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bluemerakis · 28 days ago

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⋆˚࿔ °･⌇ SOLDIER BOY HEADCANNONS .ᐟ

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY has reoccurring nightmares. He has deep-rooted trauma from both the physical and emotional wars of his past—his abusive childhood, the bloody battles fought, and the years he spent as the russians’ experiment. He’s brash and forward in most aspects of his life, but not when it comes to confronting his trauma head-on. Thus, it tends to accumulate and lay siege on him during the time when he’s most vulnerable—in his sleep. He often wakes up in a fit amidst the dead night, and the first thing he does isn’t grounding himself with a few, steadying breaths or a doing scan of his surroundings—it’s to instinctively reach across the bed to make sure you’re still there beside him. To make sure he’s not alone. He’s so plagued with the need to be loved and valued, that he’s latched onto the one person who’s shown him nothing but. So, funnily enough, losing you might be the worst nightmare of all time.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY wears a simple, silver promise ring on his left index finger. After a year of dating, you gifted it to him as a commemoration of your relationship milestone. His first instinct was to bitch about it, but it came from a place of unfamiliarity—Ben’s not used to gifts. He’s barely adjusted to the stability of the lifestyle he’s founded within you. But he takes it, anyway—briskly slipping it into his pocket while he practically herds you into the bedroom for a gift of his own. He kept it stashed aside in a memoir box—yes, he owns one and he hoards all his gems of the past in it for nostalgia’s sake because he’s just an old-timey boy who never fully adjusted to modern life. And after gnawing his ear off about never wearing it, he looped a chain through it and wore it like a dog tag—afraid that it’d get lost to some combat commotion if he wore it on his hand. And then one day, you’d absentmindedly brought up the idea of marriage, and later that night, Ben finds himself considering the lifestyle by finally slipping that ring onto his finger. As time passes, he finds himself absentmindedly playing with it whenever he’s idling around or unwinding from the day. And it’s something he specially reaches for when he feels overwhelmed or anxious. It quiets his brain, like the mere touch of it is the calming tether that keeps him grounded in the midst of his mental storms—reminds him of the solid rock that is you.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY often experiences the “Proust Phenomenon”—where certain smells trigger vivid memories of the past. Due to his Supe nature, Ben’s olfactory senses are enhanced—like a k9 with extensive years of training. It was a handy skill when it came to operations and the element of surprise surrounding rigged locations, where he could detect the biting scent of chemical agents and certain metals that smelled like sure death. But, ironically, it’s also a perforation in his balls-of-steel armour. And now, in the modern days—stemming from the PTSD of his past—there are certain smells that remind Ben of his time in the Russian compound. Of the torture he endured. Metal traces, gunpowder, general anaesthetic—which shares the same undertone of the novichok gas used to put him to sleep. Fun fact—when you had to get your wisdom teeth removed, Ben dropped you off and picked you up but refused to step foot inside the building. He can’t tolerate the smells—chemicals, gas, death. It overwhelms him, and it’s unwelcome on his mind. And later that night, he wouldn’t go within ten feet of you—bothered by the scent of the anaesthetic still clinging to you. Eerily familiar. It was an eye-opening moment for you and the true magnitude of his trauma. So, overtime, you both worked on a way to counter-condition the trait—using smells he could associate with better memories. Something like the scent of your perfume. Everyday, before he leaves the house, he makes sure to spurt a drop of your perfume onto the neckline of his shirt—so that it evades his nose at all times. So that there’s no room for his senses to entertain a smell other than yours. It keeps him grounded and wards off the other scents threatening to invade his fickle peace of mind. And best of all, it smothers him with every thought, feeling and memory associated with you. Another way for him to be consumed by all that you are, even when you’re miles apart.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY craves your proximity. It’s not something he’s aware he does, but it happens, regardless. When you first started dating, it wasn’t anything too serious—mutual benefits with minimal strings attached. But unbeknownst to him, he’d come to crave your company like relentless clockwork. And he was a colossal prick when he didn’t get it—especially on the late nights where he’s taunted by his thoughts. A phone call that found you in the midst of a club amongst men—any man that wasn’t him—was a line of static corrupted with heated words. And a few minutes later, he’d show up like a relentless tractor, ploughing through the crowd with the sole objective to pluck you from the masses and lead you back to the car with a firm grip on your wrist. His possessiveness is something you helped work him through, and he’s surely dialled it down to a stinging glare and a tongue bitten raw whenever another guy spares you attention that extends beyond a polite conversation. He is refined, though—more subtle in his possessiveness. Like when you’re in the kitchen making dinner, he simply grabs a beer and sips on it while standing a little ways away from you, leaned against the counter while he watches TV from across the apartment. If you drift to the island to start plating the meals, he strays to the other end of it—all while his eyes remained glued on the TV. He doesn’t know he’s doing it—it’s like an instinct to be tethered to you at all times, following, guarding, yearning.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY always opens doors for you. Car doors, restaurant doors, apartment door. Any door. Initially, out of habit, he’d always enter the space before you and do a quick sweep of the area—like he’s on the scout for potential danger, or like you’re the president that he’s tasked with keeping safe—before beckoning you inside. It was a prevalent routine in the initial months of his domestic life, but you’d sat him down one night to talk about it—how he doesn’t need to be on such high alert anymore. And admittedly, how it hurt a tad bit that he didn’t let you in first. Almost as though those words had flipped a switch about how unaccustomed you are to his Soldier habits—he made sure from that night onward, that he always lets you in first. He’d wanted to argue that he was doing it from a place of good intent, wanting to keep you safe from any potential hidden threats, but he’d bit down on his tongue. Because it didn’t matter. There was not a damn thing worth doing if it didn’t favour your happiness. Now, he always makes sure that he opens the door to a room and steps aside to usher you in with a jerk of his chin. But once you’re inside, he still executes a subtle scout—a brief survey tossed over your oblivious shoulder and a hasty sweep of the outside before he trails in after you. You’re his gem, after all, and he can’t risk having you stolen from him.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY drives with one hand on the wheel, and the other on you. Whenever you’re his passenger princess—which is always because he still believes in misogynistic chivalry, his hand always manages to stray from the gear and onto the hump of your thigh. Always. He holds you there, strokes an absentminded thumb over the skin, or rubs soothing lines that sometimes dip far too close to your core. And not once will he look at you while he does it—as if it adds to suspense of his clingy encroachment—but you might catch the corner of his lip spreading with a knowing smirk. He also has one hand on your headrest whenever he’s reversing, and then it’ll trail down to tuck your hair behind your ear, or run two fingers down your jaw before settling in its rightful place amongst your thigh.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY likes TLC. I feel like this started with one of those times he was sat on the sofa watching TV, and you snuck up behind him to run your hands through his fluffy hair—because come on. At first, he might’ve flinched away from the unfamiliar intimacy—habitually moving to seize you at the wrist and yank you away with a low muttering of “the fuck you doin’?” But you shake him off with a giddy laugh, telling him to lay off the armour of stress for two seconds before returning your hands to his hair. He still tenses under the touch, but the longer your hands spend entwined with the hairs flowing from his scalp, he starts to melt under the touch—like you’re loosening the strings woven through the very DNA that renders his every muscle tightly-knit. Scalp massages turn into neck and shoulder massages, and that turns into rubbing out his back—and it even extends all the way to arm and head tickles. Sometimes, while you’re laying in bed, he’ll settle himself down beside you with a kiss to your jaw before he’s leaned his head against the side of yours—and he won’t say anything, but there’s a newfound stillness to him that screams expectancy. And when your hand wanders up his back and around his neck to settle in his hair, you feel him start to relax—unwind. And once, he let slip a soft and strained groan of pleasure, like he was desperately trying to swallow the truth of how much he enjoys ed it. But it never escaped your notice, and it wasn’t the last time he did it.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY loves doggy-style for a quickie, and cowgirl for a stickie. When this man is hard and craving a quick release, he does love the idea bending you over beneath him and sending you to heaven. He’s a refined type of rough, never pushing limits he knows would hurt or leave a bruise you’re not keen on sporting. However, if you ask for it, he’s happy to oblige. And he LOVES holding you at your waist—loves it. Absolutely clings to it like a lifeline—kneading, gripping, pulling you into his every thrust. And he loves drinking in the view of your back—arching and flexing with silent pleas for his touch. But on the slower, softer nights of the week, he’s quite fond of cowgirl—back against the head-board with you on top of him, riding him at a pace that suits your current mood and needs. His hold on you is firm, but open for adjustment—guidance. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t admit that the mere view of your face—contorted with pleasure and effort alike—gets him worked up in addition to your every movement. God, you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever had the pleasure of calling his, and he watches you like he’s trying to memorise every detail about you. And if he doesn’t also love watching the way you swallow his length whole—and the way he glistens with the mingle of your combined pleasure. This man loves a cream pie—said what I said. And dirty talk.

a/n ─ first ever headcannons 👊 happy birthday to pookie schnooks! can you tell i worked hard on these? pls it’s almost 1 am now and i’ve been busy since 9 pm. and it’s all 100% canon in my head idc what y’all say.

thank you for reading! all likes & comments & deeply appreciated, but reblogs go a much longer way—so please support your writers with it! <3

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @angelicjackles @deansbbyx @titsout4jackles @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @honeyryewhiskey @daylighted @deansbeer @deansbbyx @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @jasvtsc @st4rmarley @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @chi-raz @youdontknowe @misatxox @lixiesbrowniess @ilovedeanwinchester4 @beelzebzb @lunaleah @kr804573 @idontwannabehere7 @lanasgirlfr @cas-only-angel @lucky-beheaded @nperoconelcositoarriba @mahi-wayy @alidiggory92 @idk-123-0 @tuxedoe @cassiecourtemanche @rositaslabyrinth @abox-of-rocks @viluren @h8aaz @cowboysandcigarettes @bejeweledinterludes @emeraldcrs @jensenacklesballsack

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ax-ky · 9 months ago

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carpenterswife · 10 months ago

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HALF OF ME (iii)

SUMMARY: Spending years in a Russian lab as nothing more than an experiment does a lot to a man, even one as strong as Soldier Boy. Experiment after experiment after torture technique slowly chips away at his willpower. And, alongside the loss of his strength, comes his anger. His anger at the people who put him in here, the people he used to call his team; and his need for vengeance increases. 37 years after his capture, a group of 5 release him from his prison, and sets him and his rage free.

WORD COUNT: 1755

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Torture, human experimentation, inhumane treatment/practices, violence, gore, unethical treatment/practice, drug abuse.

MAIN MASTERLIST / SERIES MASTERLIST

If there was one thing Ben knew, it was that he wanted the fuck out of here. This cold, lonely, dark room the Russians had had him locked inside of for god knows how long. Between the torture, the Novichok, and the cryo, he’d lost count of the days.

Or the months… or years. Yeah, he really wasn’t sure anymore.

But another day brought more bullets shot into the back of his throat. And, honestly, he was more tired of the taste of metal than the feeling of his throat being ripped apart.

They could be more inventive with their torture techniques.

Injecting acid into his veins, pouring it down his throat, and setting him on fire was boring. Really. If he had more strength in his body, he’d mock them for their predictability. It was repetitive. How were they learning anything new when they did the same damn things every day?

He spent most of his days alternating between thinking of two things; how to kill these Russians, and how to kill Payback.

Because, oh yeah, was he going to rip that shitty excuse of a team apart by their limbs when he got out. Not if. When.

And he’d start with you.

The woman he’d been sleeping with in the lead-up to The Betrayal.

Sure, you weren’t at Nicaragua, but he had no doubt you’d opened your legs as some fucked up, psychological way to soften him up. Fucking whore. Sure, you were a good fuck, but his rage swallowed up any remaining softness he had for you. (Or hardness).

He was going to take great pleasure in squishing you like an annoying bug.

And then Crimson — honestly she was number two on his kill-list, simply because he didn’t really like her. She was a boring fuck, and totally used his ‘death’ as a PR stunt.

What was it with these bitches and manipulating him?

Every time he thought about it, he got more angry. More vengeful. He could feel the power draining from his bones every time they drugged him up on Novichok, and it only heightened his rage.

Right now, he was stuck here. But, when he got back, every single one of those fuckers were going to pay.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

He dreamed about you a lot.

Sometimes, as they poured acid down his throat, Ben imagined you. He clawed and begged breathlessly for mercy, becoming a weak, vulnerable mess at the hands of these men, and he thought of you.

He didn’t want you. You were the one who’d put him in here. But he couldn’t help it.

With your pretty face, sweet words and gentle touch; you’d been the first woman he’d loved.

Ben never thought he’d be capable of such an emotion. That love and emotional intimacy was far, far out of his reach. But, with you, it came easy. Being a dick to you felt more like teasing and playful remarks, rather than genuine hatred. And he’d never dared raise a hand to you like he did Gunpowder or Noir.

He hated himself for it. He should be angry. So, so fucking angry. He should spend his days wishing the worst on you.

Instead, he wished you were here. That you’d come and rescue him. That you’d hold him and whisper soothingly, your words sinking through his skin and to his heart, lighting up his nerves.

He’d never felt so alone before.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

So… apparently you couldn’t age.

It came as a shock as much to you as it did to Vought. They’d pulled you out of the spotlight when it’d become too obvious, when the media started to notice the lack of wrinkles for your age and had begun asking questions, and they’d ran some tests.

Turns out, your father was a moron. And the strain of Compound V the assholes at the hospital had given you, was the same strain they’d given Ben during the human trials in WW2. Fucking dickheads. Because now you were stuck on this godforsaken planet until you discovered something that could kill you.

You had no idea why they did that. But it was Vought. They always had some shady, unethical shit going on in the background. Turns out you were just another victim of that.

Hopefully the Russians had another one of those lasers they’d killed Ben with.

It’d been 15 years since that fateful day. 1999 had olled around, and Vought officially kicked you out of the business. They gave you the ‘Soldier Boy Plan’ — giving you a pretty house in the middle of god-knows-where, and telling the media you were dead.

You couldn’t complain, really. You’d befriended the local wildlife and spent your evenings watching the sunset over the trees. The years went by slowly, but they were far more peaceful than your life in Vought had been. Finally, you could just breathe.

And you watched the news, as Payback fell apart and were replaced by a new team, the Seven. Homelander seemed like a Soldier Boy 2.0 — same cockiness, same fake smiles and kindness. You were sure there was some shady shit going on with that team. (There always was with Vought).

It wasn’t your business. It was 2020, you hadn’t been a superhero in 21 years. Whatever bullshit was going on with Vought was in your distant past.

… And then Queen Maeve made it your business. On a quiet day in 2021.

Initially, when you opened the door to see the smug superhero in your doorway, you were half-tempted to just kill her right there. But, you held back. Your hand curled around the door, staring back at her. “What do you want?”

“I want to know everything you know about Soldier Boy.” She didn’t even look surprised you were alive.

You kind of just… stared. “Ben?” You echoed. That was the last thing you’d expected to come out of her mouth “You mean… the man who died 37 years ago? Why the fuck are you asking me about him?”

She shrugged. The corner of her lip tugged to a smirk. “You were fucking him.” Honestly, you had to give her some credit. She obviously did her research before coming here. Plus, she had some fucking balls just turning up out of the blue like this. You could rip her head clean off her shoulders if you wanted to.

Scoffing, you turned and walked away from the front door, inadvertently inviting the supe in. She followed you through your home, to the kitchen, where your first instinct was to grab a bottle of wine. “Why are you asking me about him?”

“We think—“

“Who’s we?” You cut in, grabbing two glasses.

Maeve stared for a moment. “A few friends.”

You scoffed, pouring the wine into the two glasses. “I’m going to need more than ‘friends’ if you want me to tell you anything about Ben.” With an unimpressed glare, you handed her a glass.

“We think whatever killed him, might be able to kill Homelander.” She didn’t give you the information you wanted, but it was better than nothing. And it’s what made you help.

So, you fetched her the files you’d gathered on Ben, in your 15 years of trying to figure out what happened to him. You wished her luck, hoping she found more than you did. You never found who the friends were, and why exactly they wanted Big-Man-Homelander dead, but you had a good guess.

Whatever.

Not your business.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Ben came in and out of consciousness a lot. They’d rip into his muscles and his bones, or inject something into his bloodstream, and then they’d pump him full of Novichok again, until his muscles went weak and his eyes rolled back.

Fucking assholes. Finding one of the only things in this world that could do damage to him.

It made it difficult to keep track of time. Sometimes they kept him asleep for weeks, while they analysed results and came up with new techniques. Like a rat. It was dehumanising.

He was tired these days. Tired of being angry. Tired of being tired.

He missed home. He missed drugs. He missed his fame. He missed sex. He missed you. When’d he become such a weak pussy? He was a man, for fucks sake. Not a snivelling bitch. He could get through this. He could get out the other end. And he could kill you.

He was sure of it.

And, in 2021, only two weeks after you delivered the file to Maeve, a group of five landed in Russia, and set him free.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Soldier Boy being alive was not on the itinerary. All their clues had lead them to Russia, where they’d expected to find a weapon… and instead found the man himself.

Hughie couldn’t quite believe his eyes, and Butcher was too busy rethinking their entire plan to really digest this all.

Really, there was a man in his 100’s snorting lines of bennies in front of them, making demands. They’d fetched him food, alcohol and drugs, with the hopes to calm him down and rationalise him. He took it all with no ‘thank you’, but seemed a bit more relaxed once the white powder went up his nose.

Relaxed enough to make a deal.

He wanted Payback dead, they wanted Homelander dead — they’d kill two birds with one stone. It was good enough for Butcher.

“Two’a your ol’ mates are dead.” Butcher spoke to the supe, who was drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. “I sorted Gunpowder.” (Ben hadn’t been impressed with that news). “And your ol’ girlfriend, Y/N—“

Now that caught his attention. “She’s dead?” Ben’s head lifted quickly, analytical eyes watching Butcher. His teeth ground together. He’d wanted to be the one to kill you. He’d dreamt of watching the life drain from your eyes. “How’d she kick it?”

“Vought never released those details.”

He allowed himself a smirk. Smart bitch. “Then she ain’t dead.” He slammed the hilt of his dagger into a few pills, crushing them into powder. “Shady fucks pulled that stunt hundreds’a times.”

Hughie sat a little straighter. This was fresh news. While they’d been searching for people to help find information on Soldier Boy, they’d suggested you. But, everything in history suggested you’d met the reaper in ‘99. “They faked her death?”

He nodded, sure of it, cutting the powder into lines. “Find her.” He demanded. His sharp glare cut into the pair of them. “I want her fuckin’ dead.”

a/n: sorry for the loooong ass wait on this chap. i rlly struggled to write this one + i’m currently sitting my a level exams. this chapter was more of a filler. the good stuff happens next chapter !!!

taglist: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity @mostlymarvelgirl @aaronhotchnerlover @delaynew @let-me-luve-you @yvonneeeee @livsh20 @thej2report @lostin-jensenseyes

@boywivlove @leavli @cassieriddle713 @drasticemotions

#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #the boys tv #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #half of me

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kaleldobrev · 1 year ago

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Memories Are All I Have

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: You’re all Ben thinks about while he’s in Russia

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Cursing (6x), Mentions of torture (but nothing insanely graphic in description), Fluff (Ben just deeply loves reader & misses her)

Authors Note: Flashbacks are in italics | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

He found you washing dishes, wearing nothing but your forest green silk robe that he had gotten you for your birthday last year. Forest green specifically so you knew that he was the one that had gotten it for you (since that was his color). You were barefoot like always, humming 'Almost Like Being in Love' by Sinatra; the same song your mother would hum to you as a lullaby when you were a child. "You comin' to talk to me or are you just gonna stand there?" You asked him; not looking away from what you were doing.

"Hate when you do that," he chuckled, making his way toward you.

"You can blame Vought for that," you said, letting out half a laugh as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "And to be fair, you do the exact same thing to me." His chin rested on your shoulder, and your hands rested on his hands; your body slightly leaning into him as the two of you swayed a little.

Half knocked out, Ben could vaguely hear the Ivan's talking; going on about what experiments they were going to be doing on him today. Ben couldn't really speak Russian, or understand most of it; but he had been here long enough to know what certain words or phrases had meant when it came to him getting experimented on.

You were sitting on the counter, his hands on either side of you; essentially trapping you. Your legs were slightly wrapped around his waist lazily, along with your arms around his neck. He was simply just staring into your eyes; and this was the first time he had noticed small little specks of various color within them that were about a shade or two lighter than your actual color — it amazed him that he had never noticed this about you or your eyes before. "I love you," he told you, his voice slightly low. He caressed your cheek a little with his thumb as he searched for your reaction.

That's when you smiled at him. A smile that he's seen from you so many times before — one that was a genuine look of pure, unadulterated happiness. It was the kind of smile that he had wanted to just stare at and admire for the rest of his life. "I love you too," you replied back. You leaned in just then; your foreheads touching.

Ben heard the door start to open; but he was too drugged up to really respond to what was happening. He was so used to this song and dance at this point, as he's been through it all. He's drunk bleach, sulfuric acid cocktails, had AK's shot into his mouth, and torched with fire.

Ben had his eyes closed, but he knew that you were staring at him; it was just something that you did whenever the two of you were lying in bed together. He didn't mind of course, as he often found himself staring at you too when he thought that you weren't looking. "You're staring," he said, a small smirk on his lips.

"I call it admiring," you stated, your fingers tilting his chin up so he could face you more. As soon as you did that, he opened his eyes to look at you; admiring that soft smile you so often gave him. "Now you're the one staring."

"It's called admiring," he grinned.

"Smartass," you replied, leaning in, cupping his face and gently kissing him.

Ben was on the cold metal table now, strapped in like he normally was; still slightly out of it due to the Novichok. He could barely understand what they were planning on doing to him today; but the words that he could make out (as he had heard them plenty of times in this context) was gasoline and matches.

Ben was in the gym, punching away at a punching bag, attempting to get his aggression out. Today was one of the worst days he's had in a while, and all he wanted to do right now was curl up in bed with you after he fucked your brains out against the tile of the shower wall; but you were no where to be found.

He usually had a pretty good idea about where you could be, but for some reason you weren't in your usual places. But that's when he heard it; heard the pitter patter of your feet running down the hallway towards the gym, trying your best not to slide on the slick marble floors.

With one final punch, the door to the gym swung open, and he knew that it could only be you. But without fail, you did what you normally did in order to try and surprise him and placed your little hands over his eyes, promptly covering them. "Guess who!" You exclaimed.

"Noir," he smirked, and you laughed, removing your hands. God he fucking loved the way you laughed.

"You're very good," you replied, and he turned to face you, looking slightly down at you.

"Where were you today?" He asked. "I couldn't fucking find you anywhere," you frowned slightly, and he hated more than anything whenever you frowned — especially when he was the cause of it. "Don't frown Sugar," he said, tilting your chin up. "You're far too pretty to be doing that." Your frown instantly became a soft smile. "There she is," he grinned.

Today was one of the worst days as they bathed him in gasoline and lit him repeatedly with matches. The first couple of times, Ben held in the pain and simply just gritted his teeth as he didn't want to give these fuckers the satisfaction that they were actually causing him immense pain. But after about the sixth or eighth time (he couldn't remember), he actually let out a groan as he just couldn't hold in the pain any longer.

After he let out that groan; the Ivan's must of been satisfied, as all he could hear was the sounds of them laughing, laughing as if they were at some comedy show; and for the first time in Ben's life, his stomach actually felt like it was in knots — that was how disgusted he was.

"So, I met with my agent and Legend today," you said, starting to trace small circles on his bare chest. "And guess what?"

"What?" He asked, cocking a brow.

"You know the show Solid Gold right?" You asked him.

"Of course I do. It's your favorite fucking show," he said. "What about it?"

"Well...they're going to be doing a special episode coming up featuring Kim Carnes, the Oak Ridge Boys, Wayland Flowers and Madame, and they want us on the show too!" You exclaimed, smiling wide.

"Why wasn't I invited to this little meeting if they want me too?" He questioned.

"Because they know you'll agree to anything as long as I bring it up to you," you said, flashing that charming smile you always did whenever you were trying to butter him up to get something you wanted. Repeatedly he would tell himself that he wouldn't fall for it, wouldn't give in; but he always did without fail, as he found himself never being able to say no to you — he loved you too fucking much.

He sighed. "When do we film?"

You bit your bottom lip, almost as if you were afraid to give him the answer. "Friday," you mumbled. Today was Wednesday.

Memories of the two of you were one of the only things that had kept Ben going besides dreaming of the day when you would rescue him from this awful place. But if he was being honest, the longer he was here, the more he was starting to question if you were ever going to come and rescue him. Were you even looking for him? A question that started to enter his mind more and more lately; a question that he hated came to mind. But he had to hope that deep down that you were actually looking for him and have been for the past unknown amount of years because you had loved him just as much as he had loved you.

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#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys one shot #the boys amazon #ben x you #ben x reader #female reader #reader insert

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