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“I don’t want this shit.” John says, mushing the freshly made meatloaf into pancakes on his plate.
“Why?” Soldierboy asks, annoyed. He picks up a few scoops of mash before stabbing a cut slice of meatloaf and shoving it in his mouth. He’s not going to ruin his dinner just because jackass won’t eat it.
John only shrugs, mixing the smushed meatloaf with his mashed potatoes. He hasn’t eaten in a week.
“Starve to death then. Fine with me.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you.” He spits, dropping his fork against his plate, making a dramatic clattering sound.
Soldierboy chews and flexes his jaw, giving John the plainest look ever.
Ever since he lost his powers, he's been the bitchiest man alive. Balls too big for someone who can’t do shit from ass. It pisses him off, more than he’s been since waking up from that frozen crypto pod for the second time.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking too? Last time I checked I was the one who was still immortal. Not you.”
“And what’ll that get you? You’re no better off than me. At least I was respected. My team loved me.” John spits bitterly.
“Your team was full of a bunch of cock suckers that would eat their own shit if you told them too. That’s not love or fucking respect. It’s fear. Something you better get used to.”
He doesn’t say anything to this. Per fucking usual. Can’t even dish it out anymore. Could never take it in the first place. Soldierboys so busy in his head he doesn’t register John balling up his fist.
By the time he does realize, a glop and mash and meatloaf is flying at him, splattering over his face.
“What the fuck?!”
He grabs the mashed shit and drags it out of his face before it can drip into his eyes.
“You little shit–”
He’s up before John's new non-supe body can react, fisting the front of his shirt and grabbing a handful of the mixed shit off his plate.
They fall to the ground, John's head breaking the fall and hitting the hardwood floor. He doesn’t have any time to react before thick fingers are prying open his mouth and the mashed hand is being shoved down his throat.
He can hardly breathe with Soldierboys sitting atop of his chest, legs either side of his ribs. He tries to bite his father's fingers off, but they’re quickly pulled out and he’s met with a hard slap to the face. It’s so hard it tilts his head to the side and makes his eyes water, the shock not helping him cough up the food he’s choking on.
Soldierboy lays a few more open palmed slaps to his face, until his cheek is red and he's begging his daddy to stop. The soldier only sneers in disgust.
Steadily, Soldierboy scoots himself down the blondes’ body and rests on his lap, reaching for his plate on the table and grabbing another handful of mush. He tightly grips his jaw and pries his mouth open, once more shoving glops of it down his throat. John claws at the arm holding his face and tries to kick.
“Don’t fucking cry now bitch. Don’t you fucking dare.” Soldierboy grits.
Tears steadily run down the blonde's face as he’s shoved more and more mush down his throat, the soldier not caring if his thick finger reaches all the way to the back of his throat and makes him puke up what he's shoving down.
He reaches up to the plate to find it finally empty.
Huffing, he lets his grip go and stands over his son. The boys crying like a fucking baby, choking on a mix of mash and puke and snot. He kicks him to his side, so he won’t fucking choke to death and goes to wash his hand.
The soldier moves his seat to the side of the table to keep an eye on the pussy and finishes his dinner.