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blurblurdeactivated · 2 years

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▬❝ keep your hands to yourself. ❞

summary: soldier boy is back. and he's in your house. and he's a fucking sleazebag, ⟶ [soldier boy x fem!reader]

warnings: swearing, sexism, derogatory language, sexual harassment, sexual innuendos, threats of violence, Soldier Boy being a toxic, problematic piece of shit <3,

ONESHOT. 2889 WORDS

masterlist, blog navigation, taglist <3

Soldier Boy was a total sleaze.

He sat before you, leaning back in the chair you’d brought into the bathroom from the kitchen. You stood in between his widely spread legs, holding scissors and a comb in one hand and your electric razor in the other. He’d refused the salon-style cape you’d offered to keep the cuttings off his suit and so you’d simply draped a towel around his neck. He sat still while you trimmed his hair and beard and only made minimal comments. Surprisingly, he made a mostly decent client.

The issue was that the creep had the audacity to have a hand on your waist. Not just resting there to steady himself, or you, not even as a threat or a reminder of his strength if you tried anything. He’d slid his hand up, under your shirt just enough to make skin contact with you. The invasive prick was drawing lazy circles with his fingertips into your side as you neatened up the edges of his beard.

His eyes were also a problem. Save for when you’d tipped his head to each side and when you were doing the back of his head, he stared at you. Knowing better than to move his face too much, his eyes were the only thing giving what he was thinking away. The slight crease at the corner of one and the intensity with which he watched you made you feel like he was smirking inside. An arrogant triumph oozed out of him and the ease with which he let you work made you hesitant.

You had to force yourself to focus on his beard and not be drawn back to his gaze. Just a little longer, a little more shaping and he’d be back to the iconic Soldier Boy look and you could slink out of his grip.

“If only you’d been around in the 70s,” he said as you pulled back for a moment, eyeing your handiwork, “you’re a right-shot better than the fat fuck who did my hair then. Much softer hands too, you’d have thought she was a factory worker. Still, not bad in the sack. I mean that mouth of hers, goddamn.” You swallowed hard. You’re nearly done, you told yourself, you’re nearly done. He stopped talking when you got back to work, choosing to instead shut his legs slightly, trapping you between them.

Switching from the razor to your comb, you delicately combed out his beard. It seemed to match the reference photo you’d printed out of him in the 80s pretty well; you only hoped he thought the same. Snipping off a few longer strands of hair that you’d previously missed, you looked down at everything you’d cut off and felt a little swell of pride. Thanks to you he no longer looked like some wolf-man hybrid and if he hadn’t already threatened to choke you til your eyes popped out you might’ve enjoyed the experience.

Feeling more than a little claustrophobic between his legs and with his hand on your waist, you reached over to drop your tools in the empty sink. “All done,” you declared. To your relief he made no attempt to stop you from moving away from him.

Moving around him you carefully unwrapped the towel, trying not to let too much hair fall onto the floor. He got up as soon as he was rid of it and moved to stare at himself in the dingy mirror that hung above the sink. Shaking out the towel over the bathtub, you took a few deep breaths.

“Ah. A woman’s touch,” he sighed as if that in itself was a compliment, nodding as he checked himself out. You fought the urge to tell him to go fuck himself. He was a Supe you reminded yourself, a Homelander level Supe and you were not looking to become a crimson stain on the floor anytime soon.

“I used to cut my brother’s hair,” was all you said.

“You did a mighty fine job of it.”

There was a long moment of silence before you looked at the mirror and saw his reflection looking at you expectantly.

“Thank you…” you said, not quite sure what he was asking. The practised smile he shot you told you that’s what he’d wanted to hear.

“You’re welcome,” he said, turning around to face you again, “Now, if I take a shower are you gonna fucking scurry away as fast as you can? Or are you gonna be a good girl and stay put?”

“I’m… I’m gonna stay put,” you said, choking on a hard lump of terror. He was horrifyingly nonchalant about keeping you hostage in your own home. It was safe to say the both of you knew what he was capable of.

“Atta girl,” he said with a wink, “I knew you were a smart one.”

“I’ll bring something for you to change into once you’re done.”

“Alright,” he said, amused by your urgency, “If you insist on getting me out of this uniform.”

Taking the chair with you, you backed out of the room, shutting the door behind you. Returning to the kitchen and slotting the chair back into its place you took a couple of shaky breaths. Looking up, the sight of your front door filled you with the screaming urge to run.

No. No. No. You didn’t even consider the possibility of him not finding you if you ran. It wouldn’t take him long, in fact, you wondered if you’d even make it out the door before he was yanking you back inside to meet a bloody death. For all of his sickening charisma and condescending compliments he was still a fucking psycho. You could still feel the pressure of the fingers he’d grabbed your jaw with as he forced his way into your home.

Your knuckles were white on the back of the chair when you looked down and you quickly let go of it, suddenly reminded that you’d said you’d fetch the Supe something clean to wear. Shuffling into your room you remembered a pair of navy sweatpants your last boyfriend had left behind, those and an oversized #BraveMaeve shirt you’d been given looked like they’d fit him.

Knocking on the bathroom door when you returned to it, you waited for his gruff “come in.” Pushing open the door you were greeted by the sigh of a shirtless Soldier Boy. He watched you carefully as you looked from his bare chest to his face, blinking faster than before as heat bloomed in your cheeks. “Here,” you said quickly, placing the shirt and pants on the floor out of the way of the door. His eyes didn’t leave you as you pulled it shut again.

You made your way back into the living room and took a seat on the end of the sofa. Pressing your hands between your thighs you just sat there, staring at the ground as the sound of your shower starting came through the wall. He just needed somewhere to hide for a day or-so, just needed to rest up and then he’d be on his way; that’s what he’d said. If you trusted nothing else about him, you trusted that he’d keep his word. You could wait it out, you had patience. A day of chauvinist bullshit and wandering hands in exchange for, well, your life.

Glancing over at the shield that had been set on the other end of the couch, you cringed at the faint flecks of dark reddish brown that you knew for a fact weren’t rust. Just so long as you didn’t become any of the flecks on it, everything was gonna be just fine.

After the shower turned off, it was only another few minutes before a slightly damp, fully-dressed Soldier Boy emerged into your living area. “What in God’s name do you need all of those products for? Your fucking shampoo has me smelling like a fucking fairy,” he grumbled, rubbing his hair with your towel. He was back in his hero costume which made you frown a little. The small part of you that was pissed off you’d gotten those clothes for nothing was promptly silenced by the other part of you not wanting to be squashed like a bug.

Noticing your apprehensive stare, he raised an eyebrow, “What’s with the look like someone just ran over your fucking pussycat?”

“Nothing,” you said simply. Standing from the sofa you moved into the kitchen, looking for the map he’d demanded earlier. If you could get him what he wanted, maybe he’d be gone sooner.

“You got anything to eat?” he asked, taking a seat at your dining table. Looking up from the pile of papers you’d dug out of the stationary drawer, you turned to your fridge.

“Half a left-over boysenberry pie,” you said, peering inside, “Some carrots, a couple of apples-”

“I’ll take the pie.” If he’d ever had a wife back when he’d been ‘alive’ you felt great sympathy for her.

Peeling the glad wrap off, you slid the plate into the microwave and set it for a minute thirty. Even as you stayed facing the pie go round and round you could feel Soldier Boy’s eyes on your back. You had been pretty sure he didn’t have laser eyes but given how hot you were getting you were starting to doubt your knowledge. The microwave beeped and as you turned around, warm pie in hand you were thankfully met with human green irises.

Grabbing a knife and fork from the drawer first, you set the half pie down in front of him. Without even a ‘thanks’ he began to absolutely demolish his food. He groaned around the first mouthful and while you were glad your baking had gardened such a reaction you were less than pleased that you weren’t the one eating it. Small price to pay for your life though, you supposed.

He was about half-way finished when he swallowed, looking up at you with the same expectant gaze as before. “Water?” he said as if you were his fucking maid. How he’d managed to keep his spot as America’s Greatest Hero with such abhorrent manners you couldn’t comprehend. You fetched it without complaint.

Once he’d drained the glass you brought him, he started to slow down. Eating more carefully, less like a man starved.

“So what’s a pretty young lass such as yourself doing living in a big house like this all alone?” he asked, still chewing.

“Should there be someone else living here?”

He swallowed. “No man?”

“No,” you said, “Do I need one?”

“At some stage you will,” he said like it was a fact of the universe, “Every woman does. That’s just how the world works, sweetheart.” That made you feel sick.

“Why’s that?”

You knew you should’ve just left it. You knew there was nothing you could do to change the misogynistic understanding of the world cemented in his brain.

His eyes flicked up to you, almost challenging you. “Because without one who knows what might happen to you,” he said threateningly, his mocking smirk returning, “I mean, without a man to protect you imagine the trouble you’d get into.” Stabbing the fork back into the last bite of pie, he didn’t look away from you even for a second.

Before you could move to get his plate for him - something you figured he’d expect - he got up and moved towards you into the kitchen. A shiver ran down your spine as he neared and your breath hitched in your throat as he brushed past you. Setting the plate and utensils down on the bench he came up right behind you, trapping you against the counter. Frozen in place, it wasn’t like you were going to scarper away anyhow.

“Not to mention you could do with someone knocking you down a peg,” he added, a hiss in your ear, “which I bet you’d fucking enjoy too.” He was all hard muscle pressed against your back.

You let out a godamn pitiful fucking whimper.

He seemed to relish in it. A hand on the counter on each side of you, you felt beyond small in his shadow. “Just like I thought.” His breath was hot on your ear. “If I wasn’t in the middle of a mission I’d bend you over this counter right now and fucking ruin you.”

Every muscle in your body was painfully tense and everything was screaming at you to fight and run and cry and be violently sick all over him. But you stayed frozen. Maybe if you stopped reacting altogether he’d forget you were even there. If he heard your prayers he clearly didn’t care, when he reached up, grabbing you by the throat and twisting you around to face him. You’d been this close when you were trimming his beard but those eyes of his were so much more menacing when they were looking down on you.

“Yknow,” he started, grip tightening on your airway, “If I hadn’t been fucking sold out to the Russians, I’d have liked to settle down with a nice girl like you. White picket fence, two kids, the whole sh-bang. My own perfect nuclear family. Grow old, a happy man.”

“You didn’t deserve what they did to you,” you choked out, starting to cry softly, “what they put you through.”

“No, I didn’t,” he agreed. He watched, transfixed, as your tears slowly rolled down your cheeks. His grip on your throat moved up, his fingers finding their way into your hair. Still the same firmness of his hold but with it no longer on your windpipe you relaxed slightly. A rough thumb wiped away some of your tears as he cooed a soft ‘shh’ to you.

“Stop crying, sweetheart,” he said, “makes you look fucking ugly.”

Swallowing your sobs, you tried to focus on evening out your breathing. His other arm wrapped around your waist. Hands flying to his chest, you did your best to keep some semblance of distance between you. His smirk grew.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “please, don’t hurt me.”

“You think I’d really hurt a gal so pretty?” he asked, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiled. It was like he found your fear endearing. “Especially since you’re being so well-behaved.”

He dropped the hand from your face and for a simple, stupid, moment you thought he was going to walk away. Instead, he grabbed the underside of your thigh and effortlessly hoisted you up onto the counter top. You let out a soft ‘oof’ at the unexpected manhandling, your fingers digging into his collar tightly on instinct.

“What are you-?”

“Wrap your arms around my neck,” he said. About to protest, you were shut up by his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. “Go on.”

Doing as told, you let go of his collar and looped your arms around his neck. The disturbing intimacy of this proximity made your heart race. The last time you’d been this close to anyone was making out with your highschool boyfriend at his birthday party senior year.

And now you were making out with the Hero of Heroes.

He hadn’t given you time to process that he was leaning in before his lips were on yours. It was hard and forceful and hot. He kissed you with forty years worth of want; romance be forsaken. All devouring and angry, it was brutal the way he nipped and sucked and kissed your lips. His hand came up to your hair again and he yanked, just enough to make you tip your head back with a whine. That gave him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You were french-kissing a fucking Supe. Invading every sense, he pulled you against him, attempting to consume your entire being.

The heat of him erased any fear from you. Feeling the power through his skin you coiled your arms around him tighter, ankles looping around his waist, chests flush against one another. If you’d been afraid of him snapping you in half with ease before, the thought of it now made you ridiculously light-headed. Fingers lacing into his slightly damp hair you wanted him to fucking swallow you. You gladly settled for him kissing you with godly arrogance.

When he finally slowed and pulled away, you followed him for a second, eyes shut. “Look at that,” he said, voice gravelly, “a quick pash and you’re fucking sedated.”

Blinking your eyes open, your brain began to reboot. Legs falling off from around him, you loosed the hold you had around his neck.

“I- uh…” you started, still dazed, “what was- why did you..?”

“Attitude adjustment,” he said with a cruel chuckle. Leaning back in for a moment, he nipped your bottom lip before letting go of you and leaving you there. Slowly sliding off the counter you turned to watch him move to sit on your sofa. He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, arms folded behind his head. Turning his head to stare at you, he looked pointedly bored for someone who’d just kissed the air out of your lungs a minute ago.

“You gonna stand there and look stupid, sweetheart? Or are you gonna get me that map?”

Soldier Boy was a fucking sleaze.

⭑ ⟵ ★ ⟶ ⭑

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a/n: soldier boy fucking owns my brain, good lawd i am without other thoughts. also i think this says a lot about me in a not good 'girl you best get sum help' way but i am not yet willing to confront that yet (:

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#i saw an insta edit w the caption #new dilf dropped #and i can't stop thinking about it #soldier boy #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #the boys fandom #jensen ackles

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