The Boys Preferences - dating them๐ซ
a/n: started catching up on the boys so that i can watch season 5 when it comes out. instantly had ideas for dating headcanons so had to write them out...went a bit crazy with soldier boy but well... let me know if you want a detailed version for any of themโก
Billy Butcher; Hughie Campbell; Frenchie; Soldier Boy
โค๏ธโ๐ฅdating Billy Butcher hits like a freight train you didn't see coming - one minute he's all sharp edges and "fuck off" energy, the next heโs justโฆ there. Showing up, staying longer, leaving pieces of himself behind until somehow heโs part of your life - and you donโt remember when that happened, and he sure as hell isnโt going to point it out.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅhe doesn't do grand declarations. No candlelit dinners, no flowery speeches - that man has no time for that. Instead, he starts showing up unannounced at your place after missions, coat still smelling like gunpowder and rain, and just... stays. Doesn't ask, just kicks off his boots, cracks open a beer from your fridge like he owns the spot on your couch, and watches you move around the kitchen with this quiet, hungry look that says you've become the only thing keeping the rage slightly at bay.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅprotection is his default love language. He walks street-side without thinking, drapes his coat over you in the rain even if he's freezing, and shadows you on bad nights like a guard dog who won't admit he's worried. It's not sweet whispers; it's him checking your locks twice, hand on your back in crowds, voice dropping low: "Anyone touches you, they're done." He won't say it outright, but every move screams you're the one thing he refuses to lose. He's seen enough blood, lost too damn much to lose you too.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅjealousy? It's instant and ugly-beautiful. Some bloke at the bar lingers too long on your laugh? Butcher's jaw clenches so hard you can hear it. His arm snakes around your waist, voice dropping to that low, lethal drawl: "Oi, mate. Eyes up here or i'll rearrange 'em." He doesn't raise his voice. And frankly, he doesn't need to.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅhis pet names escalate hilariously when he's tipsy. Starts with "love," ends up calling you "my little pain in the arse."
โค๏ธโ๐ฅhe doesnโt do โdates,โ not really. What you get instead are long nights that blur into mornings: cheap takeaway, too much whiskey, the telly droning in the background while he throws out sarcastic commentary just to make you laugh. It always starts with light, easy banter, him leaning back like he doesnโt give a shitโฆ until he does, until the conversation drifts somewhere more honest. Youโll catch him staring, not soft exactly, but intent, memorizing. And if you call him out, he scoffs, rolls his eyes, and mutters a low โoi, donโt flatter yourself, loveโ like itโs nothing. But he doesnโt look away, doesnโt break the moment. He stays right there with you until the night runs out.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅlies roll off his tongue smooth as breathing: half-truths about where he's been, what he's done, who he's hurt. You catch him manipulating the boys, twisting facts to keep control, and wonder how much of that spills over to you. He says it's to protect you, but it leaves you second-guessing every "i got this, love," every promise he makes in the dark.q
โค๏ธโ๐ฅthe man cannot handle compliments. You tell him he looks good in that coat? He freezes, cheeks going pink under the beard, then deflects with the filthiest comeback he can muster: "Yeah? Wait 'til you see me out of it, darlin'." But five minutes later he's still touching his collar checking if it's on straight, secretly pleased as hell.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅhe pushes you away when the darkness creeps in hardest. One bad lead on Homelander, one nightmare about Becca, and suddenly he's gone for days; no texts, no calls, just silence that feels like punishment. When he finally stumbles back reeking of whiskey and regret, he won't apologize with words - he'll just stand there looking like a kicked dog until you drag the truth out of him. It's exhausting, loving someone who treats closeness like a vulnerability he can't afford.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅthat's why he doesnโt trust it when things feel too calm. Quiet nights, soft moments, you laughing without anything trying to kill you - it puts him on edge more than a fight ever could. Because in his experience, the good parts never last. So sometimes heโll pick a fight, say something sharp, stir the air just to prove it was always going to break anyway.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅhe buys you flowers exactly once. Ugly, half-dead ones from a corner shop. Drops them on the table like they're contraband, mutters "don't make a thing of it," then never buys them again. You keep the vase anyway, just in case.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅhe loves when you bite back. Call him on his bullshit mid-rant, roll your eyes at his dramatics, shove him against a wall when he's spiraling. It startles him - then it lights something feral and fond in his eyes. He's spent years being feared or followed; being matched, challenged, seen without flinching? It grounds him. Makes him want to be better, even if he never admits it.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅbut Butcher also snaps - hard, fast. Words cut deeper than he means, especially when he's cornered or scared.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅhe watches you when youโre not looking. Not in a soft, dreamy way, that's not who he is; itโs sharper than that. He tracks the way your mood shifts, the little habits you donโt notice, the things that make you feel safe. He files it all away like intel. Itโs instinct, not romanceโฆ but sometimes you catch him staring like heโs memorizing you, just in case. Because Butcher knows how fast something good can be taken away in this world.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅafter particularly brutal missions he comes home quiet and bruised. Instead of crashing on the couch like usual, he heads straight for you, pulling you down onto the bed, wrapping around you like you're body armor for his soul. Face buried in your hair, one hand splayed over your heart counting beats to remind himself that he's still here, and that youโre still here. He doesn't speak because he doesn't need to. The way he clings says everything his pride won't let out: you're the only place safe enough to fall apart.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅwhen you get hurt, really hurt, something in him snaps. Everything else fades away: the jokes, the attitude, the constant noise he fills space with. Butcher goes cold, focused, efficient in a way that feels almost clinical. Whoever caused it becomes a problem to solve, and he handles it without hesitation, without mercy. And when itโs over, when youโre safe, when the dangerโs gone - thatโs when it hits him. Not all at once, but when the silence is too loud: the way his hands donโt quite leave you, hovering to check youโre still breathing; the tension in his jaw; the way his eyes keep flicking back to you expecting you to disappear if he dares to look away for even a second. He wonโt say he was scared, wonโt even come close to it. But you can feel it in how careful he suddenly is with you, how he lingers, how for a brief momentโฆ youโre not just someone he protects. Youโre someone he almost lost.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅyou get the full catastrophe that is Butcher: the sarcasm that cuts like glass. The nights he wakes up swinging at ghosts, breath ragged, and only calms when your hand finds his chest. The way he'll cancel a revenge plot if you're sick, grumbling the whole time about "stupid fuckin' priorities"; but he stays, makes shit tea, tucks the blanket around you like it's a tactical maneuver. He burns for you in extremes: he'll torch empires, sure, but he'll also sit through your favorite rubbish telly just to hear you quote lines.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅat first, his obsession with revenge bleeds into everything. Plans get canceled because "something came up" (read: another supe to gut), dates turn into stakeouts, and conversations loop back to vought until you feel like a side character in his war.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅbut he does call you at 3 am from god-knows-where just to hear your sleepy "hello?"; he says nothing important, just "yeah... still alive. Go back to sleep, love."
โค๏ธโ๐ฅbut when it really matters - when the world is screaming and everything's on fire - he chooses you. You or the mission? It's you. You or his vendetta? โฆhe wants it to be you. And when it counts - when itโs right in front of him, when he has to choose now - it is. Every time. It doesnโt come easy, and sometimes the damage is already done before he gets there, that's just how he is. He won't fix himself. Won't promise clean hands or easy days. But if you're willing to carry the weight of his darkness, his loyalty, his jagged devotion - he'll hand you every broken piece and let you decide what to do with them.
โค๏ธโ๐ฅloving Butcher isn't soft. It's choosing the storm because the eye of it feels like home. And once you're in, he never lets go.
โค๏ธdating Hughie is like someone quietly turning the volume down on the whole noisy world so you can finally hear your own heartbeat again.
โค๏ธone day heโs nervously asking if you want to grab coffee โas friends, totally no pressure,โ the next heโs memorizing your schedule so he can โaccidentallyโ walk the same route home just to steal ten more minutes with you. He starts canceling boys hangouts without a second thought if you text that youโre having a bad day. Lingers in doorways when he should leave. Tries to choose your side in every argument, even when he knows the boys are right - and then feels guilty about it later. But being on your team matters more than winning.
โค๏ธhe loves when you tease him. Poke at his overthinking, roll your eyes at his anxious rambles, call him out when heโs spiraling. It doesnโt make him defensive - in fact, it makes him grin, sheepish and bright, because someoneโs finally treating him like a person instead of a walking liability. Being matched, being seen without pity? It lights him up from the inside.
โค๏ธphysical affection is his anchor. Hand-holding, pinkies brushing, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on your skin; he has to check that youโre still there. Because if he can feel you, then everythingโs okay.
โค๏ธhe says โi love youโ firstโฆ and then immediately thinks he ruined everything. The second the words leave his mouth, his brain goes oh god too soon too soon too soon and he starts backtracking at light speed: โyou donโt have to say it back, i mean, not that you donโt feel it, well maybe you donโt, i just mean, timing-wise -โ until you cut him off and tell him you love him too. He looks like heโs bracing for rejection the entire time, like loving you feels a little too big, a little too risky; but he just couldnโt keep it in anymore. After he says it the first time though, it becomes so easy for him. Like a dam broke. He says it softly when youโre half-asleep, murmurs it into your hair, texts it randomly in the middle of the day like โhey, i love you, just - yeah.โ It never loses meaning - it just becomes something he needs to say, often and honestly, because he knows how fast things can be taken away in this world.
โค๏ธthe first time he introduces you to Butcher is an absolute disaster. Hughieโs talking too fast - โthis is, uh, this is my girlfriend, sheโs really smart and she's -โ and Butcher just cuts in, eyes flicking over you like heโs assessing a threat: โYeah? She knows what youโve dragged her into, mate?โ Hughie immediately goes red, stammering something about โitโs not like that,โ while youโre just standing there likeโฆ this is your boss? Meanwhile Butcherโs watching the whole thing with his little smirk, clearly enjoying Hughie short-circuiting. Heโs trying to figure out how someone like you ended up choosing someone like Hughie - and whether that makes you brave or stupid.
โค๏ธhis anxiety can turn into a wall between you without him meaning it to. When guilt or fear hits hard, he starts over-apologizing for everything: small things, big things, things that arenโt even his fault, until conversations feel like walking through emotional quicksand. He pulls away to โnot burden you,โ leaving you on the outside of his spiral, watching him disappear into his own head while insisting heโs โfine, really.โ
โค๏ธHughie does gets jealous, but itโs actually heartbreaking. He starts looking like a wounded puppy - his shoulders hunch a little, his voice goes softer, and heโll fidget with his sleeves until you notice and slide your hand into his. But the second your fingers lace with his, the tension melts out of him like heโs been waiting for permission to exist again.
โค๏ธhe loves when youโre proud of him. Tell him he did good, that he stood his ground, made a hard call or helped someone, and it will stick with him for days.
โค๏ธhe starts justifying things he used to be scared of. At first, heโs the moral compass, the one hesitating. But over time, being around all that violence changes him; you hear it in the way he talks sometimes, the way he shrugs off something that wouldโve shaken him before. โIt had to be done,โ he says, too quickly. And it scares you a little, how easily heโs learning to live with it.
โค๏ธHughie once tried to cook you a romantic dinner and set off the smoke alarm so many times the neighbors called the fire department. He stood there in an apron covered in flour, apologizing to the firefighters while you laughed so hard you had to sit on the floor.
โค๏ธhe loves bringing you flowers, but he always picks the saddest, half-dead bunch from the bodega because โthey looked like they needed a home.โ Then spends ten minutes apologizing to the flowers for their rough life while arranging them in a mug.
โค๏ธprepare for the whole Hughie package. The anxious over-apologizing. The rambling monologues when heโs nervous. The way he cries during arguments, not out of anger, but because hurting you feels like failing at the one thing he cares about most. The sweet, fumbling attempts at romance: playlists with song titles that are basically love letters, surprise picnics in the park because โyou said you liked watching the ducks,โ forehead kisses that linger like heโs afraid youโll disappear if he pulls away too fast (and he knows damn well you could).
โค๏ธwhen the chaos outside feels too loud, heโll turn your living room into a blanket fort, drag in every pillow he can find, and spend the night watching your favorite comfort shows while feeding you popcorn one piece at a time. Itโs his way of saying the rest of the world can wait - you two get to be soft and safe for a while.
โค๏ธhe loves domestic, mundane intimacy more than anything. Grocery shopping together, arguing over what snacks to get, brushing past each other in the kitchen, sharing headphones on the couch - those are his favorite moments. In a world thatโs constantly violent and unpredictable, these tiny, normal things feel almost sacred to him. Sometimes heโll just pause, look at you in the middle of something completely ordinary, and smile softly, because this, this right here, is everything heโs trying to protect.
โค๏ธhe keeps a running list in his notes app of every random fact you mention (your favorite childhood cereal, the exact temperature you like your shower, that one obscure album that always fixes your mood) and then shows up with the cereal at 2 am after you had a nightmare. He just does it like breathing.
โค๏ธHughie tries to be the strong one when youโre struggling, even if he has no idea what heโs doing. Heโll sit with you through breakdowns, fumbling through comfort, offering water, blankets, little reassurances like โwe can figure this out, okay? we always do.โ But you can see the fear in his eyes, not of you, but of failing you. And later, when youโre finally okay, thatโs when it hits him: heโll step away, run a hand through his hair, breathing shaky, because holding it together for you mattered more than falling apart himself in the moment.
โค๏ธhe gets ridiculously flustered when you initiate affection first. Pull him in by the collar, kiss him out of nowhere, or even just say something bold, and his brain justโฆ shuts down for a second. That poor man short-circuits right on the spot.
โค๏ธbut he also second-guesses your affection. Even when you say โi love you,โ part of him waits for the other shoe to drop.
โค๏ธHughie lies when he thinks itโll protect you - โIt was just a quick recon, nothing dangerous.โ โIโm okay, really.โ โIt wasnโt that bad.โ โYou donโt need to worry.โ - but they stack up until you catch him hiding bruises or deleting texts from Butcher. The betrayal stings more because you know he did it out of love, not malice, and watching him choose โkeeping you safeโ over honesty starts to erode the trust you both need.
โค๏ธhe can get passive-aggressive when heโs hurt instead of saying it outright. He's quieter than usual, a forced โyeah, itโs fineโ when itโs clearly not. He doesnโt want to start a fight, doesnโt want to push you away. But the feelings donโt disappear, they just leak out sideways until you have to confront it.
โค๏ธhe absolutely hates raising his voice at you. The one time it happens due to stress, fear, or everything just piling up, he goes quiet immediately after, like he just broke something fragile right in front of him. Then spends the next hour hovering, apologizing in ten different ways, voice small: โI didnโt mean that. Iโd neverโฆ not to you.โ
โค๏ธwhen he feels powerless, it eats at him. Not in a loud, angry way; but in this quiet, self-destructive frustration. He compares himself to people stronger than him, braver than him, more "useful" than him. And on his worst days, he wonders if loving you means eventually watching you get hurt because he wasnโt enough to stop it.
โค๏ธhe needs to feel like heโs contributing something real to your life. Not just emotionally - practically. Helping, fixing, being there in tangible ways. And when he feels like heโs not doing enough, it eats at him more than anything else. Loving you isnโt just about how he feels: itโs about proving, over and over again, that heโs someone worth relying on.
โค๏ธhe spirals hard when he thinks heโs disappointed you. Not just โoh no, she's upsetโ; itโs deeper than that. Itโs that old, gnawing fear that heโs not enough, that eventually youโll realize you deserve better. He starts overanalyzing everything: your tone, your texts, the way you looked at him earlier - until heโs halfway convinced heโs already losing you. And instead of bringing it up, he tries to โfix itโ by being extra attentive, extra carefulโฆ which only makes it more obvious that somethingโs wrong. You physically have to pull him aside and tell him that youโre not going anywhere.
โค๏ธwhen he breaks, he doesnโt lash out - he folds. Goes quiet, distant, harder to reach. Keeps everything bottled up until it spills over in the worst way: shaking hands, teary eyes, voice cracking on a โiโm trying, okay? Iโm really trying.โ And it hits harder than anger ever could.
โค๏ธhe wonโt burn the world for you. Heโll just quietly start rearranging the little pieces of his world so youโre as safe and happy inside it as he can make you - and look at you like you personally hung the moon every single time you walk into the room.
โค๏ธand when it counts - when the world is literally exploding around you again - he chooses you without hesitation. Mission? Paused. Revenge? Forgotten. Youโre crying in the bathroom at 2 am? Heโs there in sweatpants, wrapping you in a blanket burrito, murmuring โiโve got you, iโve got youโ until your breathing evens out. He wonโt always know the right thing to say, and heโll trip over words, blush, second-guess himself. But if itโs you or anything else in the universe? Itโs you. Even when he hesitates, even when heโs scared, even when he doesnโt feel strong enough - itโs still you in the end.
โค๏ธloving Hughie Campbell is like someone finally handed you a hand to hold and meant it forever. And once heโs yours, he stays yours with every anxious, adorable, devoted piece of himself.
๐dating Frenchie feels like falling into a half-finished painting that somehow keeps getting more beautiful the longer you stay inside it.
๐he doesnโt love halfway. The second you matter, you matter in every sense - emotionally, physically, instinctively. You become part of his orbit, something he checks for without thinking, just like breathing.
๐he loves when you call his ideas completely deranged. When you laugh and tell him rigging a drone with fireworks is going to get him killed one day, his eyes light up because someone finally wants to argue with him instead of ordering him around or leaving him behind. It makes him feel seen - the impulsive, brilliant, guilt-ridden mess he actually is.
๐Frenchie thrives on that back-and-forth. Tease him, challenge him, question him - he needs it. Not to win, but to feel like he exists outside of being โuseful.โ
๐he has this habit of leaving little love notes in the most unexpected places, written in his messy handwriting. โTu es la plus belle explosion de ma vieโ tucked inside your shoe. A doodle of the two of you as cartoon characters holding hands on a sticky note stuck to the coffee maker. A single line on the bathroom mirror: โToday i woke up and the first thing i thought about was you. Merci dโexister.โ He beams like an idiot when you find them, cheeks pink, already planning the next one.
๐the first time he says โje tโaimeโ it tumbles out while heโs stitching a cut on your arm. It almost sounds surprised, like he didnโt mean to let it escape; then he freezes, starts laughing nervously, trying to play it cool until you kiss the panic right out of him. After that it becomes his favorite phrase: whispered when he hands you coffee, texted during stakeouts, moaned against your throat when the lights are low and the world feels far away.
๐he gets the softest smile whenever you use one of his nicknames back at him. Call him โmon amourโ even once and his whole face lights up like you personally handed him the sun.
๐Frenchie gets stupidly proud of the smallest things you do. You cook something edible? He acts like you just invented fire. You remember the name of his favorite obscure rapper? He tells everyone within earshot like itโs the greatest achievement in human history. He just brags about you in the sweetest, most ridiculous way. That boyish excitement, the way his whole face lights up when he can brag about โmy personโ, is pure, unguarded sweetness that makes your chest ache in the best way. Because you may not be able to make him forget all of his bad memories, but you can help him make new ones; memories that make him smile instead of tense.
๐his accent gets so much worse when heโs emotional. Suddenly heโs talking faster, louder, hands moving everywhere, and youโre just nodding like โyeah, totallyโ while catching maybe half of it.
๐sometimes he just watches you like youโre something fragile and miraculous at the same time. Not in a distant way - in a present way. Like heโs trying to understand how youโre real, how youโre still here, how you have not run off yet.
๐Frenchie doesnโt believe he deserves stability, let alone love. If the relationship feels stable, safe, real, and when things feel too good - thereโs a part of him waiting for it to fall apart. And sometimes, without meaning to, heโs the one who nudges it in that direction. Pulling away, getting distant, making reckless choicesโฆ not because he wants to lose you, but because losing you feels inevitable anyway. But he doesnโt run from you, thatโs the difference. He stays, even when it would be easier to disappear, even when heโs convinced heโll ruin it eventually.
๐his anxiety doesnโt always look like fear - it looks like motion, like sudden, restless energy. Fixing things that arenโt broken, building things no one asked for, hands always moving because if they stop, his mind catches up. You learn the pattern: pull him down, wrap your arms around him, let him ramble until the storm passes and he goes soft and clingy again. โIโm not fine. But i will be. Just - stay a minute, yeah?โ
๐he struggles more with forgiving himself than anything else. You can forgive him, tell him it wasnโt his fault, hold him through the guilt - but it doesnโt land the same way. He hears you, he wants to believe youโฆ but thereโs a part of him thatโs already decided he doesnโt get to be let off that easily. In his head, love isnโt something heโs allowed to just have - itโs something he has to earn, over and over again, by being useful, by being better, by fixing whatever he can before it breaks. And on the days where nothing goes right, where the past feels too close, you can see it in the way he looks at you: soft, aching, almost apologetic, like heโs already bracing for the moment you realize heโs not worth the weight of it.
๐late at night he gets shy and cuddly, curling around you like a cat and whispering sleepy โje tโaimeโs between soft kisses to your temple until his voice fades into happy little sighs.
๐he makes you laugh in the middle of chaos. Holds you when things get heavy. Tries, in all the imperfect ways he knows how, to be someone you can rely on.
๐when youโre hurting, he doesnโt try to fix everything at once - he just stays. Moves closer without hesitation, grounding you with a steady, familiar touch, trying to anchor you with his presence. He pays attention to what you need in the moment: sometimes thatโs quiet, sometimes itโs gentle distractions, sometimes itโs just him holding you until your breathing evens out. Thereโs a softness to the way he takes care of you, patient and instinctive, like heโs handling something fragile but never making you feel weak for it. โMon cลurโฆ you do not have to be strong all the time, hm? You let me carry a little, yeah? Just for tonight.โ
๐when duty calls Frenchie still goes - loyal to a fault, even when it scares him. But he always comes back to you, crawls into bed, and murmurs โi missed my favorite safe placeโ in that adorable french accent against your skin.
๐his past isnโt something you can separate from him - itโs woven into everything. There are names he wonโt say, memories that hit out of nowhere, moments where he justโฆ checks out. Youโll be mid-conversation and suddenly heโs gone quiet, eyes distant, reliving something youโll never fully understand. And the hardest part? He doesnโt always let you in. Not because he doesnโt trust you, but because he doesnโt think you should have to carry what heโs done - part of him would rather carry that alone than risk you seeing him differently.
๐some days the pull of old habits hits harder than he expects. Not always drugs - sometimes just the mindset. The urge to escape, to numb out, to disappear into something that doesnโt hurt. And on those days, loving him means watching him fight himself quietlyโฆ and choosing to stay present instead of running.
๐he wonโt promise you peace or a normal life. Heโll promise you loyalty instead - the kind that survives his demons, his addictions, his bloody past. Heโll make you laugh when the world is burning, hold you when the guilt eats him alive, and fight like hell to be the man who deserves to keep you. Once he decides youโre his, he never lets go - because for Frenchie, loving you isnโt just love, itโs the first time in forever he feels like he's home.
๐loving Frenchie is like choosing to live inside a beautiful, loud, half-finished explosion that somehow keeps painting itself more colorful the longer you stay.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนdating Soldier Boy feels like standing too close to a nuclear reactor that somehow decided youโre the only thing worth cooling down for.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhe doesnโt fall in love. He gets dragged into it kicking and screaming, fighting every single step like itโs a personal insult to his entire existence. One day heโs all cocky smirks and โyou couldnโt handle a real man, sweetheart,โ the next heโs showing up at your place unannounced at 2 am, boots kicked up on your coffee table, cracking open a beer as if he owns the damn couch. He doesnโt ask if he can stay the night, he doesnโt ask if you even want him there. He just does it, grumbling about how your bed is too soft while slowly, stubbornly, without ever admitting it out loud, rearranging his entire fucked-up orbit around you whether he likes it or not.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนBen loves when you push back. When you tell him to shut the fuck up mid-rant, when you shove his chest and call him an arrogant prick, when you refuse to flinch. It catches him off guard every single time. Heโs spent decades being the strongest guy in every room, being matched by someone smaller, softer, and completely unafraid of him? It does something dangerous to him. Makes him respect you. Makes him want more.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhe carries decades of resentment toward anyone who ever tried to control him, and sometimes that rage spills onto you without warning. If you ask him to slow down, to talk instead of storming off, or to consider your feelings before charging headfirst into danger, he snaps that youโre โtrying to put a fucking leash on me just like they did.โ It hits like a slap because itโs completely unfair; youโre not trying to cage him, youโre trying to love him - but in his mind any request for caution or communication feels like another set of chains. It leaves you walking on eggshells, wondering if every attempt at closeness is just one more thing heโll fight against with everything he has, because being controlled is the one thing he swore heโd never let happen again.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhe calls you โdollโ in that low, gravelly voice when he thinks youโre asleep.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนboy does he get jealous, and boy does it turn ugly fast. If someone even glances at you too long his whole posture changes: shoulders squared, jaw tight, voice dropping into that dangerous, mean drawl that used to make entire rooms go quiet: โKeep walking, asshole, before i rearrange your fucking spine and wear it as a necklace.โ He doesnโt hide it, doesnโt soften it for anyone. He just yanks you against his side with a heavy arm, fingers digging into your hip, and kisses you hard enough to bruise. It's his way of reminding the entire world, and especially himself, that youโre his and heโll burn anyone who forgets it.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนheโs rough even when heโs trying to be gentle. Big hands that grip too tight, kisses that bruise, sex that leaves marks. But underneath it thereโs this stunned, almost confused tenderness when he realizes youโre not scared of him. When you lean into the roughness instead of pulling away.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhe calls modern technology โfairy shitโ and once spent twenty straight minutes yelling at your smart fridge because it โtalked back to him like a damn commie.โ
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนthat's why he refuses to admit when he doesnโt understand something new and will confidently bullshit his way through it until it backfires spectacularly, like the time he tried to order food and accidentally sent twenty pizzas to the wrong address.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนbut as funny as his half-ass attempts at modern living are, sometimes it hits him that the world moved on without him - and it makes him meaner. He doesnโt understand half the shit around him, doesnโt recognize the rules anymore, and instead of admitting that, he doubles down. Acts like everything modern is stupid, weak, beneath him. But underneath that? The quiet realization that he doesnโt fit anywhere anymore. Except, somehow, with you.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhis ego is a living, breathing third person in the relationship. He still thinks heโs the strongest, smartest, most important man in any room, and that attitude leaks into everything. When you call him out or make a decision without his input, he gets sulky and mean, throwing around โback in my dayโ bullshit or straight-up dismissing your opinion because โwhat the fuck do you know compared to me?โ Itโs exhausting trying to love someone who still believes the world should revolve around him.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนBen also weaponizes silence when heโs pissed. Doesnโt yell, doesnโt argue - just shuts down completely, jaw locked, eyes cold. The silence can last days, and when he finally speaks again itโs usually laced with something cruel that hits exactly where it hurts most. He knows how to hurt people. Heโs had lots of practice.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนbut when he really loves you, he protects you like it's his life mission. Scans every room you enter like heโs clearing a battlefield, and has zero hesitation about stepping in front of you if anything feels even slightly off. Itโs not gentle - itโs overbearing, possessive, and comes from a man who lost everything once and refuses to let it happen again.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนwhen he senses real danger he gets quiet and focused in a way thatโs almost scary. Heโll tuck you behind him, shoulders squared, calculating every exit and every threat. Thereโs no panic in him - just cold, efficient readiness to burn the world down before it touches you.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนafter a particularly close call heโll sit on the edge of the bed, silent for once, running a hand through his hair while the adrenaline fades. In those moments he looks exhausted, not invincible, and a quiet โi'd level the whole fucking world for youโ comes out rough and honest instead of arrogant.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhis temper doesnโt always explode outward; sometimes it turns inward and he becomes cruel to himself. Heโll stand in the mirror after a nightmare, jaw clenched, muttering that heโs still just a weapon, still broken, still worthless. When you try to pull him out of it he pushes harder, convinced that if he lets you love the mess he is, youโll eventually see the same monster he sees and leave. Watching him tear himself down is almost worse than when he lashes out at you.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhe also gets really mean when heโs drunk and cornered, throwing insults at you that feel like slaps because he never learned how to argue without trying to win.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhe doesnโt apologize the way you need him to. No real โi'm sorry,โ no sitting down and talking it through. At best you get a gruff โwonโt happen againโ or a deflection like โyouโre still here, arenโt you?โ And sometimes heโll act nicer after, but never directly acknowledges what he did. Itโs not that he doesnโt feel guilt. Itโs that admitting fault feels too much like weakness, and weakness is something he learned the hard way never to show.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhe likes knowing where you are. Not in an openly controlling way; but heโll casually ask questions that arenโt really casual. โWhere you going?โ โWhoโs gonna be there?โ โWhat time you back?" He wonโt outright forbid anything, but heโll make it very clear he doesnโt like not knowing. Control, for him, feels like safety - even if heโd never admit that out loud.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhis idea of romance is crude, over-the-top, and completely unapologetic. Heโll โborrowโ a car, drive you out to some abandoned lookout point at midnight, blasts old swing music way too loud, and then tries to impress you by shotgunning a beer while telling you war stories that he definitely should not be telling. He shows up with flowers he clearly stole from someoneโs front yard and a bottle of top-shelf bourbon, tosses them at you with a gruff โhere, thought youโd like this shit,โ then spends the rest of the night complaining about how โthis modern dating crap is for pussiesโ while secretly staring at you like youโre the only thing thatโs ever made sense in his long, violent life. He tries, in his own completely fucked-up way.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนBen disappears after fights and doesnโt tell you where heโs going, leaving you wondering if this time he wonโt come back. But he always does because despite his tough shell, youโre his safe place.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนsometimes he genuinely doesnโt understand why youโre upset. Youโll try to explain how something he said hurt you, and he justโฆ stares, frustrated, like youโre speaking a different language. โI didnโt hit you. I didnโt lie. So whatโs the problem?โ Itโs not that he doesnโt care - itโs that no one ever taught him that words can do damage too. Emotional nuance isnโt something he was built for, and trying to learn it feels like trying to rewire his entire brain.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนwhen he tries to be soft it comes out clumsy and rough around every edge. Heโll pull you into his lap after a long day, big hands gripping your hips a little too hard, and just sits there breathing you in without saying much. No pretty words, no long apologies. Just the occasional low mutter of โyouโre staying right here tonight, dollโ like itโs an order, but his hold on you says itโs closer to a plea. He hates how much he needs it (no he doesnโt).
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhe lets you see the cracks he hides from everyone. After particularly bad nights heโll sit on the edge of the bed with his shoulders slumped, staring at the floor like it might open up and finally swallow him. And thatโs where he really opens up to you. Heโll talk about the lab; the cold metal tables, the endless drugs, the way they broke him down and rebuilt him as their perfect weapon. The decades he lost, the friends who aged and died while he was frozen, the hollow feeling of waking up in a world that moved on without him. His voice gets rougher when he admits he doesnโt know how to be anything but a weapon anymore, that every gentle touch from you feels foreign because heโs never been touched out of tenderness. Itโs the closest he ever gets to asking for help, and it only happens because he trusts you enough not to use those cracks against him later. In those moments the arrogant shield drops completely, leaving behind a tired, damaged man whoโs still trying to figure out how to exist outside the role vought forced on him.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนbut on other nights he wakes up with fists already swinging before his brain catches up to where he actually is. Heโll shove you away hard enough to knock the breath out of you, then freeze the second he realizes what heโs done. The guilt that follows is vicious and ugly; heโll disappear for hours, sometimes days, because he canโt stand looking at the fear and worry in your eyes. Deep down heโs terrified that no matter how hard he tries, heโll always be exactly the monster vought spent decades turning him into.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนpart of him is always waiting for you to find someone better. Someone easier. Someone softer, more stable, lessโฆ him. And instead of admitting that fear, it twists into arrogance. โYou wonโt find anyone like me.โ It sounds like ego, and it probably is, but underneath it is something much uglier: the belief that if you ever had a real choice, you wouldnโt choose him at all.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนhe doesnโt do โboyfriend.โ He doesnโt do labels, anniversaries, or any of that "modern crap". To him, being with you means heโs claimed you - plain and simple. Youโre his. Not in some soft, equal-partners fairy tale way, but in the old-school, chest-thumping, โtouch her and i'll kill youโ way that lives in his blood from a time when men took what they wanted and kept it. Itโs territorial. Itโs possessive. Itโs the closest thing to commitment that man knows how to give.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนit means he shows up when he damn well feels like it, stays when the mood strikes, and expects you to deal with the fact that his life doesnโt stop just because heโs got a girl now. Missions still come first when he gets called. Bars still happen when the rage gets too loud and he needs to punch something. But slowly, without him ever admitting it, things start shifting. He cancels a night out because you sounded tired on the phone. He drives the long way home just so he can keep his hand on your thigh a little longer. He bitches about it the whole time like itโs killing him, but he does it anyway.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนit means he tests you constantly like the arrogant prick he is. Flirts with other women when heโs feeling insecure just to see if youโll fight for him or finally walk away. Picks fights over nothing to make sure you wonโt bolt the second he acts like an asshole. Pushes and pushes because part of him is still waiting for the moment you realize heโs too much - too loud, too violent, too broken - and finally tell him to fuck off like everyone else eventually did. When you stay anyway, it fucks with his head in ways heโll never admit.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนit means loyalty that burns hotter than the sun. He wonโt promise you a soft life, but he will promise you this: if anyone tries to take you from him, heโll level the whole city, dammit, the whole world before he lets them. Heโll stand between you and anything that messes with you if he has to, and heโll do it with a grin on his face.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนloving Ben isnโt soft. It isnโt equal. It isnโt safe. But once he decides youโre his? He never lets go.
โค๏ธโ๐ฉนnot even if the world ends. Not even if he has to drag you kicking and screaming into whatever fucked-up version of forever he can offer; thatโs what it means to him. Take it or leave it. Heโs not asking twice.
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