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julesthequirky · 1 year

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Beautiful Trauma - A Soldier Boy Miniseries: Chapter 1

Beautiful Trauma

Pairings: Reader x Ben/Soldier Boy

Summary: The reader is the real widower of Ben/Soldier Boy and loved their life together before the incident. In 1983 she took Compound V, so she could be with Ben forever, but in 1984 her life crashes to the ground, and she's stuck in a world without him. In 2022 a knock at the door changes her life, and when she's told that Ben is alive she hopes that there can be a forever after all.

A/N: Reader has certain traditional gender values, that are antiquated today. I'm also hoping to convey a softer side to Ben, than what we have seen on The Boys.

Chapter Warnings: Antiquated views, language.

Chapter W/C: 2015

This work is unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. If you like it, heart, and reblog it. All feedback is gold.

1983

It burned as it travelled through your body. The agony compared to nothing else. To say you were unprepared had been an understatement. Ben said it would hurt, and you would wish you were dead. You’d scoffed at his words. You’d been through pain. Your daughter’s birth had been complicated – If you could live through that, then you could live through this. To that, he had raised his eyebrows at your disregard – “Alright, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Your throat ripped from the scream tearing through, sweat dripped from your skin in rivulets, and nausea built rapidly that it had you heaving over the side of the bed into a bucket Ben had placed for you.

You wished you had heeded his warning. Because he was right. You honestly wished you were dead. You grasped Ben’s hand tight. Tighter still when the pain built. Your breath hitched, and you grit your teeth. It didn’t take long for you to beg him to end your life.

“Ben, please, I can’t. Please, Ben. Please!”

Ben smoothed your hair away from your sweaty face gently. The slight pull felt like needles stabbing into your skull. He hushed you in the same tender manner he would do with your daughter as he dabbed a cool flannel on your forehead to help keep you from burning up. The contact had you crying out. You sobbed, which was another mistake. The tears felt like acid as they trickled down the side of your face, disappearing into your hairline.

“I know, darling.”

His soft, deep voice boomed inside your head, and stars burst behind your lids. A migraine bloomed behind a temple, and you welcomed the black dots descending with it. Relief would be a godsend.

Ben’s thumb stroked the back of your hand, and you hmmed before finally succumbing to the darkness dragging you under.

“Ben.”

Saying his name felt as if razor blades were slicing your throat after swallowing them. You lay looking at Ben, exhausted and aching. It hurt to move, and thankfully most of the pain had subsided.

“Hmm?”

“Water.”

He stood to fetch the water you requested. He gently placed your hand on the bed, but you grabbed his hand, forcing Ben to turn his attention to you.

“I don’t feel any different.”

The tears burned in your eyes until you blinked them away.

“What if…what if I’m not…”

He knelt and cradled your face with his hands. His thumbs stroked your cheeks and wiped the tears from your eyes.

“Hey. Hey, don’t concern yourself with that now. There’s time for that later.”

You wanted to nod, but everything hurt. The bright agony had disappeared, but now it was a dull ache. Everywhere.

Ben stood, and this time you let him. He exited the room but returned soon enough with the water you’d requested. He sat it on the bedside table and helped you sit up. He plumped the pillows behind your head and eased you back. The bed dipped as he sat beside you. He held the glass of water, bringing it to your lips, and tipped the liquid in.

You gulped it down, the coolness refreshing and aided your throat.

“Easy now.”

Ben controlled the flow, stopping you from gulping the entire thing like a parched beast. You asked for more after emptying the glass, but he just shook his head.

“Rest now.”

He helped you lie down. From the cupboard, he pulled out a blanket. He shook it from its folds and placed it over you, tucking you in. He kissed you on the lips and wished you a good night.

2022

For once, you were bright-eyed and clear-headed. Today was starting to feel like a good day. You didn’t know what it was, but today was yours, and you could do whatever you wished. Perhaps today would be the day you’d tackle laundry, and maybe you’d get around to the rest of the housework.

You gulped back the medication, chasing it down with water, and then you made yourself breakfast. Waffles and ice cream. Then time seemed to stand still as you looked at the just made plate.

Your hands gripped the counter as your vision began to distort and crack. Damnit. You thought you’d gotten over this. You closed your eyes and were instantly transported back to the eighties.

Ben was laughing, and as he ate his waffles with ice cream, he was also feeding his daughter, pretending the spoon was a plane. His plane sounds were crappy, but your daughter loved it, and so did he.

“Woman, where’s my coffee?”

You lifted the mug up, so he could see it. “Got it right here.” Then you took your plate and his coffee to the table and sat to eat with your family. Ben leaned over and kissed you on the temple before resuming eating and feeding his daughter.

The plate of waffles no longer seemed appetizing. The ice cream had melted, saturating the waffles and the entire thing had congealed together. Nearly forty years had passed, but you still couldn’t look at a plate of waffles in the same way again. In a quick fit of rage, you screamed and tossed the plate, sending it careening into the wall.

A bash on your front door stopped your rage from going any further. But annoyance set in. It was most likely your neighbour coming to yell at you for disrupting her peaceful morning. You were all ready to tell her to go fuck off. You wrenched the door open ready to yell at her, but instead of your sage-toting neighbour, a man stood in your doorway.

“Bad time, luv?” He asked, peering around your door, eyeing the smashed plate, waffles, and melted ice cream on the floor.

Cockney. The long black coat he wore made him look like Neo from The Matrix, except it was dirty as fuck. He had no care for his appearance. Dishevelled hair and a beard to match. You regarded him with irritation and suspicion.

“Fuck you want?” You closed your door behind you, so he couldn’t peer in like the nosey fucker he was.

“Charming. You Miss Smith?” Though he pronounced it as Smiff.

“Mrs.” You corrected.

“Right. Well, I’ve got a warrant for your arrest ‘ere.” He showed you his badge.

What?!

“Your bad day’s about to get a whole lot worse.”

Some cop. He didn’t take you to the station. Instead, he had you in some crappy run-down building where he’d built an office for himself. He brought a seat out for you and handcuffed you to a table leg.

He wasn’t alone. He had a group around him. Some skinhead sat with a moody Asian, a young buck and a black man, who all watched her intently.

“You’re not a cop, are you?”

“Nah. But I do work with the CIA.” And then he proceeded to show you the badge. At this point, you didn’t know whether or not he spoke the truth, and you were about to say, until—

“What do you know about Soldier Boy?”

It all came crashing back. What you’d worked so hard to barricade came flooding through. The memories flashed right after each other. Domestic bliss. Your daughter. Arguments, and that night before he went away to Nicaragua.

You tucked your head between your legs as best you could and breathed steadily. In and out, nice and slow. Your hands curled into fists, and you shook, desperate to keep it together.

“Alright. You tell us where the Crimson Countess is, and we’ll let you go.”

At her name, you looked up. You fixed the unkempt one with a stare so intense his gaze flicked away to one of his gang members.

“Why would I know where Cuntess is?”

He grinned deviously. “Ain’t she his boyfriend?”

Boyfriend. What a laugh. It had been a shitty PR stunt to up Crimson’s stats, to boost her sales, and in turn, it would boost Soldier Boy into the stratosphere. Everyone loved a power couple, and they were the ones to be. But you knew the reality. He hated it. And so did you. It caused many arguments where you begged and pleaded with him to cut the deal. You resented Crimson and the rest of Payback for going along with it. But most of all, you resented Ben. And he knew it.

There had been no big wedding for you and Ben. No, it had been done in a dingy registrar’s office who had been forced to sign an NDA. There had been no wedding dress, bouquet, first dance or cutting of the cake. Just you in a pretty dress, him in black slacks and a Philly baseball shirt.

Of course, after waffles and ice cream, he had taken you home and fucked you silly, and you had loved it, forgiving him.

“Yeah, and I’m his wife.”

After those words came out of your mouth, the leader smiled even wider. This had been his plan all along. To get you to divulge “secrets” as such.

“Mon dieu…” Whispered the man stting beside the Asian.

“Ben’s dead. Why can’t you let me be miserable and live my life?”

“He’s not dead—”

“He died saving America from a nuclear meltdown in Ohio. It was all over the news.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Ben’s agent wasn’t answering your calls, nor were any of Payback. Your daughter screamed, wanting to be changed or fed. But there was also a good chance that she just wanted her daddy. Then it came on your tv.

BREAKING NEWS: SOLDIER BOY IS DEAD.

The phone dropped from your hand, clattering to the floor. Your daughter’s cries felt distant as you crashed to your knees in front of the tv, watching Ben’s pictures flood the screen. Apparently, the bastards at Vought didn’t think you deserved the decency to know before everyone else.

The weeks after were Hell. You couldn’t grieve properly and had to learn to navigate the world without Ben. His face was all over newspapers, magazines and Times Square. You couldn’t get away from it if you tried. The tv showed false girlfriends offering their condolences and Crimson Countess was all over your screen, blubbering about how Americal had lost such a hero and how she’d lost the love of her life. In a distraught, drunken moment one evening, you threw a crappy ornament at the tv, smashing the screen and blowing it up.

No one knew the real Ben. No one, but you. You screamed down the phone and left messages on their answering phone demanding, pleading, begging for anything. But they did nothing. Vought didn’t care. Instead they erected a monument of Soldier Boy in honor of his service and act of heroism.

You struggled to adjust. First, you had to change all the accounts into your name, which also meant getting a job, so you could pay the bills. You hadn’t worked in years, and they required all kinds of skills you didn’t have. Then, you got testy with the man trying to help you put a resume together, so much you accused him of judging you for being a widower and a single mother. You didn’t know how the world worked anymore and needed Ben by your side.

You never even got an invite to his memorial.

“I see you weren’t privy to the truf.”

“What do you mean?”

The man in the long coat scratched his face as he said. “He nevva died. Payback betrayed him and got taken by the Russians, but he’s escaped.”

Payback.

Betrayal.

The story of him saving America from a nuclear meltdown had been a lie.

Ben was alive.

Hope blossomed in your chest.

“And we fink he’s gonna go after Payback.”

You didn’t give a shit about them. They deserved everything that would come to them when Ben found them.

“Let them die.” You were adamant.

“Woah, hold on now—”

“I don’t care. They took my daughter! And when Ben finds out, he'll go scorched earth to find her.”

#Beautiful Trauma #JulesTheQuirky's fics #Ben #Soldier Boy #reader insert #The Boys #Soft Ben #Ben x Reader #SB #soldier boy x you #soldier boy reader insert #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy angst #julesthequirky #SPNFanficPond Guppy Writer

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julesthequirky · 10 months

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Beautiful Trauma - A Soldier Boy Miniseries: Chapter 4

Pairings: F!Reader x Ben/Soldier Boy

Summary: The reader is the real widower of Ben/Soldier Boy and loved their life together before the incident. In 1983 she took Compound V, so she could be with Ben forever, but in 1984 her life crashes to the ground, and she’s stuck in a world without him. In 2022 a knock at the door changes her life, and when she’s told that Ben is alive she hopes that there can be a forever after all.

Chapter Warnings: Antiquated views, traditional gender values, smut (p in v), SB lewdness, SB boomer mentality, language, repressed memories.

Chapter W/C: 1922

This work is unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine. If you like it, heart, and reblog it. All feedback is gold.

Ben emerged from the apartment building covered in dust but otherwise unscathed. You stood in the alley beside his fallen shield with your mouth agape. No way. No, there’s just no way.

Your husband jumped down and sauntered towards you, arms outstretched, a big shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“I knew it, baby!” He punched the air. “I fucking knew it!”

He picked you up, gripping your thighs, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. Your hands cradled his face, thumbs stroked his cheeks, and a big dumb grin spread across your face as he spun you around.

“Look at you, with powers. Got me rock fuckin’ hard, baby.” Ben commented and ground his hard-on against your core.

A small smirk tugged your lips. Ben’s lewdness always got you going. It was ridiculous, really.

“Fuck me against the wall, Ben.”

He chuckled darkly, his hungry eyes eating you up. “Yes, ma’am.”

Arms wrapped around his neck, his plump lips drew yours in, sucking your full bottom lip. His hands squeezed your ass, pulling you against his tented sweats, and Ben pushed you against the bricks harshly. The wall cratered and crumbled beneath you.

The first time should have been at home in your marital bed or even on the couch. Definitely not against a brick wall in some seedy New York back alley. But that was Ben. He wasn’t prudish about his exploits.

Ben fished himself out of his sweats and yanked your leggings down, along with your panties, and mumbled something about loving elastic.

The very first punch of his cock knocked the breath outta you and had your walls stretching to accommodate his girth. The first slide home had you moaning into the air, gripping his blue Giants jersey, and Ben’s guttural grunt landed in your ear.

“Fuck, you’re tight. Relax that pretty pussy for me.”

At his words, your pussy fluttered, easing the grip you had on him.

“There you go. Gonna be better than that dumb fucking toy in your drawer.”

Ohhhh fuck.

“Fuck me, Ben. Please, just fuck me,”

“Woah, look who’s got a filthy mouth now?”

A moan elicited from you as he pulled back and bottomed out. His hips snapped into you, setting a hard and fast pace.

“Fuck. So wet, you’re coating my cock.” His forehead dropped on your shoulder.

With every thrust, he filled you completely. He was so warm, and hard. You could feel the beat of his heart in your core as he pulsed. Every ridge, every vein, with every slide and stroke he sparked sensitive nerve endings, and you held on as that familiar heat gathered in the pit of your belly.

“Oh, God, Ben.”

“Oh, yes, baby. Fucking gush all over my cock”

Ben fucked into you harder. A few more thrusts, and he had you exploding around him. He had you calling his name, worshipping him as he fucked you through your orgasm, and once it subsided, you sagged against him, desperate to catch your breath.

Ben’s cock lazily stroked inside you as you rested your head against the crumbling bricks.

“You really needed that, huh?”

Sated, with a dopey smile on your face, your fingers trailed through his hair.

“You bet, Sunny.”

Ben stared at you, and you feared you’d said something wrong as his ministrations had paused.

“The first time you called me that was after consummating our marriage.”

You nodded. “I remember. Short for sunlight. Seemed appropriate. Even more so now…” You trailed off, fingers circling his chest.

He snapped up into you, and your hand pressed hard against the centre of his chest, fingers gripping his shirt, your eyes fluttering shut, and a soft groan slipped from your lips. Ben hauled you against his chest and fucked you once more against the brick wall.

He made you cum, and his sweet nickname fell from your lips, eliciting his own release. Hot streams spurted inside you, painting your walls white.

“Fuck, woman, I’m gonna stuff you so full of my babies. Just you wait.”

When Ben’s old manager opened PH4, the repressed emotions flooded back. You had called and called, desperate for an answer, desperate for the news not to be true, and each time you were prompted to leave a voicemail. You begged and pleaded down the answering machine but you never received a call back.

The Legend took in the soot on your cheeks, dust covering your hair and the torn clothes and you both sported, and his eyes widened in response.

“Fuck happened?”

“Building exploded.” Was all Ben said.

“Fucking hell. You both look like shit.”

“Nice to see you too.” Ben huffed and barged in.

You followed Ben, marvelling at the space and oppulence of the place.

“You got your suit. What more do you want?”

“A place to stay.”

The door closed as you wandered around the penthouse, viewing all the photos of him with famous people. This fuck cared more about his appearance than anybody else. He pretended to give a shit about the normal and mundane people he encountered – like you – but you understood better than anybody else what a lying sack of shit he was when he left you empty-handed, screaming into the void for answers.

“Sure, sure. I’ll hook you up. What happened to your apartment?”

“It exploded.”

“Well, shit.”

Ben sat down and waved you over, but you couldn’t sit. You stood there staring at the wall of photos, thoughts plaguing your mind. You had questions you wanted – no, deserved answers to. Mainly why he ignored all your calls and where your daughter was. If there was anybody that knew, it would be him.

You heard the ice clink into the tumblers and the snapping of fingers to grab your attention.

“Y/N, sit the fuck down. Get her a drink, would ya.”

“The fuck do I look like to you? A waiter?”

“Just do it.”

Of course, this was the first place Ben thought of. This guy used to be the VP at Vought when Ben was in his prime superhero days in Payback.

“Why didn’t you answer any of my calls?” You asked out of nowhere, eyes still fixed on the wall of photos.

“Calls?”

That familiar churning of rage burned in your chest, and you spun around to confront him directly.

“Don’t you play fucking dumb with me. I called you, desperate for answers, but you never answered. You left me in the dust. And I had to go on knowing nothing. Do you have any idea what it was like living day to day with the knowledge that Ben was dead?”

You waited for an answer but got nothing.

“I’ll tell you. It’s fucking awful. It’s like permanently being in one of Mindstorms fucking nightmares.”

Sensing danger, Ben stood, moving towards you.

“You chose to ignore me. You purposefully let me believe because you didn’t want to deal with a hysterical grieving woman.”

“I had no idea! I knew just as much as you did!”

You doubted that.

“You’re a lying sack of shit! A coward whose nose is jammed so far up Vought’s asshole. You couldn’t care less about anyone but your damn self!”

“Babe, another time.” Ben urged calmly. He tugged at your shirt for you to follow him, but you smacked his hand away.

“You let Payback take my baby. Didn’t you?”

Ben stilled beside you and turned to face the old VP.

“No! I had no idea about that.”

“You’re lying!”

His eyes flicked to Ben, who stood beside you. “You need to control your girl.”

“Fuck you!” You spat.

“I don’t have to listen to this. Ben, get her out of my sight.”

You weren’t going anywhere, not without getting answers first. And before Ben could pull you back, you stormed up to The Legend, demanding, “Where’s my daughter!”

He blanched. Here was this short lady getting in his face, challenging him.

“I don’t know.”

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him down, pushing your face into his.

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

“Y/N. Stop.” Ben urged again.

He made the mistake of putting his hand on your shoulder, but you held him off, hand on his chest. Ben stood puzzled, but when he looked down, he deadpanned.

You watched The Legend watch Ben attempt to pull you away with no success.

“I won’t ask again, so why don’t you tell me what you know.”

He sighed in defeat. “I only heard down the grapevine after Payback disbanded. That’s the truth. I heard she was staying with Mallory.”

“Mallory? Who the fuck is that?”

“Fucking Captain Lesbo.” Ben huffed behind you.

You turned to Ben, loosening your grip on The Legend. He managed to pull himself free, muttering something about “keeping his woman in line.”

“Tell me who she is.”

“Worked with her in Nicaragua. Can you believe it, they put a woman in charge? Probably why everything went to utter shit. Last I heard, she worked for the CIA – Hey!!”

You walked out of The Legend’s penthouse, intent on finding this Mallory woman.

“Get back here, woman!”

A hand pulled you back inside and slammed you against the shut door. Ben rested his hands on either side of your head, trapping you.

“If you’re wanting to find Mallory, you’re gonna need a plan. You can’t just go out there with no fucking clue, hoping to get lucky. What were you planning on? Storming the CIA?”

“I just want to find our daughter, Ben.”

His expression softened. “I know. And I have a feeling Butcher knows just where to find her, but that’s a job for tomorrow. Today, I wanna chill with my girl.”

“You soppy bastard.” You said, a smile forming as your fingers trailed through his hair.

“You guys make me puke.” The Legend grunted.

Head resting on Ben’s shoulder cuddled up to him, he had the remote in hand, legs spread as you both sat on the fancy sofa watching daytime tv on The Legends huge screen. A loud noise coming from your pocket interrupted the cosy atmosphere.

You pulled the phone from your pocket. It was just an old Nokia. Simple enough for your needs. The tiny thing blared at you, the screen bright with MEDS unblinking at you. Beside you, Ben reached for the phone.

“The fuck is that? Jesus, turn it off.”

You silenced the phone, and his large hand snatched the device from you. Ben turned it over and over in his hands, pressing buttons. His brow furrowing, creases deepening the further annoyed he got.

“It’s a phone.”

“A phone? That ain’t no phone. Looks like something I’ve seen in your sock drawer. What’s this meds thing? Are you a pill-popper now?”

You reached for the device, but he held it out of reach.

“Chronic depression is—”

“Depression? You don’t need pills for a little bit of sadness.”

You’d expected this reaction from Ben, but it stung nonetheless.

“Please, Ben, I need them. We have to go to the pharmacy.”

He waved his hand dismissively.

“I’m here now. Whatcha gotta be depressed about?” He turned to you and gripped your chin, fingers spreading your lips. “Where’s your smile, baby. Show it to me. That’s all you need.”

Without your medication, you were likely to deteriorate. Later, tomorrow… you couldn’t say how you’d be feeling. But you smiled weakly for him. Perhaps he was right, and you didn’t need them? Maybe it was just him you needed, but deep down, you weren’t so sure.

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