#The boys

[katherinehoughtoncastle47]

Solider Boy - From A Logical Point Of View

[zepskies]

Welp, I think tumblr ate my earlier ask so happy Friday! You've survived the week! For your random question, because a lot of our fellas have had...displaced lives, what do you think the boys' ideal homes would be? Big, small, grand, cozy, city, country? 🤔

Oh yeah I didn't get an ask before now, but Happy Friday my beautiful friend! Yes thank God we survived lmao. You already know work has been doing my head in. 🙃

Ooooh what an interesting question! I'm thinking by "boys" you mean our favorite Jackles characters...

HEADCANON: What Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw's ideal homes would be.

Dean Winchester

Dean's not one for big cities. Too many people, too much for him, honestly.

So if he ever left the bunker, say with you by his side, I think he'd be happy with a cozy cabin somewhere. It would have to be big enough for Miracle - Dean could do little hikes with him in the woods. Oh, and one or two extra rooms. Just in case you really want to take advantage of breaking away from hunting, and in his words:

"Maybe...you know...start on Phase 2 of this whole retirement gig. Start a family."

There would also be a nice fireplace and a comfy couch for you to hook him into some late night cuddling (and probably some slow, hot sex by the fire).

Beau Arlen

I see a lovely ranch-style house for Beau. 🥰 Moderately sized, but still spacious and open, with a nice big living room and a couple of guest rooms, plus Emily's room, of course. If you and Beau get surprised with more kids in the future, you guys are prepared to fill those rooms with more joy and chaos.

And if Friday movie night is going to continue, he needs a nice big TV in the living room (or an old school projector).

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, this guy. 😅

We all know he wants the biggest, gaudiest house he can afford. If just because that's what he's used to. He's been surrounded by opulence and the comforts wealth can provide since he was born, and that didn't stop when he got to Vought.

However, provided he went through some character growth through a meaningful relationship with you, he could be hooked into a nice brownstone apartment in NYC. But he would probably insist on having a vacation house somewhere -- like a colonial style house or a nice beach house to escape the city when it gets too much.

(He'd insist on "christening" every room.)

Russell Shaw

Hmm, this guy I could see not being fussed about the size of the place or the location, as long as it's comfortable and homey with you. Because the thing is, he hasn't really had a home since he left his family when he was a teenager.

He's spent decades in the service, and years more on the road, bouncing from motel to motel between contract jobs. He would probably say what the other guys inherently feel -- that you're his home. You're his peace.

AN: What do you think @luci-in-trenchcoats? Did you imagine any of these guys differently? 😘💜

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Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy + Russell Tag List (Part 1)

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[vanshoundd]

Blue blood.

[bluemerakis]

my sexuality is men who are a danger to the world as we know it 😮‍💨

[kamisobsessed]

the hottest man on the planet

he's so beautiful im literally bouncing off the walls like a deranged animal

[nkplanet]

LIKE A DOVE

soldier boy x fem!reader cw 99% fluff, implied nsfw (mdni), age gap (reader is implied to be around hughie’s age so significantly younger than ben), not proof read + written on my phone so the formatting may be shit

summary behind closed doors, ben can be gentle

notes i lied in my last post i have a lab report due on monday that i haven’t been to any lectures for 😔 also this might be ooc but i like to believe that the “i didn’t mean to kill those people” line is the closest we’ve gotten to seeing his actual personality underneath all the gravitas so i took that and ran with it lol

before you met ben, you were warned about him. as one of hughie’s close friends, you’d been dragged into the whole homelander situation when he’d shown up at your apartment covered in blood. after that, he’d been unable to stop you from sticking your nose in where it arguably didn’t belong, and he was so glad you did.

until, for some unknown reason, you fell for soldier boy of all people.

luckily (or unluckily, in hughie’s case. god, he’d never let you hear the end of this), your feelings didn’t go unrequited. somewhere between buying him takeout and weed and teasing him about his awful clothing choices, the two of you had struck up a bond. it was a weird bond, one that comprised primarily of teasing and raunchy flirting on his part, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. somehow he’d become your person.

and yet, that wasn’t the strangest thing. the strangest thing was finding out that beneath the gruff exterior and ego, in the comfort of your apartment with nobody else around, ben was gentle.

when he wasn’t fucking you into next week for the third time in the same hour, he’d hold you close to his chest. his hands would find your waist while you were cooking. he’d tuck your hair behind your ear while you slept on his chest, turning down the tv so that it wouldn’t wake you. he’d tell you stories of his glory days while you did odd bits and bobs around the apartment. he’d hum tunes from the fifties and sixties to calm you after a horrific nightmare.

of course, he wasn’t always gentle. he was relentless in the bedroom, and the second someone else was around his walls were back up again. but those walls were cracked. the longer you were around him, the more the ben that you knew would shine through.

nobody believe you, of course, and hughie called you fucking insane on more than one occasion for even implying that soldier boy could be soft. but you knew. you had the images imprinted in your mind of his chin resting on your shoulder, the deep rumble of his voice as you laid spent on his chest telling you how good you were, the way he looked at you with eyes full of something akin to awe.

somewhere, between eating you out ‘til you were on the verge of fainting and giving himself the job of your protector, he’d grown a soft spot for you. despite his annoyed grumbles, you felt the way his hands rested on your hips lightly, applying just enough pressure to so that you could feel him. everything was measured, calculated, gentle.

you were fragile to him. precious, like a dove. his light in the darkness. his person. you’d wormed your way into his cold heart with kind words and soft kisses that he was adamant he didn’t deserve, and there was no way he was letting you go, no matter how soft he became.

[positivexcellence]

jaredpadalecki: Good to see you again, Toronto… Haven’t seen you in a New York Minute… Hope you keep me busy up here. 😊 #theboys

[sunsettsam]

dressing the hero

I 80s! soldierboy x fem! reader

I warnings: none! pure banter, reader is a little apprehensive/shy at first, reader pining for soldier boy, possible friendship? fluff? soldier boy being a bit of a loveable jerk..

I synopsis: you knew the difficulties that came with being in a company like Vought, even more so having a crush on america's favorite hero.

god you had a massive crush on him..

I mean you really were in love with him, the entanglement of it all was so difficult to deal with.

You weren't a hero, no, you didn't have any abilities, and you didn't have a bomb dropped on you or some weird chemicals put into your system as a baby. You were as normal as one could be, working in the costuming department of Vought as a seamstress, you were a part of the team that manufactured the beloved hero's supe suits and event outfits, custom and american made, just how Vought portrayed themselves to be. you were never out in the field, you only ever saw a glimpse of him and shared quiet moments when he would be forced to come into the studio for nicks in his suit needing repair, or his shield needing polishing.

He was Soldier Boy - of course, he held the hearts of millions in the palm of his hand, with that cocky smirk and gorgeous face there's nothing he probably couldn't get away with. you worked in the fashion department why would he ever-

''anyone in here? need one of you fashion nerds to fix my damn suit'' That voice, oh it was him, there's a familiarity within it, you didn't even have to look toward him, knowing it was him just by the tone and gruff exterior. looking up from your sketchbook, your eyes met his, it was only for a moment before you quickly got up, putting your glasses on, assessing the damage on his suit.

''what happened? was this caused by a mission or-'' you couldn't even finish your sentence before he butted in, almost ignoring you

''some stupid slut decided it was a good idea to try on my helmet during a threesome..'' he looks to you, his gaze calculated and cold.

''oh well that's... i can see the scuff marks...'' you looked closer at his helmet, seeing streaks against the fibre, then seeing the faded white marks on his suit.

''yeah take care of that too while you're at it..'' he grumbles, handing you his suit, which is a bit heavy for you, letting out a small ''oof'' at the sheer weight of it, but nonetheless, bringing it to the large table, laying the suit down, smoothing it out.

he lingered for a bit, watching you work, meticulous with your tools, grabbing the material used in his suit, cutting out the spots that were messed up- presumably during the.. threesome.. and replacing it with better fabric, using black string to thread through the hard exterior of the suit, throwing away the scraps.

''so you're the one making all of our suits huh..'' he asks, pulling a cigarette out from his pocket, lighting it, his fingers encapsulated over the wrapped tobacco, tapping the edge of it before bringing it to his mouth, inhaling it, before letting smoke out.

''well its- not just me- its the department as a whole- but- i- did help Mr. Edgar with the design process..'' you hum, a pin in your mouth as you finish threading the new material onto his suit, making sure to knot it tightly, grabbing scissors and cutting the excess.

he nods, compliant - for some reason he doesn't seem as boisterous or brute as he usually is with Payback. ''so what.. you just.. stay here? in this cramped little studio all day?'' he asks, you nod.

''tsk.. that sucks sweetheart..'' he looks to you ''you look like you don't get out much..'' and you laugh at that, you really didn't. I mean sure you went out to dinner by yourself occasionally but- you were so busy with commissions from Vought that you hardly had time to try and go out on a date. you knew of his nature toward women, how even when he was 'apparently' with crimson countess - he still made himself available to other women, winking at them, acting all cocky, like a self-righteous knight from a fairytale.

''i try to go out..'' you reply, putting the tools down, picking up his helmet, looking at the scuffs before grabbing a can of wd40 and putting some on a cloth, gently rubbing it onto the marks.

''really? where? the bookstore?'' he scoffs, a playful smirk on his face.

''yes actually.. its quite fun.. maybe you'd find something you like in there..''

''readings for nerds..'' he rolls his eyes, trying to get a reaction out of you, to which you take offense - to which he grins.

''reading is for- intellectual people...'' you cite, trying to remain calm and not burst at the seams from his comment, throwing the rag away and grabbing some sealant paint, gently brushing it over the now faded scuff marks.

'riiighhht... yeah.. intellectual people..'' he repeats, smirking. ''well then maybe the next time you're at the bookstore.. pick something out for me.''

that's when you perk up, looking at him, adjusting your stylist glasses, your cheeks go just a tad pink and you blink. he- i mean- the soldier boy- wants you to pick out a book for him? out of your own whim?

''nothing boring okay? i fuckin hate long books.. need somethin with action.. maybe a hot lady on the front of the cover..'' he interjects before you can say anything, noticing your flushed cheeks.

''um- yeah- i can... totally pick up a.. book for you..'' you nod almost eagerly as you finish fixing up his helmet, the sealant paint now dry, and he comes forward, tapping the end of the cigarette on the ground, smushing it beneath his boot.

''good..and.. thanks for the fix-up sweetheart..'' he replies, taking his newly fixed suit and helmet from your hands, you feel a small jolt of electricity as your fingers graze his, and for a moment you almost smile cheekily, a warm feeling spreading throughout your chest, your brain going into overdrive. it was just a book.. he only wanted you to pick out a book for him.. but then again.. he wanted you .. to pick out a book for him... that nickname ringing in your ears like churchbells, and as soon as he leaves, you nearly explode. oh god.. you truly were head over heels for him..

authors note: soooo.. after a long while.. im back! i plan on making this a three part series.. so stay tuned lovies!! thank you all for being patient with me, i have so many ideas to put out!! <3

(please do not copy/ post my works on other platforms!! thank you thank you!!)

[tickhectic]

My favorite things :)

Well guys, I think it's done 😅

can’t say that this is my best work, but I'm still growing artistically))

So... This is it

Hope you enjoy ❤️

[vcujensen]

Mindstorm's Hideout | The Boys 3x07

[night-orcid]

[bluemerakis]

⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ⭒˚.⋆ ⌇CELEBRATING 100+ C.AI FOLLOWERS ˚.⋆ ~

──────────────────────

MERA PRESENTS . . .

PAYBACK ERA .ᐟ SOLDIER BOY X CO-LEADER .ᐟ SUPE .ᐟ READER

──── SYNOPSIS ۶ৎ as co-leaders of vought’s infamous payback, yourself and soldier boy are sent on a closeted mission to investigate a business transaction gone wrong. the mission spans over a few nights, and during that time, you’re forced to share a one-bed motel room with the insufferable supe—who makes it his mission to wear your every nerve thin⌇ LINK .ᐟ ⋆ ˚࿔ °･

SINGER .ᐟ SOLDIER BOY X FAN .ᐟ READER

──── SYNOPSIS ۶ৎ you’re a local at the town bar that soldier boy frequents in his free time, debuting solo tunes when america’s cameras are powered down for the night. during his every performance, you’ve been tucked into the crowd—listening, admiring, hypnotised. and on one particular night, when out with a couple of friends, you run into the off-duty singer, who instantly recognises you ⌇ LINK .ᐟ ⋆ ˚࿔ °･

PROFESSOR .ᐟ BEN X STUDENT .ᐟ READER

⌖ based on a req .ᐟ

──── SYNOPSIS ۶ৎ godolkin university’s added a new professor to its ranks, and he’s everything a respectable academician shouldn’t be—burly, boisterous and a bit of a dick. as your new professor, you can’t help but notice every single detail about him—it borders on pathetic—and you don’t think he notices, until he does. and you certainly don’t expect that he’ll do something about your academic inattentiveness, but he does⌇ LINK .ᐟ ⋆ ˚࿔ °･

SOLDIER BOY X NON-SMOKER .ᐟ READER

⌖ based on the fic ── ❝ memory foam ❞

⌖ re-releasing this guy, as he’s been shadowbanned since his creation 😔 .ᐟ

──── SYNOPSIS ۶ৎ soldier boy’s taken it upon himself to try and teach you how to roll a blunt, but he’s never been renowned for having patience—and when you’re testing him in all the wrong ways, he’s prepared to teach you a lesson you simply can’t ignore⌇ LINK .ᐟ ⋆ ˚࿔ °･

POST-HELL .ᐟ DEAN WINCHESTER X HUNTER .ᐟ READER

⌖ based on the fic ── ❝ this one’s on me ❞

──── SYNOPSIS ۶ৎ dean’s physically free of hell, but he finds that his own demons have never really left him. having already made his fair share of bad decisions, he figures that it couldn’t hurt to make one more—the pursuit of you⌇ LINK .ᐟ ⋆ ˚࿔ °･

ANXIOUS .ᐟ DEAN WINCHESTER X HUNTER .ᐟ READER

──── SYNOPSIS ۶ৎ based on the events of s4ep6, where dean’s infected with yellow fever. an anxious mess incapable of letting his mind off-duty, you’re left to babysit him while sam chases a lead that’ll hopefully cure dean’s gradual descent into madness. you attempt to help him pass time with countless distractions that all prove futile, until you make the discovery that dean’s comforted by physical touch⌇ LINK .ᐟ ⋆ ˚࿔ °･

DEAN WINCHESTER X HUNTER .ᐟ READER

──── SYNOPSIS ۶ৎ sam winchester had gone missing a few days ago. after countless early mornings spent with your nose buried between the younger winchester’s books, you’d eventually found some sort of lead on his disappearance—a page he’d torn from a book about the consumption of demon blood. dean had linked that to sam’s frequented—supposedly secret—calls to ruby, and with that fraction of the picture, you’d both guessed that sam was currently on some blood bender with the demon. it sets in motion a road-trip that traps you by the side of a frustrated and traumatised dean, who attempts to work through his complicated emotions with the company of alcohol—and you⌇ LINK .ᐟ ⋆ ˚࿔ °･

──────────────────────

a/n — first off: thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for 100+ followers on c.ai! i appreciate your patience with me more than words can express. i hope that you can take these bots as a token of my love for each and every one of you who take the time to interact with my content. love you all! second off: all these bots are based on fics that i need to either wrap up and post or continue writing, so 😝 stay tuned pooks!

please lmk if any of the links are not working—god forbid 😔🤞 i have hopefully sorted out everything so that my bots are no longer shadow-banned 🙏

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© bluemerakis ─ do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 1

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, angst, Soldier Boy being an insufferable ass, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), post S3 alternate ending, enemies to lovers & slow burn, set partially in 1942

Word Count: 6.0k

Posted on Patreon March 1, 2025

A/N: Weeee, so excited to finally share the first part of this series with all of you! From mortal enemies to classic romance, crazy and angsty time travel theories, and a glimpse behind the green suit (in both ways), we're gonna have a lot of fun with this one 😉💕

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 1: Of All the Gin Joints...

“Move, or I’ll move you.”

Annoyed, you huffed a sigh and lifted your feet off the coffee table, shifting a few inches to the right, so Soldier Boy could pass by with a deep grumble. You rolled your eyes back slightly when he plopped down next to you on the worn, old couch in the office of the Flatiron Building.

“A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt you every once in a while,” you muttered with a glare at the supe.

“Disagree,” he huffed.

When Butcher and his team tracked you down and recruited you almost a year ago, you surely hadn’t signed up to spend your days with a fossil from the past century. All they had wanted you to do was find the weapon that could destroy Homelander. That weapon turned out to be Soldier Boy.

And you had found him, freed the man from forty years of Russian torture without receiving so much as a ‘thank you,’ and helped the team take down Homelander, who was currently powerless and safely locked up in a CIA black site. Now, you were still here – as was Soldier Boy.

To your dismay, he wasn’t just the most powerful supe on the planet, especially after his own son’s steep fall from grace, but he was also the biggest motherfucking asshole that ever walked the earth.

Soldier Boy was obnoxious, loud, rude, sexist, racist, lazy, arrogant, selfish, cruel, deceitful, complacent, vindictive, inconsiderate, paranoid, ruthless and unsympathetic. Honestly, you’d need a whole dictionary just to get through every single character trait you hated about that man.

This morning he’d been particularly belligerent as soon as he had set foot inside the office and Hughie bumped into him, causing Soldier Boy to spill his iced latte. To be fair, the guy had just been standing in the doorway like a moron for a full three minutes – he’d stared at you the whole time, probably thinking of new ways to torture you.

Today marked your 30th birthday of all things, so it was only natural your over six-feet playground tormentor would be present for the occasion.

“Led Zeppelin, huh?” he noted with an arched brow, eyeing your choice of outfit. You mostly wore band shirts from tours you’d been to from your time traveling adventures.

“Yeah, I got it for my twenty-fifth birthday. I went to Zeppelin’s first tour in 1969. Only wear it on special occasions,” you told him with a smile.

In some rare moments, it was actually possible to have a normal fucking conversation with him. You hoped it was one of those. Aside from his grumpiness in the morning, maybe he’d decided to give you a break on your birthday.

“Oh, yeah, right…” He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Happy fucking birthday, I guess.”

“That is so sweet of you, thank you,” you replied wryly.

He knew what you were doing. His smile rose – and then morphed into a provocative smirk. “So, thirty, huh? How’s that feminist bullshit working out for your biological clock, sweetheart?”

“Don’t kill him,” Annie reminded you of the office mantra with calm in her voice as she sat behind you at her desk, causing Soldier Boy to snort a laugh.

“Isn’t it time for your nap, gramps? You’re sundowning,” you retorted instead with a teasing smile.

You took his taunts lightheartedly. After all, you didn’t think you’d have to worry in that department – much like him. For some reason, you didn’t age… a lot. At least, it was slower than the average supe and human. You figured it might have to do with dropping in and out of wormholes. You had aged just fine as a kid but it progressively began to slow around your sixteenth birthday – the first time you’d traveled through time and jumped to Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged show in New York of December 1993.

You remembered your parents had been fighting behind the broken and yellowing partition slider of a trailer you had called your home. You’d lain on the pull-out bed with your headphones on and a Walkmen, trying to drown out their screaming. You listened to that record and wished you could be there – and then you were.

You’d found your ruby slippers.

To this day, you still got ID’ed at every bar, club, and liquor store alike. Soldier Boy had never been carded. He’d once claimed it was because he was famous, to which you’d almost spat out your drink and told him the wrinkles didn’t lie. Least to say, that little joke hadn’t flown well with the supe.

“You know, doll, if you ever need that tension to disappear from your shoulders, I’m right here.” Soldier Boy smirked cockily at you and spread his legs a little further apart. Not a day passed by when he didn’t hit on you either – or anything with tits, really. “Just say the word, and I fuck it right outta you. I do like ‘em older, you know, so I don’t give shit. But if you wanna get cracking on this baby thing, we better fuck on this couch right now.”

“Please don’t,” Hughie pleaded in a high-pitched sigh, glued in his spot next to Annie.

“No, thanks,” you scoffed and scrunched your nose in disgust. “You’re a fucking pig.”

“Hey, c’mon, I know you want to,” replied Soldier Boy without an ounce of self-reflection, his smirk only widening as his hand crawled up your thigh. “Bet you’ve been waiting for a big dick like mine, haven’t you?”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” You slapped his fingers away, huffing in frustration.

Not even your kindergarten bully had been this fucking annoying – and that kid threw a dodge ball at your face and broke your nose.

Fortunately, while your own powers were on the fritz, you still had some superhuman strength. Sure, not as much as Soldier Boy, but if he shoved, you could at least push back enough for him to leave you alone.

For, like, five seconds.

Soldier Boy laughed loudly at your rejection. “I do like ‘em feisty,” he murmured with a sultry voice, invading your space even more as he shifted closer on the couch. Lion king on the prowl. “You know, you’d be less useless if you spread your legs every once in a while.”

Jumping up from your seat, you rounded the table to bring space between you and face him properly. It was always smarter when he was in your view at all times and you could watch his brazen hands with an eagle eye – the same hands that currently began to roll a blunt on the coffee table.

“Hey, if it weren’t for me, you’d still be frozen solid in a box in Russia,” you bit.

“Well, we’d like to think we would’ve found him eventually, love,” Butcher threw in from across the room, the sly grin on his face telling you he was enjoying the show.

“See?” Soldier Boy sneered complacently. “Fucking useless.”

“You’re fucking useless!” you yelled, anger surging through every inch of your body. “No one fucking likes you! You don’t have friends, you don’t have family, and everyone in this room fucking despises you – just like your old team!”

Slowly, he rose from his spot on the couch, nostrils flaring, his sheer height imposing as he towered over you like the Empire State. A part of you was glad there was still a piece of furniture between you – even though that wouldn’t stop him in the slightest.

“You take that fucking back,” he snarled, one hand balling into a fist by his side while the other pointed a warning finger at you.

However, you stood your ground, crossing your arms in front of your chest, a challenging look in your eyes but a subtle swallow in your throat. “No,” you said defiantly and bristled. “I’ll drop you into the fucking Jurassic era where you belong, fossil. Watch you become a T-Rex’s fucking chew toy.”

Soldier Boy’s grin boldly widened, green eyes shimmering daringly. “Do. It.”

“Oy, simmer down, kids,” Butcher assuaged but didn’t even bother to glance up from the newspaper in his hands. Instead, the Brit leaned back in his chair and threw his legs up on the desk, settling into a more comfortable position.

Soldier Boy threw him a dismissive look, annoyed at the interruption, before his attention turned back to you with a spiteful sneer. “You know, if I were you, I would’ve used those powers properly. I would’ve gone back and fucking killed baby Hitler or some shit.”

You scoffed a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, not surprising you would’ve killed a fucking baby,” you retorted dryly.

“See, this is why you’re a fucking failure,” he taunted and stepped closer, his face only inches away from yours now. You could feel his hot breath against your skin. “Those powers were clearly wasted on you, doll. Women are too fucking soft.”

You snorted, shaking your head. You didn’t even know why you still argued with that asshole. He’d never change. And you sure as hell couldn’t say shit like:

What d’you know? You’ve never seen a war zone from the inside, you fucking bigoted coward. 

“I’m not soft,” you insisted instead, narrowing your eyes to a glare.

“Prove it.”

“I wouldn’t hesitate to go back in time and fucking kill you!”

At this point, you wouldn’t. You really wouldn’t fucking mind at all.

However, Soldier Boy only laughed in your face like you were the bug about to hit his shield. “Oh, you can certainly try, sweetheart. But you can’t, can ya? ‘Cause you’re fucking broken. Like I said, useless,” he reiterated harshly, his sneer widening when his hand reached out and clasped your chin between his fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ll find some good use for you. Especially for that mouth.”

Furiously, you thwarted his advances once more. “I said don’t fucking touch me!”

“Yo, Soldier Boy, c’mon! Leave her alone now,” MM warned, finally getting fed up too. He usually avoided the supe to the best of his abilities, only snapping every once in a while when the asshole took it too far.

This time, MM only got involved because Hughie kept sending him frantic looks of panic during your heated exchange, probably worried you’d antagonize the supe so much he’d detonate the whole building.

“Mind your own fucking business, punk,” Soldier Boy dismissed the intervention, his venomous eyes still fixed on you.

The anger was storming through your body and closing your throat with a tight chokehold. You could barely breathe as your chest heaved and your ears rang. It was always worse when you got angry. Unfortunately for you, Soldier Boy had a way of pushing your buttons and setting off your triggers.

Your superpowers had the ability to control and bend time – or at least they used to. You had mostly used it to stop the clock and get an extension on your homework deadlines. But technically, you could also travel through time.

Once you had found out how that worked, well, you quickly became addicted. You went to concerts of bands that didn’t tour anymore, you’d shamelessly make money on Wall Street and placed bets on football games, and sometimes, you even ate dessert twice.

It was all about the little things.

But that all stopped when you accidentally cast yourself into the Middle Ages and almost got burned at the stake for witchcraft. For some reason, your powers wouldn’t work until the last second – you figured extreme distress had been a factor.

When you closed your eyes at night, you could still feel the scorching heat underneath your bare soles and smell the smoke reaching your nose and lungs.

Afterward, you didn’t want to use your powers any longer – not that you could. PTSD was a real bitch sometimes.

You had lived quietly and alone in a cabin near Montréal for years. After your parents found out they couldn’t make money off of you, they kicked you to the curb. And when you knocked on Vought’s doors, asking for help, they told you not to use your abilities – before they tried to kill you. That was the moment you’d realized you might be more powerful than you’d initially surmised. Until then, you had only used your powers for your pleasure and the occasional personal gain.

So, maybe, Soldier Boy was right when he said you had never used your gift wisely.

After your flight from Vought, you lived under a fake name and took up online college classes in physics and history to understand your abilities better and avoid grave mistakes.

And boy, time travel was a fucking bitch.

Years of study could be summarized to this, however: If you even so much so as killed the wrong fly in 1783, the whole world could go extinct.

Or in Vought’s terms: If you accidentally fucked up history, it might fuck with their business and money.

That was the reason why they had been trying to get rid of you for the longest time – until Butcher showed up on your doorstep. You had no idea how the Brit could’ve found you or even known about your powers in the first place. After your escape, Vought had kept your existence quiet. They knew if the wrong people found you, it would end direly for them.

Wrong people like William Butcher.

At first, he wanted you to go back in time and, in his words, “kill the chubby, little cape cunt.” Needless to say, you had declined. Even if Homelander was the worst creature to ever walk this earth, excluding his sperm donor, you wouldn’t kill a baby. You wouldn’t kill anything or anyone, really.

If anything, you could be classified as a bit of hedonist – or “a fucking hippie,” as Soldier Boy once had put it. Which, granted, was probably a trait you both shared. Although, Soldier Boy took the whole fucking cake and ate it, too. At least all you ever did was steal a tiny slice every once in a while.

In the end, you had never asked for these powers. You were just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

But when Butcher then asked you if you could at least “hop back” to retrieve the weapon that had neutralized Soldier Boy in 1984, you finally told him you were essentially useless.

A part of you wanted to help, though. While you had closed yourself off from the rest of the world, you had still followed the news. You knew it had gotten bad out there. You could see Homelander spinning out of control and threatening to burn the world. You knew soon enough your house would burn, too.

You knew the monster needed to be stopped.

So, you offered Billy Butcher the only thing you could – a glimpse into the past, so he could find the weapon in the present.

And you did. You saw how Soldier Boy’s own team had despised him so much they handed him off to the Russians during an ambush in Nicaragua – but they hadn’t killed him.

The diabolical smirk on Butcher’s face had scared you. You knew he’d realized in that moment that you could be valuable after all. So, naturally, he threatened to give up your location to Vought if you didn’t join his team.

And well, here you were.

You’d traveled to Russia, you’d freed Soldier Boy, and you’d defeated Homelander. But even after the job was done, you stuck around.

Hughie, Annie, MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, and even Butcher – they had all sort of become your friends. And they protected you, even though Vought had sworn they were done hunting you. No one trusted Stan Edgar, and you knew he would probably still rather have you buried six-feet-deep if he ever got the chance.

So it was nice to know the whole team stood behind you. Well, all but one.

Part of the deal with Edgar had been a request to keep Soldier Boy away from Vought’s business. The guy was smart enough to know he wanted nothing to do with the ticking time bomb, either.

“And what are we supposed to do with that wanker, huh?” Butcher had asked as all of you stood in a very breezy office at Vought Tower – which had still been under heavy construction after the fallout.

“Let him play hero, keep an eye on him, and I’m sure we’ll have no issues, Mr. Butcher.” Edgar had smiled cunningly, his eyes flickering to you. 

Afterward, you had decided to pack up like Maeve and finally live your life. You’d even applied as a physics professor at a small college. But then Soldier Boy made his own request: Either you’d stay, or he’d walk. And if he had walked, your deal with Edgar would’ve fallen through.

Soldier Boy was a bully. In fact, he could teach master classes in it. You didn’t think there was one good bone in his body. So far, you could count the times the guy had actually been nice to you on one hand – two fingers to be exact.

The first time had been the very first night you’d spent together in that rundown motel after he’d killed Crimson Countess. You took over the nightshift of babysitting while Hughie and Butcher took a snooze in the adjoining room. That night, Soldier Boy had shown you a glimpse of a human being.

“Well, currently, there are two working theories on time travel: The closed loop theory and the alternate timelines theory,” you’d explained after he had asked you how actual time travel worked. Most people gave up after a minute, but he had still been in it after five.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Well, lemme see…” Musingly, you had pursed your lips and thought for a moment. “Terminator came out in ‘83, right? You’ve seen it?”

His lips had slowly risen to a smile. “Yeah… Actually one of the last fucking movies I watched before the fucking Reds got me.”

“Right.” You’d nodded. “Still remember what happened?”

He’d scoffed and rolled his eyes a little. “I’m not that old…”

“Well, it’s been forty years since you’ve seen it…”

“Schwarzenegger comes from the future to kill that blonde chick,” he’d summarized with a cocky smirk that should’ve proven to you he wasn’t demented.

“Yeah, remember the soldier who came back to save her, too?”

“Oh. Yeah, that guy…” His nose had scrunched slightly. Of course he’d be rooting for the killing machine. “What about that fucking wimp?”

“The Terminator was supposed to kill Sarah because her yet-unborn son would defeat the robots in the future, but the soldier who came back to save her is actually the baby’s father.” There had been no way you could’ve explained it any simpler than that. “So, the Terminator actually created the circumstance, which made him go back in the first place. That’s a closed loop. Does that make sense?”

He’d nodded slowly, his brow creasing heavily in concentration. “Yeah, I think it fucking does…”

For hours, he’d asked you questions about your powers, and when he was through all of that, he even asked you about your life, what you did for work, and how you ended up here. And you’d figured he was trying to schmooze up to you to use you for his gain – or maybe he’d just been coming down from all the drugs he’d taken that day.

Either way, after what you’d seen the Russians do to him, you could understand why someone like him might want to turn back time and get a redo. The unpleasant images, the inhumane torture he’d endured, actually caused you to have sympathy for the supe.

For a second.

When you’d tried bringing it up and be his friend, he had quickly shot you down. He’d been an even bigger dick since then, as if the sheer thought of someone seeing his weaknesses scared him.

Yes, a little, gray mouse like you apparently fucking terrified the biggest and strongest elephant in this world.

Honestly, you didn’t know why the supe had insisted on your presence. Maybe he just needed the perfect victim to antagonize as he passed the time. Sometimes, you did feel like the new Black Noir of Payback.

There’d only been one other incident where he’d shown something remotely resembling kindness:

He’d complimented you.

A real, sweet compliment – and he’d actually meant it – and he hadn’t hit on you in the same breath.

One night, a few weeks ago, Annie and Frenchie had dragged everyone of you to a karaoke bar to “decompress.” Even Soldier Boy tagged along and seemed in somewhat good spirits all night – there’d been no heinous taunting, only the usual flirtatious teasing.

One of those flirtatious attempts had been a dare for you to sing.

“Oh, c’mon! One song,” he’d begged and shifted closer to you on the small leather sofa in the corner of the bar. “How about something from the fucking 80s? Like Cyndi Lauper! I’m sure you’d like that, huh?”

“What, you want me to sing ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’? Really? You?” You’d arched a brow at him.

He’d chuckled, and it’d been a sweet sound instead of a mocking one. “Hey, look, I’m all about the girls having some fucking fun,” he’d said coolly before a lick of his lips turned him a bit more serious, mysterious even. “How about something a little slower… Time After Time!” He’d grinned proudly and raised his expensive whiskey glass to your cheap beer. “That’s fucking perfect for you!”

And then you actually went on stage and sung. You weren’t a bad singer, either, but you were by far no Mariah. However, you could see Soldier Boy watching you intently the whole time with that strange look he sometimes carried whenever he was staring at you – something he did quite often.

In fact, he’d stared at you pretty intensely when he’d first walked out of his cryo-chamber, too. It gave you the creeps the same way that naked homeless man had once done in a subway after 1 AM. And then, he had fucking detonated, which had freaked you out so much you’d accidentally disappeared back to New York with a five minute time difference forward – the only time you’d actually managed to travel into the future.

But after your performance, Soldier Boy had passed you on your way down from the stage and intercepted you by placing a tentative hand on your arm.

“You have a really beautiful voice,” he’d said and even gifted you a small but genuine smile.

“Thank you.”

Sweetly, you’d even mirrored his smile after no other insults or advances followed. You’d been practically baffled. As you had glanced at him more carefully, though, you’d noticed something gleaming in his eyes, almost melancholic. You’d supposed after 104 years, he had probably been experiencing a ton of déjà vu.

“You okay there, gramps?” you’d checked with a bit of a teasing smile, and maybe that’d been your mistake.

“‘M fucking fine,” he’d huffed. He’d suddenly turned cold again, the hard lines on his freckled face crestfallen. He’d spun around, marched out of the bar, and ditched you there on the spot. 

So, that was what you had done for the past few months – babysit Soldier Boy and keep the bomb from exploding. Which brought you back to this exact moment:

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Seriously!” you snapped, feeling the fury overtaking you. “What the fuck happened in your life to turn you into such a miserable, toxic, overbearing, narcissistic, insufferable piece of shit?!”

“Insufferable?” He scoffed as if your words didn’t affect him, but you could see it was starting to get to him. “You’re the one who’s fucking insufferable, doll. Probably because you haven’t been fucked in a while by a real man.”

Exasperatedly, you gripped your temples. “Oh, it all trickles down to that, doesn’t it?” you deadpanned. “You sound like a fucking broken record, gramps!”

“Oh, you wanna fucking jump on me badly right now, don’t you?” he gritted through his pearly-white teeth, a challenging smirk playing on his plush lips as he leaned closer, his face only inches away from yours now.

“Please, it’s not gonna fucking make me like you more. Your dick’s not a magic eraser,” you bit sharply, your voice low and poisonous. “God knows you fucked your last girlfriend for years, and she still fucking hated you.”

Growling, he bristled, his jaw ticking. Mentioning Crimson Countess always hit a nerve. You knew as much.

“You’re just a drug-addicted loser with daddy issues. Nothing more, nothing less,” you nonetheless continued bitterly. “No one likes you! And believe me, asshole, I fucking hate you!”

As you looked up at him, you could tell he was close to exploding. Kimiko even desperately tugged on your arm to drag you out of the blast zone – not that it would’ve mattered.

“Butcher…”

Hughie’s panicked voice and wide eyes reached the Brit, who finally got out of his chair and slammed the paper on the desk.

“Oy, you two! Fucking stop it!”

And somehow, that had miraculously seemed to work. Soldier Boy managed to snap out of his temper tantrum, his breathing steadying, his smirk reappearing.

His lips twitched as he dipped his head and whispered into your ear, “You’re not fucking worth it.”

His thick fingers trailed up your hips before he grabbed your waist and pushed you closer to his body. You tried to shove him away, but this time he used his full strength on you to keep you caged.

“Get off of me!”

“Butcher!”

“Oy! What did I fucking tell you lot?!”

Kimiko tried to pull you away harder, but that only made Soldier Boy chuckle more.

“I said stop it! Get the fuck off of me!” you yelled louder, and he finally let go with a cunning laugh.

“Alright, you’ve had your bloody fun, mate. Why don’t you take a bit of a time-out now, huh?” It was the most Butcher could do as far as an intervention went. Everyone in the room knew Soldier Boy couldn’t be stopped.

“Fine,” the supe relented with a roll of his green eyes, but then his gaze landed back on you.

You hated to admit that he had gotten to you, but it was hard to deny when your whole body was trembling and tears stung your eyes.

“Fucking Christ on a cross, are you actually gonna fucking cry now?” Soldier Boy snorted condescendingly.

“Fuck you. Leave me alone,” you snapped with what little strength you had left and wiped the burning tears out of your eyes.

“Exactly why I said you’re fucking useless. This is the problem with women. Can’t even take a goddamn joke,” he ranted. The more he got to you, the more pleasure he took out of it. You could see it by the vicious twinkle in his eyes. “You keep talking how everyone hates me, but what about you, huh? You’ve got fucking no one, too. Your own fucking parents didn’t want you, and I don’t see an army of men lining up to take care of you, either.”

“Shut up!”

“Wanna know why? ‘Cause you’re a broken, useless, stupid, weak–“

“Stop it!”

But he didn’t. You couldn’t even hear the words properly anymore as they strung together into one explosion of abuse. Your vision blurred, and the ringing in your ears only got stronger.

“C’mon, fucking show me what you can do! Prove to me you’re not fucking useless! Do it!”

“I said fucking stop it!” you screamed loudly till he fell silent.

And then, poof. You were gone.

Soldier Boy blinked at the suddenly empty space before him. Knitting his brow, he shrugged your disappearance off only a second later and plopped down on the couch with an exhaustive groan.

“Fucking finally… Took her long enough,” he commented dryly and stretched out on the small two-seater, sighing blissfully.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Hughie threw in, the anxious expression on his face only causing Soldier Boy to roll his eyes once more.

“Relax, squirt, she’ll be back,” the supe quipped, snickering. “Probably.”

“Y/N’s got PTSD, okay? She can’t control it,” Hughie argued, placing his hands on his hips in upset, his gaze scolding. “You know, you’d think you of all people would be a little more sympathetic to that.”

Soldier Boy’s eyes glowered darkly. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t have that shit. I told you.”

“You know, kid’s right,” Butcher chimed in, catching the ancient supe’s attention. “I’d be a little more worried if I were you.”

“Why? Not my fucking problem. And like I said, she’ll be fine,” he reiterated with a careless grumble.

“I’m sure you’re right, mate,” Butcher replied with a conniving smirk and a casualness that made the supe wary. “Let’s just hope our little Y/N doesn’t take your advice to heart about the proper use of her abilities. But if I were bloody you, I’d hope old-me watches me back.”

Soldier Boy snorted a laugh of amusement. “Oh, I’d like to see her try,” he replied arrogantly and stretched his spine with a yawn. “Well, anyways, I’m taking my fucking nap now. Just wake me when she gets back. I’m not fucking finished with her yet…”

Hughie and the others hurried around Butcher’s desk, their voices only whispers as not to disturb the grumpy supe, and the Brit knew by the worried looks on his team’s faces that he’d have to deal with this bloody problem now.

“Butcher, what are we gonna do?” Hughie asked, eyes still wide and kind heart surely beating a marathon on his sleeve.

“Yeah, how are we gonna get her back?” Annie agreed, calmer than her boyfriend, questioningly folding her arms and arching a brow.

“Mon dieu, what if she changes the timeline, Butcher? I don’t want to wake up speaking German,” Frenchie threw in.

“And I don’t want fucking slavery back,” MM added.

“Oy, calm down,” Butcher spoke with placating hands. “Y/N’s a smart girl. She knows more about this shite than anyone of you. I’m sure she’ll fucking figure it out.”

“What if she doesn’t, Butcher?” Annie pressed.

“Well, then, let’s hope worst she does is kill the snoring cunt over there.” Butcher smirked devilishly and gestured to Soldier Boy fast asleep on the couch as if he were hoping for that outcome. “God knows I’d be bloody fine with it.”

It took less than a second, a blink of an eye, but you felt it immediately, knew instantly what had happened as gravity itself stretched out its tentacles and wound them around your limbs, tearing and tugging until you ripped at the seams and atoms spilled out of you.

There was a stark drop in temperature – that was the first thing you’d noticed. Goosebumps formed within a beat on the bare skin of your arms, the biting cold making you not only shiver but fear for your life.

Please don’t be the Pleistocene... Death by saber-tooth? No, thank you.

But to your relief, you heard a strange, but familiar set of sounds around you – animated chatter, chiming bells and closing doors, and the occasional low rumble of a car. Your heart was pounding a furious and relentless rhythm in your ribcage as your eyes fluttered open and warily scanned your strange surroundings.

You’d landed on a street, your feet safely planted on a sidewalk. Glistening white snow covered the pavement in a thick veil, the sky a dull gray blanket above. Icicles hung from lampposts with patriotic banners flying in the chill, proclaiming messages to buy war bonds and save scrap metal.

Huh…

Powdered flakes swirled around you as a streetcar clattered past you on a cobbled street, the sound muffled by the snow. Storefronts and shops lined both sides of the road, shoppers bustling by you in coats, hats, and scarves. Your brow furrowed softly at the row of parked, snow-covered cars that looked a tad… old.

Oh no…

You had definitely traveled back a smidge, but luckily not as far as the Middle Ages again. Judging by the moderately busy street, you assumed you were at least still in New York City. A paperboy was shouting loudly further down, but you couldn’t understand him from the distance. The only word that was plastered everywhere was war.

World War I or World War II, maybe?

Wherever – or whenever – you were, you couldn’t get stuck here. Your short-lived fascination with your new environment was then quickly replaced by a rising panic in your throat.

You had to get home somehow.

Squeezing your eyes shut as tightly as you could, you tried to wish yourself back – unfortunately, you didn’t possess your pair of ruby slippers anymore that you could simply click. The more you tried and failed, the more anxious you became, and you knew a full-on panic attack was just waiting for you around the corner.

“Whoa! Hey, careful…”

With your hands on your knees, you bumped backwards into a man, your lungs constricting so much they barely let any air pass. You spun around, eyes wide and body trembling as a set of hands landed gently on your shoulders and waist for support.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

What little breath you had got caught in your throat as you stared into an all-too familiar set of outlandishly green eyes.

Soldier Boy.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

It was a reflex at this point to slap his hands away and keep them as far from your body as possible. Of course the guy couldn’t leave you alone in any era.

Admittedly, he was hardly recognizable, though. While he was just as tall as his 21st century counterpart, he wasn’t as broad. Instead of the signature green outfit, he wore a long, black wool coat over a three-piece suit and a checkered flat cap. His hair was maybe an inch shorter, his beard replaced by a clean-shaven face. And while Soldier Boy surely didn’t look a 104, he didn’t look as young as the guy in front of you either. No furious lines from decades of anger management issues decorated his freckle-dusted face yet.

Maybe your reaction was ill-advised, considering the power he wielded. You figured any past version of the supe was even more ruthless than the current one you’d gotten to know. Moreover, you didn’t have the advantage of being spared because you had saved him from an ice box.

To your surprise, however, there was no detection of malice or offense on his features. To the contrary, he seemed strangely taken aback by your aggressive response, his hands swiftly shooting back as if your very skin was made out of scorching coals. They raised in surrender.

Surrender. 

Well, that was new. He had never, ever, ever done that before. Did you land in some alternate timeline where Soldier Boy was a nice guy?

“I-I’m so sorry, miss. Please forgive me… I was just checking if you were okay,” he stammered and forced a reassuring smile, his hands still held high in good faith.

“Just stay away from me. Leave me alone, okay?”

You backed farther away from him, your eyes desperately flickering around for an exit. Your voice jittered in sync with your body before you bolted down the street and sought shelter in a dark and quiet alley.

“Miss! Wait!” he called after you, his hands picking something up in the snow that you’d dropped during your flight. “You’ve lost your–”

His brow furrowed as he twisted the thin, rectangular device in his hand, his thumb wiping bits of melting snowflakes off the sleek, black glass. As he glanced more closely at it, it lit up brightly and vibrated in his hold. He startled at the unexpected tremble, almost dropping it into a pool of mud by his shoes. Fuddled, his gaze lifted down the busy street in search of you.

“What the hell…”

▶️ Chapter 2: Is This the 40s? – APRIL 4

I think his curiosity is piqued lol... What did you think of his 1942 version vs. the, uhm, less nice future dickbag? 👀

Coming Up:

Ready to fend him off, you were surprised to find his grip wasn’t strong by any means. It was barely a brush before he dropped his hand again and looked at you remorsefully.

“I’m sorry! I just-… Please let me help you,” he reiterated with imploring green eyes. “Look, you clearly seem lost. Just tell me where you live, and I can get you home safely, okay? C’mon, you can’t do this to me.” He tried to loosen you up with a charming smile and a puppy dog look. “If you leave like this, I’m going to be up all night, worrying you’ve died of hypothermia out here.”

And my God, he seemed sincere! No wonder he had gotten attention from women like a goddamn bunny in a petting zoo.

Musingly, you then chewed on your lower lip and assessed the man in front of you. The people who strolled by you threw you the occasional weird looks – you’d chosen a bad day to wear a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans.

Admittedly, you could use a little help here. Maybe if you were being careful with the timeline – and him – you could risk it.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

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[wchswift]

── ❝ tied him down to my queen bed ❞

pairing! soldier boy x fem!reader

summary! you want to spice up things, so you tie up soldier boy. (Inspired by "Freak" by Doja Cat.)

contents! no plot just porn, established relationship, rough sex, power play, light bondage, kinda sub/dom!soldier boy, degradation, edging/denial, overstimulation, names (sweetheart, doll, brat & bitch), dirty talk, praise & degradation kink, teasing, oral/face sitting (f & m receiving), and probably more; very intense and filthy sexual content so mdni 𖤐 18+ !!

word count! 1.4k

You decided that tonight you wanted to try something different with Ben.

He immediately gave you that sly, bitchy smile of his, not even questioning it. The freak that he is.

But tonight, you wanted to match his freak, do some bad things to him. Spice up his life a little. And that's why you had the big, admired Supe tied down on your queen bed.

The sheets are silk beneath your thighs, black as sin, clinging to your skin like smoke. Soldier Boy is stretched out on his back, arms pulled taut above his head, thick rope biting into his wrists. His chest rises and falls, sweat-slick and heaving, muscles flexing as he tests the restraints. But you tied them well. You made sure of it.

"Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart," he growls, voice deep, ragged. His biceps strain, veins popping, but he’s not getting out of this. "You really think this’ll hold me?"

You hum, trailing your fingers down his chest, nails just sharp enough to sting. "That’s the fun part, isn’t it?"

His jaw tightens, that sharp, stubborn line of his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. You can feel the heat of him, the way his body radiates it, coiled and waiting, just on the edge. His cock is thick and heavy against his stomach, twitching every time your touch ghosts over him without giving him what he wants.

"You really want to tease me, huh? Do you think this will make me love or hate you?" he mutters, his smirk sharp. "Gotta say, doll, if it's the second option, doin’ a damn good job."

You grin, dragging your mouth down his torso, kissing over the old battle wounds. He’s all hard planes and rough edges, but here, tied up beneath you, he’s yours to unravel.

"That so?" you murmur against his skin, breath hot. Your nails scrape down his abs, slow, intentional. He shudders.

His hands twitch in the bindings, but he can’t move. Can’t touch you.

"Goddamn tease," he rasps, his hips jerking when you shift lower, your breath feather-light where he wants it most.

You let the silence stretch, your tongue flicking out, just barely tracing the thick vein running along his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, muscles locking up like steel cables.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he hisses, tugging at the restraints again, but they hold. He’s at your mercy. "Quit playin’."

You tilt your head, lashes low, fingers ghosting up his thighs. "Make me. Oops, that's right, you can't."

The growl that rumbles from his chest is deep, primal. His arms flex, a warning, but he’s stuck right where you want him. Helpless. Desperate.

You take your time, dragging your tongue along the length of him, savoring the way he twitches, curses, his head falling back against the pillow. His hands clench into fists above him, but he can’t do a damn thing about it.

His breathing is rough, labored, the heat rolling off him like a furnace.

"Jesus fuckin’ Christ, woman," he groans, his voice almost breaking when you hollow your cheeks around him, sinking down slowly.

His control is slipping. His cock throbs in your mouth, his hips trying to jerk up, but you press a firm hand against his stomach, holding him down.

"Shit—doll—"

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, lips wet, mouth curved in a wicked little smile. His chest heaves, green eyes burning.

"You’re playin’ a dangerous game," he growls.

"Am I?" your voice drips with sarcasm, you clearly enjoying it too much.

His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, his cock twitching in your grip, veins bulging along his forearms as he fights against the ropes. You’ve got him right where you want him—strung tight, wrecked, teetering on the edge.

And you’re not done yet.

You make the Soldier Boy come apart while you watch it—feel it, in the way his body strains, muscles trembling, sweat rolling down his abs in thin rivulets. His cock is thick, swollen, slick with your spit, twitching against your palm as you stroke him slowly. Agonizing.

You think you've never seen him like this and you even dare to say that maybe he's never been like this.

"You fuckin' brat," he growls, voice wrecked, thick with something dark and desperate. "Untie me, and I swear to God, I'm gonna—"

You pull off him with a filthy pop, licking your lips as you meet his furious, lust-drunk gaze. His wrists are raw where he's tugged at the restraints, his knuckles flexing like he wants to wrap them around your throat and fuck you breathless.

"You’ll what?" You drag your nails down his thighs, pressing just hard enough to sting. "Hurt me?" Your smirk is lazy, teasing. "Wouldn't be the first time."

His chest rises sharply, those thick arms flexing again. "You're fuckin' evil."

You hum in agreement, shifting up his body, dragging your soaked core over the length of him. His whole body jerks at the friction, teeth clenching so tight you think they might crack.

"So goddamn tease," he spits, his voice a guttural rasp. "Bet that little cunt’s already dripping, huh? So fuckin’ greedy."

You rock against him again, slow, deliberately cruel, letting the slick slide off your folds coat every thick inch of his cock. He twitches, the head of it catching against your clit just right, making your breath hitch.

"You wanna find out?" you murmur, rolling your hips again.

His arms yank hard at the ropes. You know he wants to grab you, to flip you over and fuck you so deep you forget your own name, but he can't. You’ve made sure of it.

His nostrils flare, those sharp green eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching the way you drag yourself over him, the way your slick glistens on his skin.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" His head falls back against the pillows, his hips jerking up like he’s lost control of his own body. "You’re killin’ me."

You smirk, sliding up his torso until you’re straddling his chest, your dripping cunt hovering just above his face. His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring as he takes in the scent of you, the heat of you.

"That’s the idea," you purr.

His tongue darts out, hungry, desperate, but you stay just out of reach.

"Goddamn it," he snarls, frustration burning in his eyes. "Sit that pretty little pussy on my fuckin' face before I break these goddamn ropes and do it myself."

Your core clenches at the raw heat in his voice, at the way his fingers are flexing like he’s imagining them buried deep inside you.

"Beg me," you whisper.

His head jerks up, eyes flashing, like he might snap, but then—then his lips curl into something wicked, something sharp.

"Fucking. Please." It’s a growl, low and menacing, but there’s desperation beneath it, an ache he can’t hide.

And that's what you were waiting for.

You sink down onto his mouth, and Soldier Boy groans like a man starved. His tongue drags through your folds, hot and slick, before wrapping around your clit and sucking hard.

"Fuck," you gasp, fingers tangling in his thick hair, holding him in place—not that he needs it. He’s already devouring you, licking into you like he needs it to breathe. "Such a good boy."

His beard scrapes against your thighs, the rough burn mixing with the wet heat of his mouth, sending shivers up your spine. His tongue flicks, curls, fucks into you, and you grind against him, chasing the friction, riding his face like you own it.

His moans are guttural, vibrating against your clit, and you swear you see stars. You feel his hips jerking beneath you, his cock throbbing, untouched, desperate, leaking all over his stomach.

"Shit—" Your breath hitches, body trembling, that coil tightening, tightening, ready to snap.

And then—you pull back.

His head jerks up, lips slick with your arousal, panting like a rabid fucking animal.

"You fuckin' bitch," he growls, yanking at the ropes so hard you almost hear the fibers snap.

You grin, sliding back down his body, pressing your soaked heat against the aching length of his cock. He curses under his breath, head falling back, body tense as a bowstring.

"You gonna behave?" you murmur, dragging your nails over his chest.

His jaw clenches, muscles flexing.

And then—then, in a voice rough and wrecked and furious—

"Fuck no."

And that’s when the ropes snap.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

⛥ main masterlist.

lina's notes: yeah... I'm so not normal about him. I think this might be the dirtiest thing I've ever written?? idk but I actually felt embarrassed posting this lol I'm not confident at all.

This idea happened because after rewatching the boys I saw an edit of Soldier Boy with this song and wow I already knew what I had to write. Despite everything and me being very insecure, I hope it met you guys expectations and that it messed with you in the best way yk... and that you genuinely enjoyed it!!

tags: @blossomingorchids @rositaslabyrinth @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bluemerakis @h8aaz @figthoughts @jasvtsc @maddie0101 @bejeweledinterludes @starzify @gibson-g1rl @losers-clvb (let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)

purple divider made by @elleisdesigning <3

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Happy Saturday, my friend! Your new header looks so nice btw. Love all our boys featured. 💜💜

Ok, you ready for Random Question time?? 😘 I recently did an HC on "Man Flu" (how would Dean, Beau, SB/Ben, and Priestly act when you try to take care of them?). How do you think the boys would take care of the reader when she's sick? **Could be Russell instead of Priestly this time.~

Happy Sunday! I meant to respond to this yesterday but I was on a roll writing a few other things so figured I'd save this for a nice Sunday morning activity. Aw, thank you! I changed it up a little (thank you for the header dimensions btw) and added everyone I write for. I might still tweak it some more but I'm pleased with it for now!

Oooooh good question! Once again, these turned into mini-imagines on me but oh well!

How They Take Care Of You When You're Sick

Dean Winchester

If Dean had a business card it'd read, Hunter. Badass. Professional Worrier. The second he hears a sniffle followed by a clearing throat, he knows what's coming. You'd protest that it's nothing, just a scratchy throat but oh, he knows better. He'd nursed Sam through a childhood of colds to know the difference.

He calls up another hunter to take your hunt to your annoyance but by the evening you're feeling run down. Dean sends you to take a hot shower, your head throbbing the whole time. The hot steam helps a little bit and he's laid out a pair of warm fuzzy pajamas for you change into. You sniffle and carry the box of tissues he left on the counter with you to the bedroom where Dean's propped up extra pillows and gotten out the green flannel blanket you used the nights the bunker got too cold.

"Hungry?" he asks a moment later, carrying a tray in his arms. You shake your head and crawl under the covers, keeping your tissues on the other side of the bed. He hums, setting it down on your bedside table which has been cleared free of books, your chapstick, extra hair ties and phone charger.

He looks like a walking pharmacy, smirking as he watches you watch him pour two green pills into a tiny plastic cup. You don't question it when he hands them to you, letting you take them before handing you a paper cup filled with cool water. You frowned when he stuck a thermometer in your ear, Dean pouting for a split second before jotting it down on a notepad.

"Little fever. Probably going to go up before it comes down. We'll keep an eye on it." You sighed, already regretting every time you took for granted the ability to breathe through a clear nose. "We'll try soup and crackers tomorrow."

"Yes mom," you mumbled, slumping down, Dean chuckling and fixing your blankets. "I'm really okay."

"Beautiful as always, sweetheart," he said, kissing the top of your head when you groaned. "Now get some sleep for me."

"I'm not even tired. S'just a stuffy nose." Dean rolled his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed for a few minutes as he watched your eyelids flutter closed, breathing slow and become rhythmic.

"Sleep easy, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

When you sneezed three times in succession in the bathroom that morning, Beau shot you a look in the mirror. You just smiled, Beau returning to combing his hair. It was probably just allergies you told yourself. Montana had a lot of plant life that was active in the spring after all.

But when you got home from work, your body was achy, you felt hot and cold at the same time, and you barely changed out of your work clothes into some sweats and Beau's shirt before passing out on the couch.

You woke up when the windows were dark, Beau frowning down at you.

"Hi," you screeched out, wincing at the sound. "How was-"

"I mean this in the nicest way possible, honey, but I've seen corpses that have better color than you." You sat up with a pout, narrowing your eyes.

"That wasn't very nice," you coughed, putting a hand to you chest, doubling over when you hacked.

"You're still a very cute corpse," he joked, rubbing your back. "We're going to the hospital."

"Arlen, n-n-nooo-" You wracked your body, a wet phlegmy sound escaping as you swore you spit up something onto your pants. You glanced up, Beau giving you a bitch face. "Urgent care instead?"

"Hospital. I have to abuse my power as sheriff somehow," he said.

"Beau, I'm fine," you said, his eyebrow raising as you could literally feel the layer of sweat cover your body. You spotted the thermometer on the coffee table behind him, looking back up. "I'm fine."

"I'll make sure to put that on your gravestone," he said, scooping you up bridal style, grabbing your slip on boots by the front door.

"Beau," you groaned, coughing into his chest, body trembling. "It's the flu. I'm fine."

"I'll make sure to include how stubborn she was on there too," he'd say. Thirty minutes later, he'd sit beside your bed, peeling the sweaty hair that was stuck to your face away behind your ear. "How you feeling?"

"....Maybe I was dehydrated...and had a high fever," you mumbled, Beau smiling. "How'd you know?"

"Because I have to tie you down to the bed when you're sick to get you to rest. Literally. The fact you were practically comatose told me you were not doing well, Ms. Fine."

"I'm right as rain," He hummed, helping you sit up when you coughed. "Okay, maybe I'm a little off."

"Baby steps," he said to himself with a smile. "Baby steps."

Soldier Boy

Soldier Boy was not the most...emotionally available man to put it gently. He tried, he really did, but there were certain facts of life you'd come to expect. The man couldn't do a load of laundry to save his life. He got annoyed whenever you asked him to do something that wasn't on his side of the chore chart. If you went out of town, your chores sat idle and well, you knew the first time you got sick, it'd be more of the same.

But on that particular morning, he was giving you a strange look before you could even pour yourself a cup of coffee. You didn't feel great but you could handle a cold.

"Morning."

"Lay down." You tilted your head, Soldier Boy across the kitchen and ripping the mug from your hands. "Go lay down!"

"What are-" You were whisked off your feet, Ben moving way too fast through the house before he set you down like a feather on the mattress. "Ben, honey. I'm not in the mood right-"

"Something's wrong with your breathing," he said, pushing you to lay back. He narrowed his eyes, pressing a finger against your chest. "Your pulse is off too."

"Ben," you said, reaching for his hand as he pulled out his phone. "I have a cold. An itty bitty cold. Don't freak out. I'll take it easy but you got to let me out of bed. I've got work."

He looked at you like you'd grown another head, his head shaking. "Ben-"

"No," he snapped. You sat back against the headboard, his hand clenching. "Your body is not right. Tell me what to do to fix this."

"Ben," you said gently. "Time is the only way it goes away. I'll feel bad for a week and then I'll be better. Okay?"

"My mother used to tell me to rest," he said, almost as if he hadn't heard you. He went to the bathroom, returning with a wet washcloth. He yanked on your leg so you were laying more, quickly pressing the washcloth to your forehead. "What else, what else..."

"Ben," you laughed with a tired smile. You grabbed his wrist, smiling up at him. "You want to take care of me?"

"You are not getting out of this bed until your breathing is normal again." You smirked, Ben pouting. "I don't see how this is funny."

"You're right. You can take care of me if that's what you really want."

By the end of the week, Ben had driven you nuts in the best possible way. He hovered constantly, practically setting up a guard station at the bedroom door. He bought a twelve pack of lotion tissues and about 15 bottles of cold medication you told him to return but the man didn't understand you weren't meant to drink the whole damn thing at once. He'd taken to vacuuming and dusting and scrubbing everything down at least twice a day to "suck the germs out of the air" as if that'd suddenly make you no longer ill.

"Benjamin," you said as he changed your sheets for the eighth time that week. You smiled from the chair in the corner of the bedroom, Ben popping his head up.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you said, resting your head against your shoulder. "You make a pretty good nurse."

"Pft, I'm not a nurse. When you're better, don't expect me to pull this crap all the time." You hid your smirk, Ben's eyes glancing down like he did when he was hiding his emotions. You could work on that next.

"Whatever you say, baby."

Russell Shaw

"Oh, no." You wiped your nose, frowning to yourself. A cold. Great. You didn't get sick often but god, you knew how miserable of a person you turned into when you were. At least it was Friday.

By the time work was over, you were ready to veg out in bed with your laptop and a cup of soup.

You stilled when you entered your apartment, an assortment of medicine, tissues, soups, fuzzy socks and a teddy bear sat on your kitchen island. You looked around, grabbing the pepper spray in your purse as you walked around, searching for a sign of your thoughtful intruder.

"Gonna use that-"

You screamed, Russell laughing as he caught your wrist before it could whip around and spray him in the face. "Russell. You scared me."

"Really? Had no clue," he laughed, taking the pepper spray away, giving you a quick hug. "How you feeling?"

"How'd you know I'm sick?" He pointed behind himself to the camera on your front table. "I thought you were in Guatemala. No cell service."

"I was. Doesn't mean I don't check in on you. You have a habit of getting kidnapped-"

"Once, Shaw. Once!" you said holding up a finger. He grinned, taking your bag off your shoulder. "And that was your brother's fault."

"The crew wrapped up the issue quick so I could get back home. Told them you were on your death bed."

"How much did they tease you about being smitten?" you asked, Russell looking past you with a smirk. "Don't do dumb things just to get home faster. It's just a little cold."

"Okay boss but I'm here now and I come bearing gifts. Tell me what you need from me. You want me to coddle you or get the hell out?"

"I'm going to change. Some chicken noodle soup maybe?" He hummed. Fifteen minutes later, you were sat at the kitchen table wearing one of his Rolling Stones hoodies, Russell setting a bowl down in front of you. "Thanks, hun."

"No problem. I'll be back in a few." You'd finished your soup and made your way to the couch by the time he returned, freshly showered. His damp hair was slicked back, lifting your legs on the couch and resting them in his lap "Want to watch something or sleep?"

He'd wait a beat, turning his neck to smile at your sleeping form. "Sleep it is."

_______________

These were so fun and just the break I needed! Please let me know if you guys think these are accurate! 🥰