⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 late night drop off ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
soldier boy x drug dealer reader
warnings - smut, substance abuse, unprotected sex, aggressive sex, age gap, use of kiddo, finger sucking, first time, coke line on tits, drug play, dubious consent, strong language, and dubcon elements.
idea from @aeriontargaryenslut
It was 2:30 in the morning, and despite promising Ben that you’d be there by one, you were now an hour and a half late, leaving him alone in a grimy alley tucked between two abandoned buildings with nothing but a dwindling pack of cigarettes and a rapidly deteriorating mood to keep him company.
He needed a fix, bad enough that he’d spent the last ninety minutes pacing back and forth across the cracked pavement as he muttered every insult he could think of under his breath, occasionally stopping just long enough to check the time before stuffing the watch back under his sleeve with an irritated grunt.
By the time your footsteps echoed into the alley, he was already glaring in your direction before you even came into view, his jaw clenched.
You walked over with your hands shoved into your hoodie pocket, offering him a sheepish smile.
“Here,” you said with a small shrug. “Sorry... traffic.”
Ben stared at you for a long second before letting out a dry, humorless laugh, slowly crossing his arms over his chest as he tilted his head.
“Traffic?” he repeated, disbelief in his voice. “Traffic... at two-thirty in the damn mornin’?”
“If you’re gonna keep me waiting for over an hour,” he continued, shaking his head with a scoff, “you better come up with a hell of a lot better excuse than traffic.”
You rolled your eyes, refusing to let him intimidate you as you reached into your pocket.
“You got the money?” you asked flatly.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, clearly still annoyed. “Matter of fact, I deserve a fuckin’ discount after waitin’ out here this long.”
He dug an old, worn leather wallet out of his jacket, flipped it open, and counted out the cash with obvious reluctance before shoving the bills into your hand.
Without another word, you handed him the small package.
Ben practically ripped it from your fingers, immediately checking everything inside.
Meanwhile, you looked down and began counting the money.
“...You seriously gonna count that shit right in front of me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, yeah,” you replied, continuing to thumb through the bills. “That stuff cost me a ton. I’m making sure you didn’t short me.”
A quiet huff escaped his nose as he watched you finish counting.
“You got a mouth on you,” he muttered, tucking the package into his jacket pocket. “One of these days, somebody's gonna knock your teeth in because you don’t know when to shut the hell up.”
You finally looked up from the money and shrugged.
“Good thing you’re not somebody.”
He disappeared deeper into the darkness of the alley, leaving you standing there with a pocket full of cash and the faint feeling that, somehow, despite all the complaining, he’d probably be calling you again next week.
The week went by quickly, with a few drop-offs here and there that blurred together into late nights.
Now it was 1:07 a.m., and your phone buzzed sharply in your hand with an unknown number lighting up the screen.
“No idea how to use this damn phone, you busy?”
You raised a brow at it, staring at the message for a second longer than you needed to before typing back.
The reply came almost immediately.
“k i can meet u somewhere”
Another message popped up right after, like he’d been waiting with the phone already open.
“Do that alleyway again, if you’re quick I’ll give you a big tip.”
You read it twice, catching the wording, but you didn’t overthink it for long, just sent a thumbs up and grabbed your things.
Pepper spray went into your pocket out of habit more than fear now, your backpack slung over your shoulder as you slipped out into the night air, walking fast this time instead of dragging your feet, cutting through the familiar streets.
By the time you reached the alley, it was exactly like before, dim, quiet, slightly too still, the kind of place that always felt like it was holding its breath.
And he was already there.
Soldier Boy stood under the weak flicker of the streetlight, arms crossed tightly over his chest as his eyes locked onto you the second you stepped in.
“Finally,” he said immediately, voice rough with irritation more than anything else.
You stopped a few feet away, adjusting your backpack strap. “I said I was coming.”
“You said a lot of things,” he shot back, pushing off the wall and taking a slow step forward, scanning the street behind you before seeming satisfied enough that he wasn’t about to get ambushed or followed. “Didn’t think ‘quick’ meant you needed a whole damn hour.”
You exhaled through your nose. “I got here fast.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing you over. “Fast-ish.”
There was a brief pause, before he finally reached into his jacket and pulled out the money without ceremony, holding it out.
“You’re lucky I didn’t find someone else,” he said, though it didn’t sound like he meant it.
You took it, immediately starting to count.
“Sure,” you replied, not looking up.
That got a faint scoff out of him, he watched you with that same steady stare that felt more observant than annoyed now.
“This phone thing’s still stupid,” he said, like that was somehow relevant to everything. “Keeps lighting up when I don’t want it to.”
You glanced up slightly at that. “So you figured it out?”
He hesitated for half a second too long.
“…Yeah,” he said, like it physically hurt to admit it. “Enough.”
A beat passed, then he shifted his weight, glancing down the alley again before looking back at you.
“Next time,” he added, “don’t make me wait.”
“Whatever.” You didn’t even slow down as you handed him the rest of the stuff, already half-turned like you were ready to disappear back into the night.
He watched you for a second, cigarette already between his lips, the lighter flicking on with a quick spark before he spoke again around the smoke.
“Wait,” he called out, sharper than before.
You paused just enough to look over your shoulder.
“You want the damn tip or not?” he said, exhaling smoke as he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out an extra folded stack of bills and held it out between two fingers.
You hesitated for half a second, then took it.
“Thanks,” you said simply, nodding once as you shoved it into your pocket.
There was a beat where neither of you moved, just the faint crackle of his cigarette and the distant sound of a car passing somewhere far off.
He didn’t leave immediately.
Instead, he just watched you like he was waiting for you to say something else, jaw working slightly like he had words he didn’t feel like turning into actual sentences.
Finally, he huffed through his nose.
“Yeah,” he muttered, already turning his shoulder like he was done being perceived. “Don’t get used to it.”
A few days later, your phone kept buzzing in your hand with messages you didn’t fully process at first, the screen lighting up through the haze of sleep and sickness until you finally forced your eyes open enough to read them.
‘Where are you? We were supposed to meet today?’
‘I’ve been waitin’ for 30 damn minutes.’
You barely had the energy to respond properly, throat scratchy, head heavy like it had been stuffed with cotton, the kind of cold that made everything feel delayed and too far away to care about.
You were dead asleep on the couch when it happened, curled up under a blanket.
Your phone slipping from your hand as your breathing stayed uneven from the sickness you’d been fighting for days, still trying to push yourself into doing deals like it wasn’t getting harder every time.
You groaned as you forced yourself up, coughing into your sleeve before dragging your feet across the floor, sniffling hard as you tried to shake the fog out of your head long enough to figure out what was even happening.
When you finally got to the door and pulled it open, you froze.
Standing in the hallway, shoulders squared, expression tight in a way that wasn’t quite anger this time, more like irritation layered over something else he wasn’t saying out loud.
For a second, your brain didn’t even catch up properly.
Your brows pulled together slightly, voice rough from sleep and sickness.
“How do you have my address?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, his eyes flicked over you, your tired face, the way you were clearly sick, the way you were barely standing straight, and his expression shifted just a fraction.
“Seriously?” he muttered. “You think I was just gonna keep standing in that shithole alley forever?”
He leaned against the doorframe, one broad shoulder taking up most of it. He wasn’t fully inside your apartment yet, but he wasn’t staying outside either, like he was daring you to try and close the door on him.
“You don’t answer. You don’t show. You don’t pick up your damn phone,” he continued, voice dropping into that rough growl. “So yeah, I figured it out.”
His eyes narrowed as he looked you over, taking in your flushed cheeks, messy hair, and the way you were barely holding yourself up.
“Don’t look so fucking shocked,” he added. “It ain’t that hard.”
“And where the fuck were you? I stood out there for an hour in the pouring rain.” He added.
“I’m sick,” you rasped, leaning against the wall for support. “I’m sorry, I’ll give you a discount on the next order,”
“Nah.” He cut you off sharply, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “I want it now. I’ll pay extra. Don’t make me go find a new dealer.”
He shook his head, before muttering under his breath, “I’m fucking Soldier Boy, shouldn’t be waiting on some damn kid.”
“Okay, okay, give me a sec, you’re lucky my mom isn’t home,” you muttered quickly, shutting the door behind you.
He stayed outside in the hallway, shifting his weight, shaking his head under his breath and muttering a few words you were very glad didn’t make it through the door.
When you came back a moment later, still a little unsteady on your feet and coughing into your sleeve, you held out a small bottle of pills, trying to ignore how much worse you felt standing up.
“Here,” you said, voice a little rough. “This is some new stuff I’m trying out. Just crush it up, don’t swallow it.”
Soldier Boy took the bottle immediately, turning it over in his hand before letting out a short, unimpressed breath.
“Better be fuckin’ good,” he growled, already reaching into his jacket pocket with that impatient flick of his wrist.
He pulled out a thick, crumpled stack of cash and shoved it toward you, like handing over money was somehow beneath him.
You took it and started counting automatically, your fingers still a little sluggish from the lingering sickness.
After a moment you looked up. “It’s one-fifty.”
Ben exhaled long and slow through his nose. He rubbed his jaw roughly, muttering under his breath before digging back into his pocket and slapping another hundred into your palm.
“Take it,” he said flatly, like the whole argument wasn’t even worth the effort it took to keep talking. “You really gonna nickel-and-dime Soldier Boy every single fucking time?”
He tucked the bottle of pills deep into the inside of his jacket.
“…You always this fuckin’ useless when you’re sick?” he asked, the words rough around the edges.
Before you could even form a reply, he was already turning on his heel and stepping back into the hallway, done with the conversation. You slammed the door hard behind him.
“Don’t fucking show up again!” you yelled through the wood, then let out a tired sigh and collapsed back onto the couch, the sound of his heavy boots echoing down the hall.
A few days later the rain was hammering down in heavy sheets, soaking straight through your hoodie and plastering your hair to your forehead as you hurried down the familiar alley.
When you finally stepped into the dim, Soldier Boy was already there, leaning against the graffiti-covered wall.
A cheap blonde was glued to his side, her fake tits practically bursting out of her top while she dragged her long nails up his chest. Ben had one arm slung around her waist, holding her in place with zero real interest, a cigarette burning low between his lips.
“Got the shit?” he asked the second you got close, sniffing hard and aggressively rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.
“Yeah,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “But you really shouldn’t be mixing this with coke.”
“Mind your own fuckin’ business, kid,” he shot back, his eyes scanning the dark street for any sign of trouble.
“Yeah, kid! Mind your business!” the blonde giggled obnoxiously, pressing herself tighter against him before leaning up to plant a loud, wet kiss on his cheek.
You felt that ugly twist in your gut but swallowed it down. Without a word you unzipped your backpack and pulled out the small wrapped package.
“Here,” you said, shifting it in your hand. “I wanted to tell you I’m upping the prices, but since I was so late the other night, I’ll give you a discount. Three-fifty.”
Ben barely reacted at first. He just lifted one eyebrow, then casually reached into his wallet without breaking that lazy, dangerous stare.
Before the exchange could finish, a voice cut through the rain.
“Why the hell are you giving my man a discount?”
You looked up at the blonde slowly, unimpressed.
“I ain’t your man,” Ben said flatly. He reached out and grabbed her arm, already starting to push her toward the package.
The blonde rolled her eyes and muttered something bitchy under her breath, but the words died in her throat as headlights suddenly sliced through the darkness at the end of the block.
One set. Then another. Then another. Car doors slammed open. Voices barked out in sharp, clipped bursts.
Someone stepped forward, froze, and stared harder.
“…Wait,” one of them said, voice tightening with disbelief. “Is that–?”
The alley went dead quiet for half a second as the realization hit them like a truck. Then the fear kicked in hard.
The cops looked ready to piss themselves. Their guns were out but pointed at the ground. The lead officer’s face had gone sheet-white.
Ben slowly turned his head toward them, cigarette still dangling from his lips, rain dripping down his face.
“You boys got a problem?” he asked.
“N-no sir,” the lead officer stammered, lowering his weapon even further. “We, uh, we thought there were drug dealers working this alley. Clearly a misunderstanding.”
Ben let out a short, humorless laugh and stepped on his cigarette, grinding it into the wet pavement. He pulled the blonde closer against his side like a prop.
“Sorry everyone,” he said with fake politeness. “Just out here with my lady. Nothin’ to see.”
The cops couldn’t nod fast enough.
“Of course, Mr. Soldier Boy. Our apologies,” the lead officer said quickly, already backing toward his car. “Have a good night, sir.”
The patrol cars peeled out faster than they’d arrived, tires squealing on the wet asphalt.
Ben watched them go with a satisfied smirk, then glanced toward the shadows where you’d ducked behind the wall.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here, doll,” he called out, loud enough for you to hear.
You stayed hidden for another few seconds, heart hammering with adrenaline, before you finally slipped out of the alley and ran back toward home, soaked, shaking, and thanking whatever God was out there.
A few days later you were completely broke, with nothing but a small handful of pills left in your stash. You stared down at the pathetic little pile, shaking your head in frustration.
“Fuck, this isn’t even enough for fifty bucks,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. You needed money bad, rent was due, and your fridge was empty.
So you swallowed what was left of your dignity and texted Ben.
‘hey i have some stuff. there’s a deal, you want it?’
‘ok, can u meet me at my house?’
‘You said don’t fuckin’ show up again.’
‘pls meet me at my house’
A few minutes later a heavy knock rattled your front door. Thankfully your mom was staying at her boyfriend’s place tonight. You opened it quickly, trying to look less desperate than you felt.
“Hey, you can come in. Just give me a minute,” you said, stepping aside and opening the door wider.
Soldier Boy stepped into your shitty apartment, his massive frame making the small living room feel even smaller. He looked around at the worn furniture and peeling paint with a slight curl of his lip, then crossed his thick arms over his chest.
You rushed into your room and came back with the pills, holding the bottle out to him with a nervous grip. Your voice came out quieter than you wanted.
“It’ll be a hundred… but listen, can I charge you three-fifty this time? I’ll give you the next one free. I swear.”
You couldn’t even look him in the eye, shame burning in your cheeks.
“What, am I a fucking charity now?” he scoffed, shaking his head. His voice had that sharp, aggressive edge, the one that made it clear he wasn’t used to being taken advantage of. “You’ve got some balls, kid.”
You finally forced yourself to meet his gaze, eyes tired and pleading.
He let the silence stretch, watching you squirm. For a moment the old Soldier Boy, the angry, entitled supe who didn’t take shit from anyone, was right there on the surface. Then something shifted in his expression. That tiny, reluctant soft spot he had for you cracked through the armor.
“Alright,” he said, voice dropping. “I’ll do it, if you get on your knees and give me head right now.”
You swallowed hard, heart hammering against your ribs. “Are you serious?”
Before you could think of a reply, his big hand grabbed your chin, firm but not painful, forcing your head up so you had no choice but to meet his stare. His thumb brushed roughly over your bottom lip, pressing just enough to part them.
“I’m not a prostitute like your little girlfriend,” you mumbled, voice shaky.
Ben let out a deep, amused chuckle. “Not my girlfriend, doll. You jealous?”
His thumb pushed past your lips and slid into your mouth, resting heavy on your tongue. The taste of salt and smoke filled your senses. You tried to speak but it came out muffled and weak.
“No, I don’t care,” you managed, eyebrows furrowed. “But she’s a bitch.”
“Oh yeah?” He smirked, eyes darkening with heat. “And you ain’t?”
His thumb pushed deeper, slowly fucking your mouth in shallow thrusts while he watched your reaction with clear satisfaction. You felt heat flood your face. Your hands trembled at your sides.
“What are you doing, Ben?” you asked when he finally pulled his thumb free, the words coming out breathy and uncertain.
“I should fuck that damn attitude right out of you,” he muttered, voice thick with lust. Then he paused, really looking at you, at the nervous way your fingers twisted in your hoodie, the way your breathing had gone quick and shallow. Something shifted behind his eyes.
“You ever done this before?” he asked, tone still rough but quieter.
You shook your head, cheeks burning. “No.”
Ben exhaled through his nose, jaw working like he was fighting with himself. For a second you thought he might back off. Instead he let out a low curse.
“Fuck, kid,” He ran a hand through his hair, then stepped closer, crowding you against the wall. “You should’ve said something sooner.”
He tilted your chin up again, slower this time, and leaned down so his face was inches from yours. His breath was warm against your lips.
“You want me to stop say stop.”
You nodded, nerves twisting tight in your stomach even as warmth pooled lower. Ben studied your face for another beat, then kissed you, hard, demanding, nothing soft about it. His mouth tasted like cigarettes and something darker. One of his large hands slid down to grip your waist, pulling you flush against his solid body while the other tangled in your hair.
When he finally broke the kiss you were dizzy, lips swollen. He guided you down to your knees with surprising care, his hand staying in your hair the whole time. You looked up at him, nervous and breathing fast. He was already hard, the bulge in his jeans obvious and intimidating.
“Easy, doll,” he murmured, unzipping himself with his free hand. “Just open that pretty mouth for me.”
He was thick and heavy when he pulled out, and your eyes widened. Ben noticed, letting out a low chuckle.
“Yeah, that’s it. Nervous looks good on you.”
He guided the head of his cock to your lips, rubbing it slowly across them. “Go on. Take what you can. I’ll teach you.”
You parted your lips, tentative and shaky. The moment you took him into your mouth he groaned deeply, fingers tightening in your hair. He didn’t thrust hard, but he was clearly holding back, letting you find your rhythm while he watched with hooded eyes.
“Fuck… that’s it,” he praised roughly, voice gravelly. “Good girl. Use your tongue, yeah, just like that.” He hissed.
He was patient for someone so aggressive, guiding you with his hand, muttering filthy encouragement between low groans. Every time you got nervous or hesitated, he’d stroke your cheek with his thumb or murmur something almost soft under his breath.
After a few minutes he pulled you off gently, breathing hard. His eyes were dark with want as he looked down at your wet, flushed face.
“You sure you want this?”
You nodded, nervous but aching for him. Ben smirked against your neck, nipping at the skin there.
Ben didn’t wait for you to second-guess yourself. He peeled your hoodie and shirt off in one rough motion, tossing them somewhere behind him.
His eyes dragged over your bare chest, dark and hungry, before he pushed you back onto the couch. The old cushions creaked under his weight as he climbed over you, caging you in with his massive frame.
“Relax, doll,” he muttered against your neck, lips brushing your skin. “You’re shaking like a fucking leaf. I got you.”
You were nervous, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it. He noticed. Instead of mocking you, he slowed down just enough to drag his mouth down your chest, sucking and biting lightly until you gasped. Then he reached into his jacket, pulled out a small baggie of coke, and tapped a thick, neat line right in the valley between your tits.
“Hold still,” he ordered, voice low and rough. He leaned down, one big hand squeezing your breast to keep you in place, and snorted the line hard. His shoulders tensed for a second as the rush hit him. When he lifted his head, his eyes were wilder, pupils blown.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he growled, then crushed his mouth to yours in a messy, coke-fueled kiss. You could taste the bitterness on his tongue.
He made quick work of the rest of your clothes, hands rough but not careless. When you were completely naked underneath him, he paused again, just long enough to look at you, really look.
“First time, huh?” he said, almost to himself. There was something almost soft in the way he said it, buried under all that arrogance. “Alright, I’ll go slow at first.”
He freed himself from his jeans, thick and heavy, and rubbed the head of his cock against your slick folds, teasing your clit until your hips twitched. You were soaked despite how nervous you were.
“Look at you, already this wet for me. Good girl.”
He pushed in slowly, just the tip at first, stretching you open. You gasped sharply, fingers digging into his shoulders. It burned, but the burn mixed with something hotter.
“Easy, breathe,” he murmured, voice rough but strangely patient. He kept one hand on your hip, holding you steady while he worked himself in inch by inch, groaning deeply at how tight you were.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so goddamn tight. Virgin pussy feels even better than I thought.”
When he bottomed out, he stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust. His forehead pressed against yours, breath hot and ragged. The coke made him harder, more intense, but he was still holding back for you.
“You okay?” he asked, voice gravelly.
You nodded, trembling underneath him. “Y-yeah, just… big.”
That earned you a cocky smirk. “Damn right I am.”
He started moving then, slow, deep rolls of his hips at first, grinding against you with every thrust. The stretch was intense, almost overwhelming, but the longer he fucked you, the better it felt. Your little gasps turned into shaky moans.
Ben’s control started slipping the louder you got. His pace picked up, turning rougher, more aggressive, the way he liked it. He hooked one of your legs over his hip, driving deeper, the couch creaking loudly beneath you.
“That’s it, doll. Take my cock like a good girl,” he growled right in your ear, voice filthy. “This tight cunt is mine, you hear me?”
He fucked you harder, one hand pinning your wrist above your head while the other squeezed your breast. Every thrust pushed you closer to the edge.
The mix of his roughness and those occasional softer moments, the way he kissed your neck, the way he checked your face to make sure you were still okay made your head spin.
When you finally came, clenching hard around him and crying out his name, Ben groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever felt.
He didn’t last much longer. A few brutal thrusts later he pulled out and came hard across your stomach and tits, thick ropes of cum painting your skin as he growled your name under his breath.
For a moment the only sound was both of you breathing hard. Ben stayed hovering over you, then surprised you by leaning down and pressing a slower, almost gentle kiss to your lips.
“You did good, kid,” he muttered against your mouth, voice still rough. “Real fucking good.”
He reached down, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor and wiped his cum off your stomach and tits with surprising care, almost gentle.
Once he was done, he tossed the shirt aside and collapsed heavily beside you on the old couch, pulling your smaller body against his broad chest for a moment. His skin was warm, heartbeat still thudding hard from the high and the sex.
After a few long seconds of silence, he reached into his jacket, pulled out a thick fold of cash, and dropped five hundred dollars right next to your head.
“Here. Five hundred,” he said casually, already lighting up a cigarette.
“Thank you, Ben,” you mumbled, still dazed, sitting up slowly and reaching for your bra. Your hands were shaking a little as you put it back on.
Ben watched you for a beat, smoke curling from his lips, before he spoke again.
“Listen,” he said, voice low and serious. “We can make this a regular thing if you want. But I ain’t gonna be paying for pussy every single time. I’m Soldier Boy, not some walking ATM. You get me?”
You looked up at him, still half in shock from everything that had just happened the way he’d fucked you, the way he’d been almost careful with you, and now this.
“Okay, that’s fine,” you said quietly, nodding.
He gave you a small, satisfied smirk and leaned down to press one last rough kiss to your forehead. Then he stood up, zipping his jeans and shrugging his jacket back on like nothing had changed.
You blinked, still sitting there half-naked on the couch, the weight of what just happened settling over you.
“You’re leaving?” you asked, voice softer than you meant it to be.
Ben paused at the door, cigarette dangling from his lips, and glanced back at you. For a second that arrogant mask slipped just a little. He looked like he was fighting the urge to stay, but old habits won out.
“Yeah, I’m leaving,” he said, a little gruffer than before. “Can’t stay here all night playing house, kid. I got shit to do.”
He opened the door but stopped again, hand on the frame. Without turning around fully he added, “Don’t go getting all soft on me now. You knew what this was.”
Then he stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving you alone with the money, the smell of smoke and sex still thick in the air, and the heavy feeling in your chest.
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