@kazsrm67 / kazsrm67.tumblr.com
Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader || (past Frenchie x F. Reader)
Request: Soldier Boy finding out you had something with Frenchie, years before meeting him.
Word Count: 1K
Tags/Warnings: Jealousy lol (With a hint of spice.~)
He doesn't care.
Because he doesn't care...
👏👏👏👏👏👏
Pairing: Boaz Priestly x Female Reader
Summary: When you call him for help, Priestly realizes that he finally has the relationship of his dreams.
AN: So I didn’t think I’d ever write for this character, but it was prompted by a lovely anon and encouraged by my friend @thatonewriter15! I hope you enjoy. ❤️
Word Count: 1,500 Tags/Warnings: Period talk, suggestiveness, mega fluff
He was in the zone.
Four six-inch double buffalo chicken clubs with banana peppers on whole wheat bread (gross, but he wasn’t the one eating ‘em), two spicy Italians, and a tuna on rye.
Priestly wrapped them up with practiced precision and slid them down the line to Piper, Mission Impossible-style. She smiled at his antics and took them and brought them over to Tish at the register.
Priestly had another turkey and provolone on his docket, hold the mayo, when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Today he actually did have pockets. As in, he was wearing joggers, boots, and a graphic tee that said: NO TEQUILA, NO ENTRY.
He swiveled his phone in his hand like a drummer with a drumstick. He smiled when he saw your name flashing across the screen, and he answered it.
“Hey, Beautiful. What’s up?” he asked.
“Boaz, I need you,” you said. To his ears, your voice was sultry, and a bit strained.
This made me so happy. . .
… are we going to get soldier boy content 👀
A/N: Soldier Boy x F!Reader. Smut. Drugs. This SB is probably OOC, but it's from his POV and he is a POS, okay? I’m really focusing on the "I fucking loved you" vibe he gave CC and figured he was capable of it. This is probably a more redeemable version of Ben.
In Russia, he dreams of you.
He dreams of your face in such detail that it is as if a photo of it is pinned to his eyelids. He tastes you in his sleep. He remembers you even when he does not remember himself.
In Russia, he understands he was in love. He wonders if he is dead now. Sometimes they wake him up, and there is only Hell. There is ice and the brutal bite of vodka being poured down his throat. There are bullets fired behind his teeth and he chokes on the cordite and the smoke.
“Don’t die, Ben.”
“As if I could...”
***
