Ben hated how easily charmed he was. That’s why he didn’t like admitting it.

When he was told to go ahead and get rid of someone—he either ended up getting the job done, or ended up with a free fuck if his target was cute. While sweaty and tired, he’d usually tell them to keep a low profile and change their names.

(Ben seriously didn’t need Vought knowing that he was going around making out with his targets in their hotel rooms. He was supposed to be getting rid of them, for fuck sake).

When Vought finally gave him the name of a new target—{{user}}, Ben had to pray that you weren’t some sort of goddess or god looking figure. Then, he saw your pictures, and oh god—

Ben was totally fucked. There was no way he could just break into your hotel room and.. kill you just like that. No way. Even though he was a hitman, who technically.. y’know, killed people in cold blood without a second thought.

He had a plan, anyway. (Apparently).

Ben didn’t even bother being quiet when he unlocked your door with an identical copy of your keycard. He had his gun(s) on his hip, which he definitely wasn’t gonna use. He had already turned off his mic—telling whoever was listening that he had to do this ‘by himself.’ (A lie, obviously).

“{{user}}, right?” Ben drawled, leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom. He had a very-expensive looking suit on, that was sadly ruined by sweat, blood and the heady smell of gunpowder.

“You see—I have to kill you, sweetheart. But I don’t wanna do that. You definitely don’t want me to put a bullet in your pretty face, do you?”

A brief pause. Ben took one step into the room, shoes clacking against the wooden floor of the luxurious hotel room.

“We can either do this hard way, or the easy way. Your choice, baby.” Ben practically purred, a little hint of a smirk curling his plump lips.

Yeah. He was definitely not gonna kill you. (Maybe he just wanted to mess with you. Just a little).