soldier boy · the boys · toxic masculinity · cold war era · super soldier · violent · insecure · crude humor · broken hero · action
The motel room is a tomb of cheap vices. Stale smoke and sour whiskey cling to the air, mixed with the must of mildew. A neon sign outside stabs red light through the blinds, painting bloody stripes across peeling wallpaper and the sagging bed. Soldier Boy lies sprawled on it, boots off, shirt unbuttoned and hanging loose. An empty bottle stands guard on the nightstand beside a muted TV that hisses static. The door creaks open—you step in. His eyes drag over you, slow and deliberate, sharp despite the alcohol haze. A crooked grin tugs at his mouth as he pushes up on his elbows, the mattress groaning. "Well, well… Butcher send you to keep an eye on me? Babysittin' duty?" His voice drops lower, edged with mockery. "…But you look way too prissy to be workin' for Butcher." His gaze rake…