.”

You nodded slowly, as that made sense to you. If every supe suddenly lived over a hundred years, it would make it pretty hard to secretly inject that shit into newborns. They had to package it in a more insidious way.

“This is an unpredictable outcome of your exposure to his unique genetic makeup,” Dr. Baker continued, “and there may very well be more to come in the future.”

You weren’t sure how to take that potentially foreboding news, but on the other hand…

“Oh my God! I’m going to live to be a hundred,” you said, holding tighter onto Ben as shock began to make you tremble. His grip was firm and steadying in response. And yet, his face betrayed how he was trying to process this as well.

“Likely much longer than that,” Dr. Baker said, shocking you even further. And she reminded, “Your cells aren’t regenerating at quite the same rate as his…but it is close.”

Again, holy fucking shit.

You let out a halting breath, and you looked up at Ben, a smile growing across your face. You reached up a hand for his bearded cheek. He looked down on you with his usual stoicism, but it was merely a front. You saw through to the true emotions shining in his eyes.

“Well, looks like you’re stuck with me, baby,” you said, even as your own eyes stung with tears. Your heart felt full to the brim, and even overflowing. If this was what it took to be with your husband, then altering your genetics was a price you were willing to pay…at least in this way.

Though you gave him a more teasing smile. “You’re not gonna be able to welch out of that ‘til death do us part thing. So cancel the caravan of blow and strippers.”

Ben chuckled deeply. He held your hand and stroked the inside of your wrist. For a moment, he just looked down at your face. It had become a bit more rounded with your pregnancy—thighs and arms (and ass) thicker too. And to him, you were still perfectly his.  

“Fine by me. You’ve got something they don’t, anyway,” he said. He remembered the same words he’d said to you just a year ago, in the bed he still shared with you.

Your eyes gleamed with amusement, and so much more. You played along.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” you asked.

He smirked. “You’ve got a supe STD.”

Your eyes widened at his audacity, but you burst out laughing and hit his shoulder.

“Yeah, from you,” you quipped back. “I should’ve known you were carrying something.”

The two of you didn’t know it, but that was when Dr. Baker smiled to herself. She decided then to leave the room, giving you some privacy as Ben laughed and framed your face with his hands.

His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, catching stray tears as they fell. You bit your lip as your glassy eyes met his once more. Ben became more serious as he let out a sigh.

“It’s not gonna be easy,” he reminded you. “Your family, your friends…they’re going to change, and you’re going to stay the same.”

Your excitement dimmed as that realization hit you. Your hands clenched in his shirt, over his chest. You thought about your mom, your sister, Yvette and Devon, Annie and Hughie and the rest of the team (even Butcher, you would miss).

“Yeah…that part’s not gonna be fun,” you said with a heavy, tremulous sigh. Your heart clenched at the very thought of them growing old, leaving you behind.

But your gaze eventually drew back up to him. You wondered then, not for the first time, how it must’ve been for him. For his parents to grow old and pass on long before him. For childhood friends, old lovers…

“Do you know what I worried about when we got married?” you asked.

Ben’s hands traveled down from your face, down your arms, to finally rest at your waist and thigh. He stared back at you expectantly.

“When you first told me you loved me, you said you were holding back the truth. Because you thought that one day, you’d be alone again,” you said, stroking his chest. “That honestly broke my heart. And it made me wonder if I was selfish to be with you anyway.”

Ben frowned, but you shook your head before he could respond.

“I told myself that after the baby was born, I’d go to Dr. Baker and ask her to find a way to make this happen,” you said. Another smile grew across your face. “But guess what? We figured it out all on our own, super stud.”

Ben smiled then, huffing in amusement as he thumbed at your cheek. You couldn’t really understand the full force of his relief. It might’ve threatened to buckle him into a seat, if he had been standing.

But now, he struggled with the warmth in his chest that for once, had nothing to do with his powers. He moved in to tug you into his arms, and he let out a long breath through his nose.

You couldn’t see how his eyes closed, but you felt his lips press against your forehead. You held him close. Or as closely as you could with your belly getting in between.

You rubbed his back and rested against his chest, hearing the calming, steady sound of his heart beating under your ear.  

“And at this rate, I might even live longer than you,” you teased. “After all, you got a head start. Compared to you, I’m still a hot young thing.”

Ben snorted and shook his head. “All right. Now you’re pushing it.”

You smirked into his chest.

“I’ll have to figure out where you rent those caravans.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. At the sound of your giggle, he couldn’t help but smile.

He still swatted you on the ass though.

A couple more months later…

He smelled like cigar smoke. For which you had no doubt, Ben had been puffing away with Frank and M.M. outside the hospital. 

The team of doctors (led by Dr. Baker) had finally left you alone with your husband, allowing you to take your first relaxed breath of the day.

“Your mom and your sister are waiting. Blondie and the others are out there too,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “My girl’s got a whole possy of bitches.” 

You assumed he meant Annie and the rest of the team.

You shot him a look, but you were careful not to disturb the sleeping newborn resting on your chest, in the crook of your arm.  

“They’re my friends, babe,” you whispered. “And they’re your friends now too, you just don’t want to admit it.”

Ben didn’t acknowledge that, but he laid a hand on your shoulder as he sat down on the edge of your hospital bed.

“How’re you doin’, sweetheart?” he asked. “Got everything you need?”

He’d become even more protective, but also very sweet to you in these past several months. More so than you’d thought him capable of, but it warmed you every time, when you considered how rough, how stoic, and how damn-near emotionally repressed he was not so very long ago.

It seemed that fatherhood was beginning to soften him, even before he began. You quirked a smile at the thought, and at his question.

“Imagine pushing a super melon out of your dick. That’s how I’m doing,” you said, tired but still cheeky as ever.

He snorted a bit loudly at that, and you shushed him, as if it wasn’t your fault he was laughing. He expected nothing less from you.

“But I’m okay,” you answered his second question. “All I need right now is you.”

Ben considered you for a moment, a slightly softer smile curving his lips, and he nodded.

“All right,” he said.

Your daughter woke and began to squirm in your arms, prompting Ben to look down at the bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket. Gently as possible, he brushed the tuft of downy brown hair on her head. His hand shook ever so slightly, touching her small cheek. 

How can this little thing be mine? he wondered. His lips pressed into a firm line.

There was a thought, deep and thrumming inside him, that he didn’t deserve this. That just a couple of years ago, he had nothing to lose.

And now, his entire world was in this room. He’d never admit it, but it was a terrifying thought, for a man who’d had everything and nothing.

You unknowingly stopped the path of his thoughts when you raised a warm hand to his cheek. It earned his attention, and he grabbed your hand to keep it there.

You smiled up at Ben with weariness in your eyes. The super strength had drained out of you a few moments after the umbilical cord was cut, which had made for a less painful labor than you anticipated. But it had also been a long and uncomfortable eighteen hours.

“Wanna hold her for a while?” you asked.

The offer caught him off guard. His brows drew together, but he very carefully took his daughter from you, into his arms. Despite your temporary abilities throughout your pregnancy, he didn’t know if she already had his strength, or if it was something she’d grow into. Ben didn’t want to take any chances.

As he looked down at a small face that already had some of his features, he inhaled a faltering breath.

It was the first time you ever saw true tears in his eyes, as one managed to draw a path down his cheek. You smiled, and the pair of rings on your left hand caught the lamplight as you rested your hand on your chest.   

Ben held the bundle close in the crook of his arm. One of the baby’s hands was free, and he tickled his finger in her palm. She grasped it on reflex, opening her mouth on a yawn. Despite his red and shining eyes, he smiled, especially when she reached up for a strand of his hair with small, grabby fingers.

He let her get a hold of it, smirking when she gave it a little tug. Just hours old, and his girl was already demanding his attention. He didn’t know if newborns were able to do that this early, or if it was her blood that made her special.

Either way, he knew then that she was going to be a handful. Just like you. 

Ben glanced over and found you watching him with soft amusement. He looked back down at his daughter and told her the obvious.

“You know, you’re blessed to have my genes, baby girl,” he said. It elicited a knowing scoff out of you. However, his smirk softened. “But you’re also lucky as hell to have your mom.”

Ben looked back at you, and there was the predictable well of tears forming in your eyes.

“She’s the best damn woman you’re ever gonna meet,” he said.

He knew then that what he said to you before was right. If he had to go back to 1984, or even 1944, he’d do it all exactly the same.

It all worked out pretty damn well, from where he was standing.

AN: I’m not crying, you’re crying. 🥹😭

I sincerely hope you enjoyed Strong as Blood. Let me know what you think! And then you can...

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, get ready for some short Christmas fluff:

Summary: Yet again, you convince Ben to indulge you in a new Christmas tradition.

▶️ Next Story: Sleigh Ride

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Your eyes blinked wide and bleary in a pitch black room. You couldn’t see, but you could still hear your wild heartbeat echoing between your ears.

The more you blinked, the more your eyes adjusted. You could make out the familiarity of your bedroom. While you tried to calm your breathing, you turned onto your side, slowly.

You found Ben, asleep.

His mouth was parted as he breathed. His hair had fallen over his brows in sleep. You almost smiled…but you weren’t quite able to.

You carefully brushed the stray locks away from his forehead. Then you slid out of bed so you wouldn’t disturb him.

This had become your habit over the past couple of weeks since moving into this new apartment. You loved it, but it was hard for you to stay comfortable at night.

Though I don’t think that’s the apartment’s fault, you thought wryly. No, it was just your fucked mental health.

Shaking your head at yourself, you went down to the kitchen and made yourself some chamomile tea. That was Step 1.

Step 2 was sitting on the couch with your laptop and your headphones. You kept yourself up with YouTube videos and answering work emails. By now, they knew not to ask why you were sending them at three in the morning.

This time, however, you made a mistake.

Instead of going back to bed and lying awake for another hour until your alarm went off…you fell asleep on the couch.

You must’ve been more exhausted than you thought.

The next time you woke, it was to the odd sensation of floating. Or rather, being carried. You blinked up at Ben, whose brows were already furrowed.

“Hey,” you said, a bit sheepishly.

He didn’t answer you, nor did he set you down until he’d walked you back into the bedroom and laid you down on your side of the bed. It was still dark in the room, which meant you couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour or so.

Ben slipped back into bed, and you turned toward him under the covers.

You felt bad about waking him up. He had his own bouts of insomnia, but it had been starting to get better, ever since you two moved in together permanently a couple of months ago.

You scooted closer to him, resting your head against his shoulder when he shifted onto his back. His arm came down around your waist, a comfortable weight that made you feel more secure.

“When was the last time you slept through the night?” he asked.

You breathed in deeply…and you let it out.

“I don’t know,” you replied.

He paused for a moment. Then he hummed in understanding. His hand moved slowly up and down your back.

You closed your eyes, but he still fell back asleep before you did.

Both of you had to work in the morning. Ben watched you out of the corner of his eye as you got ready for the day.

He’d been waiting for you to come to him with whatever was on your mind, but you were keeping it to yourself. He didn’t push you. You were smart, and whatever you needed to work out, he would let you deal with it your way, as you so often did.

It didn’t seem to affect how you did your job. At Supe Affairs, no one was the wiser. They didn’t know about the concealer covering the bags under your eyes, or that you were adding a couple shots of espresso to your usual latte every morning.

No, the fun came long after your day was done. After you had showered and dressed for bed, with a silent undercurrent of anxiety hovering in the back of your mind.

Another night, another pain in your ass.

You kept your eyes open for as long as you could, but at 2:00 a.m., you couldn’t take it anymore.

The darkness claimed you.

Three shots rang out. You ducked and took Yvette with you, but you choked on a gasp when you looked back…

Jon, your father, had a gloved fist punched through his chest cavity. 

You watched with wide eyes as Black Noir revoked his arm from your father’s body with a wet, horrific sound. You gasped when Jon fell to his knees.

But to your shock, the supe glanced right past you, Yvette, and Devon. His pale gray eyes focused on only the men in the room. He then strode forward and began picking them off one by one.

You shakily pointed out a large aisle of A-Train merchandise for your friend to hide behind. Yvette pulled her son in that direction, while you went to your father where he laid on the ground. 

With difficulty, you rolled him onto his back. You then laid a hand on his shoulder, while the other hovered over his chest. Blood pooled through the gaping chasm in his Vought-issued black jacket. 

Your lower lip trembled, and you realized then that you were crying as he struggled for breath. Even after everything he’d done to you—to your family—it still hurt you to see him like this…to know that he was dying. 

And there was no time. Not to save him, or for resolution…

“Dad,” you tried, but he stopped you. His brows were furrowed with pain, but he gripped your wrist tight. 

“Run,” he said. He held on for a moment or two longer, but when the light faded from his eyes, you closed yours. 

Your eyes wrenched open when a hand gripped your throat.

It was Black Noir, brandishing a katana between your eyes.

“…ake up.”

Words that just barely registered as you sucked in shallow breaths.

A solid pair of arms were caging you, and you instinctively fought the hold, uttering a whimper.

“Hey,” he said firmly. “It’s me.”

You gasped and finally found Ben’s face in the dark of the room. You heaved for breath as you stared up at him.

Despite your relief, tears brimmed in your eyes. Your grip tightened on his arms as your lips trembled. You opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out was a sob.

Ben slid onto his side instead of looming above you. He guided you more securely into his arms, and you let yourself rest against his chest. You buried your face there and wept.

His fingers sorted through your hair as he tried to calm you.

“I’ve got you,” he rumbled. 

Your body was exhausted. Your chest was filled with anxiety, the remnants of fear, and frustration at yourself, that you couldn’t just get over this.

But you felt his lips at the crown of your head. The sound of his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek drowned out the sound of your rapid one, and it served to steady you too. Your hand splayed against his chest, connecting you with his warm skin.

You began to calm in his arms.

“I see my father die every night,” you whispered.

Finally, you admitted the things you hadn’t been able to for weeks.

“Black Noir, Vought crumbling, trying to find you,” you said, even though your voice was shaking. “Everything, all over again…except I never make it out.”

Ben let out a deep sigh. He nodded, his lips still brushing against your forehead.

“It’s just a dream,” he said.

You shook your head. “No, it’s not.”

He could concede to that. He didn’t know what else to say to you though. All he could think to do was hold you a bit tighter.

“It’ll fade,” he said eventually. “Give it time.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. A few tears fell through, but he brushed those away from your cheek.

When you were able to look up at him again, you asked him, “Has it all faded for you?”

Part of you already knew what he might say. As a result, you expected the way he hesitated.

“You know the answer to that,” he said. His fingers continued to sift through your hair, and you breathed easier at the pleasant sensation.

“They’re like battle wounds,” he continued. “They’ll just become scars.”

That wasn’t anything new for you, he knew. You’d had scars long before he met you.

You seemed to let his words sink in though. You nodded and pressed a kiss to his chest; a wordless thank you.

“Close your eyes,” he said, low and steady.

You hesitated, but you did as he said. You closed your eyes.

And when your breathing gentled into the deep calm of sleep, Ben allowed himself to try and do the same.

AN: And there we have it. Short and angsty lol. But I can't write angst without a little hurt/comfort. 💚💚

I hope you liked this!

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

The one-shot that started it all (AKA: inspired the BMD story):

Summary: You’re not a supe. You’re breakable. Soldier Boy sometimes forgets that.

▶️ Next Story: Checkerboard

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He heard the dulcet tones of your voice drifting from down the hall. Letting out a deep breath through his nose, he debated if it was worth getting out of bed.

But he heard his daughter make a sound of distress, followed by your gentle shushing.

Ben peeled back the warm comforter and got up.

He didn’t bother with a shirt and just padded out to the nursery down the hall in his sweatpants. He found you dressed in one of his old shirts and nothing else, a messy bun atop your head.

You were slowly pacing back and forth across the room with the baby cradled in your arms.

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

Ben crossed his arms and leaned against the open doorway. He watched you in silent contemplation; his sleep had once again been interrupted, but this felt right.

And once again, his entire world was in this room.

You glanced over and shot him a tired smile, but you kept singing until the infant fell asleep in your arms.

“Would my every prayer begin and end with just your name?” you continued. “And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare… Would all this be true, if I didn’t care for you?”

Your last notes fell softly on Delilah’s head, where you laid a gentle kiss. In your exhaustion, you didn’t realize that your husband was behind you until you felt his hand on the small of your back.

“She’s knocked out,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You can set her down.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. You bit your lip, as you had tears brimming, threatening to trickle over and fall.

“I don’t want to,” you said. Emotion was clogged in your throat, in your shining, tired eyes.

Ben’s thumb soothed against your back.

“She’s all right," he said. "She's asleep. You need to do the same.”

You probably hadn't slept a full night since before getting home from the hospital weeks ago.

You sniffed, trying not to succumb to the sheer feeling of overwhelming in your chest. You knew Lila would be fine if you put her back down, but you also couldn’t help the need you felt to hold her close and know that she was safe with you.

More than anything, you didn’t want to mess this up. You didn’t want to miss a moment where she might need you.

With a short sigh, Ben grasped your shoulder and guided you back with him. Not to the bedroom, but to the plush rocking chair in the corner of the nursery.

He sat down first, then guided you into his lap. His arm wrapped around your waist and tucked you in close. His free hand went to brush over Lila’s downy hair, which was already as brown as his. And he cradled her as well, supporting your hold.

You allowed yourself to relax against his warm chest with a sigh. He rocked the chair back and forth until you too fell asleep, along with your daughter.

Ben brushed back your messy hair away from your forehead, where his lips lingered. He ended up dozing off a little, but mostly he stayed awake.

He made sure you and Lila both slept until morning.

AN: 🥹 Do you guys like the name Delilah "Lila" for short? I did a lot of deliberating and that was the name I settled on.

BMD Fun Facts:

Lila is the heroine's name in the OC version of this story on Ao3.

There's a nice little callback to "If I Didn't Care" by the Ink Spots.

And with the title, there's a sort of callback to BMD Part 7 - "Until Midnight." 😆

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, here's a heavy dose of dad!Ben for ya with This One's For You:

Summary: Late one night, finding no other recourse, Ben sings to his infant daughter to help her sleep.

▶️ Next Story: This One's For You

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He almost started tapping his foot. Instead, he crossed his arms as he glared in your general direction. You were smiling and chatting with the woman selling her wares as you finished the transaction.

Ben at least could admire the view of you bent over in those tight jeans and ankle boots. You also wore the dark green winter coat he bought you last month, lined with faux fur to keep you warm.

When you eventually came back to him, you shot him an amused smile. You held a new scarf in shades of green and blue, to match your coat. But you also held out a new pair of leather gloves for him.

“Here you go, Grumpy. I didn't forget about you,” you teased. He raised a wry brow at you and took the gloves. He inspected them with a half-critical eye.

“And how much did these cost, five cents?”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking. He caught up with you and slipped the gloves into his pocket.

“My hands don’t get cold anyway,” he reminded you. And you often complained that his body heat was like a radiator, especially at night. Although, you hadn’t been complaining since the winter turned frigid this February.

“All right, whatever. Just don’t say I never get you anything,” you quipped. “Besides, you know you love to accessorize.”

A smirk pulled at Ben’s lips. The gloves were a half-assed gift, but he still wore the watch you got him for Christmas proudly on his wrist. That was a nice silver Rolex.

“All I know is, we’d better not be late for this damn meeting,” he said. “I don’t wanna hear Mallory’s fucking mouth.”

The two of you had made a day of coming into the city, hitting a nice brunch spot and ice skating at Rockefeller center before your date had been rudely interrupted—by a call for a new mission.

Grace Mallory had been a bit cryptic on the phone, but it had something to do with the mess Ben left of the drug cartels in South America. After they got back to the States, Ben left that “business” behind…he just hadn’t thought of how that would shake out in Colombia.  

So now, you two were headed to the Supe Affairs building. You slipped your arm around his, while his hands were in his pockets. You looked up at him with a smile.

“Try to enjoy the little things, Ben,” you told him. “We had mimosas and some bougie ass lobster tails with our eggs this morning. I skated circles around you on the ice. And now we’re going to get some work done.”

“On our day off,” he retorted.

“To be fair, you made the mess, Mr. Kingpin,” you pointed out. “We’ve just gotta clean it up…as usual.”

“Hey," he eyed you. But you both knew the warning had little heat behind it.

He still reached for your cheek and brushed his thumb across it. He felt how cold your face was, and he stopped for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk. Neither of you cared when pedestrians gave you dirty looks as they passed by.

Maybe you were right though. Maybe he should take stock of the small moments. Ben held your face with both hands and caressed some warmth back into your skin.

Your smile softened, and your eyes closed when his lips found their way to your forehead. He then took the newly bought scarf out of your hand and wrapped it comfortably around your neck.

“What a gentleman,” you said, with a small grin.

Ben smirked down at you…until his face fell.

He heard the whistle of the bullet before he saw it.

It took him another second to move, grabbing you and shielding you with his entire body when it hit his back. The bullet itself bounced harmlessly off his skin, but the inner compartment of Novichok exploded like a small smoke bomb. The smell was too familiar to him to be anything else.

Ben coughed and was forced to push you away from him before the gas reached you. You yelped and almost tripped on your feet, but you scrambled back against the wall of a drycleaners. Your wide eyes met his as his knees buckled; the gas had clouded around his head.

“Run!” he shouted through fits of coughing.

You hesitated, for just a second. But when another bullet ricocheted into the wall behind you, near your head, you ducked and had to take off running.

You wove through the busy sidewalk, pushing people out of your way as you went. Whoever was after him this time, you had a feeling these were the people Ben had pissed off in Colombia.

Fuck! You sprinted past an alleyway and saw the hand coming for your arm, but even when you turned, there was another man, dressed a black military-style uniform with his face covered by a black mask, waiting to grab you from behind.

It was muscle memory. You released an elbow into the man’s neck, a punch straight into his teeth and nose, then kicked his knee out with the heel of your boot.

You grabbed your gun from under your jacket and would've shot him, except the next man wheelhouse kicked it out of your hand. You stepped back on instinct, ducking the following punch, and the rest of his arm to run in the opposite direction.

The first man pointed a large automatic gun straight in your face. You gasped and put your hands up. With a quick glance in either direction, you realized that they’d cornered you.

Your hands were pulled behind your back by someone else. That’s when they started dragging you toward a black SUV parked in the corner.

Except that car was soon destroyed, by an old Honda Civic being shoved into it. The SUV's hood constantined like an accordion.

You looked up with wide eyes, and there stood Ben, at the crossroads of the alley. He was furious.

“Soldier Boy,” greeted the man who once again held the automatic gun poised at you. He pulled down his mask, revealing the tan face of a middle-aged man.

He moved over to you and grabbed your arm from his subordinate. He raised the gun to your back. With one press of his finger, your insides could become Swiss cheese.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to take in even breaths. You focused on Ben. His green eyes met yours, and briefly you caught the worry behind them before his steely gaze moved back to the man who held you.

“Pretty ballsy, Reyes,” Ben said. His voice was a drawl, more controlled than he felt. “You really thought this was gonna go down that easy?”

Reyes scoffed. “You’re the ballsy one. Taking off with all that product you stole.”

“You’ll have to take up with the CIA on that one,” Ben replied. “They confiscated all the smack from my place. Probably reselling it to a few hobos down the street. You’re welcome to check under the bridge over there.”

He gestured in the direction of the Hudson River.  

Reyes shrugged. The sound of a gun’s safety being clipped back resounded through the alley. You felt the vibration of it on your back. Your eyes closed for a moment.

“Bad news for her,” he said.

"Hey," Ben snapped. "There's no fucking need for that."

"I think I'll decide what we need," said Reyes. Your lips pursed as the gun dug into your back. "Maybe it's your bitch's insides at your feet."

Ben slowly raised a placating hand. Though his gait was still relaxed and arrogant, as always, you knew it was a well-crafted act. To hide his anger. His fear. To seem in control of himself, and to reinforce the intimidating presence he still was, even unarmed.

“Listen. If it’s money you want, we can work it out,” Ben replied.

His eyes once again found yours. He could see you were holding your breath. You were good at hiding it, but he knew you were scared. He wanted to tell you that he had this handled. That everything would be all right.

He focused on Reyes again. The other man considered the supe with a tilt of his head. He sucked his teeth and spit on the ground, out of the corner of his mouth. It was mixed with a bit of blood from when you'd punched him in the teeth.

“Okay, my friend,” said Reyes. “Let’s work this out. Pull out your phone.”

Ben made slow movements in grabbing his phone from his pocket. They all stepped further into the alley to avoid prying eyes and discussed the transfer of funds, and how much was fair. Ben claimed he was giving him a deal with his first offer.

Reyes demanded three times that amount. Ben raised his brows...but he complied. The money transferred from his bank account.

“Okay, we’re fucking done,” Ben snarked. He gestured at you with his eyes. “Let her go.”

In his mind, he was already contemplating how thoroughly he'd rip Reyes apart for this. After you were safe. He'd have a first class ticket to Medellin by tonight, ready to Colombian-necktie this cocksucker.

Reyes sighed through his nose. There was still about ten feet between him and Ben. He didn't seem to think it was enough. He took the gun off your back and backed up with you a few steps. Eventually, he released your arm.

“Come ‘ere, sweetheart,” Ben reached a hand out, beckoning for you. You met his gaze once again, and let out a subtle breath.

You took three hesitant steps forward.

And the gunshots echoed horribly through the alley.

As it turned out, Reyes always had an escape plan. You were merely the distraction.

It proved effective, as Ben’s protest rang out as soon as the bullets fired. He raced forward and caught you as you stumbled, but his hands soon became coated in your blood; it fled from your back in thin rivulets.

You gasped and clung to his arms. His ears rang with the sound, along with tires squealing and shouts and police sirens. All he could focus on was the color draining from your face.

Both of your breaths came out ragged as he slid with you down to his knees. He brushed your hair away from your face, even as his blood-covered hand stained your cheek. Your pained eyes drew up to his face. You tried to speak, but you didn't have the strength.

“I hear the sirens. They’re coming for you, take you to the hospital,” he promised. His voice was rough, but his throat was tight. His eyes scanned over you. “All you need is my blood and…Christ. Fuck it all.”

He laid you down on the dirty asphalt and hurriedly yanked up his coat sleeve until it ripped. It exposed his arm. He was about to drag a blunt nail across his own skin to bleed into you.

“Ben.” Your fingers twitched against his knee.

When he looked at your face, there was no longer life in your eyes.

His own were wide, almost uncomprehending. His breathing was harsh as empty hands fell to his thighs. His head felt heavy, though his ears were still ringing.

He drew enough strength in his hand to wipe the blood from your cold cheek…but your face was beginning to blur.

Or not, he realized, as the sting in his eyes took him by surprise.

In a fit of mania, he gathered you back up in his arms and ignored the wetness covering your back. He held you, impossibly tight. Tighter than he’d ever held you, because he was alone in the alley…because he was alone again.

And it was his own fault.

His eyes squeezed shut against the burn, but it was futile. Everything was. His breaths were sharp and stifled as pain tore inside. A pain worse than anything the Russian's could've inflicted on him.

His lips pressed against your forehead, trembling there. The first drops of wetness rolled down his cheek. He couldn't stop it from happening, but then again. He guessed he truly was a failure, after all.

You made the mess…

His first tears had been spent at his mother’s funeral, when he stood alone at her gravestone.

His last ones would fall and die with you.

“Ben,” your voice was soft, but insistent.

He finally woke with a start. A sharp inhale through his nose.

He had been sleeping on his side. Before he even truly registered where he was, in the safety of his bedroom, he turned his head toward you.

His eyes found your face in the dark, over his shoulder. Your hair was frizzy from sleep. The strap of your nightgown had fallen off one shoulder. Your face looked bleary and tired, but you frowned in concern.

“You okay, baby?” you asked. Your hand soothed across the dewy skin on his arm.

Ben’s throat constricted. He was starting to remember bits and pieces of the dream…the nightmare. He rubbed at his eyes, then dragged a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said at last.

“Hmm.” Your gaze narrowed at him. “You sure?”

Ben had only enough energy in him to nod in response. His heart was still racing. Maybe you sensed that, because you leaned onto his arm and dropped a hand down his chest. You kissed his bare shoulder with soft lips, and he couldn’t help himself.

He raised a hand to cup the back of your head. He let out a long, relieved sigh through his nose, closing his eyes. Then he turned onto his back and brought you closer, with an arm slipping around your frame and pulling you against his chest. You made a sound of surprise, but you went willingly.

You brushed the sweaty strands of hair away from his face and pressed a kiss against his neck, to his jaw, his cheek and above his brow. He accepted it all and tried to calm his breathing with the feeling of your touch, and the smell of your flowery soap that lingered on your skin.

With a hand still cupping your head, he guided your lips to his. He claimed you slowly, but with purpose. You answered him by tilting your head, deepening the kiss for a moment.

You parted from him just as slowly. You knew everything wasn’t okay, but you also knew it wasn’t the time to push him for an answer.

Maybe in the morning, you thought. …I’ll make pancakes. Haven't done that in a while.

You rested contentedly against his warm chest and let his heartbeat, gradually slowing back into a steady rhythm, lull you back to sleep.

Ben tangled his fingers into your hair. He laid one more kiss on the top of your head.

And for damn sure, he was going to cancel that trip into the city tomorrow.

AN: I know, I know. The "it was all a dream" thing is super cheesy, but I couldn't leave it on heartbreak. I just don't have it in me with these two. 🥲❤️‍🩹

Read the Sequel:

A friend of mine requested a sequel to this imagine: "You confront Ben about his fears."

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Finally, he heaved a sigh and got up from the couch, adjusting the watch on his wrist. He stayed by the foot of the stairs and called up to you.

“Hey. What’s taking so damn long?” he asked. His brows were furrowed, mouth set in an aggravated frown. “I already told you. I’m not planning on being at this thing all night. So if you don’t come down here in the next ten minutes, I swear to fucking Christ—” 

Ben stopped short, as he heard your footsteps at the top of the stairs. When he looked up with expectant, pursed lips, his face subtly froze. 

“What? What’re you gonna do?” you teased. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you grasped the guardrail and carefully made your way down the stairs. These heels were no joke. 

You had a black suede clutch tucked in your other hand, but Ben was drawn to the bright red of your dress. The color alone appealed to him. It called back a memory of a musty club, rich whiskey, and the dulcet tones of your voice.

But now, this dress was shorter. It also hugged your every curve and stopped just a few inches above the knee. He noticed a tantalizing little slit in the back, at the hem, leading his eyes down your sheer pantyhose and down to the tall, black heels.

His lips formed a teasing smile. “You sure you can walk in those?” 

But you could see the truth in his eyes; he liked what he saw. They raked back up your body, taking in the short sleeves, the slight plunge of the neckline, the red lipstick as bright as your dress, the soft sweep of eyeliner and dark lashes—and you hoped he noticed the way you’d painstakingly done your hair into soft, ‘40s style waves.

“Do I look shaky to you?” you countered.

Ben tilted his head slightly as he stared up at you. “Not one bit.”

He reached out for you on the last step of the stairs. You took his hand and gave him a grateful look, but your hand didn’t stop there. It grazed up the sleeve of his suit jacket as you took him in with a smile.

Not often one to don a simple black suit, Ben went with a charcoal gray against a crisp black undershirt. No tie though, leaving the first couple of buttons casually open. 

“Look at my man, all sharp and modern and sexy as hell,” you purred. He accepted the praise with a pleased quirk of his lips. 

Normally you wouldn’t try to feed his peacock-level pride too much. He knew he was a damn fine-looking man. However, you also knew he wasn’t totally into meeting the rest of your family tonight. You knew you needed to give him a (well earned) ego boost.

“Gotta match my girl,” said Ben. Though he fingered the ends of your softly curled hair with a more genuine glint to his smile. “Though you’ve gone a bit vintage.”

“Compromise.” You grinned, and you leaned up for a soft kiss. 

He met you there, even pressing his luck when his tongue begged entrance against your lips. You held his cheek and brushed your thumb there tenderly, but you soon broke away. 

“We’ve got somewhere to be,” you reminded him. Ben sighed through his nose, though his hands molded to your waist.  

“I didn’t realize you were that kinky,” he said. His voice was deep and suggestive. Your face started to heat up, even as your brows knitted with confusion.

“What?” you asked. 

“I know you’re not gonna make me wait all night to get a taste of this,” he said. And he leaned down to begin plying you with his heavy hands and his lips along your neck. “I gotta assume you want me to fuck you in your mom’s house.”

You uttered a shocked laugh. You batted his shoulder, even though it didn’t even make him blink. His lips curved as they grazed your neck. He inhaled under your ear, making a pleasant shudder run down your spine. He hummed in approval.

“Is that the perfume I got you?” he asked. 

“Mhmm,” you nodded. “I like it a lot. Makes me feel all warm and spicy.”

Ben chuckled into your neck. He did pull back eventually to thumb around the edge of one of your earrings—the second part of his Christmas gift to you. The white stone and silver filigree shone in the light. 

“They look good,” he remarked, giving you a charming smile. “Better on you than the catalogue girl.”

Now that was an image. Soldier Boy: browsing through a magazine of women’s jewelry. You smiled brightly at him. 

“Thank you, baby,” you replied. “They really are beautiful.”

Then you glanced down to find your gift to him on his wrist: a new silver Rolex. You turned his hand over to make sure that it fit him right.

“Not too tight, right? Not too loose.” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nah, it’s good.”

“Just good? Does it still need adjusting? We can go back to the store and have them fix it—”

“It’s perfect, sweetheart. Stop fussing,” he said. Your lips pursed as you looked up at him from the watch. 

“I just want to make sure you’re happy with it, that’s all,” you said. 

“I am,” he replied. But his smile, the hidden glint of something in his eyes, made you blush. Inside, you were warm and pleased.  

“All right, let’s go then,” you said. “I’ve got the rum cake, and the actual rum ready to go in the kitchen. And the presents are lined up by the door. Can you load those up in the car for me while I get the food?”

Ben obliged you, though he soon balked at the army of presents waiting for him by the door. When did you have time to get all of these? He didn’t remember you buying all this shit. 

Though he realized, this must’ve been how you filled your time after work, while he was gone for the past two weeks on that mission. 

As he loaded the gifts into the car, Ben reluctantly remembered that it had been…strange, to be away from you. For the past few months, you two had fallen into a rhythm. Waking up to each other, busy morning routines before work, sharing your evenings afterwards. 

You had also been making it your mission to find new things to do together. Like paintballing, of all things. Or comedy shows, new movies and restaurants, concerts, club nights with your friends. Though it was weird for him, sometimes, to go to a show without all the celebrity fanfare he used to get as Soldier Boy.    

Well, he was still Soldier Boy. He just wasn’t getting paid anywhere near the same as he used to. (But let’s face it, he didn’t need the damn money. He’d earned plenty in 40 years of fame and family inheritance.) 

People still knew his name, still worshiped him at times, but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t part of Vought’s machine anymore. No one really told him what to do, but if he wanted this life—here, in upstate New York—he was forced to make efforts to color within the lines of the law (mostly). Hell, he actually worked for a living. Even if it was for the government.  

The point was, he was part of something. And it wasn’t totally shit, even if he was surrounded by morons on a daily basis…  

By the time you opened the passenger side door to interrupt his musings, Ben remembered to actually start the car. 

“You okay?” you asked as you clicked in your seatbelt. You were keeping a close eye on him tonight, trying to gauge his shifting moods. 

Ben hesitated, but when he glanced over at you, he reached over and thumbed at your chin, under those ruby red lips. It made you smile. 

“Yeah,” he replied. Though he let out a subtle breath as he faced the road and took the wheel of the car. Ever perceptive though, you sent him an assessing look. 

“You’re not nervous, are you?” you asked. His brows furrowed slightly.

“Why would I be?” he asked, his voice a bit sharp. Defensive, you interpreted. 

Instead of answering, you leaned over and laid a hand on his thigh.

“Look, my mom already likes you. Louisa’s going to come around,” you said. Your mouth edged into a smile, of sorts. “I just need you to stop me from killing my aunt with a ladle.” 

Ben snorted in response. “All right.”

When the two of you arrived at your mother’s house, she opened the door to her home and greeted your boyfriend like a long-lost son. 

“Oh, Ben! Come in, please,” she beckoned, grabbing his arm and guiding him inside. “You look so handsome, my goodness!” 

Ben couldn’t help offering a smile. It was infused with his usual charm. 

“Marie,” he greeted with a nod. You shook your head, despite your own smile. Ben liked attention—along with a bit of praise and fanfare went without saying. And you knew your mom wouldn’t be the only one to play into that tonight. 

“Hi, Mom,” you said pointedly, with a hand on your hip. Marie turned to you with a bright smile. 

“Oh! Honey, there you are. Merry Christmas!” She brought you in and hugged you tight. She then fairly gushed as she took in your dress and touched your hair. “Oh, you look so beautiful. I wish you’d come earlier though. I need you to help me and Trina. Come on.”

Marie glanced up at Ben again. “Oh, you too, hun! We can introduce you to everyone.”

Ben nodded. He followed your lead behind your mother, and you inwardly steeled yourself on the way to the kitchen. The familiar smells awaiting you brought you back to the better parts of your childhood. Ones that were filled with music, laughs, and good food.    

And if there was one redeeming quality about your Aunt Trina, it was that she could cook her ass off. Since your mom had always been more of the “boxed meal” variety cook, Trina always took over at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and just about every other family gathering. 

She was putting the ham in the oven while your sister sat at the kitchen table with your Grandpa George, peeling potatoes. The bigger table in the dining room was currently set up with appetizers and wine. 

But the sounds of chatter and pots and pans and cabinets closing—it all stopped when you and Ben entered the kitchen. You felt his hand at the small of your back, and whether he meant it to or not, that familiar touch stabilized you. 

Even Trina stopped giving Louisa directions on how to correctly peel and cut the potatoes for boiling. Her mouth opened when she took in the sight of Ben, from head to toe. 

“Good evening,” he said, if only to break the silence. 

But you knew the rest was up to you. You curled a hand around his solid arm and gave him a smile, before looking to your family. 

“Hey, guys. Merry Christmas!” you greeted. “This is my boyfriend, Ben.”

Trina squealed in excitement. She came over (with a wooden spoon in hand) to give you an enthusiastic hug and kiss. She held your arms and looked between you and Ben. 

“Your mom said you were dating a superhero, but I had no idea…” she twittered. “I mean…it’s Soldier Boy. He’s in my kitchen!” 

“It’s Mom’s kitchen, actually,” you muttered. Trina’s excitement dimmed slightly as she rolled her eyes at you.

“Ever the smart mouth,” she said, playfully whacking you in the ass with her spoon. 

Ben smirked. He certainly agreed with your aunt’s assessment. He turned to her to offer something in greeting, but before he could, Louisa’s voice cut in from across the room. 

“What should we call you? Ben, or Soldier Boy?” she asked dryly. 

You frowned, gave your sister a look. Meanwhile, Ben didn’t quite make it to a smile, but he was civil when he answered her. 

“Ben’s fine.”

You remained in the kitchen to help out, while Ben migrated to the living room with your grandfather. Ben grabbed a large glass of wine on his way there, along with a few mini quiche to tide him over until dinner. 

He then noticed an old woman sleeping on the leather recliner. 

“Who’s that?” he asked George. 

“Oh, that’s Great Aunt Sylvia,” George said. “She just took an oxy for her hip. She’ll be passed out ‘til dinner.”  

Ben quirked an amused smile. He wouldn’t mind a few of what Sylvia was having. Oxy gave him such a nice buzz. 

But instead, he and George sat on opposite ends of the couch while Sylvia snored away. 

For a moment, it was quiet, save for the soft crooning of Nat King Cole playing (and Sylvia). The music came from a small round speaker on the coffee table, Ben noticed. You’d told him about Alexa and Siri and all those techno bitches out there now, controlling people’s houses. He didn’t trust it. 

“You like baseball?” George asked as he turned on the TV. Ben nodded, and the other man put on a game. Mets versus the Cubs, three to one. The men were silent for a while as they watched the game. 

Unfortunately for Ben, that peace couldn’t last. 

“So,” George started. “You’re a supe, huh?”

Ben inclined his head, sipping at his wine. This was what he fucking hated. Small talk. 

“I remember you,” George said. “My wife and I liked that movie you made…King of Kings. With Charlton Heston. What a classic that guy was.”

Ben smiled. “He was a good time. Drank like a fucking fish.”

George raised a brow. “Did he? Well, we all need a glass every now and then.”

Ben nodded, taking a pointed sip of his wine. 

“Heston. One of the few celebrities I gave a shit about when he died,” George said with a shake of his head. “Wasn’t long before my wife’s passing.”

You’d told Ben a lot about your grandmother. When your parents got divorced, she’d insisted that you, your mom, and your sister live with her and George. She didn’t want to take any chances with your dad, who’d been more than unstable at the time in his drinking. 

Ben didn’t often pray. But he drank then with a silent toast, that good ole’ Jon was getting hot coals up the ass right about now. In hell.

Ben then considered your grandfather’s musings, realizing he hadn’t thought about his old pal Heston in a long time.  

“How’d he die?” Ben asked. George glanced over at him.

“Well, official case was pneumonia. But it wasn’t all that clear,” he said. “However, I think he had a flare up.”

“Of what?” Ben asked.

George gave him a wry look. “The fate that all men fear. Ass cancer.”

Ben raised a brow, his mouth twitching. He had a feeling he knew where your sense of humor came from. 

“You probably don’t have to worry about that,” George waved a dismissive hand. “You’re still young. Well, sort of…I mean, being superhuman and all that. I’m sure that comes in handy with the normal stuff, like the sniffles and whatnot…and hey! At least you won’t have to worry about your asshole fallin’ out.”

Ben actually smiled. Now he knew you were related to this man. 

In the kitchen, you were trying and failing to dodge a game of “Twenty Questions” with your aunt, while you and your sister finished cutting potatoes. All of the questions were predictably centered around Ben. Luckily, you had a plate of mini quiche, cheese, and salami between you and Louisa to keep you pacified. 

“Well, you’ve done well for yourself, I’ll give you that,” Trina said. “But why on God’s green Earth didn’t you tell us you were dating Soldier Boy? How the hell did you even meet him?”

Shit. There was more than one reason you hadn’t told the rest of your family yet, and this was partly it. How the hell were you supposed to explain this? 

Louisa shot you a knowing look, along with a raised brow. 

“Well, I was actually assigned to find him after he…went missing last year,” you said, keeping things purposefully vague. “We met and…things just kind of took off from there.”

Your mom and your sister didn’t even know all the details, but they knew this much. After Soldier Boy used his nuclear power to end Homelander, he’d escaped in the aftermath. 

You’d been working a year in Surveillance at Supe Affairs, but you’d been a private investigator by trade, previously working at your father’s firm. You’d even worked at Vought for a few years, before joining the S.A. 

You were then recruited by Grace Mallory to track down Soldier Boy, along with Butcher and his team. 

…And that’s where things got complicated. 

“But isn’t Soldier Boy the one who killed Homelander?” Trina asked. She stopped in her stirring of the cranberry sauce to look back at you. And you met her stare directly. 

“Yes. He was partnered with the CIA on that.” Sort of. You added, “Homelander wasn’t the hero you all thought you knew, remember? He was a raging psychopath.”

Trina huffed at that. 

“So was your father. And you still worked with him for years,” she remarked, even off-handedly as she went back to stirring.

Your entire body stilled. Inside, your temper was a lit fuse, preparing to ignite. You stuffed a mini quiche into your mouth to stop you from exploding. 

And your mom and your sister recognized the danger. Louisa frowned tightly and touched your arm. 

She had been too young to form a true relationship with your father by the time your parents were divorced, and your grandparents (and later you) hadn’t allowed Jon to interfere too much with Louisa's life. So Jon’s death, a mere seven months ago, hadn’t truly affected her as deeply as it had you. 

And that in itself was complicated. 

Marie paused in preparing the sweet potato casserole to give her sister a warning look. 

“Trina, that’s not fair,” said Marie. 

Your aunt shrugged. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Slowly, you stood. You grabbed a hand towel and brushed the velvety remains of potato skin from your hands. You also took the plate of cheese cubes and salami with you. 

“Honey, she just means—” 

“I know what she meant, Mom,” you said. Your mother wasn’t confrontational. She would never tell her sister to shut the fuck up when she was being out of pocket. 

But you had no problem doing so. You walked over to Trina, who saw the look in your eye and actually relented, realizing that there was, in fact, a line, and she had crossed it. 

“Look, I’d like us to continue having a nice evening,” you told her. “Mention my father again, and it won’t be.” 

After a moment, Trina nodded. 

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t mind me,” she said. But then, she smiled. “I’m really happy for you, sweetheart. You’ve got a superhero! Who knew you’d pull that one off, huh?”

Your flat smile remained. “Oh, yeah? How do you mean?” 

Trina faltered. Apparently, she hadn’t expected that. 

“Oh. Well, you know…”

“No. I really don’t. Can you clarify for me?” you asked, using the same even tone you employed with testy co-workers on the Surveillance team. 

Trina sighed. “Oh, honey. You’re a beautiful girl, but…”

“What?” you challenged. “Just say it.”

Behind Trina’s coil of dark hair piled on her head, Marie looked worried. Louisa was also on tenterhooks, gripping the kitchen table. She slowly got to her feet though, in case she needed to intervene. 

“Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Trina said. She gestured to you, after grabbing a cheese cube off your plate. “But your hips, hun. I mean, I enjoy a snack. A bon bon. A chocolate eclair. The occasional croissant, but the weight don’t come off easier as you get older, does it?” 

You were officially burning like a tea kettle.  

“And with a man like that…” Trina fanned herself with the discarded, empty bag of cranberries. “Mother of God. He’s gotta be beating ‘em off with a fucking stick.” 

Your mom pursed her lips at the salty language, giving Trina a sharp glance (for multiple reasons). 

Trina noticed, but she only popped another piece of salami into her mouth. “Sorry, hun.” 

But then she turned back to you. 

“And have you talked about kids yet? That’ll be some serious weight gain.” 

You let out a sharp breath and raised your gaze heavenward, pleading for mercy. 

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.  

“I’m just sayin’!” she said. “He might have forever, but you certainly don’t.” 

Now that one struck a nerve. Perhaps not the one she intended, but it cut deeply into you all the same. You and Ben had agreed to pin that conversation for now, but the fact was, he would continue to age much slower than you. 

At your steely glare, Trina again raised her hands. This time in placating defense. “I’m trying to help you, is all I’m saying.” 

You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter so tight you thought a manicured nail might break off. You’d reached the end of your tether. 

“I’ve been here for all of five minutes—” 

“Okay, you know what?” Louisa finally stepped in and grabbed your arm. “I need your help. Let’s find the red tablecloth so we can set the table.”

She led you out of the kitchen and into the hall, but you stopped short so fast that you skidded a bit in your heels. You took deep breaths and braced a hand against the wall.  

You turned to your sister. “Why doesn’t she attack you like that?” 

“Oh, believe me,” Louisa said, rolling her eyes. “I had my turn before you got here. I’ve been locked in with these clucking hens all morning.” 

A grin twitched at the corner of your lips. 

“My condolences,” you said. But then, you look at your sister a bit harder. “And you. What’s your problem, huh? How long are you going to give Ben a hard time?” 

It took her a moment, but Louisa eventually sighed. 

“I mean, Aunt Trina’s an asshole, but she kind of said it. He’s literally a century-years-old,” she said. “How do you not have a problem with that?” 

You crossed your arms, though you knew you didn’t have a good answer for that one. 

“Age is…relative.” You struggled against a wince. 

“He lived through the damn Dust Bowl,” Louisa deadpanned. “He’s fucking ancient.” 

You glared back at her. “Okay, enough. What’s your real problem, huh? I mean really.”

Louisa let out another sigh. Her hands went to her hips. You hadn’t had a chance to tell her, but she looked pretty tonight too in her black dress. It flared at the waist and reached her knees, and she’d paired it with some chunky red heels. She was a little taller than you normally, but not by much. As the older sister, you enjoyed finally being taller than her for once in your higher heels. 

Still, you were annoyed with her right now. You sensed she had something deeper against Ben, and it wasn’t all about his age. When she eventually answered, it just confirmed your suspicions. 

“He’s dangerous,” she said at last. “He’s so fucking dangerous.” 

That disheartened you. Your lips pressed, and you held onto your own arms a bit tighter. 

“Not to me,” you replied. Louisa’s frown deepened as her brows knitted together.

“Especially to you,” she said. “He kidnapped you.” 

You gave a wan smile. “Not technically.” 

That had been one of his subordinates, who’d taken you outside of Ben’s orders…

It was a long and complicated story, but basically, it had worked out for both of you in the end. 

Louisa gave you a more incredulous look. “He’s got an atomic bomb in his chest.” 

“He’s working on controlling it,” you insisted. “He’s gotten a lot better!” 

Louisa threw her hands upward in exasperation and turned to leave you in the hall. You stopped her with a hand on her arm. 

“Look, I get it,” you said, meeting her gaze directly. “You’re worried about me. But here’s the thing…you don’t have to do that. I’m the one who looks out for you, remember?” 

Once again, she frowned at you. “Why, just because you’re older?” 

You gave her a teasing smile. 

“Well, yeah.” Still, you grasped both of her arms, now crossed in front of her chest. “Lou, haven’t I always taken care of you?” 

“Okay, yeah,” she said. “But who takes care of you? Who makes sure you’re all right?” 

You gave her a patient, if knowing look. 

She grimaced. “Oh, don’t you say it.” 

“Honestly, Lou. He does take care of me…he makes me feel safe.” You bit your lip, and your eyes began to well up with the sting of tears, emotion rising in your throat. “I’ve never had that. Ever.” 

Your sister released a heavy sigh. “I know.” 

“Then can you actually try to get to know him? Please?” You rubbed her arms, pleading with your eyes. You wanted your family to like your boyfriend, but it was so much more than that. You didn’t want to have separate worlds. Everyone in this house was part of your family, and that now included Ben.

The longer she looked into your imploring eyes, Louisa’s grimace lightened, just a touch. “I’ll think about it.” 

You smiled then, warmly as you hugged your sister. You then kissed her on the cheek, leaving the bright red imprint of your lipstick.

When you went back into the kitchen, your better mood was ruined pretty quickly by watching your aunt run your mother around the kitchen with demands and instructions. You decided to jump into the fray, taking a large serving bowl out of Marie’s hands before it tipped over.

“How’s the ham doing?” you asked. 

“About half an hour or so, I think,” Trina said. “Maybe forty-five.”

“Okay, and what’s left?”

“Let’s get the desserts ready.”

While your help sorely relieved your mother, it was actually a terrible idea for your mental health. When you could take no more of Trina’s irritating, commanding voice in your ear, you had to take a breath (as well as down a full glass of wine). 

You wordlessly asked Louisa to tag in for you before you traveled into the living room. 

There you found Ben immersed in a baseball game with Grandpa George. Both men only looked up at you when you stood near the couch with crossed arms. Your nerves were on edge, your blood still just short of boiling, but you took pains to look pleasant.

“Who’s winning?” you asked.

Ben quirked a smile at the sight of you, while George gave his more freely.

“5 to 3. It’s close on the Mets,” he said. You realized then that you hadn’t even hugged your grandfather yet. 

“Oh my God, Grandpa! I’m so sorry,” you said with a frown. You went over to hug him. “Trina has me all out of whack.”

George chuckled and patted you warmly on the back. “Why do you think I’m out here?”

You sighed with a wry smile. You then turned to Great Aunt Sylvia, who was still passed out in the recliner. 

“Aunt Sylvia?” you tried. You went over to her and touched her arm. 

“Leave her be, hun,” George told you. “Only the smell of food’ll rouse that woman.” 

Your smile deepened. Then you turned to Ben, who’d been watching you with reserved interest. He’d never seen you with the rest of your family before.

You went to him on his side of the couch and asked, in a tone deceptively light, “How about a tour of the house? You haven’t even seen it all.”

He could admit, it was a fairly big house for just your mother, but he was more interested in the game. 

“I’m watching this,” he said, gesturing at the screen. However, when he saw the tight press of your lips, he knew something wasn’t right with you. You were trying to tell him something with your eyes, he just didn’t know what.

You leaned down, subtly grabbing his thigh.

“I need you,” you whispered in his ear. “Now.” 

The tone of your voice set his blood alight with new interest.

Ben’s resulting smirk was subtle, but edged. 

“A tour it is.” 

AN: Just when you thought you'd seen the last of my BMD cliffhangers. 😏

How'd you like Ben's introduction to his girlfriend's family? I also sincerely hope you don't have an "Aunt Trina" in your life. 🙄

Next Time:

He grabbed your arms and meant to kiss you, but you stopped him with your fingers against his lips. 

“Two rules: this lipstick doesn’t come off. And no. Ripping. The dress.”

Keep reading: PART 3

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