loving him was red🍒

Soldier Boy nodded his head at you "Hey, Butcher's dog"

"The fuck did you call me?"

"Butcher's dog, you're always following him around, doing what he says, lookin' at him with dumbass puppy eyes"

"How do you not get hit more?"

"I hit harder, Sweetheart"

"Eh, fair" You shrugged, flipping the next page of your book "If anything, I'm his bitch"

"Really?" He cocked a brow, not expecting that from you.

"Well yeah. I'd do damn near anything if he told me to, kinda makes me his bitch"

"You got a point there, kid"

"I'm no- oh right" You realized, returning to silence.

"Right what?"

"I just forgot"

"Forgot what?"

"That you're like a hundred"

"Excuse you?"

"No it's one-twenty, right?"

"Somewhere around a hundred" His eyes shifted, not sure if he was angry yet or just annoyed.

"Right, yeah, you are old then"

"Alright- now I am fucking angry"

"Oh you don't need to be" You smiled, seemingly genuine "It wasn't an insult, just an observation"

"The fuck 're you goin' on about?"

"I feel like somewhere around eighty is the 'old' thing, like, that's when someone's old. And if you're over a hundred, you're pretty fuckin' old, still hot as fuck, but old"

"Oh 's that it doll? Y'lookin' for a new daddy or some shit?"

You scoffed "More like grand daddy"

"You little fuckin'-"

"Calm down" You rolled your eyes, finally putting your book down to look him properly in the eyes "I'm very, very sorry about calling you old. Happy?"

He eyed you off for a moment before falling flat, you weren't that bad, not as fucking irritating as the others, for some reason.

"You're kind of a weird chick"

"That I am"

"Wanna make yourself useful?"

"I already am but go on"

"Whaddya say you-"

"Uh uh. Not gonna be your stress relief, rather be the cause of it" You grinned briefly.

"Y'already are" He paused for a moment "Make me a sandwich"

"What?"

"If we're not gonna fuck, least you can do is make me a sandwich, I'm starvin'"

"You're a dick" You replied, pushing up out of your chair.

"What, you gonna go cry to your boyfriend now? Tell him how mean I was?"

"First of all, I don't have a boyfriend, despite that cleverly masked joke about Butcher, God that was funny. Second, be like- a little less of a cunt and tell me if you want ham or turkey"

"Y- You're actually makin' the sandwich?"

"Yeah"

"I tried that with night-light Barbie or whatever the fuck she's called and the Asian one and they told me to go fuck myself, well, the little one waved her hands at me or something, I got the point"

"Good for you, you're a very smart boy, now do you want ham or turkey?"

"Ham. And cheese, and a pickle"

"I was planning on making proper sandwiches, but if that's what you prefer-"

"Y'know what, I trust your judgement"

"Oh my god thank you Soldier Boy!" You squealed, off to the kitchen with another roll of your eyes.

He took a minute to think while you were gone - shocker - surprised that you actually listened to him, especially with how much of a bitch you'd been before. Maybe you just needed a little straightening out, bit of an attitude adjustment, but you had good bones, you knew when to listen sometimes. That's a good place to start.

You came back and placed the plate in front of him, alongside a beer. He looked at you for a second. Damn, maybe not everyone in this century was ass-backwards.

He looked down at the plate, seeing two stacked full sandwiches, nice ones too. Like those dumbass $10 ones in that corner store he passed on the way here. $10 for a fuckin' sandwich.

"One 'f these for you?" He asked, still more or less just wondering when you'd go off at something he said.

"Nah, I had a bit of cheese, not that hungry"

"So, you made me two?"

"Yeah, figured you're a big, kind of insanely superpowered guy, and you might be a bit hungry"

"I am" He kept watching you, feeling like this was a trap of some kind.

You let a small smile slip "This is the part where you say 'thank you', eat, and then tell me they were tasty. Not that much has changed since you were last out"

He picked one of them up, taking a bite like he was afraid it might explode in his mouth. He continued, until he turned back to you.

"Y' have any-?"

Before he could finish, you handed him a bottle of ketchp without looking away from your book.

He finished the two sandwiches within moments, good thing you made two, and leaned back against the couch, taking the beer into his hand, finally starting to relax a little. He looked over to you, deciding to take your advice, surprisingly.

"Thanks, it was tasty"

"You're very welcome" You smiled, sweetly genuine.

"Y'know what'd finish that off great?" He started, growing instantly irritated when you stood up and walked away "The fu-"

But you came back a moment later, pretty little orange pill bottle in hand. He almost sat forward to grab the pills, but he wanted to see what you'd do next.

You cleared a spot on the coffee table in front of him, shaking out a couple of pills, crushing them with the bottom of the beer bottle he'd now discarded.

"Voilà" The corners of your lips turned up simply, just fine with it.

"You don't- have any issues with this?"

"As long as you're competent when we need you and you don't try and drag me into this shit, I could not give less of a fuck as to what you do, just don't OD and we're good"

"You're kind of annoying and you don't shut the fuck up when you have to, but you're pretty decent. Better than those self important fucks"

"Coming from the master"

He eyed you up and down "A little training'd work that snark right outta ya, then you'd be damn near the perfect little wife"

"In your own fucked up misogynistic way, did you just compliment me?"

"Don't start thinkin' it means you're special or somethin'"

You just grinned. You knew this didn't mean he wasn't above killing you or anything, but it was almost flattering.

Maybe your therapist was right.

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He was quick to define it of course. This was private. You didn’t go out on dates. You didn’t go wailing about how you come apart on Soldier Boy’s cock every night to the slop they call newspapers today.

He even had even implemented rules for your hookups. Neither of you bitched when you couldn’t come over. He didn’t do kisses and cuddles. You got what you both needed and then you went your separate ways.

Casual.

He couldn’t let you get attached.

And he wasn’t attached either. But he was nosy. He could hear you poking around in his bathroom, getting ready for work. Rushing.

No time for a shower or makeup because he’d had you pinned beneath him, lapping at you like a man devouring his last meal, a grin tugging at his face as you protested that you absolutely had to get ready for work right until he sucked on that spot that made your eyes roll back in your head, dumb and boneless, just how he liked you.

So when your phone buzzed on his nightstand, he was curious. If anything he was hoping that you might have a text or something that would mean you wouldn’t have to leave. His cock was still hard, but you didn’t have time for that, so he was waiting until you’d gone to sort himself out. If you didn’t have to leave, well, that suited him just fine.

He leant over lifting it up off the wood until it lit up. You had a raft of notifications, but the one that had just come through was from something called Tinder.

You matched with Jack! Say hi now.

Ben frowned, though he didn’t know why. Didn’t know what that feeling inside him was either, though it sat sourly in the pit of his stomach.

As you walked out of the bathroom, unfurling your hair from your shirt as you tied it up, he slung it on the nightstand and watched you. That thing bubbled inside him until it blurted out without warning, ‘what’s Tinder?’

‘What?’ you said, stilling just a fraction. He noticed. He always did.

‘Your phone buzzed,’ he said, jutting his chin in the direction of the offending item. You looked at it and the scooped it up, checking the notification but not opening it.

‘You matched with Jack,’ he said, letting the insinuation sit in the air around you.

‘Oh it’s just a socials app,’ you lied, throwing it in your bag without looking. Soldier boy hesitated. He didn’t know much about that stuff. He’d heard about it along with all the other stuff he didn’t have a grasp on yet. But he didn’t do social media, and he avoided the whole app thing like the plague, so the phone someone had given him after he broke his first one in half out of frustration mostly served as a paperweight. But Jack still sat bitterly on his tongue.

He didn’t say anything, just sat there bare-chested, jaw tight, cock still straining under the sheets in a way he wanted you to relieve right now, though there was something behind your eyes that meant he knew you wouldn’t.

‘I um… I should go,’ you said. Soldier Boy said nothing, just nodded, pretending to be deeply interested in rolling himself a joint as you slipped out quietly.

And after that he should have let it go. He wanted to. Not because he wasn’t curious but because these days his curiosity he had found often led him to needing people. The world didn’t work the way it used to. And he hated that.

He hated that he had to ask Hughie, of all people. Hughie who’d laughed in his face and then immediately gave him that panicked look pussies got when they knew they were in trouble if they didn’t answer him correctly. He’d asked if he was wanting to expand his dating pool. Soldier Boy’s heart sank.

And then he’d locked himself in his room. Sitting. Sulking.

Thinking of you.

Thinking of you and Jack.

And yet when you’d texted, the only reason he really kept the phone around, asking if he minded you coming over after work, he hadn’t said no.

He’d been quiet though. You’d noticed that. Jaw set, eyes absent of their usual warmth when he was teasing you for needing him again so soon after this morning. He’d normally make fun of you, ask if you’d been thinking of bouncing of his cock all day. He’d whisper sweet nothings on your ear, if sweet came in the form of ‘my needy girl’ and ‘bet you soaked through your damn office chair, huh princess?’

He’d still made you come apart. Still had you writhing as you rode him, still pounded you into the mattress, finishing inside you with a heavy grunt before sliding off, rolling over, grabbing his weed off the nightstand, and busying himself with rolling a joint so he didn’t have to look at you. You noticed it, figured he was in another one of his moods, and sighed.

Feeling none of the usual softness that you’d become accustomed to was coming your way you busied yourself with getting dressed. You pulled on your shirt, untucking the hair you were sure looked like a bird’s nest out of your collar. before you moved to grab your underwear and jeans. Soldier boy watched you, admiring the curve of your ass before it disappeared behind cotton and denim.

Off somewhere else. To someone else.

‘So,’ he said, clearing his throat. You looked over expectantly, ‘what are you doing later?’

‘Nothing much,’ you shrugged.

‘Hot date, huh?’ he grunted.

‘No,’ you frowned, your eyebrows pulling together which made you look cuter than it ought to, ‘why would you think that?’

‘Your app.’

‘My what?’ you said, before it dawned on you, ‘oh.’

Soldier Boy said nothing.

‘Is that a problem?’ you asked.

‘Why would it be a problem?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ you said, ‘you’re being weird.’

‘About you fucking other dudes?’ he scoffed, ‘why would I be weird?’

‘Ben,’ you sighed.

He looked away from you, the muscle in his jaw twitching with irritation. You moved around the bed, perched yourself on the edge of it. He still wouldn’t look at you.

‘Are you jealous?’ you asked, unable to take the amusement fully out of your voice because you knew that would make him look or rather glare at you.

‘Jealous?’ he baulked, ‘why the fuck would I be jealous?’

‘I don’t know, you tell me,’ you challenged. Ben scowled and you dropped your voice lower, ‘you were the one who said that this was casual, remember?’

‘It is.’

‘Okay so you fuck other girls, right?’

Ben didn’t say anything. Because he didn’t. He hadn’t for a long while. Since about three weeks into this thing.

Since you were too tired to go home and he’d been nice enough to let you stay, already breaking his own rules. When he’d woken up, you were wrapped around him, head on his chest, lips pouted out against his skin in a way that made you look like a fish. The cutest damn fish he’d ever seen.

‘I didn’t make a date…with Jack,’ you offered quietly, ‘we messaged, but he was-’

‘A limp-dick commie.’

‘Perfectly pleasant and polite,’ you corrected, raising a scolding eyebrow at him, ‘and didn’t use phrases like limp-dick commie because he’s not a thousand years old-‘

‘Watch it.’

You smiled wryly and saw a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. You sighed.

‘I just thought there was no harm in looking. That I should make the most of it, but you’d get bored eventually…that I should have options,’ you explained.

‘What am I, a fucking temp job?’

‘I don’t know what we are. You said you don’t do more than this,’ you said.

‘You do?’

‘I’m not stupid enough to think that when I’m fifty, I’ll wanna be going out of my mind wondering if you’re out there fucking some other woman,’ you said.

‘Are you jealous?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

Ben took a breath, searching your face.

‘Are you?’ you asked.

‘I’m not good at this.’

‘Evidently,’ you said.

‘I’ve not done the whole relationship thing,’ he started, the words feeling awkward between you.

‘Colour me surprised,’ you teased gently.

‘Not sure I’m a boyfriend material,’ he muttered.

‘You’re really selling it here,’ you joked, but when he stayed quiet, your expression softened, ‘Ben, I’m not asking you to marry me here.’

He let out a weak, quiet breath of a laugh.

‘So…what are you asking?’ he said after a minute, his voice smaller than you’d expected. Smaller than the man you found took up every inch of space, every corner of your mind, every facet of your life.

‘That we’re less casual?’

‘You don’t fuck any other guys?’

‘I didn’t fuck-’ you sighed when he raised an eyebrow, ‘okay, no other guys. That goes for you too.’

‘No other women. Got it.’

‘I meant you can’t fuck other guys,’ you teased.

‘Watch it,’ he mused. You leaned forward, allowing his hand to capture your chin, his calloused thumb rough against your skin.

‘So?’ you asked.

‘So,’ he said, ‘not casual huh?’

‘Not casual.’

─────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────────

soldier boys tags

You hum and smile. He can be as rough around the edges as he likes. You know what that as soon as the lights go out, he’s going to stop pretending he’s not gentle.

Because Ben doesn’t worship a god. He worships you. Your body in the dark, your breathless moans, your fluttering lashes and shaky moans as he has his way with you, over and over until the sunrise.

You know from social media and tabloids, that everyone thinks Ben would be rough and selfish in bed. You’re sure he once was. He’s admitted as much. But with you, he’s cruel in the sweetest way. Big hands roam your body, stripping you slowly and sucking possessive marks on every sensitive spot of your body. Your neck, your breasts, your inner thigh, there isn’t a place he won’t mark.

Needy girl, he calls you when his knuckles rub your pussy. Greedy little pussy all ready for me, isn’t it? Bet I can make you cum without touchin’ her.

And you whine, because you don’t know who the hell he’s betting against. He knows he can make you fall apart, just by pinning your abdomen down and mouthing at your tits. You spasm and sob, the orgasm short and ruined, and Ben still doesn’t take mercy. This is more important to him than his job, and he’s going to drive the private heaven out as long as he can.

His cock gets stuffed down your throat, and you hump the sheets as you gag, his eyes gleaming with dark adoration as he fucks your face. He pets your head and reaches back to spank your pussy as you swallow the thick load of his cum. You’re worked up enough to snap, when he settles between your legs and spits on your clit. You’re crying when he presses you to his face and doesn’t let you up, until you’re weeping, twitching, and stuck to beard.

Then he fucks you, so slow you feel like you’re stuck in free fall. The drag of his massive cock through your gummy walls, making your eyes flutter and your mouth hang uselessly open. Ben spits down your throat and rolls his hips, smirking when you moan like a wanton whore.

Fuckin’ cockslut, he purrs, pressing his hand against your tummy, forcing you to feel him rut against your g-spot. You feel that, babydoll? Feels real fuckin’ good, doesn’t it.

He has no idea. It feels so good you could die. So good you’re smiling and giggling like a drunken idiot, when he really, properly starts to fuck you. Your whole body is so overworked and sensitive, you scream when your last orgasm hits you. There isn’t a place you don’t feel it, from curling toes to crossed eyes. You milk Ben’s cock, writhing uselessly beneath him, and he collapses over you with a deep, rough groan.

At the end, he’s fucked you hard enough your pussy is drooling with your mixed releases. You’ve got handprints and lovebites everywhere, and he doesn’t even have a scratch. You always complain it isn’t fair. Ben grunts that it ain’t like anyone’s looking at him, when you’re at his side. 

And people would never believe, that he cleans you up and cradles you after. That you get treated like a princess, by the big, bad Soldier Boy and his sneering grin. But you don’t need them to believe. You get that soft but unwavering light, behind his eyes. You get the soft kiss to your pussy, not even trying to start something again, but just looking to remind himself of the work well done. You curl up against his chest while he smokes with a dazed smile, and catch his gaze.

He cups your cheek, and presses a gentle kiss against your swollen lips. He smears his spit on your lips and hums to himself, satisfied with his work of art.

You. Thoroughly fucked, wholly satisfied, and completely, totally worshipped.

✦Soldier Boy Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on aO3✦

✦Author's Note: is he taking requests ...✦

Russell Shaw

Russell felt the moment your head settled against his shoulder.

The two of you sat on the ratty motel couch, hours deep into surveillance footage for the latest case. You hadn't been sleeping well, and eventually exhaustion won.

Russell went still.

"You're supposed to warn a guy before you do that," he muttered under his breath.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair before forcing his attention back to the laptop.

The footage continued to play, faces and number plates blurring together, but he couldn't have told anyone what he was looking at.

All he could think about was the weight of your head resting against him. His heartbeat was louder than the audio coming from the laptop.

Carefully—slow enough that he wouldn't wake you—he shifted just enough to make sure your neck wasn't at an awkward angle.

Once he was satisfied you were comfortable, he settled again.

He didn't move after that.

Dean Winchester

Dean thought you'd done it on purpose when your head landed against his arm. For half a second, he figured you were messing with him.

Then he leaned forward just enough to catch a glimpse of your face. Your eyes were closed. Your lips were slightly parted. Your breathing had settled into the slow, even rhythm of someone completely asleep.

He blinked. "Wait..." he whispered. "She's actually asleep?"

His eyes darted around the room as if he expected hidden cameras to appear. This had to be some kind of joke.

Except it wasn't.

You'd simply...fallen asleep on him. Dean glanced back at you, suddenly afraid that even breathing too hard might wake you.

It was strange.

People relied on him. Needed him. Counted on him to save the day.

But trusting him enough to fall asleep against him? That was different. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He didn't even think about shifting you off. He'd stay there as long as it took.

If it meant you got a little more sleep, the numb arm was worth it.

Beau Arlen

You hadn't had the heart to cancel movie night with Beau. Even though you were exhausted.

It had become a weekly tradition—curling up on the deck of the Airstream with snacks, Western movies, and whatever commentary Beau had to offer.

You'd promised yourself you'd stay awake. You didn't.

Beau noticed the moment your head found his shoulder. He glanced down, expecting you to apologize or shift away. Instead, he found you fast asleep.

He didn't mind. Not one bit.

Carefully, he reached for the blanket draped over the back of the loveseat and unfolded it with one hand.

The moment he settled it over you, you instinctively snuggled deeper into the warmth, letting out a quiet, contented sigh. Beau's smile only grew.

He turned the volume down until the movie became little more than background noise.

He spent the rest of it stealing the occasional glance at you instead.

Somehow, this had turned into the best part of movie night.

Soldier Boy

Of course you'd fallen asleep. And of course you'd picked him as a pillow.

He stared straight ahead, jaw tightening.

Seriously? Now he was stuck here. He couldn't move without waking you, and apparently waking you wasn't an option.

Wait. Since when?

This wasn't him.

He didn't do... whatever the hell this was. He glanced down. Your face was completely relaxed, your breathing slow and steady as you slept against his shoulder. He let out a quiet sigh through his nose. "Jesus Christ," he muttered.

It would've been so easy to nudge you awake. Tell you to move. Complain that your head was getting heavy. Instead, he stayed exactly where he was.

Then the front door to the loft swung open.

Hughie and Billy wandered in, still arguing about Homelander.

"Hey!" Soldier Boy hissed far louder than he intended. Both men stopped. He pointed toward you with a glare. "Shut the fuck up. She's sleeping."

Hughie's eyes widened. He awkwardly grabbed the shopping bags and hurried into the kitchen without another word.

Billy lingered behind the sofa, one eyebrow slowly climbing as a knowing grin spread across his face.

"Don't." Billy's grin widened. "I said don't say a fuckin' word." Billy chuckled under his breath and walked away. Soldier Boy rolled his eyes. "Asshole."

Mark Meachum

He knew it was going to happen. He'd known since the start of the day.

He noticed the dark circles beneath your eyes. He noticed how often you rubbed at them when you thought no one was looking. He noticed the slight slump in your shoulders every time you walked to refill your coffee.

He noticed. It was his job to notice. That's what he told himself, anyway.

So, when he asked you to help sort through a mountain of case files, it wasn't because he couldn't manage them alone. It was because sitting on the couch for a few hours sounded a lot kinder than sending you back out into the field.

For a while, you managed. You highlighted reports, made notes, and quietly compared witness statements with him. Then he noticed your grip on the folder begin to loosen. Your blinking slowed. Your breathing became softer.

He looked up just as your head started to tip.

Without a word, he shifted closer. Not enough for you to notice. Just enough that, instead of your head falling awkwardly to the side, it came to rest against his shoulder.

Right where he'd intended.

A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. "There you go," he murmured. Carefully, he brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face before returning his attention to the file in his lap.

Boaz Priestly

Priestly had brought over the world's worst horror movie for your usual Friday night after work.

Neither of you were really watching it. You'd demolished a couple of foot-longs, argued over which monster was the least convincing, and settled into opposite ends of the couch. Or at least, you had.

By the halfway point, exhaustion was catching up with you. Your eyelids grew heavier. Your replies to his commentary became slower. You fought to stay awake. You lost.

The moment your head landed on his shoulder, Priestly completely melted. His heart practically stopped. For one glorious second, he thought you'd done it on purpose. Then he glanced down. Your eyes were closed. "...Oh." The biggest grin spread across his face.

He couldn't stop smiling if he tried. Unable to help himself, he rested his head lightly against yours for just a second.

This was nice.

Then another thought struck him. The movie. It was way too loud. He should turn it down.

Carefully—very carefully—he leaned forward without moving his shoulder.

The remote sat on the coffee table. Just... A little... Farther.

His fingertips brushed the edge of it. "Come on..." One more inch. Without thinking, he leaned just a fraction too far. His shoulder disappeared from beneath your head. With a soft whump, you slid sideways into the gap between him and the couch.

Your eyes flew open. "...What happened?"

Priestly froze, remote finally in his hand. "...I was trying to be romantic."

You blinked at him. "You pushed me off the couch."

"I know." He sighed dramatically, dropping his head into his free hand.

"I am spectacularly bad at this." Despite yourself, you laughed. Priestly looked up hopefully. "So... points for effort?"

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he splutters, clearly caught off guard. ben's never had someone cut through his bravado like that before, the macho facade cracking just enough to show the genuine hunger underneath.

"ugh, just fuck me," you groan, grounding your hips again with more deliberate force. "stop all this ego stuff — it sure ain't hot dirty talk i'm hearing."

his jaw tightens as he attempts to reassert dominance, "yeah? fine, i'll fuck you till you can't even walk."

you let out a bored huff, your chest swaying with each movement, "good. i don't want to keep going on those supply runs anyways — ah, fuck — they're so boring."

"i'll get you drunk on this cock, you'll be beggin' like a cheap addict f'me," he growls with a dropped, deep voice as he tries to intimidate you into submission.

"great, that's my ovulation lust sorted then."

ben huffs, realising he's not winning this verbal sparring match. finally, he leans back into the cushions, defeated by your sheer audacity, but intriguied nonetheless.

his large palms settle on your waist, not to take over, but to ground you as you set the pace. he just watches now, his eyes dark as he tracks the way you move against his. gripping his jaw again, you force him to meet your gaze with shameless intent.

"stop daydreaming. make me cum," you snap, smacking his jaw again with a scoff, "that sex drive of yours get neutralised in experiments too?"

ben bristles at the mockery; he doesn't back down from the challenge.

his thumb finds that perfect pattern against your clit, sending sparks straight down your spine. you lean forwards, one hand tangling deep into his hair — fist grasping as you tug at the roots, forcing his head further back to your gaze.

your other hand holds onto his arms, nails digging into the hard muscle of his bicep as you pick up the pace.

"fuck, ben," you moan directly into his ear, the sound raw and inhibited — it matched the scene of your pussy grounding in desperate, slick circles that forced his cockhead into each patch of nerves deep within you.

he met all of your descents with an equally mean force. ben groans with a rough voice stripped of any pretence. "keep doin' that — fuck — you're so damn tight."

you're practically grinding your clit to his calloused thumb, a delicious haze enrapturing you. but, when he tries to thrust upwards with that familiar, commanding grunt, you deliberately stiffen, cutting off the friction.

"then, you're not fucking me right then," you pant, glaring past the blur of pleasure, "get me looser first — you're too fucking stiff."

ben glowers, his jaw clenching as you shut down another attempt of his verbal dominance. he looks like he wants to snap something back, to reassert that he's the one control, but the way your pussy clenches around — purposely perhaps, but he doesn't have to know that — when you shift position makes a twisted, ugly need bubble within him.

he can't maintain the damn act when your body is literally demanding more.

"fuck you," he mutters with no real heat behind the insult. he reaches up, his warm palms sliding to your hips as he starts guiding your rhythm. he's just steering you slightly atop him — tilting your pelvis at just the right angled to make every thrust hit deeper.

"you want loose? i'll give you loose," he grunts, his hips rolling in a deliberate grind that forces your pussy to open up around him. his pupils dilate with hoe your breathing hitches every time he finds that sweet spot.

soon enough, ben's relentlessly circling your clit, while simultaneously guiding your hips at the most accurate combination to your orgasm. probably one of the best you'd ever had — you had to give him that.

smirking through the haze of post-orgasmic state, you wheeze, "hey, at least your ancient ass remembers where the clit is."

you don't really give him time to recover, while he snarls at your mocking teases. with the help of solid warm muscle, you push yourself back up, grinding down to lodge him deeper.

"you better cum inside," you snark. when his hips stutter with slight hesitation, digging your nails into his biceps. "fucking coward, stop stalling, cum in me."

ben is not saying no to that.

he drives upwards with a desperate hunger, groaning loudly against your throat as he finally orgasms too, spilling into your pussy with heavy pulses.

as you both come down, you're glancing at the slick mess coating your thighs. "look at this — you better eat me out n' clean this all up."

for the nth time, ben feels that irate scowl in his throat. he looked quite ready to argue, but he was already reaching to slide you off.

see, his intentions were just as filthy as your demands — you'd just stolen the initiative. you watch through half lidded eyes as he moves between your spread thighs, massive frame blocking out the light.

he doesn't say anything else — no macho posturing, no bravado — he just leans in, breath hot against your sensitive pussy, tongue lapping up through the wetness of both your arousals.

$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @hisokamywaifu @sb-bitch

$ join taglist

soldier boy’s behind you. he’s dressed like a civilian, which means jeans, a dark jacket despite the heat, and a baseball cap he’s complained about every few minutes since butcher handed it to him.

“take it off, then,” you mutter.

“whole point is not getting recognized.”

“then stop touching it like you’ve got lice.”

“looks fucking stupid.”

you glance back. “it’s a hat.”

“yeah. a stupid one.”

hughie makes the mistake of looking toward him.

“eyes on the building, hughie.”

“my eyes were on the building.”

“your whole head turned.”

frenchie lowers the newspaper by half an inch. “perhaps we should all speak less.”

you’re about to agree when someone says your name. not through the earpiece. not from across the street where the four of you have been watching a side entrance for long enough that you’ve started recognizing the employees by their cigarette habits. no… this comes from behind you.

your body turns before your brain catches up. for one strange second, all you see is a man standing outside the hardware store halfway down the block. worn work boots. faded gray shirt. a paper bag tucked beneath one arm. dark hair slightly longer than it used to be, curling where the heat’s made it damp near his temples.

then he smiles. “holy shit.”

the rest of the street disappears.

“luke?”

his smile breaks wider. “you’re alive.”

you laugh, already moving toward him. “last time i checked.”

“that was apparently a long fucking time ago.”

he meets you halfway and pulls you into a hug without hesitation. 

you don’t hesitate either. his arms close around you, warm and familiar, and for one second you’re standing behind the reception desk at the motel again. stale coffee burning in the machine. the bell over the office door sticking. luke coming in through the maintenance entrance with grease on his cheek and a complaint about room twelve’s toilet.

he lifts you just slightly off your feet. you laugh into his shoulder.

“you vanished. no call. no message. nothing. i thought the old bastard finally killed you and put you in one of the mattresses.”

“please. he would’ve charged guests extra to sleep on me.”

luke laughs warmly as he sets you down, but his hands stay around your upper arms as he looks you over. “you look good.”

there’s no performance in it. no exaggerated sweep of his eyes. just something warm and relieved.

you smile. “so do you.”

behind you, something creaks. you glance back. soldier boy has both hands in his jacket pockets. his face’s completely blank. hughie looks between the two of you, then quickly becomes fascinated by the building again. frenchie’s newspaper rises a little higher.

luke doesn’t follow your glance. if he notices the others at all, he gives no sign of it. “you still working nights?” he asks instead, eyes fixed on you.

“sometimes.”

that answer’s vague enough to contain several felonies. luke seems to notice, but he doesn’t push. he never used to push. that’d been part of why you liked him.

the motel hired luke to handle repairs, which meant he spent most of his shifts being summoned to fight air conditioners older than both of you combined. during quiet nights, he sat behind reception while you ate dinner, brought you coffee from the machine without asking, and invented increasingly ridiculous reasons to wander through the lobby whenever you were working.

something had nearly happened. several times. 

then butcher arrived with a bleeding man and a gun, and your life became something you couldn’t explain without sounding deranged.

luke snaps his fingers suddenly. “do you remember that night with—”

the memory catches before he finishes. your hand lands on his arm. “oh my god!”

he starts laughing. “with the—”

“window spray!” you say it at the same time.

luke bends forward, laughing harder, and you grab his forearm to steady yourself because the image’s returned in full: his face dripping blue cleaner, a stack of towels collapsing around his legs, the broken window slamming shut so violently that both of you thought it had cracked.

“you sprayed me directly in the mouth,” he says.

“you told me to spray the track!”

“the track, not my face.”

“you moved!”

“because the window tried to kill me!”

another laugh escapes you, bright enough that two people passing on the pavement glance over.

luke looks at you in the middle of it, and his expression softens. the laughter fades slowly. his thumb brushes once against your arm, easy and absentminded. “i missed that.”

something in your chest pulls. before you can decide what to do with it, frenchie clears his throat. loudly. you glance back. he smiles apologetically above the newspaper, then taps two fingers against the watch on his wrist. right. surveillance. possible criminals. butcher waiting to criticize everyone’s efficiency. normal life remains annoyingly inconsiderate.

“i have to go,” you tell luke.

“yeah…” he lets your arm go, though he doesn’t look particularly pleased about it. “of course.”

“it was really good seeing you.”

“you too.”

you begin to step away.

“wait—”

you stop.

luke reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “same number?”

“no.” you hold out your hand. “give it here.”

he unlocks it and passes it over. you type your number into a new contact while he watches. there’s a pressure at your back that you refuse to turn around and acknowledge.

“there,” you hand the phone back.

luke checks the screen and smiles. “don’t disappear again.”

“i’ll try.”

he hugs you again. shorter this time, but softer. his hand settles between your shoulder blades. yours presses against his side. you catch the clean smell of laundry detergent beneath the heat and faint sawdust clinging to his shirt.

when he releases you, he walks backward for two steps. “i’m serious,” he smiles. “answer me.”

“send something worth answering.”

“window spray.”

you laugh again. “terrible start.”

“worked, though.”

you watch him turn and continue down the street. only when he disappears around the corner do you return to the others. frenchie folds the newspaper carefully. hughie stares very hard at his phone. soldier boy looks across the street.

“sorry,” you say. “old coworker.”

nothing.

“we worked at the motel together.”

deadly nothing.

the rest of the stakeout passes in almost complete silence. soldier boy answers questions when he absolutely has to. one word at a time. sometimes not even that. when hughie asks whether the man leaving the building is their target, soldier boy looks through the binoculars for five seconds and hands them back without speaking.

“so,” hughie says carefully. “is it him?”

“no.”

“right. okay.”

ten minutes later, hughie tries again.

“the van’s moved.”

“saw.”

“do you think we should—”

“nope.”

frenchie keeps his attention on the building, but the corner of his mouth twitches once. 

soldier boy sees it. the twitch dies instantly. 

you assume he’s irritated about the stakeout, the heat, the hat. hughie breathing too loudly. any of the thirty-seven things that can offend him during a normal afternoon.

you don’t think about luke’s hand on your back. not much, anyway.

the safehouse is quiet when you return.

butcher disappears with frenchie to look through the photographs. hughie goes searching for annie. mm asks whether anyone was followed, accepts the answer, and returns to the kitchen table.

soldier boy goes to the living room.

you get yourself a glass of water and spend several minutes helping frenchie label times beneath blurry pictures of people entering and leaving the building. none of it leads anywhere useful. eventually, frenchie takes the laptop into the back room, leaving you alone at the table.

“so what about the window spray?”

you glance over your shoulder.

soldier boy sits on the couch with one arm stretched along the backrest and a beer on the coffee table. the stupid baseball cap’s gone. his hair’s flattened where it sat.

“what?”

“the window spray.”

you look toward the cleaning supplies beneath the kitchen sink. “do we need some?”

his stare hardens. “the thing with your boyfriend.”

“boyfriend?” you blink. “what—who? luke?”

something in his shoulders shifts. “looked like he wanted to be.”

you turn in your chair. “are you asking what happened?”

“asked a question.”

“you’ve apparently been thinking about it for hours.”

“answer it.”

you stare at him for a moment, then lean back in the chair, already smiling.

“god, okay—so the window in room fourteen kept getting stuck,” you say, a laugh slipping into your voice before you can stop it. “luke had it half taken apart, and i was supposed to be cleaning the track.”

“exciting.”

“and he’s like, ‘just spray the track,’ right? so i go to do it, and the stupid thing drops all at once—” you huff out a laugh, shaking your head at the memory. “—and i jump, and i just—i spray him directly in the face.”

soldier boy waits.

you’re already laughing now, one hand coming up to cover your mouth. “like, full blast. eyes, mouth, everything. and he just freezes for a second, completely soaked, and then he tries to step back and—” you break, laughing harder. “—and he trips over the housekeeping cart and goes down with all the towels.”

“that’s it?”

the disbelief in his voice only makes you laugh more. 

“you had to be there,” you manage.

“yeah,” he says. “i bet.”

you smile into your water, still a little breathless.

he doesn’t. “he always wears his shirts that tight?”

your head lifts slowly. “what?”

“guy looked vacuum-sealed.”

“it was a normal shirt.”

“no, it wasn’t.”

“you noticed luke’s shirt?”

“hard not to.”

you bite the inside of your cheek.

“he still work at that dump?”

“i don’t know.”

“useful guy?”

“very.”

“fix toilets?”

“among other things.”

“great.”

you study soldier boy across the room. his face gives you nothing. his beer remains untouched. one boot taps against the floor once before going still again.

“what’s happening right now?”

“nothing.”

“you’ve spent all afternoon acting like somebody shot your dog.”

“never had a dog.”

“somehow, that explains a lot.”

his mouth tightens. “you fuck him?”

the question lands so bluntly that you almost choke on your water. “excuse me?”

“at the motel. you two sneak into empty rooms between clogged drains?”

“no!”

his expression doesn’t change.

“but we almost went out,” you add.

his jaw shifts. “you almost went out? the fuck does that mean—almost?”

“something always came up. somebody called out. a guest flooded a bathroom. once the owner made luke spend six hours trying to remove a raccoon from the laundry room.”

“sounds committed.”

“and then butcher showed up…”

soldier boy goes quiet. you don’t have to explain the rest. butcher showed up. mm was bleeding. hughie looked terrified. a gun pointed at your face, and somehow that became the dividing line between the life you had and the life you have now. luke belongs to the other side of it.

“you gonna call him?” soldier boy asks.

“probably.”

“why?”

you stare at him. “because i liked him.”

“liked.”

“maybe i still like. i haven’t exactly had time to find out.”

his eyes settle on yours. the air changes. not dangerously. not the kind you measure by exits and distance. something smaller. meaner. the danger of realizing you’ve stepped into an argument that began several hours before you knew it existed mixed with the weight of the gym, the kisses, the bad idea.

“guy changes lightbulbs for a living.”

“you’re unemployed.”

“i’m soldier boy.”

“that’s not a job. it’s barely a personality.”

he narrows his eyes at the jab.

your phone buzzes on the table. both of you look at it. a message waits from an unknown number.

𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠? 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜.

you smile before you can stop yourself.

“that him?”

you look up. “mmhm.”

“you smiled.”

“people do that sometimes.”

“not at their phones unless somebody’s saying something stupid.”

you read the message aloud. soldier boy scoffs.

“i thought it was cute.”

“course you did.”

you look at him properly now. the silence during the stakeout. the shirt. the questions. the sudden interest in motel maintenance and whether luke had ever touched you in an empty room. a laugh begins low in your chest.

soldier boy’s eyes narrow. “what?”

“are you jealous?”

he looks personally insulted. “of him?”

“yes.”

“the maintenance guy?”

“his name’s luke.”

“don’t care what his name is.”

“you seem pretty invested.”

“bullshit.”

“you noticed his shirt.”

“everybody noticed his shirt.”

“frenchie barely noticed he had a face.”

soldier boy leans forward, forearms resting against his thighs. “you gave some civilian your number in the middle of a job.”

“he already knew me.”

“doesn’t know you now.”

“you don’t know him at all.”

“know enough.”

“what exactly do you know?”

he stares at you. for a second, you think he’ll dismiss the whole thing. call you delusional. take his beer and leave the room like the question is too stupid to deserve an answer. instead, he says, “i know how he looked at you.”

your amusement softens around the edges. “and how did he look at me?”

“like he’d already decided you were going home with him.”

“i didn’t.”

“you wanted to.”

“maybe.”

his expression turns murderous. and suddenly you understand. not just the jealousy. the precise shape of it.

“you’re not jealous because he wanted me… you’re jealous i wanted him back.”

his eyes stay on yours. 

you purse your lips, fully entertained and begin typing on your phone.

“don’t answer him.”

your thumb stops. you look up. “and why not?”

he’s got nothing respectable to say. you see that too. 

“because i said so.”

“not good enough.” you return to your phone.

“you want coffee, i’ll get you coffee.”

your thumb stops again. “what?”

“coffee.”

you lower the phone slowly. “are you offering to take me for coffee?”

“i know what i said.”

“you said you’d get me coffee. that could mean you’re planning to rob a café.”

“jesus christ.”

you wait. he glares at you from the couch, every inch of him offended by the fact that you’re making this difficult when, as far as he’s concerned, he’s already made an extraordinarily generous offer.

you enjoy every second of it. “ask me properly.”

he stares at you like he might detonate from humiliation alone. “come have coffee with me.”

“instead of luke?”

“yeah.”

“because you’re jealous?”

“because his joke wasn’t funny.”

you smile.

“still not admitting it?”

“you coming or not?”

you pick up your glass and phone. “i’ll think about it.”

you make it three steps toward the hallway. your smile widens where he cannot see it when the outraged scoff leaves his mouth.

“what the fuck’s there to think about?”

Ben was really starting to piss you off. It’s been exactly twelve hours since he last touched you.

You’d been keeping score in your head all day. First, he hadn’t slung an arm over your shoulders while you two were watching TV last night. Then, no rough kiss pressed to the top of your head when you shuffled into the kitchen this morning. No teasing pinch at your hip when you squeezed past him to grab a coffee mug. Nothing.

But, Worst of all… he’d stopped his favorite pastime: Smacking your ass every time you bent over.

Like now, for example. You’re bent over the edge of the soaking tub, scrubbing at a spot that honestly didn’t need scrubbing. Mostly because you were bored. Mostly because sitting still for more than five minutes had never really been your thing.

The oversized t-shirt you’d stolen from Ben rode up with every stretch of your arm, cool air brushing the skin of your thighs where your sleep shorts ended.

Then you heard it.. Heavy, familiar footsteps coming down the hall.

Ben wandered into the bathroom, muttering under his breath about where the hell his razor had disappeared to. He reached past you for the shaving cream sitting on the shower caddy, close enough that his body heat just barely ghosted over your back.

His hand hovered for the briefest second. Fingers flexing. Palm spread open. Muscle memory was about to win.

Then.. Nothing.

He caught himself and pulled his hand back. Like it had never crossed his mind at all.

You straighten up slowly, soapy sponge still in hand, suds dripping down your arm as you stare at him with furrowed brows, watching as he pops open the cap of the shaving cream up like everything’s perfectly normal.

“…Ben?” You mutter, almost offended.

He glances over, eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“You walked right past me. Bent over. Ass basically out. And you didn’t do shit.”

He pauses, looking genuinely confused. “Was I supposed to?”

Your face heats up with a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. This man has slapped your ass every single time you’ve given him the chance for months. Washing dishes? Smack. Reaching into a low cabinet? Smack. Standing up from the couch? Smack. Never just… nothing.

You set the sponge down. “You didn’t even touch me.”

Ben huffs, turning back to the mirror. “Didn’t realize was on a fuckin’ schedule.”

・・・۶ৎ・・・

The weirdness doesn’t stop there. Later you walk past him in the living room and he almost reaches for you. His hand lifts halfway, gearing up.. just to give your back a light, polite tap instead. You stop dead in your tracks, mouth dropping open.

“Something wrong?” he asks, eyes glued to the TV.

You don’t give him a proper answer. Instead, you bend over to grab a magazine off the coffee table, just to test him… Still nothing! He just keeps his gaze steady on the screen.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

By dinner you’re officially freaked out. He’s frighteningly tame. He hasn’t made any stupid comments. Hasn’t pulled you down into his lap. Hasn’t made a single dirty joke all day. Just… nice. Respectful even. You don’t think he’s ever been this quiet around you before.

You finally snap that night in the bedroom. Climbing up onto the bed and straddling his lap before he can even settle against the headboard.

“So what the hell is going on?” you ask, poking his chest. “You’ve been acting weird all day. Did I do something? Are you mad at me?”

Ben’s hands settle on your thighs, warm and steady but not wandering like usual. He looks surprised. “Mad? Fuck no. Why would you think that?”

“Because you didn’t slap my ass this morning when I was literally bent over right in front of you,” you mutter, half dramatic, half serious. “You always do it. Every time. And today? I got nothing. I hate it and I miss you.”

He watches you for a long second, jaw tight. Then he lets out an exasperated sigh and rubs a hand over his face.

“Figured…” He pauses. “Ah, hell.”

He looks almost embarrassed.

“Some limp-dicked suit at Vought.. ‘was running his mouth about how I should show you some more respect now that we’re serious. Said I act like an animal sometimes. Got me thinking… maybe you were just puttin’ up with it. With me. I was trying to dial it back. Be less of an asshole for once.”

You stare at him for a second, heart twisting in your chest.

“Ben,” you say softly, leaning closer. “You’re an idiot.”

He raises an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk trying to come back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You gently cup his face with both hands and kiss him, slow and warm. When you pull back just enough, your foreheads rest together.

“I would’ve told you if it bothered me,” you mutter, soft and quiet. “I like that you can’t keep your hands off me. That’s how I know we’re good. Don’t try to be someone else. I want you exactly like this.”

Ben’s voice comes out quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “…You really mean that?”

You smile, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I do.”

That does it for him. The tension melts out of his shoulders and his hands slide up your thighs, grabbing your ass with both palms, squeezing hard like he’s been waiting to do it all day.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he sighs against your lips. “You sure? ‘Cause I’ve been fuckin’ dying to do that all day.”

A small smile pulls at your lips, holding his gaze. “Positive.”

He lets out a deep laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you fully.

“That’s my girl. Fuckin’ missed this. Thought I was gonna lose my shit trying to keep my hands to myself.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, holding you tight. You melt into him, gently punching his chest just to hear him groan.

“Don’t ever do that stupid shit again, you hear me?”

“Never,” he promises, voice warm and gruff. “You want me like this? That’s what you’re gettin’. Every damn day.”

You laugh quietly and bury your face against his shoulder, tugging at the dog tags hanging from his neck. He wraps his arms around you tighter and presses another kiss to the top of your head.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

The next morning you’re back in the bathroom, organizing the cleaning products under the sink. Ben walks in while you’re bent over reaching for the bottles in the back. Without a bit of hesitation this time… his hand cracks down hard on your ass, the sound echoing off the tiles.

You give a surprised yelp, then throw him a look over your shoulder, trying (and failing) to seem annoyed.

“Morning, doll,” he says smugly, squeezing the same spot before pulling you back against his chest. “There’s my favorite fuckin’ view.”

You lean into him with a dramatic sigh. “Welcome back, you big idiot.”

You know that look better than you know the fucking alphabet by now.

It's the look Ben gives you every time he's lookin' for a little…..stress relief.

So at least twice a day, usually three times. Weekends are a world of their own, best not to discuss those just yet.

You throw the file you were reading on the table with a little huff, rolling your eyes as you take the elastic off your wrist and tie back your hair nice and tight, you know he likes it that way.

You walk over to him, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it onto a nearby chair. The lacy black bra he'd slipped into your drawer getting shown off. He was damn glad he bought you that. In every colour.

He always had a thing for the little strip tease, hence why you sat across from him a lot of the time, gave you more of a chance to show it all off as you approach him

You lean down, lips brushing his ear, tits pressed up by your arms, almost entirely in his face.

"You're a slut, y'know that?"

"Yeah well you're a whore, Sweetheart" He grinned, hands on your shoulders, pushing you down "Nah, you're my whore. Now get to work"

You send him a little smile, genuine, followed by an obnoxious sallutte, you gotta get your fun out of this too.

When you duck your head under the table, you see his cock, rock hard and begging for attention.

Your hand wraps around the base, giving him a few slow pumps before you see his thighs tense up, he really does need you this time.

Possessing the tiniest bit of sympathy, you decide to stop your teasing. Probably for the best, or he'd have you bent over the table screaming just in time for the twelve o'clock meeting.

You run the tip of your tongue up his length, following a bulging vein on the underside before taking the head of his cock to the back of your throat in one spearing motion.

The little growl he lets out is music to your ears.

He always likes it rough, he likes everything rough, so you barely give him a moment before bobbing your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks.

You pull back, running your tongue over his slit before diving back down, gagging around him.

That's his last straw. He tried just letting you go for it, he's trained you enough, but he can't just sit there.

He reaches under the table, grabbing your hair, the perfect handle, as he kicks his desk chair back, dragging you out.

"There's m' pretty girl" He grins, pleased with the pained little look on your face.

"That fucking hurt!" You barely manage to pull off his cock, a hand coming up to the top of your head, trying to soothe, before he shoves you back down, hips jolting into the back of your throat.

"C'mon baby, just be good 'n quiet for me, yeah?"

You breathe out heavily through your nose, voicing your annoyance without your actual voice before continuing.

You don't have much work left to do really, considering Ben has a vice grip on your hair, forcing your head back and forth, drool pouring down your chin, coating your chest.

"Look at tha'" He smirks, breathing a little heavy "Wan' me t' fuck those pretty tits next?"

You let your teeth graze him not so gently, signalling your disapproval.

"Aww, m' little whore too needy for me, huh? Won' let me fuck anywhere but that tight pussy? 's that right, doll?"

Your hands come up to grip the backs of his calves, nails digging in as you suck harder, eager for what's to come.

Him, namely.

His hold tightens, if that's possible, hips jerking, rutting into your throat before cumming with a loud roar, pressing your head down to make you swallow every last drop.

You pull off with a gasp for air as Ben leans back in his chair, a smug smirk creeping over his lips.

Your gaze flicks to his, taking a breath as you stand, moving back to sit on the table, legs spread.

"My turn"

He's on you in seconds, tasting his cum on your tongue,clicking up the little dribble falling down your chin, pushing you onto your back as he shoves your skirt up.

You hear a click.

You look back and see that weird, blonde fuckwit standing in the doorway.

He locks eyes with his father, completely ingoring the situation, really, ignoring you.

"The meeting's been moved up, it starts in five minutes"

Ben smirks, a little laugh "Y'think you can give us ten, junior? Kinda in the middle of something here"

"The meeting starts in five minutes"

He turns, dumbass cape swishing as he leaves, almost missing your sweet, honey-voiced "Hate you!"

Ben takes hold of both your hands, pining them above your head.

"Y'know, you should be less of a bitch to him, he's my kid after all"

"And a freak show"

"Yeah, but he's m' blood. You should really watch your tongue"

"About thirty seconds ago you had no problem with my tongue"

"Things change, doll"

"What, you gonna punish me now? Fuck me 'til I get some sense in my head, or whatever it was you said last time?"

"No" He smiles, almost sweet "I wouldn't hurt my best girl"

You can feel your suspicions rising.

He rolls his chair back, sitting down comfortably, dragging you onto his lap.

He positions his cock at your entrance, sliding in blissfully, soothing that itch, for a moment.

"Y're gonna be a good girl and sit still f'me, okay?" He whispers against your skin, leaving a soft kiss before handing you your shirt, just in time for everyone to file in and take their seats.

Some people called Soldier Boy a hero, some called him a villain, but you knew him for what he really was.

A cruel fucking bastard with a massive cock and an attitude to match.

Taglist for all of my writing - 35

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@mortluvr @dean-winchester06 @wendichester @samanddeanswife @casanddeanswife

Butcher -

He'd definitely prefer wild. It's how you are, why fuck with it? He wouldn't necessarily be upset if you waxxed or shaved, but he'd give you those big, sad eyes, face to…lips, and mutter up at you "Why'd y'have t'kill the rainforest, pet?". If you were happy to leave it natural, he'd sit beside you on the couch, just during a cozy afternoon at home together, and he'd slip his hand under the waist band of whatever you were wearing at the time, or nothing, and card his fingers through your hair soothingly. It's kinda really gross, but also a little sweet in a fucked up kinda way.

Hughie -

Hughie would greatly appreciate a little matinence. Nothing crazy, he'd never expect anything of you, but if you just put in a little effort, it'd make him feel like you cared. A little trim would be nice, a landing strip even better, and he'd be a-okay with hairless, as long as he can be a pathetic munch humping the bed while he eats you out, he's pretty damn happy. Let's face it, he takes whatever he can get, but he'd certainly appreciate being asked, in his own funny little way.

Soldier Boy -

Where to start? How about here- In his early days, when he was still Vought's favourite toy, before he got frozen and reheated like some old butter chicken, he didn't have a beard, but he did have beard rash. He'd eat you out for hours purely for the sport of it. He wanted to see how many times he could make you cum without properly touching you, without his dick stretching you out. The first time he did it, it was meant to just be a fun game one boring night, but after he saw the red rash over his face from your pussy, he got addicted. He loved wearing it like a badge of honor, and you weren't exactly complaining. Later though, if you were just a random hook up, he wouldn't turn you down if you were hairless, but he'd downright refuse to let his tongue anywhere near you. And he might just fuck you a little harder to see if he could knock some damn sense into you.

Malchemical -

This is an o-natural kinda guy if ever there was. Take one look at him. He might even turn his nose up if his current fuck buddy (because there's a good few that rotate) decided to trim, shave or wax. He'd still go for it, he's a horny bastard, but it wouldn't be the same as usual. Unless it was a damn good fuck either way, he'd change up the rotation for a few weeks, just until it grew back. If you were more than just his current pick, he'd lock eyes with you as he trailed down your body, taking his time for once, a fucking sinful smirk on his lips as he got to your pussy, teeth clamping down and tugging a little on the hair there to elicit a whine from you before he'd kiss it and make it better.

Mr Marathon -

In his glory days? He'd want the cream of the crop. Only the best. Considering the time, that'd be primarily hairy. But he was popular during the time shaving and waxxing started to become common, and there's something he likes about how easily he slides in and out. That combined with his super speed makes sex like a damn slip'n'slide in the best way possible. He also loves the way his cum looks dribbling out with a nice, clear view. As his popularity fades, he'll take what he can get, paying for what he can't, but you can bet your ass he wouldn't complain about shit, maybe a dumbass comment here and there, but over all, pussy's pussy, and when it's wrapped around his cock? That's what really matters.

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