You Call It Madness But I Call It Love
Chapter 15: What Do You Know About Love?
Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV
Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter fifteen of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)
Word Count: 6.5K (I got carried away again)
Warnings: References to sex, Cursing, Angst, Crying, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.
Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!
Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
**************************************
Present Day *Reader POV*
The shopping bags that hung from your arms would have been heavy for the average person, but for you it seemed like a bag full of pillows. It was the day after you saw Rosemary and said goodbye. Despite the almost excruciating hangover you had this morning, because it'd been almost forty years since you last had a drink, you dragged yourself to the mall to try and find outfits for your trip to Russia. You were satisfied with the few outfits you found, but you were worried because the plane left in a few hours and you were no where near ready.
Mentally or physically.
As much as you wanted to go help Ben, you still were apprehensive about the whole situation, not just about going in blind, but wondering what the hell you were going to do when you saw Ben. You wanted to hold on to your anger, but you were afraid that the moment you looked into his green eyes you would forgive him.
I am not going to forgive him. I'm going to break him out then tell him to fuck off and I never have to see him ever again.
Despite your apprehension, you knew that you had to do this, that you had to go help him even if you still hated him because you couldn't bear the thought of the boy you grew up with being tortured over there all alone. It was the alone part that hurt the most. You knew how much Ben hated being alone. He never had to say it out loud, but all the time you'd spent together in your bedroom before and after the injection spoke volumes.
Of course you still had no idea where you were going, but figured that if you went to the Kremlin you could get some answers, which meant you'd either have to lie your way in or just kill anyone in your path. Which would be messy, but necessary. You try to shake off the guilt of exposing yourself again and what that could mean for Rosemary and Lou. You made sure that Rosemary knew to pack a bag for herself and for Lou and told her to wait for your call.
You wanted to be there to escort them out of the city, didn't want to split up and have them get snagged while you were waiting for them at the rendezvous point, so you told Rosemary to take a few days off and lay low.
When you get to the outside door of your apartment building toting the bags, you notice that it's been broken, as if someone tried to pull it off its hinges.
Well that's great. Hopefully the building manager noticed that.
Your mind drifts back to Ben as you step into the elevator.
What if he isn't alive when I get there? It was an unwelcome thought, but it meant that you wouldn't have to talk to him.
Maybe if I knock him out when I get there and just leave him in a Russian motel somewhere, I won't have to talk to him. You pause. Will he want to talk to me?
The memory of the last time you spoke flashes through your mind bringing an unmeasurable amount of rage and heartbreak back over your body. The dam you built to keep out everything that happened was reaching capacity, especially given the recent events with Countess, and you knew that the moment you saw Ben it was going to burst open. You hoped that you'd be able to keep it together long enough to get out of the lab or wherever the hell he was being held, before you lost it. But it was doubtful.
As you walk down the hallway to you apartment, you notice that your front door is open and you stop walking. Apprehension spikes at the back of your mind as you examine the door. The lock is broken and door is cracked just enough for you to hear people talking inside in hushed tones. You creep forward and look through the crack.
You've got to be kidding me. You groan to yourself noticing Butcher and Hughie standing in your living room.
Great. Just what I need. Right when I'm going to leave they show up. Guess that explains the mystery of the broken door downstairs.
You think about walking away, of going back down the elevator and hoping that by the time you come back they would be gone, but you knew you had to face them and you still had to pack. So you push open the front door of your apartment and step into the room.
"You know when I called saying that I had something else to say about Soldier Boy, I assumed you would call, not break into my apartment." You sigh before moving to the right side of the counter that divides the room between the living room and the kitchen and depositing the shopping bags on the stainless steel top.
"Maybe you shouldn’t leave your apartment unlocked poppet. Anyone could walk in." Butcher replies with a grin.
"Hmm. Sure. You guys here for more coffee?"
"Go shopping did you?" Butcher ignores your snark eyeing the bags.
"Yeah I needed a few new outfits for my art show next month." The lie is easy, but you know that the sudden appearance of the two of them probably meant you were caught red handed. Of course now with everything that happened with Countess, you didn't care anymore if Butcher and Hughie knew who you really were. "You doing okay there Hughie?" You raise an eyebrow as you notice how his heartbeat has spiked since you entered the apartment.
"Good." He says, but he looks uneasy.
Well, guess he's afraid of me now.
"Huh. And here I thought you were replacing your jacket." Butcher throws your ruined jacket onto the floor between you.
You look from the jacket to Butcher. You hadn't bought a replacement and hadn't wanted to throw it out. You were still hoping that the scorch marks looked like you had "distressed" it. It didn't and you knew that, but you loved that coat so much.
"See, I think it’s a big coincidence that Countess got right fucked after we came and talked to you." Butcher smiles.
"Probably the same coincidence as Gunpowder dying before you showed up here the first time." You breeze with a tight-lipped smile.
Where was he going with this? Was he here to kill me? You think about what Legend said about Butcher killing supes.
"That looks bad." Butcher gestures to the jacket. "You have a little spat with your good friend?”
"Let's just say she said a few things that upset me." Your eyes skate from Butcher to Hughie sizing them up. "If you're here to kill me, you're welcome to try. Oh sorry, 'arrest me'." You make air quotes around the words. "But we both know you're not government agents, you reek of Compound V and the last time I checked there was that whole, no supes in the government thing."
"Wouldn't it have been easier to get this out of the way the first time?" Hughie asks.
"I didn't want to be involved." You shrug your shoulders.
"Then why you'd buy a plane ticket to Russia?" Butcher takes a step towards you, but you hold your ground.
You weren't afraid of him.
"I hear it's nice this time of year. Not too hot, not too cold. Very pleasant." You snap back at him eyes narrowed, before you look down at the antique watch on your wrist. "Look I'd love to have a heart to heart, but I just don't have time to do this little dance with you. So we can either get to the part where you try to kill me or-" You raise your gaze from the watch to glare back at Butcher, but then your eyes focus on the hallway behind him and your heart stops.
Ben is standing there in the shadows looking at you the same way he always has, with those wonderful piercing green eyes that makes all other memories of them be put to shame. He's dressed in modern clothes, wearing a dark green shirt that hugs his perfect muscular chest and is the same color of his suit, your favorite color and the one you can never look at without thinking of him because damn it, it's also the color of his eyes. He looks the same, but different. His hair is longer and darker than it was the last time you saw him and his cheeks are covered by a trimmed but thick beard. It was unusual given that you'd never seen him with more than just a little bit of stubble and annoying because it makes him look even more ruggedly handsome, but despite the piercing way his eyes follow you, you can see a haunting memory of the last forty years.
You're upset that the one of the first thoughts you'd had beside staring at him open mouthed is that you wished you were wearing something more flattering than one of your pairs of paint splattered overalls over an old band t-shirt. You were going to Russia to get him and yes maybe you were shopping for things that you could move in, but you had picked out a particular revenge outfit that you believed would make Ben regret everything he did to you and also might have been paired with a particularly badass set of boots that made your legs look very long. The outfit that made you feel beautiful and sexy was unlike the one you were wearing at the moment. Also because you hadn't brushed your hair today and had just stuck it up in a messy bun at the back of your head.
You're struck with the urge to run to him and kill him at the same time, but you can't move and you can’t think.
Apart of you believed that you would find him dead in Russia, a sad thought but it meant that you wouldn't have to relive everything all over again. Everything that went to shit the last 24 hours you spent together that you relived with Countess the other day and now you were reliving when you looked at him standing there looking better than he should.
Because damn it, only Ben could be tortured in a lab for the past 40 years and walk away looking like a GQ model. I've never hated anyone more.
"Ben?" Your voice is no more than a hoarse whisper.
Ben pushes past Hughie and Butcher, taking careful steps towards you like he doesn't want to scare you away. "Y/n." The sound of your name on his lips fills you with an inescapable amount of warmth.
Traitor. You think to yourself at your body’s reaction.
He's standing so close to you now that you can smell the same shampoo and aftershave he always used and it brings back memories of the nights he spent in your bed with you laughing and talking like nothing had changed making you feel alive again for the first time in forty years. Before everything went into the blender set to puree.
Ben's eyes trace your body like he can't believe you're standing in front of him making you wish again that you're wearing the outfit you picked out so that you could look as good as he does. And just as he raises his hand towards your face you remember why you hated him, remember that night, remember what Countess said that caused her to lose her head.
Your hand flashes out so quick you don't think Ben notices it until it lands with a resounding slap against his cheek that sends him reeling back from you. Your strengths were similar, almost identical, and if he hadn't been invulnerable it would have ripped his perfect jaw from his face.
"What the fuck was that for?" Ben snaps, green eyes blazing as he looks back at you.
"You've got some nerve coming back here after all these years." You spit, the anger rising in your chest with wings of fury that beat against your ribcage. "Did you really think that you could just say my name again and make me forget everything that happened Benjamin? I am not one of those trashy women that you used to fuck and the fact that you think you can show up here, give me the fucking puppy dog eyes, and think that I’ll swoon, is ridiculous!”
There goes the dam.
Your gaze levels on Hughie and Butcher who look just as stunned. "And you two. Why did you bring him here? I didn’t want any part of this!”
"Why did you pretend to be dead!" Hughie shouts back.
"Did you think that maybe that was me trying to tell you that I didn't want to be involved? Or are you two just that fucking stupid?"
"Why did you buy a plane ticket then?" Butcher asks again, raising an eyebrow.
Ben is watching you with anger burning in his eyes. It's difficult for you to look at him. Every time you do you think about your last night together, the morning after when he pushed you away, and finally the night where he ripped out your heart and stomped all over it.
How did I ever think I could look at him again when I got him out of Russia?
"Because even though I hate him. He doesn't deserve that. The Ben I knew would have come to get me, and I wasn't going to leave him to rot in some fucking Russian prison." You snap back. "Now get out of my apartment."
"Sweetheart-" Ben begins to say.
"No. No. No. I don't want to hear it from you. Nothing you can say can make this better. I’m glad you’re free or whatever, but go. Get out." You push past him, but Ben's hand flashes out and grabs your wrist with enough force that you feel the bruising of your skin.
"No." He towers over you.
"Let. Me. Go." Your eyes narrow shifting to bright purple. The entire room begins to tremble, the glass windows shake in their panes and the glass jars full of paint brushes on your studio table begin to clink against one another. But he doesn't remove his hand.
"Not until you listen." Ben's own green eyes have hardened into a emerald.
You latch onto the wrist that is holding you and break his grip, before spinning and throwing him backward across the room away from you. Ben's body flies past Hughie and Butcher who watch with wide eyes as he hits the back of the couch and pinwheels over it with a loud thud as he lands on the cushions. You would have rather thrown him into the brick living room wall, but you restrained yourself.
"I don't want to hear anything you have to say Benjamin. You said enough that night and apparently you were saying lots of things to Countess about me. So get out." Your eyes skate across Butcher and Hughie. "All of you."
Hughie is still watching you with wide eyes, like he can't believe that just happened.
Join the club kid.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ben shouts, standing from the couch and straightening his clothes. You don't need to be a psychic to know how angry he is. In fact, you're surprised he's not throwing you out the window or at least throwing a punch. Ben didn't tolerate it when anyone put him in his place and it definitely looks like it's taking him an extreme amount of effort not to attack you, given the way his hands are clenched into fists and the way his jaw is tensed so tightly you can see the muscle flexing.
"She told me what you said about me. That you threw me a pity fuck because you felt sorry for me, that you were bored when we had sex because I was so inexperienced."
"It's not true."
"Isn’t it?" You're trying desperately not to cry, but the angry tears have already begun to well up in your eyes. "The last thing you sad to me was that I was pathetic and that you never would love me, never could love me. That you fucked me because you felt bad for me and you wished I would just fuck off. That I was just another warm pussy and that I meant nothing to you. So forgive me for not believing you."
"Oh shit." Butcher mutters under his breath.
"Damn." Hughie echoes.
"I know what I said to you, Y/n. I've spent the past 40 years regretting it-" Ben begins to say, but you interrupt him.
"Oh I'm so sure. The Great Soldier Boy actually has a conscience, let me just alert the media." You spit back. "Oh wait, sorry you wouldn't want that getting out would you Ben? Because that would mean you aren't a man."
"Y/n-" He growls.
"You don't get to come in here and apologize and act like you did nothing wrong. You're not here because you feel sorry, you're here because you want me to dote on you, to follow you around and give a shit like I did for 40 fucking years.”
“Y/n-“
"Stop saying my name like that!" You shout and the glass sugar dish on the counter flies off the counter and smashes into the floor sending shards of glass everywhere.
Hughie flinches.
"Like what?" Ben exclaims.
"Like you care." You cross your arms over your chest staring him down because you don't want to keep crying.
"I do fucking care about you-" Ben snaps running his hand through his dark hair frustrated.
"No you don't. You never did. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
"Yes I do."
"Please stop talking."
"What else do you want me to say?" Ben shouts back, moving towards you. "I'm trying to fucking apologize-"
"I don't want you to say anything and I don't want to hear your half-assed apology! I want you to leave. You and your creepy friends." You gesture back to where Hughie and Butcher are watching with open mouths, who are unsure if they should leave or watch the show.
"They're not my friends."
"And neither am I! Which means I don’t have to listen to anything you have to say!”
"Y/n please-" His teeth are gritted together.
“I'm not some fangirl Ben. I was your friend, your friend before any of this. Before any of this fucking supe shit. I cared about you. I had been in love with you since I was 8. I had taken care of you since the night we met." More tears squeeze down your cheeks as a lifetime of happy memories before everything went down the drain wash over you. The wonderful times you'd shared together at the park, in your bedroom back in Philadelphia, dancing in the dancehall, at baseball games and Ben walking you home all the while you wobbled down the street drunkenly and sang off key. All the blissful little moments that you thought maybe he felt the same way about you and then followed by the moments you spent together the night of your birthday, when you felt more special and loved than you'd ever had. It makes the knife he stuck in your back even sharper.
"That night we spent together meant everything to me. I thought it was special and I thought you loved me. But you don't. You just fucked me because you were bored and you found the first person who said yes.” Your body turns away, but he grabs you by the shoulders to make you look at him.
"I do love you damnit!" He shouts. "I didn't want to-" Ben's jaw clenches in frustration, looking back at Butcher and Hughie. "Can you two just fuck off?"
"I wish you all would." You say, trying to loosen his grip on your shoulders, but he doesn't let go. You think about throwing him across the room again, because it made you feel a lot better.
"Fine. We'll be outside." Butcher says tugging Hughie away.
"Are you sure?" Hughie asks looking from you to Ben as if he's worried to leave the two of you alone.
"You want to be here? Because they're either going to kill each other or start fucking." Butcher responds.
"We are not going to start-" You begin, but they're already out the front door of your apartment leaving you alone with Ben, who is still holding on to your shoulders.
"Please listen to me." Ben says looking deep into your eyes. "When you said that you loved me it-" He stops looking for the right word as if he can't say the next ones that come out of his mouth. "Oh fuck it, it fucking scared me. Okay? It scared me, Y/n, and damnit I'm not a pussy! I'm not afraid of anything!"
“Oh no you could never be a pussy could you? Soldier Boy could never admit that he had real feelings for someone.” Your voice wobbles, tears trailing down your cheeks as you poke him in the chest to emphasize every word. “And now you’re just saying what I want to hear, because you want to have another quick fuck!” You push your hands against his chest trying to push him off of you, but he won't let go. "You're just saying it because its been forty years since you had sex and you thought, huh might as well find the most pathetic person I know, Y/n won't say no if I pretend to be everything she wanted again."
He doesn't mean it. He doesn't love me.
"I’m not lying to you! And I’m not pretending! I wasn't pretending that night either!” Ben roars so loudly you flinch. “That night I felt things with you that I had never felt with anyone else. It wasn't cheap sex or a quick fuck-" His jaw tightens as if he's embarrassed to admit it. "Damn it.” His teeth are gritted together. “We made love. I understood that when I woke up the next morning and I was happy to be there with you. I knew that I loved you and I wanted to tell you, but I fucked it all up instead. I fucked Countess because I was scared of what loving you meant. But I’m ready now, I’m not scared anymore. I love you!”
He's saying everything you always wanted him to, but you're scared. Scared that he's just saying it, that he thinks it's what you want to hear and this is the only way that he can get you back into his life because he needs someone to follow him around, because he can't be alone.
You stand there for a minute taking in his stance. His head is slightly bowed in shame, shoulders tight, body leaning towards you. But then you catch his eye, you see the sorrow, frustration, and pain in his gaze. Ben was not big on sharing feelings and for him to admit all of these things aloud was shocking enough without the obvious emotions flashing in his eyes. It was so different than the stoic or pissed off attitude he usually had when he was Soldier Boy. The look in his eyes is so earnest and Ben has never been a good liar, not to you anyway. You always knew what he was thinking.
If I forgive him then what does that mean? I forget the past 40 years like they never happened? I forget all the tears when he broke my heart? Forget how broken I was? How broken I still am?
You think of all the times you missed him, all the times you forgot about what he said to you and remembered the good, all the times you wanted him there with you and Rosemary because you knew he would love to be there. All the early memories together, all the missions, everything that lead up to the falling out and Ben’s supposed death. Ben's admission of guilt and his confession of love for you was shocking. Especially because the Ben you knew 40 years ago would have rather dropped dead than say the words "make love."
No. I won't give in. I can't do this, I can't do this all over again. I was better, I was moving on, he doesn't have the right to come here and mess up my life all over again.
"No." You shout, shoving him away with all your strength. Ben stumbles backward, his eyes wide as if he wasn't expecting you to push him away, because of course he wasn't. “You don’t know anything about love. You’re just saying that because you know it’s what I want to hear, what I’ve always wanted you to say to me.”
He still doesn't understand how much he hurt me. And he doesn't deserve my forgiveness.
“I’m not just saying that, it’s true. Please y/n-“
"I don't believe you. And when I said I never wanted to see you ever again I wasn't lying. So get out Ben!" You shout.
"No. I love you and I'm not leaving." Ben says back determined.
You weren't prepared for what those words did to you. You weren't prepared for the floodgate of emotions that exploded the moment those words passed through his lips or the way it felt like you were being tugged in two different directions. Because despite wanting to throw him across the room again, those three little words made you want to run into his arms and hold him close, made you want him to take you to bed and make you forget all the shitty things that happened forty years ago, make it like he never left.
But you couldn't do it. As much as you wanted to forgive him, you couldn't because you didn't trust him anymore, you didn't trust that he could give you what you wanted.
“Too bad! I won’t do this to myself again. All I did was care about you, help you. I stood by you and made excuses for the person you became and I held on to this picture of the boy you used to be. The one I fell in love with. The one that used to climb in my window when things were hard. The one that took me to my first baseball game. The one who danced with me. The one that made me feel like less of a freak because he understood me. And the one that begged me to leave Howard and everything I knew and come with him. That night we were together I saw that boy again. I loved that boy. I would have done anything for him and I did. But he’s not here anymore. And I hate myself for holding on to him as long as I did.”
"But I told you I loved you!" Ben exclaims.
“Just saying that isn’t enough, not after everything that happened!” You shout. "You're forty years too late Benjamin. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m exhausted and I’m going to go to bed. And I don’t want you to be here when I wake up.”
"Y/n please-" You hate how he sounds when he says it, like he's broken, because Ben has never once sounded that way in all the years you'd known him. You hate how he looks. How his dark hair is falling forward into his face and he looks so much like the boy you used to love that it makes you want to scream, because you wanted to believe that he was gone, but all you see when you look up at him is that boy. There is not one shred of Soldier Boy in the way he looks right now and you hate that. You hate that you wanted to forgive him, that all it took was him looking like at you like that. But you still can't do it.
"Just go." Your throat thickening as you say it, fresh tears trailing down your cheeks. "I don't want you here. I never want you to come here ever. I never want to see you again.” You lie pushing past him and walk down the dark hallway, slamming and locking your bedroom door behind you. Your body sinks to the floor as you pull your knees up into your chest, sobs shaking your body and tears pour from your eyes.
How many tears can I spend on one man? How do I still have any left after all these years? How could I have been stupid to think that I was over him? That I could just go to Russia, break him out, and then push him out of my life so easily? None of what just happened was easy.
Your face presses into your knees. You want to call Rosemary, call her and tell her what happened, but your phone is still on the counter and you couldn't go back out there, because you knew he was still there. Standing in your living room looking too perfect after all these years and saying all the things you always wanted him to and you don’t want to go out there and forgive him.
So you stay. Your back pressed against the door, crying into your knees and hoping that this will just all end.
Because it’s got to one day right?
***************************************************
*Soldier Boy POV*
He hadn't meant to reach for you, but all he wanted was to feel the gentle swell of your cheek beneath the palm of his hand, the smoothness of your skin against his rough fingertips, and to memorize the planes of your face with his touch. You were even more beautiful than he remembered. Your curves perfectly accentuated by a pair of cute paint splattered overalls that made him smile, and your hair pulled away from your face in a messy bun but still made you look effortless and striking. When he saw you standing there, it was like taking a punch to the gut. He knew that he missed you, but seeing you there warm and alive made him want to crush you against his chest and never let you go ever again.
He had laid himself bare before you, allowing himself to push through the urge to shove all his emotions back beneath the surface as his father taught him, and spoke, instead, the words he wished that he had said all those years ago.
Ben's shoulders tense when he thinks of what you shouted back at him, how broken you looked. His heart falls into the pit of his stomach when he remembers the tears in your eyes. Ben hated it when you cried. He also hated that the first time he saw you in forty years he made you cry, again.
He didn't know how to fix this. Ben thought that his apology would be enough to make you at least try to forgive him, but it hadn't. You had shoved him away from you, refused to let him touch you or comfort you-
Why is she so damn stubborn? I apologized! I told her that I loved her! Isn’t that what she wanted?
He grits his teeth together thinking about how you threw him across the room like he weighed nothing. If anyone else had done that to him, Ben would have killed them, but he knew that he deserved it. He knew you would be mad, but he thought that you would at least want to hear everything he had to say instead of cursing him out and slamming the door in his face.
When you slammed your door behind you, he had stood outside of it for an hour listening to you cry, heard your soft muffled sobs. At one point he leaned his head against the door and wished you would let him in so he could hold you while you cried, even though the thought made him feel like a pussy. He wanted to comfort you. He wished you had forgiven him, allowed him to take you to bed, allowed him to show you how sorry he was and how much he loved you. He wished that you let him help you forget the last shitty forty years that you spent without him, forget what he said and what he did to you that night.
The harsh words you yelled at him make him flinch, when you told him that you didn't want him there and never wanted him to come back. They were the words that he always feared you would say to him when he climbed in through your window at night or when he showed up at your apartment when you were still on Payback. And hearing you say those words felt worse than anything those Russian fucks did to him. Because Ben didn't know where he belonged if he wasn't with you, he didn't know what to do if you weren't in his life, you were the only thing that mattered.
How could I fuck this up this much?
Ben looks back at the clock on the wall in the kitchen which shows he'd been there for three hours waiting for you to come out of your room, but you hadn't. He knew it was because you fell asleep, he could hear your heart beat, your soft breath against the pillows, and the almost silent sounds you made when you slept. They were exactly the same as when he would fall asleep next to you and damn it he didn't realize how much he missed them until this exact moment.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How do I fucking fix this?
Ben stands from the couch and walks down the hallway for the millionth time to stand outside your door preparing to knock, but he didn't know what to say. He thought that he'd said enough, but judging by your reaction he hadn't.
The thought of saying anything else was difficult for him to swallow. It was hard enough to say what he had to you, but he was realizing he was going to have to delve even deeper to make you even look at him again or want to be around him.
Finally he goes to the front door of your apartment before he looks back down the hallway. He didn't want to leave, didn't want you to wake up and him not be there despite what you said about wanting him to leave. He wanted you to understand that he wasn't going anywhere and that he was never going to leave you ever again no matter how hard you tried to push him away. But he needed to leave now, not for long, just long enough for him to get what he needed.
He had seen the florist shop on the corner when Butcher drove up. As Ben walked down the street in the direction of the florist he remembered the conversation he had with Butcher after you slammed your door in his face. Convincing Butcher to let him remain in the apartment was difficult, but finally when Ben threatened to rip Hughie in half, Butcher relented stating that he would give Ben one night with you before he came back. That was the deal anyway, Ben had lied, because like hell he was going to leave now that he'd found you again.
Ben wasn't planning on leaving and even if you couldn't stand to look at him, Ben would not go. Even if it meant sleeping on that shitty couch every night.
He would never leave you again.
The smell of the flowers wafted out of the small shop when Ben opens the door, his eyes skating across the numerous bouquets, each one more extravagant than the last. Other women would swoon over them, but not you. His eyes fall first on roses, but he turns away. He knew that you didn’t like roses, although many believed them to be classic, Ben knew that you thought over the years that roses had become generic and overused. He of course had sent some to numerous women over the years, but he liked that you were different. He always liked that about you. He rolls his eyes when he remembered when Howard bought you some every week.
Because of course that asshole didn’t know what y/n liked. No one knows her as well as me.
The man behind the counter eyes him when he walks in. "Can I help you find something sir?"
"No." Ben says gruffy looking at the displays again, but then he sighs. "Do you have any lavender?"
"Lavender?"
"Yeah." Ben knew it was the only thing that you would accept, knew that it was your favorite because it reminded you of the house your family rented over the summers up North. Ben hated those summers. He'd break into your bedroom and sleep in your bed while thinking of you and reading the letters you sent him over and over again, the ones that you pressed fresh lavender into and the ones that made him realize just how much he needed you.
Those of course weren’t the only letters you ever sent him. When he went to boarding school he’d wait for you to send him a letter and one of your doodles or a small painting. He kept every one in a cigar box under his bed. It was why he was kicked out of boarding school number nine, a fight he had with another student began because the student had found the box and then proceeded to mock Ben endlessly by passing around the letters you sent him. Ben had never told you what the fight was about.
Ben stops as he realizes how he’s going to get you to listen to him.
“Here you are sir.” The florist reappears at the counter holding a large vase of freshly cut lavender.
“Do you have a phone I can borrow?” Ben asks.
“Sure.”
The object the man hands him is not a phone, well not a phone that Ben’s ever seen before.
“I said a phone-“
“That is a phone?” The man looks confused.
“How do I fucking call someone with this?” Ben sighs shaking the black rectangle in his hand and looking for the buttons.
The man takes the object and swipes his fingers across it before handing it back to him so Ben can see the numbers to dial. “Just push what you want and hit the green button.” The man says, looking at Ben like he's crazy.
“Oh. Thanks.” He mutters, before dialing the number and holding the phone up to his ear.
Legend answers on the first ring.
“Hey it’s me. Do you still have all my old shit from my apartment?”
“Somewhere.”
“I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”
******************************************
N/A: Why not end on a cliffhanger? This chapter is a bit longer, because this week is CRAZY for me and I'm not sure when I'll be able to write the next chapter. But I'm not giving up on these two. They deserve the world.
Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you guys think. If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know :)
Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs @bughill126 @simplyfixated @sleepjam @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts @onlyangel-444 @lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress @my-obsession-spn @lifeonawhim @soldirboy @liuope @brynanna @abramswife @xxannyxx @babyinatrench-coat1 @the-gentle-spirit
105 notes
·
View notes
𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆❜𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 — For my first 'getting good at writing by writing at least 500 words a day' training, we got Leon with a dog! Not just a dog, but basically getting a dog. Please, don't look up the dog breed. I laughed writing half of this because I couldn't help but think about Leon and Noodle. Holding 'em up and going, 'Can't you see we're related?'. The Leon in mind is RE2, btw!
𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 900
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — Ball talk, ok? Dirty jokes, undertones, whatever. I wanted to be a little silly willy.
“How about we get a dog?” Your boyfriend, Leon, offered. Pulling your attention away from the dogs towards a small puppy in a cage. Acting like a little ball of sunshine—just like a certain soon-to-be owner.
Your footsteps clicked against the laminate flooring. Joining him in front of the cage he was talking about. A sweet little Chinese Terrier with a wagging tail. Jumping against the metal, it stared up at Leon. It looked a little… diseased—didn’t all dogs with their beady eyes, though? Messy bangs, skinny, and weirdly half-naked.
It felt like they had a connection, watching as Leon crouched down. Pushing his finger through the bars to which the dog bit. Giving a playful tug and growl against the flesh. Violent for a small thing that is supposed to be the savior of dysfunctional families.
While Leon was occupied ‘playing’ (getting his finger eaten alive) you looked at its name, age, and the little fun fact. Growling in the background and Leon’s laughter accompanying it.
Noodle – 9 months – Fun Fact: I like balls! <3
Oh geez, balls? Especially with a heart beside it? What are they trying to advertise? That’s horrible. A snort came from you, drawing Leon away from his playtime. Oblivious to what was going through your mind.
“What's so funny?’’ Leon asked, moving over to see what made you snort. Perplexed as he read a little about me. Mentally groaning at how sweet words could be turned perverse.
“I don't get it…” He muttered, face contorting into a small pout. Bless his innocence, made you want to cackle.
“I like balls?” You let the words fall from your lips, hoping he'd realize the undertone. He didn't, he just stood there, confused, still. Knock-off statue.
This boy was hopeless, rubbing your face as you sighed. Dense he was, but you liked it about him. Made him adorable, like the puppy in the cage he was playing with.
“You wanna get Noodle? Spitting image of father and son.”
The man rubbed his chin, biting his lip as he thought about this. It was small, a puppy, and seemed nice. Maybe needed to lay off the gnawing and biting, but he liked Noodle. Son-like-father with that haircut.
“Yeah,” Leon responded with a nod, “Let's get Noodle.”
Getting a worker was fairly easy, with a small wave and conversation. Going through adopting a dog and all the warnings, dog beds, food, puppy pads, you name it. Tedious at best, but Leon seemed surprisingly fine. Content to have a dog, even if he was mostly busy with work. Going from tazing a crackhead that ran to lying on a couch with a half-naked ball of violence. (You wished he didn't choose a dog that looked like Noodle, it was cute just… Ew. Prayed your friend wouldn't send you to the Nine Hells for that thought.)
In the end, you're left with a dog in your hands. Lapping at your fingers as you walked towards Leon's Jeep. Leon being chivalrous enough to carry bags was a blessing. Setting them in the backseat while you situated your newfound puppy.
Leon couldn't help but smile for two reasons—one a new friend, and two what he planned later in his head. Sure, he seemed harmless, but behind every seemingly good man was a monster. His monster being what happened in bedrooms, depraved bastard. At least he had the morals not to be a corrupt cop.
“Y'know…” He started, leaving the words on his tongue for a second, “I know someone else who likes balls.”
The clogs turned in your head before your face burned. Steam wanting to come out of your ears at such words. Felt like the Windows blue screen of death with how he was staring at you. Clever bastard for a guy with a baby face.
You brushed it off, getting into the Jeep's passenger seat, and brushing your clothes off as you sat down.
“No response?” Leon laughed, shutting the door as he got inside. Fishing his keys out of his pocket to start the engine. Right before turning the key clockwise, he met your gaze.
“Would love it if you take care of mine, they're a little lonely.”
Disgusting, foul, loathsome—shut him up please before he gets popped across the face. If he wanted to be dirty, he should've saved it for the bedroom. The man babbled and flushed when put on the spot. Staring at your lover’s nude body.
Your finger looped with his shirt, pulling him close. Seeing the sweat on his neck and the gulping of his Adam's Apple—the boy thought he was smart. Dead fucking wrong.
“You think you're so fuckin' smart, huh? All cutesy and innocent but a depraved, pervert underneath it?” Such a hostile response left him wide-eyed, a poor deer in the headlights. Growing compliant and also aroused by such roughness. Words caught in his throat.
“Fuck around and find out, little boy.”
You followed your hostility up with something that could be considered kinky. Giving the corner of his lips a small lick, tongue flat against the moisturized skin. Before a butterfly kiss on his lips. Shoving him back into his seat as you pretend none of it happened—to forget your stupidity.
He didn't forget, and neither did he forget the ache in his boxers. Nor would the traumatized dog in the backseat watching his parents act like horny, repressed teenagers.
Tomorrow's is gonna be ball worship fyi, I wanted to do it for awhile haha. A few moots better get me on my ball train (and pull me the hell off.)
31 notes
·
View notes