SOLDIER BOY — PLAYBOY BUNNY [NSFW + SEASON 5 SPOILERS]
Soldier Boy x fem!reader
summary: the hunt for V1 led you to Mr. Marathon's house. you thought this would go smoothly, until the weirdo admits that he used to jerk off to your old Playboy shoots—and Ben isn't happy to learn he is the only man in this whole country to not know about those.
wc: 2,681
tags: V1 supe!reader, smut, a lil jealousy, playboy bunny suit, making out, dry humping, implied size difference, fingering, p in v, orgasm control/denial if you squint, dacryphilia, one mention that reader has a bush, rough sex, doggy style, creampie
a/n: so... this took the whole month to write. this was pitched to me by @ukor02 in my comments and i just loved it so much. so sorry for the lack of content lately, life is rough lol
available on ao3
You haven't been to Los Angeles in... forever. Yet the California sun is still as hot as you remember.
"Well, this place still looks like a dump." Ben muttered as he walked next to you, boots crunching on gravel. "Just... shinier." His head tilted up to take a look at Mr. Marathon's luxurious home—too white and too big for a washed-up B-lister like him. Being in the Seven for a few years really did him a favor, it seemed.
You snorted. "You say that about every city."
"Because every fuckin' city is a dump." He grumbled, before lowering his voice. "Last time we came here was in—what, '81?" He bumped his shoulder into yours intentionally, and Homelander—who was walking a step behind and looking like a sulking kid following behind his father (which, fair enough)—had to suppress a sigh.
"Almost, '82." You corrected, climbing up the stairs to the front door.
You’d known Ben for decades now. Seen the kid with daddy issues playing macho man after his first shot of V1 until he became America's number one tool for war propaganda—and everything in between.
"We were supposed to come back in '84 for the Olympics but... y'know. Had to go alone." You casually brought up his betrayal and alleged death—just a couple months before your actual last trip to LA.
"Very touching." Homelander said flatly before Ben could reply to you, reaching over your shoulder to ring the doorbell with impatience.
The door opened shortly after, Mr. Marathon's jaw going slack as he took in the three famous faces standing at his door. "Oh my—holy shit." He opened the door wider, ushering you in. "Come in, come in."
The interior was just as white and detestable as the exterior, and you couldn't help but make a face when you saw the guy's self-portait hanging in the entrance.
"Homelander, it is really, uh... really—good to see you!" He stammered, vibrating with both excitement and anxiety. "W—what brings you by?"
"Relax, we're just here to talk."
"Yeah! Great, awesome—" His gaze drifted to Ben, one hand vaguely gesturing towards him. "Soldier Boy—wow, big fan, sir. I actually, uh, popped my cherry in your Underoos."
Ben was about to dismiss this awful conversation when Mr. Marathon spoke up again with renewed excitement, his gaze turning to you.
"And—you!" He exclaimed with a breathy chuckle of amazement. "God, i definitely rubbed one out to your Playboy bunny shoots more times than i can count—the pages were stuck together, i had to find another copy."
Silence.
Long, horrible, awkward silence.
Homelander looked like he was considering just lasering the place to pieces.
"...Shoots?" Ben was the first to break it, eyes narrowing at Mr. Marathon and tilting his head like he'd heard wrong. "What shoots?" His eyes then snapped towards you with not-so-subtle interest. "Playboy?"
"Ben—"
"Since when the hell were you doing Playboy?" He finally asked with a confused shrug, struggling to believe he could've missed something as juicy as this.
"Since you were busy snorting half of Nicaragua and never came back." You shrugged back, but the way he looked at you made it clear he wasn't about to let you brush this off. "It was the eighties! You did your fair share of stupid shit, too!"
He gave you a once over, completely ignoring your point. "...Full nude?" He asked shamelessly, raising a brow at you.
"Of course not!"
"They still out there?" He ignored your whining as well, already turning back towards Mr. Marathon.
"Seriously?" You deadpanned.
"Well—i might still have a... clean copy."
───
Mr. Marathon was still bleeding out on the marble floor, head crushed to pieces when Ben bent down with a grunt, plucking something glossy from under the rubble.
"No fuckin' way. He does have a copy." He muttered, thumb rubbing the dust off the magazine cover.
There you are.
Curled up on a loveseat in a black satin teddy and ridiculous bunny ears, one heel dangling off your foot while you smiled at the camera like there wasn't a single thought behind those eyes. Big hair, dramatic makeup, and a fluffy white tail to top it all off.
America's Sweetheart Finally Lets Loose!
"Oh god, burn it." You gritted your teeth in disgust, glaring at the magazine like it could bite.
"Fuck no, this is gold."
Homelander made a sound somewhere between disgust and exhaustion. "Can we focus?"
"You're insufferable." You grumbled, ignoring Homelander's complaining.
"And you were apparently more flexible than i remember." He clicked his tongue approvingly. "Jesus."
He stopped on a certain page that made him grin like a kid on Christmas Day. "Oh, now this—" He let out a low whistle. "Damn."
You lunged for it instantly. "Give me that!"
He jerked the magazine out of reach effortlessly, laughing as you smacked uselessly at his arm. "No no no, hold on—" His eyes flicked over a full-page spread. "You said no full nude."
"It's not full nude!"
"There is one ribbon covering your tits."
"That doesn't count."
"Kinda does, though."
Homelander stared straight ahead with the thousand-yard look of a man questioning every life decision that had led him here, his facial tics starting to act up.
Ben kept grinning as he finally lowered the magazine enough to look at you properly, and there it was—that smug, annoyingly entertained look that always riled you up.
"Can't believe every asshole in America got to see this before me."
Homelander finally snapped. "Are you two done flirting over a dead body?"
───
"You bought this?"
"Yeah."
You stood in your room back at Vought Tower, Ben at your side with his chest puffed out and an infuriatingly proud grin on his pretty face.
He'd been pounding on your door five minutes ago, insisting that this was an emergency—before dropping a package on your mattress and demanding you open it.
You regretted it the moment you ripped the carboard open and caught a glimpse of black, shiny fabric.
"How did you even—"
"Spent three fuckin' hours figuring out that... that jungle website." Ben shrugged with an edge of frustration.
"Wha—Amazon?" You let out a huff of a laugh, the very entertaining image of him grumbling and cursing at a screen for three hours straight popping in your mind.
"Yeah, whatever. Site kept askin' me about cookies or some shit."
"You learned online shopping for this?" You huffed in disbelief, carefully digging through the plastic bag to pull out the costume, staring down at it with conflict—and maybe a bit of pink on your cheeks.
Fighting the internet just to see you in a skimpy bunny suit was actually pretty romantic, by Ben's standards.
"Won't you put it on, sweetheart?" He leaned towards you, hand reaching to grope the meat of your ass and head ducking down until his hot breath hit the shell of your ear. "Figure if every Tom, Dick, and Harry got the photoshoot, i oughta at least get the sequel."
You folded, eventually.
And you realized you'd rarely seen Ben this invested.
Took you in his arms the moment you walked out, changed in this bunny suit—that you insisted was stupid and raunchy—hands all over your curves and squeezing flesh like he had to make sure this was real. They slid down to your waist again, pinching the soft skin through the satin fabric appreciatively.
"Stop making that face. Smile a little, bun." He teased, amused by how commited you were to looking annoyed despite how red your ears were turning. He could feel your body burning under his palms, flushed and squirming.
"This is not funny."
"Yeah? I think it's hilarious." He retorted, flicking the white fluffy tail on your lower back and tugging at the ears on your head just to rile you up some more. You were about to protest like you always did when he interrupted you, lips crashing hungrily against yours while he pulled you closer until there wasn't an inch left between your bodies.
You squirmed without much conviction when he steered you towards his bed, the empty package falling to the floor as he pushed it off carelessly and sat down on the edge, pulling you onto his lap.
"You're such a pretty bunny, i might just fuck you like one." He purred, gripping your thighs to keep you still. "Wouldn't you like that?"
The grumpy but slightly shaky whine you let out told him everything he needed to know. You're still embarrassed, but so damn into it—and it's exactly what he wants.
One finger hooked into the collar of your bowtie, pulling you in for another rough kiss just to draw more of those adorable grumbles out of you. He was as mean as you remembered, always trying to dominate with his tongue and biting on your lower lip whenever he didn't get his way.
His other hand slid to your hipbone, urging you to grind against him and guiding your movements while his own hips thrust up, the hard line of his erection rubbing deliciously against your clothed slit. He reached for your chest to caress one breast possessively, grunting at the way you arched your back and pressed further into his palm whenever he pinched your nipple through the fabric.
"Gettin' all excited just from a little rubbin'." He murmured against your lips teasingly as he felt you grind harder on your own, chasing more of that sweet friction as your heart pounded through your ribcage and against his hand. "C'mere, bun."
He never stopped kissing you as he maneuvered you onto the mattress, switching your positions until he hovered above you, forearms braced on each side of your head to avoid crushing you under his weight—not that you'd mind. He only pulled back to take you in, from your flushed cheeks to the way the satin strained against your curves. So vulnerable—and fucking delicious.
"Look at you," He muttered, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly rumble. "All red and pouty. Actin' like you didn't want this the second you saw the damn box."
He trailed kisses down your neck, leaving harsh bites and hickeys on the way to your collarbone until he nuzzled his nose into your cleavage—leaving one last open-mouthed kiss on your sternum.
"Roll over." He ordered with a nudge to your thigh with his knee.
"Really?"
"What, you ever seen bunnies go at it in missionary, smartass? Ass up." He didn't wait for you to move, manhandling you onto your stomach and lifting your hips up, bunny ears tilting forward as his fingers tangled in your hair to keep your face down. He hooked his thumb into the crotch of the teddy to pull it to the side followed by a sharp tearing sound that made you jump, mesh snapping to form a jagged hole in your fishnets as he ripped it apart.
"Fuck," He hissed at the sight of your dripping pussy, pink and puffy under that bush of yours he loved so much. "You kept bitchin' all night, but look at that. Little bunny's soaked, just waiting for the big bad wolf to tear her apart." He let out a condescending chuckle, thumb swiping through your folds as he spread your cheeks apart. He relished the way you shuddered and let your head fall forward into the sheets, whimpering softly.
"Pathetic." He snorted, two fingers abruptly breaching past your ring of muscle—earning himself a surprised little yelp. "All tight and snug." He commented, digits already curling and scissoring inside of you while his free hand tugged his pants off, his hard cock springing free from its confines.
"Hnn, Ben—" You couldn't help but whimper as he scratched that spongy spot along your walls, voice muffled against the comforter.
"Yeah, yeah. Stop complainin', you're gonna get it." He scoffed, fingers sliding out of your pussy with a wet squelch. He watched you clench around nothing at the sudden feeling of emptiness, wordlessly begging to be filled. "You gonna be good?" He asked, one hand sliding up your spine to tangle with the hair at your nape, fisting his cock with the other to press the blunt head of it against your slick folds.
"Yes," You nodded frantically, hips twitching with need. "Please, Ben—"
"Please what?" God, you could still hear that infuriating smirk in his voice.
"Please, ngh—fuck my pussy..."
"Atta girl."
He buried himself in one harsh thrust, savoring that desperate cry you let out—something between a moan and a sob that made his dick twitch inside you.
"You like that? You like being stuffed full, bunny?" He drawled mockingly, pelvis pressing against your ass in a deep grind that made you whimper some more. He leaned down until his chest pressed against your back, body blanketing your smaller form.
"Yeah... you love takin' my big fuckin' cock. Always have." He pulled out just enough to make you whine, before slamming back inside you over and over again, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your pathetic, muffled cries filling the room.
"Good girl. Good bun..." He grunted appreciatively against the side of your neck, hand sliding from your nape to grip your jaw and lift your head just enough to catch a glimpse of that flushed face and those glazed over, teary eyes.
"T—too much—" You choked out, each thrust making your body jolt forward.
"Aww, really?" He cut you off by squeezing your cheeks with his fingers a few times, thumb and index finger digging into the squishy flesh—like you were nothing but a cute pet. "Can't handle it, sweetheart?" His movements stopped abruptly, leaving you whining and squirming at the sudden loss of friction.
"You either take it all, or get nothin' at all. And judgin' by the way your legs are kickin' for more right now, i reckon you prefer the first option." He chuckled cruelly, his free hand kneading your hip. "So, are you gonna take it or not?"
You nodded desperately, chin pressing into his palm. "No no, use your words." He nuzzled further into your neck, his beard scratching against your shoulder.
"Mmn—i'll be good... i—i'll take your cock, please—" You barely had the time to beg that he was already hammering into you again, thrusts shallow but hard, balls slapping against your sensitive mound.
"Yeah you will," He grunted while you choked on your own moans and saliva, his grip on your hip tightening bruisingly. "Like the good little bunny you are."
He didn't slow down when he felt your walls tighten and your moans turning into shaky wails, pounding into you until you finally came, gushing around him with a throaty, almost inhumane sob.
"Good fuckin' girl, cummin' so hard on this fat cock—" He felt that familiar heat pool in his gut, thrusts turning sloppy and slightly uncoordinated. "I'm almost there, sweetheart—you can take it."
He came with a roar, hips flush against yours as he spilled himself as deep in you as possible, holding himself there until he was empty. "Fuck—nghh, fuck..."
Your knees gave out the moment he pulled out, goosebumps rising on your skin when you felt your pussy drool with his hot, thick release. The mattress dipped next to you as he let himself collapse, one arm sliding between your waist and the sheets to pull you closer.
"C'mere." He panted, reaching to take those ridiculous ears off your head. A miracle that they stayed on the whole time. "Let's get you out of this, hm?"
He fumbled with the buttons on the cuffs, pulled the zipper down your back and tugged the torn fishnets down your legs—until you laid bare and dazed.
"Y'know, all those dickheads probably fantasized about this," He pulled the blanket over you, tucking you in gentler than you'd expect him to, before getting comfortable himself with a proud grin on his face. "But i can say that i got the real fuckin' thing."
pairings — ben (soldier boy) x fem!sunshine!reader
summary — when homelander welcomes soldier boy back, all he wants is to see the girl who allowed him to be put to sleep again. only thing is, she doesn't know he'd actually been put back in cryo and thought he was actually dead after maeve was presumed dead.
word count — 994 words
warnings — mentions of ben's past beliefs, etc! use of pet-names! [princess, doll, sweetheart, etc], mentions of reader's and ben's relationship being an unspoken connection, mentions of s5 plot with homelander bringing ben back, mentions of butcher and the team.
notes — ayeeee guys here's another one! i do have a splitting headache but oh well! divider creds to owner [not mine!]
tag list — @sofibuddy @minaaah @tellybearryyyy @mayafatimakhan
not-so-welcome home masterlist
NOW, AFTER EVERYTHING THAT HAS happened, you don't know what to really say to him.
what could you possibly say to the war hero you happened to fall for along the way? even when he was insanely frustrating to you before he actually began to see your side and listened to your perspective?
"i. didn't. know." you snap, once again, slamming a hand down on the countertop in front of you. you were frustrated. beyond belief.
how could this cocky asshole stand here in front of you and shame you for betraying him when he'd probably easily do the same right back?
it was ridiculous, you were questioning it, that much was true.
he had no right to judge. right?
"didn't know what?" he snaps right back, gruff and rough in a form of anger that was all too well to spot immediately. "that they were gonna throw me right back into the ice?"
of course he doesn't understand that you had no idea that he still was put to sleep.
if it weren't for maeve throwing herself out the window with him, they wouldn't have suceeded to put him back to sleep, but even then, if there was any time to be relieved that he could've possibly survived — which you were secretly hoping for — it was immediately crushed by the fact that he was presumed dead, as was maeve.
not even you were allowed to know that maeve survived the attack, thanks to ashley cutting the footage to give maeve a fighting chance at a normal life, despite how close you may have been to her.
so... how could you have known that he had survived and had been secretly put back to sleep by grace, ryan's previous caretaker?
of course butcher hadn't thought to keep you in the loop, as he didn't with the others.
not like you had an interestingly enough close connection to the guy or anything!
and the fact that ben is acting like you had anything more to do with it tham that only seems to make you more fucking frustrated.
"i'm not lying, ben!" you snap again, this time your voice shaking a little with unsaid emotions. "i didn't know, i didn't even know that maeve was still alive — i thought you both died in that fall!"
he scoffs dryly at that because of course he doesn't believe you. why would he, though?
i mean, really. the guy's got his issues, so it's not really that surprising. and homelander definitely knows how to get inside of his head.
he's already fallen for this idea of you being the villain because of his bruised ego.
despite the fact that you could treat him the way the others have, with him not being the greatest person in the world, you wanted to do it differently.
even now, you find your anger dimming down while trying to take a breath and calm down. getting frustrated and starting an argument doesn't help anyone.
"how are you here, ben?" you ask after taking another breath, planting your hands on the countertop as you lean against it to stay leaning against something right now. "i really don't know how you're here right now."
"enough with the games, sweetheart," he snaps as he takes a step forward, glaring down at you with clear frustration and something akin to being conflicted. "i know you know that they put me back to sleep. stop lyin' to me."
you stutter at that in mere disbelief. "what?"
he's surprised by your level of skill to lie so well, considering he refuses to believe otherwise.
"just tell me the truth, doll," he starts gruffly, attempting to steel himself and his anger. "did you know what homelander was planning? to use me for his bullshit mission to find that bastard, butcher and the rest of your goddamn team?"
that's what angered you, while finding out the truth.
you'd just now put all of the pieces together — that grace had something to do with putting back on ice — but now everything comes together as you realize that homelander is the one who woke him. which would make sense, considering his just as bloodthirsty need for revenge against butcher.
it all made sense now. homelander wanted to use soldier boy to track the others down and most likely kill them all.
that's not good at all.
"you really think i have something to do with that?"
it hurts seeing the look on his face, the stony one, like he really does believe it, like he has no faith in you anymore.
ben can't deny, though, your hurt expression does make something inside of him ache at seeing how upset it makes you that he doesn't believe you.
ben, however, as always, doesn't show how he feels in this moment, still with the stony look in his eyes and on his face.
"answer the goddamn question, princess."
his voice tells you that he really isn't playing games and doesn't have any patience right now.
and the only reason he's attempting to be patient is because of that damn soft spot he has for you, still unable to deny the unspoken connection you once had.
"no." you finally snap, having enough of his accusations. "i didn't know about it. i didn't have anything to do with it."
"i wish i could believe ya, doll." is all he says, gruff, but full of plenty of anger still in his voice.
it's not all that surprising, though, since he's had plenty of time to stew over his anger about the betrayal.
because though it hit him hard to have butcher change his mind about him, it was even more hurtful to him that you had something to do with him getting put back to sleep, even if you hadn't known right away.
and ben is known for tying up loose ends, so the question begs: what's he going to do now?
summary: in your younger years, you were soldier boy's biggest fan. now, your life is dedicated to stopping supes. somehow that's brought your paths to cross. people always say don't meet your heroes, but in your case, maybe that's not so bad...
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, dry humping, a single use of daddy, age gap (reader in early to mid 20s), power imbalance (reader was a fan of soldier boy and had a hugeeee crush on him in the past)
wc: 6.9k
a/n: based on a request i will post in a second. i hope you guys like this one, i've been working on it for an embarrassing amount of time lol. so sorry to the original anon if you see this bb. but yeah, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <33
'Two minutes away. Butcher says have the door unlocked.'
Your phone buzzes with that message from Hughie. Without second guessing the order, you walk across the motel room and unlock the door. You'd been charged with getting this rendezvous prepared for their arrival.
Despite your assigned task centering around getting this place, you don't really know what it's for. Neither Butcher nor Hughie felt it important enough to clue you in as to why you were meeting in a secluded motel rather than one of the usual spots. You assumed it had something to do with their trip to Russia. Maybe they'd found the super weapon they'd been searching for.
You head back to what you were doing before Hughie’s interruption, unloading the takeout you'd brought onto the table. In the midst of placing the burgers and fries and various condiments in the center, you hear the muffled sound of an engine pull up outside and then fizzle off. Car doors slamming follow accompanied by some voices. If you'd been paying attention, you might have realized an additional person chatted along with your expected two.
But you don't catch that until the door swings open. Before you can look, the deep baritone slices across the space right into your ears.
"So, is she part of your team too?" the man asks.
You freeze. Your heart drops into your stomach. It's almost as if your body has a biological reaction to that low, rumbly way of speaking. You recognize it anywhere. It played over speakers and filled your bedroom most nights of the week when you were younger. The face it belonged to had been plastered across every surface that could hold a poster.
But it can't be his. He's been dead since before you were born. For some odd reason, your mind must have decided today would be a fun day to play tricks on you. To make you think the man of your teenage dreams had been resurrected and brought to you through some sort of star-crossed luck.
You shake your head and swallow down the ridiculous idea before turning to face them. But when you do, he is right there.
Soldier Boy stands between your teammates in all his glory, his brows raised as he assesses you. He sports modern civilian clothes rather than his uniform. It's kind of off-putting to see him in something so current, but the discrepancy doesn't keep your heart from racing. Every other part of him looks just like he used to on your tv screen. His features are still perfectly sculpted. His hair sits on his head soft as ever.
You honestly think you might faint. Your knuckles grip the back of a chair to the point of cramping as you stare at him like he'd risen from the grave right before your very eyes.
"Is she mute or something?" he asks next, still looking unimpressed with you.
Hughie glances between you and him in confusion, not understanding what's stolen your words away. But on the opposite side of Soldier Boy, Butcher eyes you with a small smirk on his face. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the wall before walking over to you and patting your shoulder.
"She talks. Must be feeling a bit shy 'round a stranger," he says.
The physical contact seems to snap you out of your little starstruck daze. You straighten up and shrug his hand off.
"I- I'm not shy," you stutter and smooth your clothes out. "I just um... I think I recognize you from like some old movies my mom used to like. Caught me off guard. Sorry."
A shaky breath expels from your lungs, and you hope the cover-up is enough to stave off any further questions. Luckily, that seems to be true as a grin spreads across his face.
"Your mom, huh? She still around by chance?"
You bristle at the sleazy way he asks the question. It's ridiculous to feel jealous over his interest in a lie you made up, but you still feel it prickling at you.
"No," you answer before turning back to the table to empty the rest of the fast food bag.
You shoot a glare at Butcher who's still grinning at you. Of course. This was why he hadn't told you. It wasn't part of his normal failure to consider anyone else's feelings or his typical manipulative ways. He did this to fuck with you.
He was the only one who knew about your soft spot for Soldier Boy. Though, soft spot was an understatement. Attachment might have been more appropriate. Undying love and devotion also good possibilities.
You adored the guy. Part of your lie had been true, you'd gotten it from your mother. She introduced you to his movies and showed you all the tv appearances she'd taped. You inherited her small collection of posters and t-shirts, and styled your room to reflect your Soldier Boy centered world. Eventually, your obsession superseded the one she experienced in her younger years. That was probably because her love for Soldier Boy fizzled out not too long later when she met your father. Yours stayed strong as you kept to yourself and focused on getting through school.
You'd confessed all of this to your team leader one night after too many drinks. Years had passed between now and the height of your obsession, so your drunken-self figured it was fine. The information came out hiccuped amongst a flood of giggling. You had found it so funny, that you had been so hot for a supe when now, your entire life revolved around taking them down.
Honestly you thought, or at least hoped, that Butcher hadn't cared enough to remember it. But clearly you were wrong.
The four of you sit down to eat the food you bought. You're across from Hughie while Butcher takes the seat opposite Soldier Boy. He obviously finds it amusing to dangle the other man in front of you, taunting you with what he knows you want but will never admit to.
You try your hardest not to stare, but it's a challenge. You're not eating much. Your appetite pretty much vanished with the shock of his arrival. Instead you rest your cheek on the heel of your palm, attempting to keep your eyes on the table and not his face.
The whole thing is just too weird. It's like you've been transported to the fantasy world you used to imagine to fall asleep. In there, Soldier Boy, or Ben as you called him in your dreams, went everywhere with you. He took you to the mall, accompanied you to the family gathering you didn't wanna go to, sat beside you on the bench at the park while you listened to music alone. Imaginary Ben stroked your hair when you failed a test, told you he loved you when you cried, and rubbed your stomach when you had cramps.
He was always there for you in those years, filling the void everyone else's lack of attention left.
That was until he started to fade away. He popped up less and less as you adapted to life and found other people to fill your time. And then one day he just wasn't there anymore. You strolled through the mall with your friends. You went to see your family without anyone on your arm. You sat on the bench alone.
You outgrew the posters and the t-shirts. It all went into a storage bin tucked away in your closet. He went with it. Not thrown away, but no longer a part of your days. Looking back, it feels like you had two different lives — the one when you loved Soldier boy and the other where you remembered him.
But he's actually here now, sitting a foot away from you. Only everyone else can see this version of him, and he writes his own dialogue. Somehow you're just supposed to pretend like it's normal for you.
The guys chatter amongst themselves, but you barely hear it. You consider asking Butcher if you can leave. You'd do damn near anything else to get out of this situation. Your younger self would probably slap you across the face, absolutely maim you for fumbling your chance with him, but you just can't take it. It's like he's radiating humiliation and shame that projects only onto you.
Before you can speak up though, Butcher and Hughie rise from the table. You look up at them, desperation glimmering over your irises.
"Sorry, love. You're on soldier-sittin' duty for the next few hours," Butcher tells you as he goes to grab his coat.
"It's just until we get back," Hughie adds, sensing your discomfort with the situation.
Pouting and rising from your chair, you follow after them. You ignore Hughie and stare right at Butcher putting on his trench coat. "Can I come with you instead? Please?" you ask.
"Why? Thought you would be excited to get some one-on-one time with your-" he starts but you cut him off.
"It's too weird," you whisper. "Plus, he’s not gonna listen to me anyways. Can I please come with you?"
"'Fraid not," he tuts. "This one's for me and Hughie. You'll be fine for a couple hours."
"Butcher," you say, on the verge of begging.
But he holds no sympathy for you. Hughie gives you a kinder look. "Just put on the tv. He seemed pretty interested in filling in his gaps about the world on the drive here."
You weakly nod, watching them gather their remaining things before departing. Their absence leaves you and him alone in the room. It's quiet except for the crinkling of his wrapper and the thundering beat of your heart.
Turning back towards him, you force yourself to return to the room and clean up the other trash Butcher and Hughie had left behind. You gather the greasy papers while trying to keep your hands steady. They're shaking pretty bad, but moving them disguises it. At least you hope so. You don't want him seeing how nervous you are. It's stupid and pointless, but a small piece of you still wants to look cool and collected in front of him.
When you finish, you head over to the small couch that sits against the wall. You can feel his eyes on you. One thing you realize now that your juvenile fantasies failed to account for was that you really had no clue what to talk about with him. What was there to say to someone born nearly a hundred years ago? What could you bring up when he'd missed the last forty years of life? You decide to fill the silence with what Hughie had suggested.
"Do you wanna watch tv?" you ask.
"Not really, but what else is there to do in this shit hole," he says and shrugs.
You nod, reaching for the remote and flicking the screen to life. The first station is on a commercial break. You switch it to the next which is playing a basketball game. Finally, you get to the numbers playing movies and scroll through to find a good one.
While you occupy yourself with the television, he stands from his chair and heads in your direction. He plops down on the couch next to you, spreading his thighs and draping his arm across the back of the sofa. You keep your eyes locked on the screen ahead. There’s no way you’re gonna look over at his open lap. If you do that, you won’t be able to fight off the heat that keeps trying to rise into your cheeks.
You can still feel him looking at you though. The constant weight of his curiosity makes it hard not to shift around in your seat. Your thumb keeps tapping through the channels until you come across one showing something you recognize. It takes you a few seconds to place it, but as soon as you do, you go to skip it.
Before you can, he straightens up. "Wait- what's this? This looks familiar," he says, eyes narrowing.
You glance over at him, blinking a few times before giving an answer. "Um yeah... it's the remake of Red Thunder that came out a few years ago," you explain. You work hard to keep your voice even.
He looks over at you, astounded. "Remake? What do you mean remake? They just did it over again?"
You nod. "Yeah, y'know. Like how Scarface is a remake of the old one from the thirties... Like that."
He scoffs. "They tried to remake my movie?" he asks, still in disbelief. He examines the tv again. "Which one's supposed to be me?"
You wait a few seconds, looking for the updated version of him. "Um... that one," you say and point to the younger actor dressed in Soldier Boy gear.
He laughs, the sound booming across the room. "That guy? That's who they chose to play me?" he mocks. "Jesus, if that's the type of man you kids think a hero is no wonder the world is in the state it's in."
"Yeah..." you say, a little smile rising to your lips. Your nerves begin to settle. This isn't so bad when you keep your mind off your feelings… even if he does talk a little bit like your grandfather. "I like the original way better," you continue.
"Oh do you now?” he asks. That start of a smirk on his face is nearly audible.
"Mhm. This one is just kind of boring," you answer, eyes flitting between him and the screen. "They took all the romance stuff out, and we're not in the cold war anymore so the bad guys are just some vague, random evil army. Plus, I don't understand why they didn't just use one of Vought's new supes instead of imitating you."
The words flow easily, just as they did to all your friends when the movie had first come out. You don't have as much trouble expressing yourself when the topic of discussion is one of your favorite subjects.
He nods as if he's genuinely interested in your points before commenting. "I thought your mother was the fan?"
You bite the inside of your cheek, your heart rate picking up again under the spotlight of his attention. It wasn't too big of a slip up. You can play it off like you had with your initial anxiety. Though you can't focus enough to answer while gazing into his cocky eyes, so you look down at your lap.
"She was. But I saw some of your movies too. Doesn't take a genius to know they were better than this stuff," you shrug.
There's a little pause. Your heart beats impossibly faster. But he just chuckles and turns back to the tv. "You sure you've only seen some of my movies? Sounds like you know more than a casual fan," he goads.
Hesitation creeps up on you. Maybe this is your opportunity to tell the truth. You can just confess your thing for him like it's an embarrassing story. Maybe then it won't hold so much power over you and this will be a whole lot easier. Your palms flex against your thighs as you steel yourself.
"Well... more than some. I've seen a lot. I just didn't wanna weird you out or anything," you admit, doing your absolute best to seem casual. Maybe they should give you the Oscar they never offered your beloved.
"There you go. Be honest," he praises, and you think you feel something throb between your legs. You glance up at him for a second before your eyes drop back down. He shakes his head. "It doesn't ‘weird me out.’ I'm used to the attention y'know. I lived with it longer than you've been alive."
"Yeah, but I didn't want things to be uncomfortable. Make you think I was like obsessed or something."
"Well are you like obsessed or something?’ he teases. Something in his tone tells you he already knows the answer.
"No," you deny immediately.
"It would make sense if you were. It'd explain why you're so nervous," he says, his voice smooth as polished marble.
"I'm not nervous," you defend.
"C'mon, sweetheart. You can't look at me for more than a second, and I can hear your heart beating faster than a baby bunny runnin' from a wolf."
You practically swoon when he calls you sweetheart, but you force your eyes up and onto his. No matter how many butterflies erupt in your stomach, you're intent on being professional. That little childish crush is a thing of the past, you're sure of it. You're an adult now with a real passion for your job.
"It's just that you're kind of intimidating," you reason. "It's weird seeing a movie star in person."
"A movie star? You flatter me."
Rolling your eyes, an involuntary huff slips from your lips. "You know what I mean. It's just different talking to you like in real life and not just seeing you on a screen. That's it."
"Is that all? I don't know if I believe you, honey. I recognize that look on your face," he says.
"What look? I don't have a look," you say.
"No, you do. You have that look I used to get from the girls hanging around outside set. They'd stand there with their little autograph books, waiting to get a glimpse of Soldier Boy," he says, eyes almost twinkling as he reminisces. "Only every time I'd go over to sign something for 'em, they could never get their eyes off their shoes. Always looking down, stumbling over their words. I don't typically go for you younger girls, but it was pretty cute."
You feel your cheeks heating up along with a small smile forming on your lips. Just like that, your commitment to professionalism has started to wane. It's dumb, but you can't help yourself. He basically called you cute. You just count yourself lucky you haven’t started giggling.
"Yep they used to do that too. That little smile," he continues.
He's making you malfunction with only a handful of words. Your head spins, but you're powerless to stop it. You can't help reacting like one of those girls because, inside, part of you is still one of them.
"C'mere, sweetheart," he says next before patting his lap.
You know you shouldn't. If Butcher and Hughie came back and saw you like this, it would be the humiliation of a lifetime. But you can't resist him. It's easy to declare your commitment to acting professional when the situation is only a hypothetical. When it becomes real, presented right before your eyes, it's a different story entirely.
Tentatively, you scoot towards him, eyeing his thighs. His hand comes to your back between your shoulders to urge you along.
"I'm not gonna bite you, bunny," he says with that action-hero smile.
More timidity pumps through you at the repetition of that term. You find the courage to close the rest of the gap and crawl into his lap. His arms welcome you, shifting you around on his thighs into a comfortable position.
"Perfect. Feels better like this, doesn't it?" he says.
That palm on your back strokes up and down. He runs it along the length of your spine, bringing a chill over every area it touches. You keep your gaze on your hands in your lap until his fingers tap beneath your chin and redirect your vision onto him.
"Don't hide those pretty eyes from me. That's how I know what you're feelin’. They give so much away.”
You honestly believe you're seconds away from melting into a puddle, from slumping over against his chest and becoming some boneless rag doll for him to play with. You can only imagine how stupid you look if even half of the lovesickness you feel reflects on your face.
"Tell me — have you ever thought about this before? I bet you have," he murmurs.
Of course he's right. You'd envisioned yourself on this very lap countless times when you were younger. But a part of you still clings to the idea that you should hide how absolutely pathetic you are for him. You shrug.
"I guess..." you answer. The words come out airy, almost as if your voice is getting away from you.
He simply smirks at the reply while rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth over your chin. "Yeah? You imagined sitting my lap, hm? Dreamed of me holding you close?"
"Something like that," you reply, feeling as though your throat was constricting.
He chuckles at your squeak of a reply. "Well, how do I match up to your dreams? Am I everything you hoped I would be?" he asks. His voice drops, and there's no question about what he wants from you now. Something you would give without hesitation.
"You're doing a pretty good job," you say. You try to adjust yourself to face more towards the tv, but he keeps you pinned in place.
"I haven't really done anything yet," he says.
A little bout of silence rises between you two. Neither of you say anything. The only sound is the hushed chatter of the tv in the background. Despite the lack of conversation, his eyes stay on your face. His fingers caress your cheek before smoothing down to your neck.
"How'd a pretty girl like you get involved with those two jackasses who brought me here anyways?" he asks.
"It's a long story..." you say. Your skin is on fire everywhere his fingers trace. They're working over your throat down onto your collarbone and shoulders.
"Too long for you to care about right now, yeah?" he asks, completely smug.
You nod though because smug or not, he's correct about that. Recounting how you got involved with Butcher ordinarily wasn't too hard. But in this moment, on his lap, it seems like the effort of a lifetime for your foggy brain.
"You're too soft and sweet for hunting supes," he says. Despite poking fun at you, he remains gentle and soft, careful not to really upset you and break you out of this docile little haze he's got you in.
"It's not so bad,” you say.
"Sure, sure. You're strong and independent, can do anything a man can and all that. I'm just saying-"
Talk talk talk. So much talking, and you can barely focus on a word he's saying. Your eyes are lingering on his lips. They look so soft and smooth. Nothing’s touched them in forty years. He’s definitely noticed your stare. And you know that means you should stop. You can’t though. You want it, and he’s practically offering it up to you.
He continues speaking, however. “- I can think of a few things you’d be much better at. Things that don’t involve your little hands getting bloody.”
“Like what?” you start to ask.
“Maybe something like this.”
That hand on your chin tugs you closer. Before you register what’s happening, his mouth is on yours. Electricity zaps all through your body like a live wire. You lean into it without thinking, pressing closer and molding your lips to his.
He chuckles as your arms slide up to loop around his neck. You swallow up the low, rough sound, not disconnecting from him for a moment. His hand flattens out along your jawline. It allows him to hold you right where he wants you for a series of more kisses, all of which you reciprocate.
“Atta girl,” he mumbles in the brief interval where you’re forced to drawback for breath. “Not so shy now, are ya?”
You shake your head before diving in for more. He receives you by opening his mouth. His tongue gently flicks over your lip. He slides it against your own as things become deeper. The heat inside you no longer holds the sting of shame or embarrassment. It aches now. It burns with pure want, clustering in the pit of your stomach rather than in your face.
He leans back into the sagging couch. His hands ensure you move along with him. With a firm grip on your waist, he boosts you closer and shifts you around so your thighs are parted across his own.
A small whimper leaves you. You can’t help it. Your bodies are even closer now. Your center is pressed right against his lap, right where his cock is. You can’t feel it yet, but the idea is enough to send phantom sensations rippling through you.
You feel his lips curling into a smirk against yours. Those hands leave your waist. They dip lower, sliding across your curves to grip onto the plush flesh of your ass. That gets a real moan out of you. Your head falls back, away from his mouth. He doesn’t let you go too far though. A second later, his affections move to your neck. His kisses are hot and wet, tongue laving over your pulse point and teeth nipping sensitive skin.
Just a few simple touches, and his strength shines through each one. The firmness with which his fingers knead your ass is unlike anyone else you’ve ever felt. You’ve been with muscular guys before, but nothing like this. Strong is too weak a word to describe the undercurrent flowing through his grasp.
You roll your hips down in an exploratory swivel, something faint to see if you could find some friction. He aides you. His fingers tighten around your ass, pushing you down harder and then dragging your core back over his lap.
You suck in a little gasp.
“That feel good, huh? Your pretty pussy’s getting wet for me, isn’t she?” he asks with another rotation of your hips.
“Y-yeah,” you stutter. You push your upper-half closer to him so that your chest squishes against his own.
To your dismay, he stops you from fully holding on. He nudges you backwards and boosts you off his lap entirely so that you’re standing on your feet. A whine builds at the front of your mouth, but before you can protest, his fingers come to the button on your jeans.
He flicks it open, looking up at you as he yanks your pants down. “Been forty years since I got some tail. Let’s not waste any more time,” he says in explanation.
You nod along and step out of each of your pant legs, kicking the garment aside. You also take your t-shirt off. The fabric lands on top of your discarded jeans. Once you’re left in just your bra and panties, he tugs you back down.
Your bodies come together with a thud. The material of his sweats grazes your tingly inner-thighs. Before you can get back into rutting yourself on him, he runs his palms over your legs. They’re pretty smooth for someone of his age and experience. You always imagined something a little rougher, something that would contrast against the smooth nature of your own flesh. But forty years in a cryo-tank hadn’t given his skin much opportunity to become weathered.
His hands find your ass again, one coming down to give it a quick smack. Your hips jolt in surprise at the sudden sting. He soothes it away by rubbing over the heated area. His fingers dig into your malleable skin harder now that it’s bare to him.
“Skin’s baby-soft,” he murmurs mid-grope. “Been wanting someone rougher to come and mark it up?”
Your eyes flicker over his mocking smirk, heat filling your face. You grind yourself on him again with a whine. It feels so much better with your clothing out of the way. Even though the thin cotton barrier of your panties keeps you from rubbing down on him raw, the material is skimpy enough that it doesn’t impede. Instead it adds a little extra spark to the building pressure between your legs. Your eyes roll towards the back of your head, fluttering as you rock yourself forward and back.
He helps out just like before. His hands rein your movements into a steady rhythm. In between your bodies, his bulge starts to form. With each swipe of your covered cunt across his lap, you feel it becoming more and more prominent; hard and solid right up against your soaked folds.
“Just like that, get yourself ready for me,” he praises with another slap to your backside. “I’ll teach you how to really ride.”
You moan while biting your lip. Your hips work faster on him. Being so close, so lost in his feel and scent, has freed you of your previous trepidation. You’ve lost the ability to be stuck in your head with him like this.
He shifts you over slightly so that you’re lined up with the flat top of his thigh. It makes no difference to you. You keep your hips moving like nothing’s changed, grinding your throbbing clit down onto the firm muscles in his leg.
“Fuck,” you whimper. Your arms wrap over his shoulders once more. You squish your face into the crux of your elbow.
This time he lets you stay. He wraps an arm around you and lazily pats your back. “Good girl. Keep going. I gotcha.” His voice rumbles beside your ear. “Better than any dream, yeah?”
“Mhm,” you whimper. “Fuck- so much better. You- you’re perfect.”
While you continue to pleasure yourself on his leg, he lifts his hips off the couch just enough to push his sweats down towards his knees. He takes his cock out. It’s fully hard now, stiff in his hand as he gives it a few strokes.
You don’t notice at first, so wrapped up in your own bliss. But when he starts pulling you center again, you lift your head and glance down through heavy-lids.
You’d imagined him big, but seeing his cock for real makes you feel like you didn’t imagine big enough. His length is long and moderately thick. It’s flushed for you, the tip shimmery with the slightest bit of pre oozing out.
Your mouth waters. You want to taste him. You want to show him how badly you want it. You want to drop to your knees and think about nothing but how good he fits in your mouth.
But you know you have limited time. Butcher said you had a couple hours, but he’s also unreliable and a liar and purposefully fucking with you today so… you don’t want to take any chances.
He doesn’t seem too eager to have you like that anyways. He gives you a slight boost and pulls the soaked material of your panties to the side. The silky skin of his tip replaces the feeling. He drags himself across your entrance once, twice, and then nudges inside.
Your teeth sink into your lip as your head falls back slightly. You still can’t understand how this is real, but it undeniably is. The feeling of him working himself in, inch by inch, is not a figment of your imagination. That sweet stretch is absolutely real, and it consumes you more with every passing second until your ass is flush against his thighs once more.
He groans. “Shit, that’s good.” The muscles in his jaw flex. “Haven’t felt anything this nice in a longgg fucking time.”
Your walls flutter around him, eliciting another hiss from between his gritted teeth. Every noise he makes feels as good as a physical touch. You can’t get enough of hearing his voice strained with pleasure — pleasure you’re giving him.
You rise on his lap before sinking down. The rhythm is slow to start, a way for both of you to get used to the feeling. His hands squeeze your hips hard enough to bring a little burst of pain. You like it though. You want more of it.
He smacks your ass again. “C’mon, bunny. I know you can do better than that.”
Your hands plant themselves firmly on his shoulders, giving you the leverage needed to go a little faster. You bring yourself up and then down in quicker succession.
“That’s it. Such a good girl. Show daddy what you’ve been dreamin’ about.”
A shudder tears through you. Your muscles feel weak, like the simple string of praise had loosened them up completely. It doesn’t matter though. You start to bounce faster. Your body works with a mind of its own. It doesn’t let you slow down.
He slides in and out easily with how wet you are. Every drag of his cock on your insides is a straight shot of bliss. You feel even better when he grips your jaw and pulls you in for another few kisses. His mouth moves against your own before moving along your jawline to the space below your ear and then onto your neck and collarbone.
“Every inch of you tastes so fucking good. Like cherry pie,” he mumbles. “I’ll have to try out that pussy of yours next.”
“Mhm, fuck,” you whimper.
You keep riding as his teeth nip at one of your bra straps. The noises of your skin on his fill the small motel room. His tight grip on your waist helps you maintain the rhythm, pulling you down hard and boosting you up quick
The tip of his cock bumps up against your g-spot and gets a squeal out of you. Your nails dig into his shoulders as a way of bracing yourself. Neither of you slow down. You stutter slightly, but his hips lift to meet your movements. His fast thrusts strike at that angle over and over until your legs are quivering to the point that it truly feels like they might give out.
Luckily for you, he makes sure you don’t go toppling to the floor. The firm weight of his hands guide you closer to his body. Your weight shifting gives him the leverage to take over pumping in and out of you.
Your cheek hits his shoulder as your head fills with a warm, thick fog. He pounds into that sweet spot inside of you over and over. You can hear him grunting beside your ear, low and strained sounds that have your stomach full of butterflies.
“Pretty, pretty girl. You were worth the wait,” he mumbles alongside another deep thrust.
You whimper, lazily nodding your head against him. “You- mm- you were too.”
Sweet, tight heat coils in your belly. You know release is creeping up on you. Your eyes flutter shut, waiting for it to take over. You don’t notice his hand sliding between your bodies until you feel the pads of his fingertips rubbing at your sensitive clit. Your hips buck into the pleasure, and your walls clamp around him hard.
He lets out a deep laugh that only makes you tighten up more.
“Yeah, that’s a good girl. I know what you need, babydoll. Let go for me. Let me see how good you look when you cum,” he says.
His fingers keep swiping at the little bud between your legs. Syrupy shots of bliss shoot through you, pushing you along, taking you to the edge. It’s no time at all before a round of shudders rack through you. Your arms latch around his neck while your thighs clamp on either side of his. Embarrassing strings of whines trickle into the air.
“I- I- fuck,” you whimper. “Feels so- so fucking good, god.”
The last word to leave your lips is pitchy and broken. Your release cuts it short. Moans replace any coherent praise you could have given him. You bury your face in his neck and pant against the warm skin. Vaguely, you can feel his arms tightening around you. One of his hands rests between your shoulders while the other stays at your waist. He keeps pumping up into you, fucking you through each and every wave of orgasmic euphoria.
He’s less clingy as he finishes. His hips snap up into you a few more times before he groans loud and deep. He maintains the solid grip he has on you, hands still clamped around your waist as he spills inside. His chest rises and falls under your own, puffing quick with the exertion of finishing.
Your eyes stay closed for another several seconds as the room goes quiet and your nerves stop buzzing. His thumb lazily drags back and forth in tiny lines along the base of your spine. That almost makes you shiver more than anything you did on top of him.
With the fog of lust clearing from your mind, you separate from his chest and sit up straight. He’s relaxed as can be, head tilted back against the couch, watching you with the same lazy appraisal you’re giving him. Now that your entire body isn’t thrumming with want for him, he doesn’t seem so intimidating. You know that’s not the truth, that he could still crush any of your bones with minimal effort if he so desired — but in a weird way, you just don’t feel like you’re perpetually looking up at him now. It’s not negative, but the mystique is gone. The man of your dreams doesn’t exist anymore. Soldier Boy is flesh and blood, sweaty and spent beneath you.
You roll off of him to the other side of the couch. You’re pretty sure not much time has passed, but you don’t want to risk anything. You’re gonna be well and dressed when Butcher and Hughie come back. The two of them will be none the wiser that anything out of the ordinary occurred.
He stretches for a moment before adjusting his own appearance.
“Gotta say, I’m in no rush to do whatever it is they thawed me out for now. You’re much more fun.” His voice breaks the silence.
A small smile cracks on your face. “Yeah… think I’ll be pretty distracted too.” You look over your shoulder at him.
Little comments bounce back and forth between the two of you with nothing substantial really being said. That’s ok with you. The fact that you really just fucked Soldier Boy has left your mind void of conversational skills.
After the two of you are back to looking plain as you had been before, your collective attention returns to what’s left of the Red Thunder remake still playing on the tv.
“Who’s the head honcho nowadays? Was it Homelander they said?” he asks you. “Guy must not be able to get it done if they’re remaking this old shit.”
You laugh softly and nod. “Yeah… I’m sure Butcher will tell you allll about him when they get back.”
The two of you watch the remainder of the movie, with you chattering here and there about things you don’t like or little facts you know. It’s nice in a weird way. Feels almost like something you would’ve dreamed up all those years ago.
Your little bubble of fantasy bursts when the car doors slam not too far from the motel room entrance. You sit up a little straighter, smooth out your hair a bit, trying to make sure you look totally normal before Hughie and Butcher walk in.
Soldier Boy makes no such effort. His eyes rest on the tv while his legs stay spread and his posture slightly slouched.
The door creaks open and shuts just as quick. Hughie enters first with Butcher right behind him. You keep your focus on the tv. But even though you’re not looking, you can feel Butcher’s curious stare.
“We got everything we needed, so we should be good to go for tonight,” Hughie says, not giving the two of you any real thought.
You nod and take the chance to look over at him walking towards the table all of you sat at earlier. In your sweep of the room, you catch Butcher’s gaze lingering on the two of you.
“Seems like everything went well here,” he says. You know from that lilt in his tone the words aren’t as innocent as the untrained ear would believe. You know he wants to poke and prod and expose your new dirty little secret, but you won’t let him.
You shrug. “There wasn’t a ton to do here, so yeah,” you huff like it’s obvious.
His boots squish on the cheap carpeting as he takes a few steps closer.
“So just smooth sailin’. Nothing out of the ordinary happened?”
You roll your eyes. Does he somehow know what you did? Is he sick enough to have left cameras or something?
“Yeah. Everything’s the same as you left it, boss.”
He laughs, brief and short, a prelude to his killing strike.
“’s funny cause I don’t remember your shirt bein’ on inside-out when we left.”
Your eyes zip down only to find he’s right. The seams on your shirt puff out as they do on the interior side of the fabric. Heat rushes into your face. You grab the lumpy throw pillow jammed between your hip and the couch and chuck it in his direction.
“Shut up,” you huff as you take off towards the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind you.
His laughter carries after you, and there’s a bit of Soldier Boy’s as well, lower and deeper in timbre.
“What can I say? She’s a super-fan.” His voice rumbles through the thin walls.
You want to be offended, to go back out there and tell him and Butcher off, to not put up with any of their shit. But hearing him talk about you in that sugar-coated, condescending tone of voice, openly acknowledging he’d been with you… it wouldn’t be honest.
You adored him before you learned to hate supes. Even if the fantasy is gone, deep down, you’re not sure you’ll ever fully rid yourself of that version of you who was whole-heartedly a super fan.
summary: in your younger years, you were soldier boy's biggest fan. now, your life is dedicated to stopping supes. somehow that's brought your paths to cross. people always say don't meet your heroes, but in your case, maybe that's not so bad...
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, dry humping, a single use of daddy, age gap (reader in early to mid 20s), power imbalance (reader was a fan of soldier boy and had a hugeeee crush on him in the past)
wc: 6.9k
a/n: based on a request i will post in a second. i hope you guys like this one, i've been working on it for an embarrassing amount of time lol. so sorry to the original anon if you see this bb. but yeah, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <33
'Two minutes away. Butcher says have the door unlocked.'
Your phone buzzes with that message from Hughie. Without second guessing the order, you walk across the motel room and unlock the door. You'd been charged with getting this rendezvous prepared for their arrival.
Despite your assigned task centering around getting this place, you don't really know what it's for. Neither Butcher nor Hughie felt it important enough to clue you in as to why you were meeting in a secluded motel rather than one of the usual spots. You assumed it had something to do with their trip to Russia. Maybe they'd found the super weapon they'd been searching for.
You head back to what you were doing before Hughie’s interruption, unloading the takeout you'd brought onto the table. In the midst of placing the burgers and fries and various condiments in the center, you hear the muffled sound of an engine pull up outside and then fizzle off. Car doors slamming follow accompanied by some voices. If you'd been paying attention, you might have realized an additional person chatted along with your expected two.
But you don't catch that until the door swings open. Before you can look, the deep baritone slices across the space right into your ears.
"So, is she part of your team too?" the man asks.
You freeze. Your heart drops into your stomach. It's almost as if your body has a biological reaction to that low, rumbly way of speaking. You recognize it anywhere. It played over speakers and filled your bedroom most nights of the week when you were younger. The face it belonged to had been plastered across every surface that could hold a poster.
But it can't be his. He's been dead since before you were born. For some odd reason, your mind must have decided today would be a fun day to play tricks on you. To make you think the man of your teenage dreams had been resurrected and brought to you through some sort of star-crossed luck.
You shake your head and swallow down the ridiculous idea before turning to face them. But when you do, he is right there.
Soldier Boy stands between your teammates in all his glory, his brows raised as he assesses you. He sports modern civilian clothes rather than his uniform. It's kind of off-putting to see him in something so current, but the discrepancy doesn't keep your heart from racing. Every other part of him looks just like he used to on your tv screen. His features are still perfectly sculpted. His hair sits on his head soft as ever.
You honestly think you might faint. Your knuckles grip the back of a chair to the point of cramping as you stare at him like he'd risen from the grave right before your very eyes.
"Is she mute or something?" he asks next, still looking unimpressed with you.
Hughie glances between you and him in confusion, not understanding what's stolen your words away. But on the opposite side of Soldier Boy, Butcher eyes you with a small smirk on his face. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the wall before walking over to you and patting your shoulder.
"She talks. Must be feeling a bit shy 'round a stranger," he says.
The physical contact seems to snap you out of your little starstruck daze. You straighten up and shrug his hand off.
"I- I'm not shy," you stutter and smooth your clothes out. "I just um... I think I recognize you from like some old movies my mom used to like. Caught me off guard. Sorry."
A shaky breath expels from your lungs, and you hope the cover-up is enough to stave off any further questions. Luckily, that seems to be true as a grin spreads across his face.
"Your mom, huh? She still around by chance?"
You bristle at the sleazy way he asks the question. It's ridiculous to feel jealous over his interest in a lie you made up, but you still feel it prickling at you.
"No," you answer before turning back to the table to empty the rest of the fast food bag.
You shoot a glare at Butcher who's still grinning at you. Of course. This was why he hadn't told you. It wasn't part of his normal failure to consider anyone else's feelings or his typical manipulative ways. He did this to fuck with you.
He was the only one who knew about your soft spot for Soldier Boy. Though, soft spot was an understatement. Attachment might have been more appropriate. Undying love and devotion also good possibilities.
You adored the guy. Part of your lie had been true, you'd gotten it from your mother. She introduced you to his movies and showed you all the tv appearances she'd taped. You inherited her small collection of posters and t-shirts, and styled your room to reflect your Soldier Boy centered world. Eventually, your obsession superseded the one she experienced in her younger years. That was probably because her love for Soldier Boy fizzled out not too long later when she met your father. Yours stayed strong as you kept to yourself and focused on getting through school.
You'd confessed all of this to your team leader one night after too many drinks. Years had passed between now and the height of your obsession, so your drunken-self figured it was fine. The information came out hiccuped amongst a flood of giggling. You had found it so funny, that you had been so hot for a supe when now, your entire life revolved around taking them down.
Honestly you thought, or at least hoped, that Butcher hadn't cared enough to remember it. But clearly you were wrong.
The four of you sit down to eat the food you bought. You're across from Hughie while Butcher takes the seat opposite Soldier Boy. He obviously finds it amusing to dangle the other man in front of you, taunting you with what he knows you want but will never admit to.
You try your hardest not to stare, but it's a challenge. You're not eating much. Your appetite pretty much vanished with the shock of his arrival. Instead you rest your cheek on the heel of your palm, attempting to keep your eyes on the table and not his face.
The whole thing is just too weird. It's like you've been transported to the fantasy world you used to imagine to fall asleep. In there, Soldier Boy, or Ben as you called him in your dreams, went everywhere with you. He took you to the mall, accompanied you to the family gathering you didn't wanna go to, sat beside you on the bench at the park while you listened to music alone. Imaginary Ben stroked your hair when you failed a test, told you he loved you when you cried, and rubbed your stomach when you had cramps.
He was always there for you in those years, filling the void everyone else's lack of attention left.
That was until he started to fade away. He popped up less and less as you adapted to life and found other people to fill your time. And then one day he just wasn't there anymore. You strolled through the mall with your friends. You went to see your family without anyone on your arm. You sat on the bench alone.
You outgrew the posters and the t-shirts. It all went into a storage bin tucked away in your closet. He went with it. Not thrown away, but no longer a part of your days. Looking back, it feels like you had two different lives — the one when you loved Soldier boy and the other where you remembered him.
But he's actually here now, sitting a foot away from you. Only everyone else can see this version of him, and he writes his own dialogue. Somehow you're just supposed to pretend like it's normal for you.
The guys chatter amongst themselves, but you barely hear it. You consider asking Butcher if you can leave. You'd do damn near anything else to get out of this situation. Your younger self would probably slap you across the face, absolutely maim you for fumbling your chance with him, but you just can't take it. It's like he's radiating humiliation and shame that projects only onto you.
Before you can speak up though, Butcher and Hughie rise from the table. You look up at them, desperation glimmering over your irises.
"Sorry, love. You're on soldier-sittin' duty for the next few hours," Butcher tells you as he goes to grab his coat.
"It's just until we get back," Hughie adds, sensing your discomfort with the situation.
Pouting and rising from your chair, you follow after them. You ignore Hughie and stare right at Butcher putting on his trench coat. "Can I come with you instead? Please?" you ask.
"Why? Thought you would be excited to get some one-on-one time with your-" he starts but you cut him off.
"It's too weird," you whisper. "Plus, he’s not gonna listen to me anyways. Can I please come with you?"
"'Fraid not," he tuts. "This one's for me and Hughie. You'll be fine for a couple hours."
"Butcher," you say, on the verge of begging.
But he holds no sympathy for you. Hughie gives you a kinder look. "Just put on the tv. He seemed pretty interested in filling in his gaps about the world on the drive here."
You weakly nod, watching them gather their remaining things before departing. Their absence leaves you and him alone in the room. It's quiet except for the crinkling of his wrapper and the thundering beat of your heart.
Turning back towards him, you force yourself to return to the room and clean up the other trash Butcher and Hughie had left behind. You gather the greasy papers while trying to keep your hands steady. They're shaking pretty bad, but moving them disguises it. At least you hope so. You don't want him seeing how nervous you are. It's stupid and pointless, but a small piece of you still wants to look cool and collected in front of him.
When you finish, you head over to the small couch that sits against the wall. You can feel his eyes on you. One thing you realize now that your juvenile fantasies failed to account for was that you really had no clue what to talk about with him. What was there to say to someone born nearly a hundred years ago? What could you bring up when he'd missed the last forty years of life? You decide to fill the silence with what Hughie had suggested.
"Do you wanna watch tv?" you ask.
"Not really, but what else is there to do in this shit hole," he says and shrugs.
You nod, reaching for the remote and flicking the screen to life. The first station is on a commercial break. You switch it to the next which is playing a basketball game. Finally, you get to the numbers playing movies and scroll through to find a good one.
While you occupy yourself with the television, he stands from his chair and heads in your direction. He plops down on the couch next to you, spreading his thighs and draping his arm across the back of the sofa. You keep your eyes locked on the screen ahead. There’s no way you’re gonna look over at his open lap. If you do that, you won’t be able to fight off the heat that keeps trying to rise into your cheeks.
You can still feel him looking at you though. The constant weight of his curiosity makes it hard not to shift around in your seat. Your thumb keeps tapping through the channels until you come across one showing something you recognize. It takes you a few seconds to place it, but as soon as you do, you go to skip it.
Before you can, he straightens up. "Wait- what's this? This looks familiar," he says, eyes narrowing.
You glance over at him, blinking a few times before giving an answer. "Um yeah... it's the remake of Red Thunder that came out a few years ago," you explain. You work hard to keep your voice even.
He looks over at you, astounded. "Remake? What do you mean remake? They just did it over again?"
You nod. "Yeah, y'know. Like how Scarface is a remake of the old one from the thirties... Like that."
He scoffs. "They tried to remake my movie?" he asks, still in disbelief. He examines the tv again. "Which one's supposed to be me?"
You wait a few seconds, looking for the updated version of him. "Um... that one," you say and point to the younger actor dressed in Soldier Boy gear.
He laughs, the sound booming across the room. "That guy? That's who they chose to play me?" he mocks. "Jesus, if that's the type of man you kids think a hero is no wonder the world is in the state it's in."
"Yeah..." you say, a little smile rising to your lips. Your nerves begin to settle. This isn't so bad when you keep your mind off your feelings… even if he does talk a little bit like your grandfather. "I like the original way better," you continue.
"Oh do you now?” he asks. That start of a smirk on his face is nearly audible.
"Mhm. This one is just kind of boring," you answer, eyes flitting between him and the screen. "They took all the romance stuff out, and we're not in the cold war anymore so the bad guys are just some vague, random evil army. Plus, I don't understand why they didn't just use one of Vought's new supes instead of imitating you."
The words flow easily, just as they did to all your friends when the movie had first come out. You don't have as much trouble expressing yourself when the topic of discussion is one of your favorite subjects.
He nods as if he's genuinely interested in your points before commenting. "I thought your mother was the fan?"
You bite the inside of your cheek, your heart rate picking up again under the spotlight of his attention. It wasn't too big of a slip up. You can play it off like you had with your initial anxiety. Though you can't focus enough to answer while gazing into his cocky eyes, so you look down at your lap.
"She was. But I saw some of your movies too. Doesn't take a genius to know they were better than this stuff," you shrug.
There's a little pause. Your heart beats impossibly faster. But he just chuckles and turns back to the tv. "You sure you've only seen some of my movies? Sounds like you know more than a casual fan," he goads.
Hesitation creeps up on you. Maybe this is your opportunity to tell the truth. You can just confess your thing for him like it's an embarrassing story. Maybe then it won't hold so much power over you and this will be a whole lot easier. Your palms flex against your thighs as you steel yourself.
"Well... more than some. I've seen a lot. I just didn't wanna weird you out or anything," you admit, doing your absolute best to seem casual. Maybe they should give you the Oscar they never offered your beloved.
"There you go. Be honest," he praises, and you think you feel something throb between your legs. You glance up at him for a second before your eyes drop back down. He shakes his head. "It doesn't ‘weird me out.’ I'm used to the attention y'know. I lived with it longer than you've been alive."
"Yeah, but I didn't want things to be uncomfortable. Make you think I was like obsessed or something."
"Well are you like obsessed or something?’ he teases. Something in his tone tells you he already knows the answer.
"No," you deny immediately.
"It would make sense if you were. It'd explain why you're so nervous," he says, his voice smooth as polished marble.
"I'm not nervous," you defend.
"C'mon, sweetheart. You can't look at me for more than a second, and I can hear your heart beating faster than a baby bunny runnin' from a wolf."
You practically swoon when he calls you sweetheart, but you force your eyes up and onto his. No matter how many butterflies erupt in your stomach, you're intent on being professional. That little childish crush is a thing of the past, you're sure of it. You're an adult now with a real passion for your job.
"It's just that you're kind of intimidating," you reason. "It's weird seeing a movie star in person."
"A movie star? You flatter me."
Rolling your eyes, an involuntary huff slips from your lips. "You know what I mean. It's just different talking to you like in real life and not just seeing you on a screen. That's it."
"Is that all? I don't know if I believe you, honey. I recognize that look on your face," he says.
"What look? I don't have a look," you say.
"No, you do. You have that look I used to get from the girls hanging around outside set. They'd stand there with their little autograph books, waiting to get a glimpse of Soldier Boy," he says, eyes almost twinkling as he reminisces. "Only every time I'd go over to sign something for 'em, they could never get their eyes off their shoes. Always looking down, stumbling over their words. I don't typically go for you younger girls, but it was pretty cute."
You feel your cheeks heating up along with a small smile forming on your lips. Just like that, your commitment to professionalism has started to wane. It's dumb, but you can't help yourself. He basically called you cute. You just count yourself lucky you haven’t started giggling.
"Yep they used to do that too. That little smile," he continues.
He's making you malfunction with only a handful of words. Your head spins, but you're powerless to stop it. You can't help reacting like one of those girls because, inside, part of you is still one of them.
"C'mere, sweetheart," he says next before patting his lap.
You know you shouldn't. If Butcher and Hughie came back and saw you like this, it would be the humiliation of a lifetime. But you can't resist him. It's easy to declare your commitment to acting professional when the situation is only a hypothetical. When it becomes real, presented right before your eyes, it's a different story entirely.
Tentatively, you scoot towards him, eyeing his thighs. His hand comes to your back between your shoulders to urge you along.
"I'm not gonna bite you, bunny," he says with that action-hero smile.
More timidity pumps through you at the repetition of that term. You find the courage to close the rest of the gap and crawl into his lap. His arms welcome you, shifting you around on his thighs into a comfortable position.
"Perfect. Feels better like this, doesn't it?" he says.
That palm on your back strokes up and down. He runs it along the length of your spine, bringing a chill over every area it touches. You keep your gaze on your hands in your lap until his fingers tap beneath your chin and redirect your vision onto him.
"Don't hide those pretty eyes from me. That's how I know what you're feelin’. They give so much away.”
You honestly believe you're seconds away from melting into a puddle, from slumping over against his chest and becoming some boneless rag doll for him to play with. You can only imagine how stupid you look if even half of the lovesickness you feel reflects on your face.
"Tell me — have you ever thought about this before? I bet you have," he murmurs.
Of course he's right. You'd envisioned yourself on this very lap countless times when you were younger. But a part of you still clings to the idea that you should hide how absolutely pathetic you are for him. You shrug.
"I guess..." you answer. The words come out airy, almost as if your voice is getting away from you.
He simply smirks at the reply while rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth over your chin. "Yeah? You imagined sitting my lap, hm? Dreamed of me holding you close?"
"Something like that," you reply, feeling as though your throat was constricting.
He chuckles at your squeak of a reply. "Well, how do I match up to your dreams? Am I everything you hoped I would be?" he asks. His voice drops, and there's no question about what he wants from you now. Something you would give without hesitation.
"You're doing a pretty good job," you say. You try to adjust yourself to face more towards the tv, but he keeps you pinned in place.
"I haven't really done anything yet," he says.
A little bout of silence rises between you two. Neither of you say anything. The only sound is the hushed chatter of the tv in the background. Despite the lack of conversation, his eyes stay on your face. His fingers caress your cheek before smoothing down to your neck.
"How'd a pretty girl like you get involved with those two jackasses who brought me here anyways?" he asks.
"It's a long story..." you say. Your skin is on fire everywhere his fingers trace. They're working over your throat down onto your collarbone and shoulders.
"Too long for you to care about right now, yeah?" he asks, completely smug.
You nod though because smug or not, he's correct about that. Recounting how you got involved with Butcher ordinarily wasn't too hard. But in this moment, on his lap, it seems like the effort of a lifetime for your foggy brain.
"You're too soft and sweet for hunting supes," he says. Despite poking fun at you, he remains gentle and soft, careful not to really upset you and break you out of this docile little haze he's got you in.
"It's not so bad,” you say.
"Sure, sure. You're strong and independent, can do anything a man can and all that. I'm just saying-"
Talk talk talk. So much talking, and you can barely focus on a word he's saying. Your eyes are lingering on his lips. They look so soft and smooth. Nothing’s touched them in forty years. He’s definitely noticed your stare. And you know that means you should stop. You can’t though. You want it, and he’s practically offering it up to you.
He continues speaking, however. “- I can think of a few things you’d be much better at. Things that don’t involve your little hands getting bloody.”
“Like what?” you start to ask.
“Maybe something like this.”
That hand on your chin tugs you closer. Before you register what’s happening, his mouth is on yours. Electricity zaps all through your body like a live wire. You lean into it without thinking, pressing closer and molding your lips to his.
He chuckles as your arms slide up to loop around his neck. You swallow up the low, rough sound, not disconnecting from him for a moment. His hand flattens out along your jawline. It allows him to hold you right where he wants you for a series of more kisses, all of which you reciprocate.
“Atta girl,” he mumbles in the brief interval where you’re forced to drawback for breath. “Not so shy now, are ya?”
You shake your head before diving in for more. He receives you by opening his mouth. His tongue gently flicks over your lip. He slides it against your own as things become deeper. The heat inside you no longer holds the sting of shame or embarrassment. It aches now. It burns with pure want, clustering in the pit of your stomach rather than in your face.
He leans back into the sagging couch. His hands ensure you move along with him. With a firm grip on your waist, he boosts you closer and shifts you around so your thighs are parted across his own.
A small whimper leaves you. You can’t help it. Your bodies are even closer now. Your center is pressed right against his lap, right where his cock is. You can’t feel it yet, but the idea is enough to send phantom sensations rippling through you.
You feel his lips curling into a smirk against yours. Those hands leave your waist. They dip lower, sliding across your curves to grip onto the plush flesh of your ass. That gets a real moan out of you. Your head falls back, away from his mouth. He doesn’t let you go too far though. A second later, his affections move to your neck. His kisses are hot and wet, tongue laving over your pulse point and teeth nipping sensitive skin.
Just a few simple touches, and his strength shines through each one. The firmness with which his fingers knead your ass is unlike anyone else you’ve ever felt. You’ve been with muscular guys before, but nothing like this. Strong is too weak a word to describe the undercurrent flowing through his grasp.
You roll your hips down in an exploratory swivel, something faint to see if you could find some friction. He aides you. His fingers tighten around your ass, pushing you down harder and then dragging your core back over his lap.
You suck in a little gasp.
“That feel good, huh? Your pretty pussy’s getting wet for me, isn’t she?” he asks with another rotation of your hips.
“Y-yeah,” you stutter. You push your upper-half closer to him so that your chest squishes against his own.
To your dismay, he stops you from fully holding on. He nudges you backwards and boosts you off his lap entirely so that you’re standing on your feet. A whine builds at the front of your mouth, but before you can protest, his fingers come to the button on your jeans.
He flicks it open, looking up at you as he yanks your pants down. “Been forty years since I got some tail. Let’s not waste any more time,” he says in explanation.
You nod along and step out of each of your pant legs, kicking the garment aside. You also take your t-shirt off. The fabric lands on top of your discarded jeans. Once you’re left in just your bra and panties, he tugs you back down.
Your bodies come together with a thud. The material of his sweats grazes your tingly inner-thighs. Before you can get back into rutting yourself on him, he runs his palms over your legs. They’re pretty smooth for someone of his age and experience. You always imagined something a little rougher, something that would contrast against the smooth nature of your own flesh. But forty years in a cryo-tank hadn’t given his skin much opportunity to become weathered.
His hands find your ass again, one coming down to give it a quick smack. Your hips jolt in surprise at the sudden sting. He soothes it away by rubbing over the heated area. His fingers dig into your malleable skin harder now that it’s bare to him.
“Skin’s baby-soft,” he murmurs mid-grope. “Been wanting someone rougher to come and mark it up?”
Your eyes flicker over his mocking smirk, heat filling your face. You grind yourself on him again with a whine. It feels so much better with your clothing out of the way. Even though the thin cotton barrier of your panties keeps you from rubbing down on him raw, the material is skimpy enough that it doesn’t impede. Instead it adds a little extra spark to the building pressure between your legs. Your eyes roll towards the back of your head, fluttering as you rock yourself forward and back.
He helps out just like before. His hands rein your movements into a steady rhythm. In between your bodies, his bulge starts to form. With each swipe of your covered cunt across his lap, you feel it becoming more and more prominent; hard and solid right up against your soaked folds.
“Just like that, get yourself ready for me,” he praises with another slap to your backside. “I’ll teach you how to really ride.”
You moan while biting your lip. Your hips work faster on him. Being so close, so lost in his feel and scent, has freed you of your previous trepidation. You’ve lost the ability to be stuck in your head with him like this.
He shifts you over slightly so that you’re lined up with the flat top of his thigh. It makes no difference to you. You keep your hips moving like nothing’s changed, grinding your throbbing clit down onto the firm muscles in his leg.
“Fuck,” you whimper. Your arms wrap over his shoulders once more. You squish your face into the crux of your elbow.
This time he lets you stay. He wraps an arm around you and lazily pats your back. “Good girl. Keep going. I gotcha.” His voice rumbles beside your ear. “Better than any dream, yeah?”
“Mhm,” you whimper. “Fuck- so much better. You- you’re perfect.”
While you continue to pleasure yourself on his leg, he lifts his hips off the couch just enough to push his sweats down towards his knees. He takes his cock out. It’s fully hard now, stiff in his hand as he gives it a few strokes.
You don’t notice at first, so wrapped up in your own bliss. But when he starts pulling you center again, you lift your head and glance down through heavy-lids.
You’d imagined him big, but seeing his cock for real makes you feel like you didn’t imagine big enough. His length is long and moderately thick. It’s flushed for you, the tip shimmery with the slightest bit of pre oozing out.
Your mouth waters. You want to taste him. You want to show him how badly you want it. You want to drop to your knees and think about nothing but how good he fits in your mouth.
But you know you have limited time. Butcher said you had a couple hours, but he’s also unreliable and a liar and purposefully fucking with you today so… you don’t want to take any chances.
He doesn’t seem too eager to have you like that anyways. He gives you a slight boost and pulls the soaked material of your panties to the side. The silky skin of his tip replaces the feeling. He drags himself across your entrance once, twice, and then nudges inside.
Your teeth sink into your lip as your head falls back slightly. You still can’t understand how this is real, but it undeniably is. The feeling of him working himself in, inch by inch, is not a figment of your imagination. That sweet stretch is absolutely real, and it consumes you more with every passing second until your ass is flush against his thighs once more.
He groans. “Shit, that’s good.” The muscles in his jaw flex. “Haven’t felt anything this nice in a longgg fucking time.”
Your walls flutter around him, eliciting another hiss from between his gritted teeth. Every noise he makes feels as good as a physical touch. You can’t get enough of hearing his voice strained with pleasure — pleasure you’re giving him.
You rise on his lap before sinking down. The rhythm is slow to start, a way for both of you to get used to the feeling. His hands squeeze your hips hard enough to bring a little burst of pain. You like it though. You want more of it.
He smacks your ass again. “C’mon, bunny. I know you can do better than that.”
Your hands plant themselves firmly on his shoulders, giving you the leverage needed to go a little faster. You bring yourself up and then down in quicker succession.
“That’s it. Such a good girl. Show daddy what you’ve been dreamin’ about.”
A shudder tears through you. Your muscles feel weak, like the simple string of praise had loosened them up completely. It doesn’t matter though. You start to bounce faster. Your body works with a mind of its own. It doesn’t let you slow down.
He slides in and out easily with how wet you are. Every drag of his cock on your insides is a straight shot of bliss. You feel even better when he grips your jaw and pulls you in for another few kisses. His mouth moves against your own before moving along your jawline to the space below your ear and then onto your neck and collarbone.
“Every inch of you tastes so fucking good. Like cherry pie,” he mumbles. “I’ll have to try out that pussy of yours next.”
“Mhm, fuck,” you whimper.
You keep riding as his teeth nip at one of your bra straps. The noises of your skin on his fill the small motel room. His tight grip on your waist helps you maintain the rhythm, pulling you down hard and boosting you up quick
The tip of his cock bumps up against your g-spot and gets a squeal out of you. Your nails dig into his shoulders as a way of bracing yourself. Neither of you slow down. You stutter slightly, but his hips lift to meet your movements. His fast thrusts strike at that angle over and over until your legs are quivering to the point that it truly feels like they might give out.
Luckily for you, he makes sure you don’t go toppling to the floor. The firm weight of his hands guide you closer to his body. Your weight shifting gives him the leverage to take over pumping in and out of you.
Your cheek hits his shoulder as your head fills with a warm, thick fog. He pounds into that sweet spot inside of you over and over. You can hear him grunting beside your ear, low and strained sounds that have your stomach full of butterflies.
“Pretty, pretty girl. You were worth the wait,” he mumbles alongside another deep thrust.
You whimper, lazily nodding your head against him. “You- mm- you were too.”
Sweet, tight heat coils in your belly. You know release is creeping up on you. Your eyes flutter shut, waiting for it to take over. You don’t notice his hand sliding between your bodies until you feel the pads of his fingertips rubbing at your sensitive clit. Your hips buck into the pleasure, and your walls clamp around him hard.
He lets out a deep laugh that only makes you tighten up more.
“Yeah, that’s a good girl. I know what you need, babydoll. Let go for me. Let me see how good you look when you cum,” he says.
His fingers keep swiping at the little bud between your legs. Syrupy shots of bliss shoot through you, pushing you along, taking you to the edge. It’s no time at all before a round of shudders rack through you. Your arms latch around his neck while your thighs clamp on either side of his. Embarrassing strings of whines trickle into the air.
“I- I- fuck,” you whimper. “Feels so- so fucking good, god.”
The last word to leave your lips is pitchy and broken. Your release cuts it short. Moans replace any coherent praise you could have given him. You bury your face in his neck and pant against the warm skin. Vaguely, you can feel his arms tightening around you. One of his hands rests between your shoulders while the other stays at your waist. He keeps pumping up into you, fucking you through each and every wave of orgasmic euphoria.
He’s less clingy as he finishes. His hips snap up into you a few more times before he groans loud and deep. He maintains the solid grip he has on you, hands still clamped around your waist as he spills inside. His chest rises and falls under your own, puffing quick with the exertion of finishing.
Your eyes stay closed for another several seconds as the room goes quiet and your nerves stop buzzing. His thumb lazily drags back and forth in tiny lines along the base of your spine. That almost makes you shiver more than anything you did on top of him.
With the fog of lust clearing from your mind, you separate from his chest and sit up straight. He’s relaxed as can be, head tilted back against the couch, watching you with the same lazy appraisal you’re giving him. Now that your entire body isn’t thrumming with want for him, he doesn’t seem so intimidating. You know that’s not the truth, that he could still crush any of your bones with minimal effort if he so desired — but in a weird way, you just don’t feel like you’re perpetually looking up at him now. It’s not negative, but the mystique is gone. The man of your dreams doesn’t exist anymore. Soldier Boy is flesh and blood, sweaty and spent beneath you.
You roll off of him to the other side of the couch. You’re pretty sure not much time has passed, but you don’t want to risk anything. You’re gonna be well and dressed when Butcher and Hughie come back. The two of them will be none the wiser that anything out of the ordinary occurred.
He stretches for a moment before adjusting his own appearance.
“Gotta say, I’m in no rush to do whatever it is they thawed me out for now. You’re much more fun.” His voice breaks the silence.
A small smile cracks on your face. “Yeah… think I’ll be pretty distracted too.” You look over your shoulder at him.
Little comments bounce back and forth between the two of you with nothing substantial really being said. That’s ok with you. The fact that you really just fucked Soldier Boy has left your mind void of conversational skills.
After the two of you are back to looking plain as you had been before, your collective attention returns to what’s left of the Red Thunder remake still playing on the tv.
“Who’s the head honcho nowadays? Was it Homelander they said?” he asks you. “Guy must not be able to get it done if they’re remaking this old shit.”
You laugh softly and nod. “Yeah… I’m sure Butcher will tell you allll about him when they get back.”
The two of you watch the remainder of the movie, with you chattering here and there about things you don’t like or little facts you know. It’s nice in a weird way. Feels almost like something you would’ve dreamed up all those years ago.
Your little bubble of fantasy bursts when the car doors slam not too far from the motel room entrance. You sit up a little straighter, smooth out your hair a bit, trying to make sure you look totally normal before Hughie and Butcher walk in.
Soldier Boy makes no such effort. His eyes rest on the tv while his legs stay spread and his posture slightly slouched.
The door creaks open and shuts just as quick. Hughie enters first with Butcher right behind him. You keep your focus on the tv. But even though you’re not looking, you can feel Butcher’s curious stare.
“We got everything we needed, so we should be good to go for tonight,” Hughie says, not giving the two of you any real thought.
You nod and take the chance to look over at him walking towards the table all of you sat at earlier. In your sweep of the room, you catch Butcher’s gaze lingering on the two of you.
“Seems like everything went well here,” he says. You know from that lilt in his tone the words aren’t as innocent as the untrained ear would believe. You know he wants to poke and prod and expose your new dirty little secret, but you won’t let him.
You shrug. “There wasn’t a ton to do here, so yeah,” you huff like it’s obvious.
His boots squish on the cheap carpeting as he takes a few steps closer.
“So just smooth sailin’. Nothing out of the ordinary happened?”
You roll your eyes. Does he somehow know what you did? Is he sick enough to have left cameras or something?
“Yeah. Everything’s the same as you left it, boss.”
He laughs, brief and short, a prelude to his killing strike.
“’s funny cause I don’t remember your shirt bein’ on inside-out when we left.”
Your eyes zip down only to find he’s right. The seams on your shirt puff out as they do on the interior side of the fabric. Heat rushes into your face. You grab the lumpy throw pillow jammed between your hip and the couch and chuck it in his direction.
“Shut up,” you huff as you take off towards the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind you.
His laughter carries after you, and there’s a bit of Soldier Boy’s as well, lower and deeper in timbre.
“What can I say? She’s a super-fan.” His voice rumbles through the thin walls.
You want to be offended, to go back out there and tell him and Butcher off, to not put up with any of their shit. But hearing him talk about you in that sugar-coated, condescending tone of voice, openly acknowledging he’d been with you… it wouldn’t be honest.
You adored him before you learned to hate supes. Even if the fantasy is gone, deep down, you’re not sure you’ll ever fully rid yourself of that version of you who was whole-heartedly a super fan.
just a reminder that this blog is run by someone who:
— is anti ICE & fascism
— is pro-choice & feminist
— supports trans & queer people
— hates generative AI & capitalism
— supports immigrants & people of color
— is pro-environmentalism & social justice
— supports palestine & all other territories unjustly suffering
pairings — ben (soldier boy) x fem!sunshine!reader
summary — when homelander welcomes soldier boy back, all he wants is to see the girl who allowed him to be put to sleep again. only thing is, she doesn't know he'd actually been put back in cryo and thought he was actually dead after maeve was presumed dead.
word count — 1.3k words!
warnings — ben's anger issues! grumpy x sunshine trope. reader is a supe! reader doesn't know that ben is alive here! reader is an activist/feminist in this fic, politically educated and tried to get ben to have an open mind beforehand! reader's a bit of man hater! reader goes into depression! reader gets out of the supe life after what happened prior to s3! mentions of guilt, regret, & heavy grief. reader has sleep isses!
notes — hey guyssss, it's currently 1:37, but i'm bored and i'm not tired, so i'm writing this out while i can! enjoy! divider creds to owner [not mine!]
not-so-welcome home masterlist
p.s, feedback is really encouraged & appreciated! thank you guys for all of the support and enthusiasm for this fic <3
LIFE WAS MUCH SIMPLER WHEN you didn't have to deal with vought or homelander. life was much easier when you hadn't known who soldier boy was.
at first, ben was frustrating to get to know. everyone could agree on that.
i mean, just him being alive caused a lot of tensions between everyone, especially m.m. and ben. and really, ben didn't make that easy either.
the guy was a frustrating, arrogant little shit, like everyone expects.
however, you never expected to see a different side of him.
he was frustrating and arrogant and a total womanizer, way too cocky for his own good — everything you hated in men.
were you a bit of man hater too, due to your committed belief of being an activist and feminist fighting for the planet and the lives and rights within it? yes, but you had valid reasons for that!
a lot of the men out in this world and society, especially given the influences of people like homelander, weren't very great and actually even a little terrifying. especially to you.
so, yeah, consider it well-deserved to be hating on most of the men on the planet that were disrespectful and sexist to women in general.
at first, ben thought you were annoying with all of your passionate opinions and constant tangents and rants about saving the planet and being more open-minded to today's societial rules and expectations.
things were different in the modern day, but ben didn't really understand, nor care to respect it.
the man didn't understand why the hell it was a whole other world of possibilities, of things that he missed out on.
there was the grumpy, macho-side that you'd become familiar with, but there was another side of him that you got to see once you both began to get to know one another and understand each other.
and once you saw a different side to him, the sooner you began to accept that he wasn't just some cocky womanizer war hero with shell shock, but something more vulnerable. and honest.
at least when it was just the two of you.
and if anyone ever dared call him out for being soft for you, well, ben would take care of it like he always did.
everything changed, though, when he didn't stand down when butcher asked it to protect ryan, who'd already been through enough as it is.
it was then that you had to take a side. and even though it killed you to let them attempt to put him down and back under cryo, you thought it was the right thing.
ben remembers seeing you simply watching them fight him with a resigned, but pained expression, but that part didn't matter to him.
it was the fact that you let them do it.
and then, when maeve took him out, everyone becoming under the impression that soldier boy was dead. and thank god for that, right, because that meant no more trouble or bloodshed.
but, it also led to your biggest hardship — moving on.
you tried, but couldn't forget him, constantly plagued with memories and guilt you'd rather push down, never mind the grief of losing ben.
though you never confirmed your relationship or made things official, what was between the two of you was not strictly platonic, despite the age gap, due to his time being held captive under cryo for so long and with you still being pretty young.
you hated yourself for the part you played in it, and you just lost your spark and lost your eagerness to take down evil supes and homelander and vought when there was a big hole in your heart.
you'd nearly given up on life, simply just surviving and getting through every day — barely — one step at a time.
except, you were barely living. it felt like life had stopped completely, the light in you completely burnt out.
and worse, your sleeping habits had began to get bad like they always do in times like this.
you couldn't sleep, barely getting any hours in. not when you were plagued by ben's ghost everywhere you went.
only to find him stood in the darkness of your kitchen when you get up to get a glass of the water. it was the middle of the night, after you barely could sleep at all. alive.
you nearly gasp at the surprise in front of you because how the hell was he alive?
last you checked, he'd been killed in the accident with maeve, which of course you were none the wiser about maeve getting out, thinking that she was dead as well.
"ben?" is all you find yourself saying, jaw nearly dropped in shock. you couldn't believe it was him. it was a miracle.
it made you wonder if maeve got out too. you hoped she did, but knew that it wasn't important in this moment.
you were tired before, but now you were wide awake. how could you not be when he was stood right in front of you — though a little creepy, with being in complete darkness and all — alive and well.
you didn't know how it was possible he survived, but you were relieved that he was okay.
except he's not. not on the inside.
he was just betrayed by the girl he started to soften up for, which he wouldn't have done for anyone else.
"ben? what the fuck?" you question quickly as you flick on the kitchen light, letting the room flood with light and show more of him than he had shown in the darkness.
you didn't know what to do in that moment but be yourself, attitude and all. even at three a.m.
"that's all you got 'ta say 'ta me?" he finally speaks, voice rough with anger and something else you never thought you'd hear come from him. hurt.
soldier boy, in his whole life, has never allowed himself to be truly vulnerable and show a single emotion that would make him more human.
except... with you.
and maybe that's why it hurts so much. the betrayal.
you nearly stammer at that, hearing the anger and hurt in his voice, making you nearly stumble over your words in mere guilt.
how the hell are you supposed to get through this conversation without a fight starting or breaking down.
because no matter how much you pretended that he hadn't had this big effect on you, it turns out to be the opposite.
if anything, you care about him a little too much. and knowing that he could be alive and safe, that he had been safe this whole time? it feels like a big weight is lifted off your chest.
and not just because you don't have to feel like you have his blood on your hands with him back, but also, because he's here and well, for the most part.
"i-i don't know what to say! i thought you were dead!" still, you try to defend yourself.
because why wouldn't you?
was it ideal, what you did? no. but, it came from a place of good intentions, thinking that it had to be the right thing to take the others side over ben's. to let them try to take him down.
you felt you had no choice, but ben's not exactly the picture perfect definition of patient or understanding enough for that.
ben wouldn't understand that, and you knew that, deep down. all that mattered was the anger.
"did ya really think i wouldn't'a found out?" he questions with a dry, sarcastic chuckle, but the humor doesn't reach his eyes or his face at all as he takes a step closer to you in the kitchen.
you swallow at that, trying to blink back tears. it made you so on edge to think about him not knowing the full story, but you could never tell him.
would he even believe you at all?
so, now, you were just left with what you should do.
guys im literally smoking that za while trying to write the first chapter for my soldier boy fic... also i haven't made a tumblr fic before so bare with me! haha anyways toodles i want to get this first chapter done and posted! goodnight lovelies <3
tag list — @sofibuddy @minaaah (others dm or comment to be tagged for the boys fandom fics or other fandoms,, let me know!)
word count — 822 words!
warnings — more ben being a dick, but he has his good moments! activist/feminst!reader. enemies to lovers! smoking weed! they bond this time!
notes — here's part two! parden any incorrections and grammer problems i am drinking AYE (jk jk, but seriously i'm bored as hell and i know that i need to get this part two done so i can start the soldier boy/ben fic!! i'm truly so excited for that as well! anyways! enjoy! divider creds to owner! this is a little shorter! sorry!
p.s., feedback is very much appreciated & encouraged <3
part one!
SPENDING THE REST OF THE time that hughie and butcher are 'visiting' to smoke your brain out in order to calm the chaotic and angry thoughts that occupied it because of ben is what you do for the rest of the hour.
at least something to do to get away from ben and not have to deal with his bullshit, but you also couldn't stop thinking about him, wondering what drove him, just so genuinely curious on how and why he is the way he is.
at least now you can't hear their conversation, since you moved outside to finish smoking in peace.
you could imagine that ben was probably spending the rest of the time annoying both men as he had done to you.
just the thought made you roll your eyes and shake your head — he really does infuriate you like no other.
but... you also couldn't deny how he made you feel. you've only met him, and he already challenges you and makes you feel things that you never thought were even possible.
maybe that's the real reason you find him so infuriating and frustrating. because he has this effect on you that you can't deny, just the same as it is for him.
it's when butcher heads out to the car — finally — while hughie steps outside to let you know they were leaving.
which meant you had to keep babysitting the gigantic manchild inside some more.
just the pleading look hughie gives you is more than enough to just cave in anyways, not able to resist and just mumbling a response about how he'd owe you later for this.
the things you did for your friends... ugh, it made you so annoyed that you'd always put yourself out there to help or protect the people you love.
of course, you knew that you had to go in eventually. i mean, you couldn't stay outside and smoke all you wanted.
so, with a deep breath of preparing for what waits for you inside the safe house, you get up from the steps, grabbing your smoking materials with you, before heading inside.
it's quiet, surprisingly, besides the small volume of the tv sounding through the living room, but it's mainly quiet. it surprises you, really.
it's then when you walk into the kitchen that you see ben, finally, leaning against the fridge with a beer in hand.
he eyes you curiously as he sees what's in your hands — the grinder, the lighter, and the bowl — raising his eyebrows in mere surprise.
he's actually surprised to find that you're someone that smokes weed, but hey, seems you got something in common now.
"a smoker, eh?" he asks with a small smug grin, making you roll your eyes, preparing yourself, you snort and turn to face him.
"yes, ben, i smoke," you state with sass and raised eyebrows, setting your things down on the counter, before turning to face him again. "you don't know every little thing about me."
"well, i'd say you just got a little more interesting, princess."
his words and the nickname makes you roll your eyes, but you didn't protest about it. it's occured too many times where you're just used to it.
it's quiet for a few moments, before he raises an eyebrows with a small grin, looking like he's scheming. he lightly nods and motions to your bowl and lighter. "mind sharin'?"
of course you could refuse him, but you didn't want to deal with him having a tantrum over not getting his way, which seems to be his way of dealing with his problems.
just like how he loves to throw punches at his problems too. or use his ego too much and way more than he needs to.
you just shrug, turning back to your grinder, unscrewing the lid and grabbing the bowl next to pack it.
once packed, of course, you take the first hit after lighting it, taking in the hit a little breathily, before handing the bowl over to him as he comes to lean against the counter beside you, his cold beer nearly forgotten on the counter by the fridge.
when it comes to weed, ben is just about serious about it. he'll pick it over anything else, especially since he's so used to using it to cope with his... well, his trauma. never mind what he might say to deny said trauma.
he inhales his hit, before handing the bowl back to you, and soon enough you're going back and forth.
after a while, it's quiet, before you hear him speak, and what he says is awfully vulnerable. it makes you do a double take.
"i didn't mean to hurt all those people, y'know. the people in the street. i couldn't control myself."
it makes you stop and look at him, eyes suddenly softening through the high state you've begun to undergo and pause.
hearing it come from him makes you reconsider. that maybe he's not just some arrogant war hero asshole, but someone that actually cares more than he lets on.
"it's okay." you say, awfully soft-spoken in a murmur, giving him a reassuring look that makes him question everything.
because now ben's starting to feel things. who knows where it could lead.
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