Isn't it confusing, what first love does to a man?
Story where Alexine is Soldier Boy's first love and rekindle after many years apart.
[UNGOING]
[Warnings; smut, angst, torture, mention of torture, trauma, physical abuse, mental abuse, verbal abuse...
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"Can anybody give me their phone? I got a call to make," Alexine's voice cut through the tension in the room like a blade through silk. Butcher, Hughie, and The Legend sat scattered around the luxurious flat, each absorbed in their own thoughts. The apartment, belonging to The Legend, was a testament to old-school New York luxury—warm, amber tones bathed the walls, adorned with vintage film posters and framed photographs of forgotten stars. Soft leather couches invited people to sink into their depths, while dim lamps cast a cozy glow over the high ceilings and polished wood floors. Everything about it screamed money, fame, and indulgence, a place meant for someone who had lived a thousand lives in front of a camera.
Hughie sat silently, always a little on edge, casting cautious glances between Alexine and Butcher. The tension was palpable—an invisible rope tightening between them. The Legend, leaning back in his velvet armchair, smirked at Alexine, a knowing glint in his eyes. She ignored him, refusing to even acknowledge his presence. She hated The Legend's sleazy demeanor, the way he reveled in the chaos around them. But she couldn't invite this gathering to her own home—for reasons she didn't care to explain.
Butcher let out an exasperated sigh, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his phone but didn't hand it over immediately. Standing up, he faced her, holding the phone just out of reach, taunting her with a smirk tugging at his lips. The two stood face-to-face, the tension crackling like static in the air.
Her eyes locked with his, cold and unyielding. She didn't like Butcher either, but she knew better than to challenge him right now. Butcher, on the other hand, hated every bit of this—working with supes, using them as tools to take down others. His mistrust of her was palpable, and he wasn't about to let her forget it. To him, Alexine was just here for Soldier Boy, and the last thing he wanted was for her to shift Soldier Boy's focus from Homelander.
"Trying to intimidate me?" she murmured, her voice soft but laced with warning.
Butcher's eyes narrowed. "Who do you want to call?"
"My daughter."
Her answer took the edge off his posture. Butcher's face softened, if only slightly. He knew she was protective of her children. He hesitated for a moment longer, then finally relinquished the phone. Alexine rolled her eyes and took it from him, walking toward the hallway, away from the others.
As she wandered down the corridor, her steps slowed when she noticed a door slightly ajar—Soldier Boy's room. She paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she watched him pour himself a glass of whiskey. He was wearing a silk robe, loose and carelessly tied, and as he turned to face her, the robe parted just enough to flash her. His limp cock just floating around between his musuclar legs.
Alexine closed her eyes and sighed, not wanting to deal with the absurdity of the situation. "You're flashing me," she muttered, her voice softer now, head turned to the side.
Soldier Boy scoffed, pouring another glass. He crossed the room, putting the bourbon in her hand. She stared at the amber liquid, the glass cool against her fingers. It had been years since she last touched alcohol. Years before she had met him.
