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princessmisery666 · 10 months

Note

Please don't leave. Jensen Ackles and reader

Please Don't Leave

Summary: Friends to lovers to friends, that can work, right?

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, fluff, Jensen in his thicc Soldier Boy era (that’s a warning in itself!)

W/C: 4.3k

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki. Small Parts/Mentioned: Karl Urban, Jack Quaid, Gen Padalecki.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Notes: For the purpose of this fic, Jensen is not and never has been married.

A/N: This drabble got way out of hand.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // any mistakes belong to me.

Graphics: Title card Jensen photo credit - https://twitter.com/_AlanaKing_ Soldier Boy image from Variety. Fly video belongs to me.

Master Lists: Dean Winchester // Main // Made Up Fic Titles

“Help me understand,” you implore.

The first domino to set off the chain reaction was in the form of a famous and beautiful actress, Mae Nova, sliding into Jensen’s DM’s—a very detailed offer with an accompanying photo that you saw by no fault of your own. How is irrelevant. Why is the issue. Why didn’t he delete it or immediately set her straight?

“You’re the one that wanted this, Jay,” you say when he remains silent. “You're the one who pursued me, convinced me we should try and turn the ten years of friendship into something more.”

“I know.” He sighs, pushing a hand through his longer hair. “And I don’t regret a second of the last six months we’ve been together…” he doesn’t say it; however, the ‘but’ demands attention like a flickering light.

“But you're having second thoughts?”

“No!” he denies vehemently, finally looking you in the eye. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, one of us has to!”

He shakes his head, exhaling loudly. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, sounding like a broken record. His heart rate is running high, and his chest heaves with every breath, but his vocabulary appears to be running low.

You tsk, fighting back a scathing comment about needing a script writer to make him talk. But it wouldn’t be fair. He’s not a man who runs from his emotions. He’s just trying to make sense of it all like you are. You have to remind yourself he’s not Dean Winchester. He doesn’t look much like him anymore either; longer hair, beard growing almost wildly, no plaid in sight in the Soldier Boy wardrobe at the back of the fancy trailer.

Is that where the lines blurred? Working together for so long on Supernatural, have you both confused the other for your characters and their feelings toward the other?

“You can stop saying your sorry. I forgive you,” you say, and he turns a watery gaze your way. It almost breaks your resolve, but you realize it’s down to you to be the strong one. “I just need to understand why? Why didn’t you reply and tell her you're in a relationship? You’ve done it a hundred times before.”

“I don’t know.”

To make matters worse, Mae had landed a role on The Boys and would be working alongside Jensen.

“Jensen, you spent fifteen years of your life devoted to Supernatural, ten of those with me around. I think you were scared of the end, afraid of losing such a big part of yourself.”

“I was,” he agrees, in a whisper as if you speaking the words is the reason for his realization of it being the truth.

“Maybe us being together was a knee-jerk reaction?” you suggest, “a way to cling onto the past.” You take a deep breath, and your chest tightens as if begging yourself not to say the next part. “Maybe you need a clean break, see what the world looks like without Supernatural… without me.”

“What? No.” He looks offended but can’t hold eye contact and doesn’t offer anything further.

You can’t keep going around in circles, so you make a decision, sitting down at the small table and firing up your laptop.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, rushing to look over your shoulder, perhaps worried you’ll take it upon yourself to reply to the woman. “Searching for flights back home?” Jensen says, panic clear in his tone. Harshly he slams the laptop shut, and you look up at him. “You can’t leave.”

“Give me a reason to stay.”

“Me, us!” he yells, “we can work this out.”

You stand up and gently press your lips to his. Jensen’s hand automatically goes to the small of your back, guiding you around the chair to better press himself against you.

The kiss is natural and unhurried, but there’s too much tension in his body, and you know it’s because he feels it, too. This is your last kiss.

A little breathless, you pull back. “I don’t wanna fight, Jensen.”

“Me neither.”

“So let me be the bad guy,” you say, heart aching but trying to hold it together. “Let me walk away before the wound is too big to save our friendship.”

He grimaces as if tasting something bitter but nods once, “I’m sorry.”

It’s been a long day. All Jensen wanted to do was take a shower and crash, but Karl convinced him to go for dinner with the cast and crew.

The conversation is light, everyone enjoying their food and making small talk. It’s nice enough, but it’s incomplete because you're not there.

He wishes it was you beside him instead of Mae. The seating arrangements have no rhyme or reason. It just happened that way. But still, he almost resents that she’s the one next to him. So much has happened in the weeks since he last saw you. He wants to share it all with you, and wants to know how you are - if you’re struggling with his absence as much as he is with yours.

“Okay there, Ackles?” Jack asks, “You're a world away.”

“Yeah,” he lies, sitting up straighter and smiling. “Just thinking…”

Karl must know the look of a man missing his significant other because he asks, “About your girl?”

“Yeah,” Jensen admits, sighing heavily. He hasn't told anyone you broke up, and there’s been no speculation in the tabloids.

“Tell us about her. You never did tell us about your first date,” Jack says, “we all know you met on Supernatural, but not the story of your first date.”

Jack’s an awesome guy, sweet and kind, he doesn’t know the reminder is like a kick in the teeth, but Jensen obliges.

Jensen hurried across the lot, a coffee in each hand, the brown paper bag containing two cinnamon rolls dangling from his mouth. He was late, and Jared would give him shit for it, but it would be worth whatever Jared threw at him if it improved your morning.

Your latest Instagram post was a photo of a fly swimming in your coffee with the caption: “It was my last coffee pod. This just topped off a crappy weekend😭. #HappyMonday”. You were one hundred percent a coffee snob. You made it in a particular way using a fancy - and stupidly expensive - machine. You wouldn’t settle for the coffee on set. You’d rather go without. However, Jensen knew when you didn’t get her morning beverage, you’d be grumpy all day, and he hated to see you without a smile.

He headed for the makeup trailer, knowing that’s where you’d be. He kicked the bottom of the door gently as a way of knocking, then waited.

He didn’t expect Jared to be the one to open it. He wasn’t due in makeup for another half-hour, but his lanky frame filled the space of the open door. “Look who decided to show up,” Jared jeered playfully.

“Shut up,” Jensen mumbled around the bag, walking past him.

You were already there, looking through clothes on the rack, but stopped to smile at him. “Morning, Jay.”

“Here,” he said, handing over the coffee that was for you. “Hi, hey, morning.”

Confusion wrinkled your brow, but you took it. “Um, thanks.”

“I saw your Instagram, and I know how cranky you get without your coffee, and you said you had a shit weekend, so I wanted to try and make it better,” Jensen vomited words without thinking. “I don’t like seeing you upset, and you’ve been down a lot lately, and I just thought maybe this would help, some, a little, maybe.” Breathlessly he shrugged and prayed the floor would open up and swallow him.

Your smile beamed, and you lifted the cup to your nose, inhaling the aroma, and hummed contentedly, “Mmm. You even got my order right,” you said and stepped closer to him to place a kiss on his cheek.

“That’s cause you're always posting about it on social media,” quipped Jared.

You tutted, rolling your eyes at your co-star but kept your eyes locked on Jensen. Dropping back down from your tiptoes, you said, “Thank you for this. It means a lot that you thought of me.”

“It’s nothing,” he lied. It was everything, and as your kiss dried on his cheek, it reminded him of your evening plans. “I know you’ve got a long day ahead, especially with your date later.”

As part of a charity event, you had agreed that they auction off a date with you. The auction had been silent, so you had no idea who had hired you for the night. Though the studio had assured you they had vetted the winner, you’d asked that he and Jared be in the bar next door in case of emergency.

“Oh god,” you groaned, “don’t remind me. I wish I never agreed to that stupid silent auction.”

“Ah, don’t be such a downer,” Jared said, winking. “You never know. He might be the man of your dreams.”

Oh god, I hope not. Jensen thought. He’d already had to watch you be in a relationship with Chad, a man who neither deserved you nor treated you well. He couldn’t bear to watch you be with someone else again. He wanted to be next in line, and he would treat you as you should be, like a Queen. He just needed to work up the courage to tell you.

“I doubt it,” you sighed, and Jensen swore your eyes flicked to him and away again. “Besides, who said it’s a man who hired me?”

“C’mon, you two,” Zara, the makeup artist, said, waving them toward the door, “out! I’ve got to get this one ready.”

Amongst a chorus of goodbyes, Jared and Jensen left. “What is it with you when you’re around her?” Jared asked as soon as the trailer door was closed. “You’re a bumbling idiot, and she’s starting to notice.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she asked me what’s wrong with you. Thinks she’s done something wrong ‘cause you either avoid her or barely speak to her.”

“I know, man,” Jensen groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Ever since you put it out there that we could be more than friends, I can't stop thinking about it. I don’t want to blurt it out at the wrong time, so I try to be careful about what I say, but I just end up tripping over myself.”

Jared clapped him on the back, “You just need to fake some of that Dean Winchester confidence.”

“Maybe.”

“You better find a way to be around her ‘cause you’ve got a date with her tonight.”

“What?”

“The silent auction,” Jared explained, “I paid for the date with her for you.”

“Jared, what? No!”

“I think Gen will have an issue if I show up for a date with her, and are you really going to leave her sitting on her own?”

“No, but Jared, I can’t,” Jensen panicked, “I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

“You’re an actor. Just act normal.” Jared suggested before walking off.

Seeing you through the restaurant window, Jensen wanted to hug Jared so tight to thank him he’d crack a rib. But he also wanted to punch him so damn hard in the arm it’d be limp for a week. Why had he agreed to this? Okay, he hadn’t agreed. He’d totally freaked out, drank two beers, took three shots of whiskey, and then forced himself into the waiting car.

He was going to mess this up. He knew it. He was a fumbling, mumbling idiot around you, and dread settled firmly in his gut as he watched you scanning the menu. He regretted the whiskey and allowing Jared to talk him into this.

He swore he was having an out-of-body experience as his feet took him closer to you. You glanced up when he got to the side of the table, and your face glowed with a smile. “Come to check in on me?” you asked, rising and pulling him into a hug.

He held you a little tighter than he usually would, savoring the moment before releasing you and taking a seat. “Not exactly checking up on you,” he said, “this wasn’t my idea, but Jared brought you for me.”

“What?”

“The silent auction, Jared was the highest bidder.”

Confusion took over your features. “Why would he do that? I mean not that I’m not grateful, I’d much rather be here with you, but I don’t understand.”

He realized it was now or never. “‘Cause he knows how I feel about you,” he admits, holding his breath for a reaction.

“Care to elaborate?” you ask after a long silence.

“The truth is, I like you... a lot.”

“I like you too.”

“No,” he shook his head, “you don’t get it. I cherish our friendship and don’t want to lose it, but it's more than that. My feelings for you go beyond friendship, and I want to see if we could be more.”

“I was so nervous,” Jensen chuckles. “I felt like I was auditioning for the rest of my life.” he contemplates it for a moment, “maybe I was.”

“Well then, it’s good she reciprocated,” Karl laughs.

“It took her a minute,” Jensen remembers, “but yeah, she came around.”

Your phone rings as you slot the key into your door’s lock. You’re juggling coffee, a pile of scripts to read, dry cleaning, and a bag of groceries. You have no hope of answering without dropping everything, so leave it to ring. You assume it’s Jared checking in on you after seeing the photos on TMZ. Jensen and Mae were pictured at a restaurant in Ontario.

The phone stops as you enter the kitchen and set everything down on the countertop.

Gen had already checked in to make sure you were okay, and you’d been anticipating a call from Jared to yet again invite you out to the set of Walker to meet one of the crew he was insistent you’d “hit it off with.” You’d politely declined, having already been on a date that had been pleasant and ended with a goodnight kiss, but you’d told the Padalecki’s it had left you feeling guilty as if you were cheating on Jensen. You needed time to let that feeling pass and allow the wound to heal completely.

You set about emptying the bags of groceries, and your phone rings again. You shuffle the contents of your bag, looking for the device, sure that it will cut off to voicemail before you find it.

“Hello,” you answer, pressing it to your ear.

“Hey.”

Jensen’s voice freezes you to the floor, and you hold your breath. It’s been more than a month since you left him in his trailer, and you’ve only exchanged a few text messages. Why is he calling now? Does he want to be the one to confirm that he and Mae are together?

He says your name when your silence stretches.

“Um, yeah. Hey, hi,” you say, clearing your throat to rid yourself of the shock.

“You sound out of breath,” he notes, “is this a bad time?”

“No, no, I just wasn’t expecting it to be you,” you explain, “caught me off guard.”

“Who were you expecting?” he asks, sounding accusatory.

“Jared,” you sneer, unable to stop the ire you feel.

“Sorry,” he says, and the apology tightens your jaw with the frustration it evokes. “I should have called sooner.”

“I haven’t called you either.”

No one is to blame for the lack of communication. You both needed some space, so you were both right not to call.

Neither of you speaks for a moment, and you debate whether to tell him you're busy so you can end the call and be done with the awkwardness. But he obviously put his awkwardness aside to call, so you might as well rip the stitches out and reopen the wound if that's what this is about.

“Why are you calling now?”

“I need you to know that me and Mae aren’t together,” he says, firm and direct.

You try to interrupt, “Jensen, it’s fine.” but he determinedly continues.

“The picture they posted was cropped,” he explains. “The whole cast and some of the crew were there. The photo made it look like it was just the two of us, and that’s not the truth.”

“Even if it was, it’s okay.” It’s not okay, and from the moment you saw it, you’ve felt nauseous. Still, you assure him, “You’re free to do what you want. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

He sighs, and you can hear the scowl in his tone, “It’s important to me that you know.”

You think it’s sweet that he’s taking the time to explain himself, even if it’s not what you expected. But Mae was never the problem. The situation she presented only shone a light into the crack that you had both been ignoring. Yet the information that Jensen has shared is a welcomed relief in the wake of the storm, but it’s just the eye. More questions are coming, questions that will likely only cause more hurt and confusion.

“Why?” you ask, “why do you want me to know?”

“Because I wanted it to be you next to me…” he pauses.

You're not sure if he wants you to say something or read between the lines, but you can’t let yourself trust the spark of hope that jabs your heart like a pinprick.

“Even if we’re just friends,” he adds.

That pinprick pierces the thin shell you’d managed to build, and it feels like a thousand jagged pieces of glass lacerate your heart, and you chew your top lip to stop the emotion from escaping in a sob.

There’s a loud bang on his end of the line, and someone calls out, “We’re ready on set, Mr. Ackles.”

“I gotta go,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, and immaturely add, “Bye, buddy,” before hanging up.

The party has been a monumental success. You helped Gen, along with a professional party planner, to pull it off.

“So you really had no idea?” You ask Jared once everyone seems to have greeted him and wished him a very happy fortieth birthday. Technically it's not his birthday for another four hours, but the surprise party had needed that early element to make sure it went off without a hitch.

“None,” Jared says, smiling. “I was fully prepared to fly home tomorrow to spend my birthday with Gen and the kids. I was looking forward to it, actually. I didn’t want a big fuss,” he chuckles, looking around the room, “but I’m glad you helped Gen make a fuss. It’s nice to see all the old faces.”

“Not all of them,” you note sourly, commenting on Jensen’s absence. “He wanted to be here, but you know how tight filming schedules can be.”

“I know,” he nods with a tight, sad smile. “It would have been good to see him. For me, at least.”

“Don’t.”

“It’s my birthday. I’m allowed,” he teases.

“It would have been nice to see him,” you agree before Jared can start in on the lecture. “I think. I don’t know. It’s weird and painful, and maybe I'm better off not seeing him until it’s not weird and painful.”

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. “Sounds like you have it all under control.”

“Absolutely.”

You mingle with old friends from Supernatural and new friends from the Walker set. The crew member, a camera operator named Vince, is as cute as Jared promised him to be, and you find yourself tucked in a corner talking with him as the night continues.

You hear the cheerful reunion before you see it. People applaud and shout greetings as Jensen crosses the room and embraces Jared in a tight hug. They hug for a long time, whispered words exchanged between brothers, and you see Jared’s eyes tear up. His night is complete now that Jensen is here.

A few people greet Jensen with hugs and shakes of his hand, but his eyes never seem to focus on them. He distractedly looks around them and seems disappointed when he sees the next person waiting to greet him.

You mostly manage to keep your focus on Vince, but you can see Jensen in your peripheral. You don’t react, but you notice when he finds you. He stares for a long moment, maybe hoping you’ll feel his eyes on you and look at him, but you don’t, and he doesn’t approach.

You're doing nothing wrong, but an uneasiness sneaks up on you. It’s not that you feel like you're somehow betraying Jensen. It’s that you're betraying yourself by denying how you feel. It wouldn’t be fair to start anything with anyone new right now. They’d be a rebound.

Vince seems to notice your focus has shifted and politely parts ways with you.

You spy Jensen across the room, catching up with Brianna, and head for the bar, needing something more potent than wine to make it through the rest of the night.

If possible, Jensen seems to have grown broader, arm muscles bulky beneath the material of his shirt, and you're definitely a fan of the Soldier Boy look. He looks good with a now-trimmed beard and long hair. The sight sends an ache of loneliness through your chest, remembering how it felt to be wrapped in those arms.

A shot turns into two, and when the bartender steps away to refill your wine glass, you feel the air next to you shift. You don’t have to turn to see who it is, the cologne gives him away, and as it arrests your senses, he nudges his shoulder into yours. The familiar heat of his body makes your chest tighten. You so desperately want to turn and embrace him, but you know your fragile emotions would crumble under the weight.

“Whiskey, neat,” he tells the bartender, his voice deep and gruff. He turns his body towards you, one arm resting on the bar, and you sip your drink, silently wishing it was hard liquor again instead of wine.

“Hey,” he says when you don’t look at him.

“Hi,” you respond blandly.

“How are you? You look good.”

“So do you. Really. You look incredible,” you say, without actually looking him in the eyes.

“I hate having to do the diet and exercise thing, though,” he chuckles, “it was so much easier when all I had to do was wear flannel.”

You laugh, but it's bittersweet because everything was easier when he was wearing flannel. “How’s it all going? Stepping into the shoes of a new character?”

“Daunting, but fun.” Jensen talks, and you do all you can to listen and engage but can’t bring yourself to fully meet his eyes.

He says your name so delicately it feels like a caress that sends a shiver through you. You close your eyes and know what he’s asking before he pleads, “Please look at me.”

His eyes have always been mesmerizing, and you know if you gaze into them, the spell will be cast, and there will be no escaping him, even when he’s miles away again. He waits for a beat, but your eyes remain firmly shut, and he closes the space between you, demanding attention.

His exhale wafts through your hair. It’s too close because it's not close enough, and you feel the heartache rising in your chest.

“It was good to see you, Jensen,” you flash a smile in his general direction, picking up your glass.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing your wrist as you turn your back to him. “Don’t leave.”

You freeze in place and turn to look at his hand cuffing your wrist. Slowly you raise your gaze from his hold to his face, preparing yourself for the enchantment of his eyes, but his sad expression is downcast. His chest heaves with a deep breath before he finally looks at you, despondence turning to tentative hope.

“I know I should have said it back then, but I’m saying it now.” His voice is nearly a whisper beneath the muted conversation and ambient music, but it’s clear as a bell to your ears. “Please, don’t leave.”

You turn back to face him, and he takes two deep breaths before he finds the words.

“The last couple of months, I’ve been miserable without you.” He admits, “I’ve had to fight myself to eat, to work out, to do anything that didn’t involve staying in my trailer with a bottle of whiskey. I know that things are weird, but I realized my hesitance had nothing to do with the ending of Supernatural. Yes, I was scared. But I was scared of how easy it was with you, how much I cared for you, how quickly I realized that I am head over heels in love with you.”

You choke out his name as tears well in your eyes, and he steps forward to swipe the first droplet from your cheek.

“I was ready to tell you I’m in love with you, and you were booking flights home,” the heartache of the reminder dims the light behind his eyes, and he drops his gaze to battle whatever emotion he’s feeling. “That scared me more than anything. I didn’t want to say it in the heat of the moment or on the phone, and I was terrified you didn’t feel the same. It doesn’t matter if you don’t. I need you to know that I love you.”

You don’t have words, unexpectedly wishing you had a script so you don’t say something stupid. Then, just as surprisingly, you realize you don’t need words. You take a half step forward and kiss him. Jensen responds immediately, a hand caressing your cheek and drawing you closer as the other slips around your waist to tug you flush against him.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, and he groans into your mouth. His kiss gets you drunker than any alcohol ever could, and after a moment that could have been a minute or an hour, you feel lightheaded.

Jensen chases you as you pull back, placing swift kisses on your lips and pressing his head against yours.

“Damn, I’ve missed you,” you sigh.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” he says, “I’m never letting you leave me again.”

Tag List Info

Tagging Dean Winchester and Supernatural List. Sorry if you don't like RPF.

@alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r-blog / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimallina87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites

Master Lists: Dean Winchester // Main

#Jensen Ackles #Solider Boy #RPF #RPF FanFic #RPF fanfiction #Jensen Ackles fic #Jensen Ackles RPF fanfic #fluff #angst #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #Jensen Ackles x Reader #Jensen Ackles x You

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mjolnirswriststrap · 7 months

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Mjolnir’s Masterlist

🐻=fluff 🔪=angst 💚=smut 18+ ✔️=finished

Bucky Barnes

• Love In The Dark 🔪✔️

• Texture 💚✔️

• Scared 🔪💚✔️

• Silver Bullet 🔪💚

-Pt. One

• You’re The Reason I Smoke 🔪✔️

-Pt. One, Two

• Trying To Derail My One Track Mind 🔪💚✔️

-Pt. One, Two

• Haunted 🐻🔪

-Pt. One, Two, Three, Four, Five

• Christmas Countdown Request 🐻✔️

• It Was Never Gonna Happen, Doll | X-Men Au 🐻🔪💚 (coming soon)

Natasha Romanoff

• Executioner | Renaissance AU 💚✔️

Yelena Belova

• Pickpocket 🐻✔️

Clint Barton

• Christmas Countdown Request 🐻✔️

Multicharacter

• I Know You Liked It Steve/Loki🔪💚 ✔️

• Not My Type Part 2 Bucky/Steve 🔪✔️

Aegon Targaryen II

• Aegon’s Shadow 🐻🔪 (on hold)

-Ch. One, Two, Three, Four

Daemon Targaryen

• Christmas Countdown Request 🔪✔️

• Christmas Countdown Request 🐻 ✔️

Logan Howlett

• It Was Never Gonna Happen, Doll 🐻🔪💚 (coming soon)

Homelander

• Super Hearing ✔️

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princessmisery666-library · 2 months

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Please Don't Leave

Summary: Friends to lovers to friends, that can work, right?

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, fluff, Jensen in his thicc Soldier Boy era (that’s a warning in itself!)

W/C: 4.3k

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki. Small Parts/Mentioned: Karl Urban, Jack Quaid, Gen Padalecki.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

READ IT NOW: Tumblr // AO3

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thesilmarillionblog · 26 days

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@lila-lou 's "His Only Exception" 😊🔫🔫🔫

#solider boy #soldier boy x reader #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #tumblr writers #tumblr fanfic #fanfiction memes

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pennywise-fucker · 11 months

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Not The End

Soldier Boy x Reader

Request: could i get prompt 2. “Are you kidding me right now?!” with SB or HL?

Warning: Swearing

A/N: I prefer writing stuff like this for Solider Boy so I hope it's alright!

Y/N took a breath, still trying to rehearse the words to tell Soldier Boy. She knew it wouldn't be long until he got home, and she was just done. She couldn't even remember why she had felt to attracted to him in the first place. He was nothing but egotistical and violent and constantly smelled of booze, cigarettes and weed. She sat on the couch and put her face in her hands, calming herself the best that she could.

No sooner than she sat down, Soldier Boy threw open the door. "Honey, I'm home!", he bellowed as he kicked his shoes off and left them on the floor. After a moment, he walked towards the living room and leaned against the doorframe, causing Y/N to look up. "Now, a man likes his lady ready and welcoming him when he gets home", he jokingly chastised, though Y/N knew he wasn't entirely joking. But watching him there, leaned against the frame with a smirk on his face and those beautiful eyes, sent shivers through her. That's what had caught her, but she needed to snap out of it. She shook her head, as if to clear it like an etch-a-sketch, and stood up.

"You're right", she agreed, "A man does. But I can't. I can't do any of this anymore", she practically spat out. The words just rolled out, she couldn't stop herself. Soldier Boy raised his eyebrow, "Excuse me?", he asked, taking a step closer to her. He was clearly giving her a chance to rethink what she had said, but she wasn't going to do it. This was the furthest she'd come to actually ending it and she needed to follow through. "I can't do this. You come home bloody, angry, spouting about all the horrible things you've done, I just can't do it anymore. This thing, between us, it needs to end", she sputtered, her heart racing like crazy now. "Are you kidding me right now?!", he yelled, "I'm a hero. I do the things men are supposed to do. I've protected you and everyone else in the goddamn country!", he huffed, now directly in front of Y/N, "Who's been putting this bullshit in your head, huh? Is it some guy? Some tree hugging hippie?", he accused, his eyes intense on her. "No!", she defended, "It's just-", "It's just that you expected this to be easy?", he interrupted, "You're with a hero, sweetheart, nothing about this was gonna be easy", he paused, running his hand through his hair, then looking back at Y/N, "Give me a name, and I'll fix all of this", he urged, and she knew there wasn't a way out of this. He was angry, and if she pushed even slightly the wrong way, he was going to lose his mind.

Y/N took a breath and sighed, "No, no, you're right. It's just been..a lot. I've never been with a hero before and it's...lonely..", she trailed off, trying to choose her words carefully. He squinted at her, as if to see if she was lying, then tilted his head as if in agreement, "You'll get used to it", he said with a smirk, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her against him. Y/N nodded and gave Soldier Boy the sweetest smile she could, "I guess I will", she nodded, and he smiled as if he'd won - because he had.

"Good, now get that cute little ass in the kitchen, I worked up a hell of an appetite", he laughed as he spun her around and spanked her ass. She continued towards the kitchen and took one look back, almost sickened by the smirk on his face.

He'd won. Again.

*Please consider tipping $1 to my Venmo if you enjoy my writing. It's in no way required, just appreciated!*

#my writing #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #reader insert #x reader #imagine #the boys imagine #soldier boy fanfic #solider boy fic #the boys fanfiction #jensen ackles #soldier boy imagine #the boys

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thewritersaddictions · 1 month

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Christmas Stories 2024 Master List

Welcome to the Christmas Stories 2024 Master List

A/n- There will be some fluff for and during the Christmas time. This is 24 days of fluff, dedicated to the cold holiday time.

Word Count-

Series Master List

Day 1- Jim Hopper + Fake Dating

Day 2- Joel Miller + Kissing under the mistletoe

Day 3- Alcina Dimitrescu + Looking at Christmas Lights

Day 4- Negan Smith + Catching snowflakes

Day 5- Steve Rogers + Sick s/o

Day 6- Eddie Munson + Building Gingerbread houses

Day 7- Koing + Cuddling Together

Day 8- Elijah Mikealson + Drinking hot cocoa by the fireplace

Day 9- Spencer Reid + Celebrating new years together

Day 10- Rick Grimes + Roasting marshmallows

Day 11- Leon S. Kennedy + Opening Christmas Gifts

Day 12- Daryl Dixon + Building Snowmen

Day 13- Steve Harrington + Christmas Shopping

Day 14- Jensen Ackles + Watching Holiday Movies

Day 15- Soldier Boy + Watching Snow Fall

Day 16- Joyce Byers + Baking Cookies

Day 17- Loki + Chirstmas Cruise

Day 18- Michonne + Snow Angels

Day 19- Billy Hargrove + Sleding

Day 20- Ellie Williams + Snowball Fight

Day 21- Bucky Barnes + Slipping on ice

Day 22- Stefan Salvatore + Ice Skating

Day 23- John Price + Decorating Christmas Tree

Day 24- Karl Heisenberg + Babys First Chirstmas

Completed On: (12/24/24)

Posted On: (03/28/24) - (12/01/24)

CS24 Tags-

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sehtoast · 7 months

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Mirror, Mirror On the Wall. (Depowered Homelander x OC)

1.1k words | Mild angst. Themes of body image issues. Brief promise of giving him head later bc he deserves it. | Depowered Homelander tries on his suit again for the first time in a long time. | Fic Directory

OC: Benjamin Colyer (The Boys-verse Spider-Man)

He'd left it there a long time ago. Soaked from the rain. Kicked to the corner when Benjamin had offered him some of his own clothes instead.

They'd separated at that point. And yet, his little spider still took care of him.

Well… to be fair, he had helped Ben first. Flew him home after finding him in an exhausted sleep in the rain.

Now it was his once more. Dredged out of the closet in Ben's unoccupied apartment at the tower. It smelled of stale air and neglect.

His lover stands before him, hands out to offer it.

His suit.

The only one Vought didn't destroy– save for the one displayed in some monument to his legacy they'd erected after his 'retirement.'

His armor.

His image.

Him.

He takes it with shaking hands, gulping thickly as his fingertips brush against the fabric. Tears sting at his eyes, and he wants to hug it as tight as he possibly can. Hold this long lost piece of himself close until it becomes part of him once more.

"I remembered it the other day totally out of the blue. Thought you should have it back." Ben says to him. The web-head can tell there's temptation brewing.

A desire to see if it's still him. He wants to don his image once more.

As if on queue, they both ask near identical questions, words overlapping each other.

Can you help me put it on?

Do you want to put it on?

It's tricky to wiggle into it this time. His body has changed, and he can tell now more than ever. It was always tight, but even more so now, and in all the wrong ways. A shiver runs through his body as Ben zips him into it.

He feels like he's becoming whole once again. And yet…

He knows better.

But it doesn't stop him from dreaming. Imagining he'd never lost his powers. Picturing a world in which he could still swoop his little spider up and go anywhere their hearts desire.

He tips his head back, sucking a deep breath before looking down. Everything looks normal again. He is exactly as he should be.

He is The Homelander once more. He is a god.

He is god.

Except the suit is heavy. The false muscle weighs him down in a way he's never known before. The eagle epaulets are uncomfortable weights on either side of him.

He meanders to the body length mirror hanging on the wall. It is there that the last embers of his dream are snuffed by the man looking back.

Dark hair, messy and unkempt. Scruffy facial hair. Bags under his sullen eyes.

The man in the mirror is not The Homelander.

Not even close.

Behind him stands Benjamin in his own suit, watching as he takes in the sight of himself.

He's smiling, and John cannot understand why.

"God," Ben chuckles. "You still look like the biggest boy scout in that thing."

He wants to laugh in return– play it off, but all he gives is a curl of his lip. "I look like a fucking joke."

Ben scoffs.

"That's because you see yourself through your own bad opinions of yourself."

He wants to scowl and deny it, but he nods. Ben always had a way of knowing.

"Let me tell you what I see…" Benjamin approaches him, slings his arms around his neck from behind. "First and foremost, I see the love of my life."

Homelander clenches his jaw, but lets his eyes flutter shut. Accepting compliments used to be so natural for him. Of course he was handsome. Of course he was perfect.

Was.

Very important word, there.

"I see my favorite face to wake up to, and the last one I wanna see before I fall asleep at night." Ben continues. "I see pretty blue eyes that make me feel like I'm looking out at sea."

He makes eye contact with himself, then. Sees the red rimming his eyes as he fights to hold back the torrent of emotions burning through him. He sees the blue Ben speaks of.

He'd never thought of them in terms of the ocean, though.

"Lips I love to kiss."

Lips he's always chewing into an unsightly, chapped red.

"Soft hair to play with when you lay your head in my lap."

Shaggy overgrowth that made him look like a fucking idiot.

"The cutest little laugh lines.”

Signs of his age finally settling in.

"Then there's that hickey I left on you the other night." Ben giggles, nuzzling against his cheek. "Sorry 'bout that."

He can't stop the little smile that spreads across his face.

"There it is!"

Oh, please.

"A smile that's better than golden sunsets. You know the kind I mean."

Of course he knew. They liked to watch them together on the front porch sometimes.

"Okay, okay." He gripes. "I get it. You like me. Doesn't change the fact I'm nothing fuckin' special anymore."

Ben contemplates his next words for a moment, simply staring at him.

"Wasn't the suit that made you special, babe. Or your powers." He leans to press a kiss to his cheek before redirecting his gaze back to the mirror. "You made those things special."

Homelander stares back at Ben through the mirror for a time, eyes big and doe like.

"And, even when you take it off again, you'll still be special."

He inhales slowly, letting each and every word wash over him like waves kissing the shore. The sandy grit of his self loathing floats out to sea bit by bit.

"I'm always gonna think the sun shines out of your ass, pumpkin." Ben plants a kiss against his cheek, swaying the both of them from side to side. "Now, whaddya say we get you out of that jigsaw puzzle of a suit and go figure out dinner? We can finish that documentary you picked the other day, too."

He shakes his head to hide the smile that spreads across his face.

"And maybe I'll suck you silly while you learn more about big man Washington."

"Are you ever going to let me brood in peace?" He groans with a roll of his eyes.

"Nope." Ben begins detaching the cape. "I love you. It's my job to bug you til you're smiling again."

What bliss, to be loved so dearly.

#homelander #homelander fanfiction #homelander x oc #depowered homelander #the boys #antony starr #this was something small that hit my mind at random. wrote it all out in one go so hopefully it's solid lol

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waynes-multiverse · 2 years

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Bad Reputation – Chapter 6

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Series Summary: In a world full of careless supes, powerful people, and corruption on all levels, Y/N’s the typical millennial, trying to make the world a better place one good deed at a time. As a civil rights lawyer in New York City, justice, kindness, and selflessness are her motto. Her patience is tested, however, when none other than America’s ass himself shows up on her doorstep and needs help.

Warnings: +18, strong language (please mind the fandom), angst, drugs, heavy hints at depression & suicidal thoughts, minor injury, the patriarchy is alive and well, misogyny, more twists, a bit of fluff and crack

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: You may approve of his results, but you will definitely hate his methods and motivation...

<< 5 || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Y/N’s head roars like a lion as her mind slowly wakes. Her eyelids feel fucking heavy, as does her entire body. It’s a rough morning all around; even breathing is a task, as if a ton of bricks is lying on top of her and crushing her lungs. Her ears then pick up the soft sounds of snoring, and realization dawns on her with the start of a new day, her skin beginning to crawl.

Oh boy… What a trip, huh?

When her eyes finally blink open and adjust to the first few sunbeams, she instantly recognizes the giant arm that’s tightly wrapped around her frame. The supe is sleeping soundly on top of her, holding onto her like a fucking security blanket. He’s naked, his dick pressing into her ass, but that’s actually the least surprising thing of this strange morning.

Carefully, she wriggles herself out of his embrace. It’s a goddamn chore – every bone, every muscle, every nerve in her body hurts like hellfire. On top of that, he fucking weighs like a ton and she’s small, okay?

She still manages to sneak away, her feet landing as quietly as possible on the wooden floorboards so as not to wake the slumbering beast. There’s a soft whimper leaving his lips once she’s freed herself, and she stills for a moment, sucking in a deep breath. Her eyes observe his sleeping form for a beat, and her heart inexplicably stings a little. When she’s convinced he’s fully back to dreamland, she pads out of the bedroom, closing the door silently behind her.

A surveying look around the apartment tells her that her friends cleaned most of it up before leaving in the early morning hours. There are four large garbage bags waiting by the door, the dishwasher already loaded. Grabbing a wet rag, she opts to clean the most necessary surfaces: the kitchen counters and the coffee table. She tidies up a bit more and then heads to the bathroom to take a nice, warm shower to soothe the usual hangover aches. Tylenol and an anti-depressant also help to counteract the aftermath of her night of fun.

When she passes the mirror, her breath hitches a little, her heart skipping a few beats as she spies the first remnants of her wild adventure on her neck. Her fingers delicately touch the small bruises and then lift her shirt over her head to assess the full damage. As expected, her skin is colored purple, blue, and green, bite marks adding texture to his masterpiece as if he was trying to sign his name.

Her hands tenderly inspect them all, each one awakening a different memory within her. She presses her lips together, trying miserably to stop the smile that wants to form.

See, she doesn’t regret it. And that’s exactly the problem.

She likes Ben. But she fucking loathes Soldier Boy. The thing is, though: it’s hard to separate the two. Some would say impossible, even.

The painful truth is that the night was fucking fantastic and the sex was mind-blowing. She can’t remember the last time she felt this alive, but she surely did last night. She wasn’t scared either, not even for a second. His hands held her like she was the most precious thing that ever graced them. His eyes were kind, assuring her he wasn’t going to hurt her and kept true to that promise till the end. She felt safe. She felt protected. She felt loved.

It’s been too fucking long since she’s felt that way.

Ben’s nothing like Soldier Boy. Ben’s the guy that lies deep underneath the hardened exterior. He’s the guy without the armor around his heart. He’s not detached from his own emotions. Ben’s soft where Soldier Boy’s rough. Her heart struggles to unite the two, and he seemingly does too.

Fucking shit. She’s delusional, isn’t she? This is the Stockholm talking, right?

Her heart even bled a little when she left the warm comfort of his arms this morning, and she hated being cold and distant towards him when all was said and done. But the guilt is eating her alive. She knows the person he truly is, no matter how soft, innocent, and vulnerable he tries to make himself appear. It’s all just lies she hopes to believe. She’s not naive; she knows what he’s done and can’t live in an illusion only because she wants him to be someone he’s not.

Soldier Boy will never be him.

After her shower, Y/N doesn’t want to stay in the apartment any longer. She can’t face the supe yet, not until the fog of utter confusion has cleared her mind. So, she writes him a note, an excuse to be out the whole day, and heads out the door towards the library.

She needs to be fucking smart about this.

Ben’s lips are tingling, a smile slowly creeping onto his face as the first sun rays reach his eyes. He doesn’t want to wake up yet, wants to relish in the memories of last night a little longer, not ready to give up her warmth and love so soon.

It’s been too fucking long since he’s felt that way.

Said warmth, however, is gone suddenly, replaced by a cold emptiness that surrounds him. There’s no hot body underneath him anymore, no soft skin pressing against his, and no shallow breaths and heartbeats lulling him to sleep.

Wide-eyed and alert, he jolts awake, his eyes frantically darting around the forsaken room. “Fucking shit,” he mutters and angrily slips into his sweatpants, bolting into the other half of the small apartment. But Y/N is nowhere to be found, gone and swallowed whole by the Earth itself, as far as he can tell.

This is what the supe fucking gets for letting his guard down. He knew he should’ve never trusted her, and now, that bitch turned around and betrayed him like everyone else. Like a Red Sparrow, she tricked him, and he was stupid enough to fall for her little act of innocence and the fucking glorious tits. He should’ve seen this coming.

His heart harshly starts to contract with fury, and as the storm is brewing within him, his eyes land on the array of family photos again and soften, the tight grip loosening on the muscle in his chest.

Y/N’s not like that, he reminds himself. He’s not wrong about her. She’s kind, good-natured, and caring. She’s loyal, smart, and even a little funny, which is rare for women. She’s irritatingly stubborn, but he doesn’t mind the challenge. It’s probably even the trait that intrigues him most about her – and it’s not like she could ever actually win against him. After all, she’s tiny and doesn’t weigh more than a Q-tip to him.

Y/N’s a good girl.

And if she isn’t out there right now, snitching his location to Vought or her fucking idol Black Noir, then where the fuck is she? And suddenly, he begins to panic for an entirely different reason. What if his enemies have fucking come for her? If his armor is weakened, his foes can use her against him, and he can’t let that happen. He needs to complete his fucking mission and not get distracted by some silly girl.

But what comes after the mission? Will she still be there? His gut tells him yes. There are two types of women in this world. There’s the sluts you fuck and leave, and then, there’s Y/N. She’s the kind of girl that waits for a soldier until he returns from war – the kind you marry. So, if she’s in trouble, he should probably fucking save her.

“Great,” he sighs aloud and rolls his eyes, running a hand through his locks. His concerns fade away, though, when he finally finds the little note Y/N left behind on the kitchen counter, a small map lying next to it.

At court for the day. Take the map. I drew in the coffee shop, the weed store (it’s legal now), and the liquor store. Also, the internet has porn. Use it. No need to snoop through people’s drawers anymore. – xx Y/N

Ben snorts as he skims her message and smiles at the map. Man, she already knows him so well. Fucking Countess didn’t even laugh at his jokes, and he had Y/N practically in stitches last night. She might be his favorite girl yet and will be fantastic for his image – the breath of fresh air he needs to make a full comeback and show those assholes what they missed.

As he looks around, he realizes the apartment has already been cleaned, no traces of a previous party anywhere. There are two garbage bags by the door, so he decides to take them out for her. They were practically her size, so she would’ve only struggled with them down the stairs – because that’s what a good fucking husband does: help his wife with the things she can’t do and take care of her. He’s sure Y/N will see his value soon enough.

When he returns to the apartment, his eyes take note of the flickering kitchen light, so he fixes it like he promised her. It only takes a minute, just some small electrical bullshit with the switch. After bleeding the radiators as well, he’s somewhat proud of the work he’s done. Doing something simple is so refreshing, in fact, that he hasn’t even thought about getting high yet. The walls could use a fresh coat of paint too and a few holes still need to be patched, but he postpones those tasks to another day. He’ll turn the apartment into a nice home for them, eventually.

Ben’s not delusional, though. He knows Y/N’s not his biggest fan, but he’s fucking determined to change her mind about him, a strategy that guarantees she’ll fall for him.

First on his agenda is gathering more information about that dead fiancé of hers. Personally, he doesn’t give a shit who killed the guy; in fact, the supe’s glad he’s dead or Y/N wouldn’t be his now – not as easily, at least. So really, Ben’s not sure if he should kill that fucktard supe or deliver a damn ‘thank you’ card, but he figures if he avenges Y/N, it’ll bring him into her good graces. Heroics usually achieve that shit.

Remembering the old shoe carton underneath her fiancé’s clothes in the closet, the supe begins his search there. As soon as he opens the small box, his grin widens. Yahtzee.

His fingers flick through a stack of old pictures. He eyes them curiously, is even a little jealous of the way she looks adoringly at the guy as if he’s personally hung the moon, the stars, and the sun for her, and wonders if she’ll ever look at him like that too. There’s also a Walkmen inside, one electronic device he actually knows how to use, and a mixtape with only one song on it. He knows the band but not the tune – Lovesong by The Cure. He met those kids in ’81 and didn’t think they’d make it big. Good for them. As he flips the little tape around, though, his brow furrows at the inscription.

Remember this? Thought I’d go retro this year. Happy birthday, baby.

Love you forever, Your Ben

His heart stops and he chokes on air, the tightening sensation in his chest intensifying the longer he blinks at those words.

Holy fucking Christ, Mary, and Joseph… He needs some goddamn drugs to digest this trippy shit.

By the time Y/N reaches the library’s archives, the aftereffects of yesterday’s MDMA trip fully kick in and take a toll on her mental stability. God, she wants to crawl into the darkest hole and die there like a wounded animal. But why rush it, right? She’s sure Soldier Boy will do it for her once he realizes she’s ditched him. No need to get her own hands dirty.

The nice librarian soon returns with a heavy box full of Soldier Boy’s history. She doesn’t know a lot about him. Her brother was the fan, remember? And she doesn’t recall more than that godawful 80s action movie Jake loved watching on repeat when they were children and whatever sob story Vought tried to sell the public.

The first few newspaper articles make her stomach twist and churn. Y/N bitterly realizes not much has changed since the glorious days of Soldier Boy. The corporation is still covering up its supes’ messes, and Ben’s no exception.

Soldier Boy left a trail of dead bodies behind him, spanning decades of brutality, ranking from forcing false confessions to downright slaughtering innocents. And worst of all, it’s treated as collateral damage – the necessary evil to secure the greater good.

The more she reads, the more she begins to feel fucking sick until she flees to the restroom and pukes her guts out at the first stall she can reach, her knees scraping against the dirty tiles. The guilt and shame overwhelm her, consume her every thought.

What the fuck did she do?

Soldier Boy is evil, cruel, and ruthless. He has no regard for human life, sees nothing but himself. He mocks, belittles, and uses people for his own gain. He’s just like every other supe. Hell, he was the one paving the way for them, the one who made it all possible – the original asshole.

Y/N always wants to believe in the good in people, but with Soldier Boy, there’s admittedly not much goodness to be found. Still, last night she’s seen a flicker of something in him. For once, there was honesty in his green eyes, and she swears it wasn’t just a clever ruse of his, no detectable nefarious agenda hidden behind his words.

Either that, or she’s fucking stupid and fell for his tricks.

But for one small moment of weakness, one single night, she wanted her Ben back again, no matter what it cost her, even though that Ben is nothing like the one she knew, loved, and lost. For once, she wanted to be fucking selfish. Is that so wrong after everything she’s sacrificed?

Defeated, Y/N leaves the library and heads to Queens for her last stop. When the train arrives, it’s already dusk, the cemetery appearing a lot creepier than during daylight. There’s not a soul around, the wind rustling through the dead trees and disturbing a few crows as she strolls through a labyrinth of stone and death until she halts in front of the familiar grave.

“Hey, baby. Missed me?” Y/N smiles sadly and settles next to the headstone, crossing her legs as she leans against the cool marble. “Yeah, I missed you, too,” she sighs softly and fumbles with her fingers in her lap. “You won’t believe the week I’ve had. A supe broke into our apartment. Can you imagine? Don’t worry, though. I’m fine… Sorta,” she winces, the ache between her thighs making itself known again and demanding more. “I did something really stupid. It’s fucked up, honestly. But I’m just so tired of fighting this alone, you know? I miss you. Fuck…”

Sniffling, she tries to wipe away the tears from her cheeks, but they refuse to stop coming. “I don’t know what to do yet, but you know I only ever wanna be with you, right? You’re the only one I’ll follow into that dark, baby.” Her hand gently pats the stone, her eyes becoming tired. “I love you. See you soon…”

It’s past eight when Butcher and Hughie drop the supe off at home. Unloading the groceries he had the kid fetch, he fills Y/N’s fridge. His mind is still racing, has been the whole day, filling with an abundance of dreadful thoughts and only a few hopes of a better tomorrow. Admittedly, he feels alone, abandoned without a fucking care by everyone he once knew. He used to have it all – and now, he’s got nothing.

But Y/N is something.

Ben’s surprised she hasn’t come home yet, but he should’ve assumed she was the hard-working type. He admires that about her. He never was; people always catered to his needs and shoved things up his ass without question.

As the clock keeps ticking away, he opts to watch some TV, rolling his eyes at every third commercial. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with this generation, huh? He’s noticed it most with Y/N and Hughie. Dear fucking God, they’re so fucking sensitive and all they wanna talk about is fucking feelings. These kids would’ve never won a damn war.

He smokes some reefer, snorts a line of Bennies and coke, and then grows fucking worried. Y/N still isn’t here. It’s 11pm when he starts to frantically pace the apartment. Where could she be? Where does she work? He doesn’t know anything about her outside of these four fucking walls.

He runs a hand over his face, scratches his beard, and glances out the window. She doesn’t live in the best neighborhood. What if something happened to her? Or did she actually fucking leave him, after all?

The front door then unlocks, and his lungs refill with oxygen as Y/N bursts through it. She’s still here.

“Where the fuck were you?” Ben growls instantly, although relief is all he truly feels. She flinches when she finally spots him before his green eyes are drawn to the tall guy with his arm around her waist while she has hers draped around his neck. “Who’s that asshole?”

The first word that leaves Y/N’s lips is a muttered “Shit.” Then she regains her composure and rolls her eyes a little. “Ben, this is Jake, my older brother. And Jake, this is Ben, my, uh… friend.”

“Boyfriend,” Ben introduces himself with a smile, cutting her off. Y/N’s eyes widen, her jaw going slack, while her brother questioningly lifts an eyebrow.

“Wha-, boyfriend?! Dude, how fucking high are you right now?” Y/N snaps at the supe, who defeatedly purses his lips in response and clucks his tongue.

“Y/N, please explain why there’s a guy in your apartment before Dad gets here,” her brother speaks up, keeping his eyes trained on the supe. “He looks familiar. Doesn’t he look familiar? Are those my clothes?”

“Jake! No one fucking cares. I’m suffering here, okay?” Y/N deflects.

Ben’s ears perk up at her words and he finally notices that she’s limping, one foot hovering above the ground. Jake then helps her to the couch. She winces when she lifts her leg and stretches it out on the furniture, her brother carefully removing her sneaker and revealing a heavily contused and swollen ankle.

“Ow, ow, ow! Careful!”

“What the fuck happened?” Ben inspects the injury from afar, leaning his palms on the backrest of the sofa. Man, humans are so fucking fragile.

“So, what’s the damage, kids?”

Ben’s head snaps to a gray-haired, slightly balding man in his late fifties entering the apartment, realizing this must be Y/N’s father. A little bit of nervousness begins bubbling in his chest. The last time he met a girl’s parents was in the fucking 1930s. Fuck, he almost feels like a kid again.

“Sprained ankle,” her brother replies as he carefully twists her injured foot.

“I can get her to a hospital,” Ben offers.

“Ah, not necessary when I have Dr. Jakey here,” Y/N smiles proudly and pats her brother’s shoulder. “Hand over that prescription pad, huh?”

Jake chuckles, “I think some rest, ice, compression, and elevation will do in this case. And maybe stay away from cemeteries after dark, huh? I mean, seriously, I sometimes wonder if you have a death wish.”

Y/N catches the supe’s gaze, a hint of guilt swaying in her look. Why would she fucking lie to him?

“Uh, yeah,” she gulps, unsure of what words to choose that won’t get her into trouble.

“Huh. You finally fixed the pipe,” her father chimes up and breaks the tension. The older man takes a curious look around the place and then halts in the kitchen, getting an ice pack from the freezer. “And your fridge is filled too for once.”

Y/N’s eyebrows draw together, confusion spreading across her features. With a pointed finger at her new roommate, she silently mouths, “Did you–?”

Ben only shrugs his broad shoulders and sends her a small smile. The look of surprise on her face is his reward. And well, maybe a bigger part of him also hopes she’ll still show him her full gratitude later.

“And who are you?“ Her father appears suddenly next to him, tilting his head with a cocked brow that almost reaches his gray hairline and the glasses that rest upon it.

The supe swallows lightly but offers his hand. “I’m Ben, a friend of your daughter’s. It’s good to meet you, sir. You have a great girl here,” he says and tries to ignore Y/N’s little snort. What the fuck does she find so funny now?

“Uh-huh.” The older man seems unconvinced, contemptuously crossing his arms over his chest.

“Seriously, he looks so familiar. And his voice too,” Jake mumbles anew and squints his eyes at the supe.

“Would you stop looking at him? He’s just got one of those faces,” Y/N brushes him off, although Ben is flattered someone seems to recognize him, even if he agrees the timing isn’t ideal.

“Oh, I can’t look, but Dad can glare at him the whole time?” Jake retorts before Y/N’s head twirls to her father.

“Dad! Stop staring him down!”

“You need me to call the cops, sweetie?” Her dad inquires, not daring to lift his eyes from Ben.

“For fuck’s sake, I can call the cops on my own, thank you very much.”

“You got a job?” her father demands to know next, causing Ben to swallow hard and shoot Y/N a helpless look.

“Uh…”

“Dear God, just leave him alone, please,” Y/N says but then erupts into unstoppable laughter, infecting the other two men in the room. Ben blinks between the family in confusion as she rubs the tears from her eyes. “Okay, okay… I think you’ve had your fun, Dad.”

“Alright,” the older man chuckles and shakes Ben’s hand now, who hesitantly accepts the offer. “Good to meet you, son,” he smiles and pats his shoulder. “Jake, I’ll wait downstairs for you. Don’t kill your sister.”

“I’ll try,” Jake laughs and watches his father leave.

“Congrats, you’ve survived my dad’s hazing,” Y/N cheekily grins at the supe, which he returns with a pleased smile.

Well, that wasn’t so bad, right? The only comparison he has is Angela’s father pulling the shotgun on him, so he safely counts this meeting as a win.

“Alright, that should do,” Jake announces as he finishes the compression on her ankle. “Don’t strain it too much, okay?”

She nods softly. “Thanks.”

Her brother rises from his kneeling position by the couch and smiles at Ben. And then, mid-way of nodding him goodbye, his eyes narrow before they widen almost comically, his jaw dropping to the floor. “Oh… my… God… That’s–”

“Fuck!” Y/N jolts up on the couch like a cat on steroids in an attempt to block her brother’s view before her injury causes her to scream out in pain and take a tumble over the furniture.

Ben catches her with ease, and when her eyes meet his, she finds herself in his arms as he smirks down at her. God, he just fucking loves when things work out for him.

“Y/N, why is there a supe in your apartment? No, wait, why is there a dead childhood hero in your apartment?” Her brother interrupts their little moment.

“Apparently, it used to be his place. Little trivia there for you, fanboy,” Y/N quips teasingly. Ben tries not to snort and hides his face behind her head.

“Did you break into my sister’s place?” Jake cocks his head at the pair, clearly unsure of what to make of this situation.

Shit…

“No, uh, I-I invited him to stay,” Y/N lies and softly clears her throat. “We’re friends, so…”

Ben doesn’t understand why she would lie for him. Hell, he knows she has every reason to rat him out. He really did break in, not giving a fuck whose life he was destroying. And still, she’s defending him when he doesn’t deserve it.

“So, this is fine with you?” her brother checks, his eyebrow raising with his doubt.

“Completely,” she gives him a resolute nod. She winces and adjusts herself in the supe’s grip before looking up at him. “You can put me down again, by the way.”

Ben just stares at her for a beat. “Can you walk on your own?”

“Uh…”

“Then no,” he replies firmly.

The supe then endures another good fifteen minutes of the siblings bickering before Y/N manages to shove her brother out the door, assuring him that, one, she isn’t in any danger, and two, she’s totally and completely fine.

Yeah… Ben didn’t believe her either.

But her brother still left and swore to secrecy, which is good. He didn’t want to threaten or kill him in front of Y/N. That surely wouldn’t have won him any brownie points.

With a heavy sigh, she closes the door and lets her head fall softly against it. She seems exhausted and a bit unsteady on her feet, so he rushes to her side and tries to carry her back to the couch. However, she’s a stubborn one and rebuffs his heroic efforts, swatting his hands away.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

He exhales deeply and cards a hand through his hair, smacking his lips. “Doc said you need to rest, Y/N.”

“I’m not immobilized. I can walk on my own.”

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE! JUST ACCEPT SOME FUCKING HELP, GODDAMMIT!”

“Fine.” While she rolls her eyes, she nonetheless holds onto his shoulder and he scoops her up into his arms. “You don’t have to yell, you know…”

“Y/N? Shut the fuck up,” he snaps warningly and drops her onto the couch, slightly rougher than initially planned.

“Ow! Watch it!”

“You’ll live,” he huffs and plops down next to her feet. The supe then grabs the ice pack and a pillow, placing the latter on his lap and laying her injured foot on top of it. “Rest, ice, elevate,” he reminds her and puts the ice on her swelling. She hisses at the impact before her muscles begin to relax and the pain subsides. “How did this happen anyway? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Why would I-… never mind.” She shakes her head a little and offers him an excuse, “I stumbled over some stupid root thingy. I knew my brother was at Coney Island today. They were just closer.”

“A fucking little twig did this to you? What were you doing out there?”

With her eyes avoiding his like they’re cursed, she intensely chews on her lip. “I have something to tell you,” she starts slowly and finally meets his gaze once she has collected enough bravery. “I kinda lied to you today… about where I was.”

He swallows, tries to keep his anger in check, and although his grasp on her ankle still tightens slightly, he doesn’t know anything yet. Just let her keep talking…

“I-I went to the library today… to do some research on you,” she confesses.

“Oh.” He rubs his mouth and lets a relieved chuckle escape before noticing her body stiffening next to him, every muscle tense and alert. She’s fucking scared of him. “Y/N, I told you I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not mad.”

She scoffs and folds her arms over her chest, her lush lips all pouty and pink. “Yeah, well, you told me a lot of other things too.” She doesn’t wait for a reply, even though his mouth opens and is ready to give her one. Instead, she fishes out a folder from her bag and throws it on his lap rather unceremoniously. “Lemme guess – you deeply regret it, right?”

The sentence sounds a little too familiar to him, the sarcasm in her voice also not missed by the supe, and when he opens the small folder, he realizes why. Y/N’s done research, alright.

He lets out a deep sigh and ruffles through his locks, finding her eyes. “Y/N, I really didn’t mean to hurt those people.”

“So, just reckless manslaughter? Great,” she huffs.

“Look, it’s not as straightforward as you think. These things happen, okay? It’s–”

“Collateral?” she offers with a grim look before he registers the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and knows why they’re there. She averts her face and then abruptly gets up from the couch, limping clumsily to the door. “I’m beat. I’m turning in.”

“What the fuck do you want from me, huh?” Maybe he shouldn’t yell, but he’s at the end of his rope. His chest is heaving and his nostrils are flaring, more angry creases forming on his brow. But the worst comes when she finally looks at him again, and he sees the fucking disappointment in her eyes. “So, what? You want some fucking pussy who sobs into your lap?”

“No, I want a man who can actually look in the mirror and like what he sees there. I don’t think you can,” she says harshly and twists the doorknob. “And by the way, I don’t want you in my fucking bed.”

The bedroom door then slams shut. Ben flinches slightly at the jarring sound before he grabs the folder, his fingers quietly leafing through it.

Chapter 7

Ben’s giving himself whiplash at this point... 😂

BIG THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO READS THIS STORY. I LOVE YOU GUYS AND APPRECIATE YOUR SUPPORT MORE THAN WORDS CAN SAY 🖤🖤🖤

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