Summary: You wake up in a bed that isn't yours and three identical, insistent men, that you have no memory of, each claim that you are theirs. At first you think it must be a dream. Dean, Soldier Boy and Beau are all positive that you are the same woman that they are dating and the big personalities don't just clash, they explode.
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 4093
Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut
A/N: Having fun playing around in this AU. Please let me know what you think.
CT Masterlist
Beau let his hands fall away from Ben’s shirt but before he could move back Ben shoved him. Hard. He flew across the kitchen, landing on the floor and sliding into the wall with his shoulders and head hitting it.
“Ben!” you snapped but he didn't look at you, heading towards the sound, boots heavy against the floor, fists clenched at his sides.
“He’s lucky he’s still breathing, putting his hands on me like he’s lost his fuckin’ mind,” Ben ground out as he walked by you and out of the room.
Dean sighed and reached out a hand to Beau to help him up. Beau stood up and dusted off the front of himself, rubbing the back of his head tenderly.
“C’mmon. Let’s go see what the hell is going on out there,” Dean said to Beau.
The three of you followed behind to find Ben standing over the open hatch.
“Did you open that just now?” Dean asked.
“No,” Ben grunted.
“But we all just heard it slam shut,” you said, eyes still wide from the fight in the kitchen. “And you shut it last night.”
“Yeah,” Ben said flatly.
You turned and looked at Beau to see if he was okay. Just like the other two men he was staring at the hole. The lights were on inside it, again.
“Do you think someone’s down there?” you asked, looking between the three of them.
Dean just shrugged and Beau didn’t say anything. His face was still in a murderous scowl but he wasn’t looking at Ben, he was just staring at the opening of the hatch.
“One way to find out,” Ben muttered as he stepped onto the ladder.
He lowered himself down and disappeared down the hallway.
Dean started after him with a heavy sigh. This time you caught his arm.
“Dean,” you said.
His eyes dropped to where your hand held his wrist, before raising them to meet yours. He said your name slowly. The anger that had been simmering under his skin stuttered and you saw the hurt behind his eyes. Still fresh enough to peek through before he quickly masked it.
“Please be careful,” you pleaded.
“Yeah,” he replied. His tone wasn’t cold now. His eyes flicked to where you still held on to him and then back up to you with raised brows, silently asking if you were going to let go.
You let your hand drop to your side, gripping at the side of your dress, tightly. You watched him disappear into the hole too.
You walked the few feet over to Beau and laid your hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay, Beau?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine, darlin’. Just a bump,” he said, voice low and still brimming with frustration but not at you.
Beau reached up and laid his large, warm hand over yours where it rested on his shoulder, giving your fingers a brief, reassuring squeeze before letting go.
“You stay up here where it’s safe, alright?” Beau murmured, his jade eyes holding yours with that steady, protective warmth that always grounded you. “I’m gonna go down there and make sure those two don’t tear the place apart or end up getting themselves killed.”
You nodded softly, watching as Beau stepped over to the opening, swung his legs over the edge, and descended the ladder.
Once his head disappeared below the rim of the hatch, the backyard fell dead silent again. The humid air pressed against your skin, the bright yellow sundress fluttering slightly around your thighs in a sudden, stray breeze. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, your heart thumping against your ribs as you stared at the dark pit in the grass.
You thought about the dirt room down there. The second dark tunnel. The creepy altar with an ancient looking book and the unusual antlers that hung above it. The way it literally looked like someone dug the whole thing out by hand. The whole thing caused a shiver to shoot down your spine.
Minute after minute ticked by in agonizing silence. No shouting, no crashing, no sound of fists meeting flesh—just the quiet, oppressive stillness of the neighborhood.
Just as you were about to lean over the opening to call out to them, a sharp thud rang out from inside the house behind you, followed immediately by the front door slamming shut.
Your head snapped toward the back patio.
Footsteps were heavy on the hardwood inside, moving fast toward the kitchen.
You backed away from the hatch, your pulse spiking as you turned toward the house. Before you could even take a step toward the glass back door, the heavy frame rattled, and Dean burst out onto the patio, his flashlight in hand and his face pale, eyes wide with a mix of shock and pure urgency.
He didn’t look at you with the cold distance from earlier. He didn’t look bitter or reserved. The sheer, electric focus of a hunter on high alert was radiating off him.
“Get away from the hatch,” Dean barked, jumping down the small set of steps into the grass and striding straight toward you.
“Dean, what—where are Ben and Beau? What’s going on?” you asked, your voice shaking as he grabbed your forearm—not tightly, but with a firm, unyielding grip that instantly pulled you behind his broad frame.
“The tunnel down there doesn’t lead under the yard,” Dean grunted, his eyes scanning the tree line as he tugged you toward the patio steps. “It loops around and leads right into the basement of this damn house.”
Your jaw dropped. “What?”
“And that’s not the half of it,” Dean said, his jaw setting into a tight, hard line as he paused at the bottom of the patio steps, his green eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest stutter. “Ben and Beau found a door down there. It was locked from the inside... until five minutes ago.”
“What do you mean, locked from the inside?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the thrumming of your heart.
Before Dean could answer, the glass door behind you both rattled as Ben and Beau stepped out onto the patio. Ben’s face was dark, a dangerous edge in his jaw as he wiped dust off his bare arms, while Beau followed right behind him, rubbing the back of his neck with a tight, exhausted scowl.
“It means somebody—or something—was hiding down there while we were sleeping right above it,” Ben growled, stepping down into the grass with a heavy, deliberate stride. His dark eyes locked onto you, tracing the bright yellow dress before snapping back to Dean. “And whoever it was, they left the door wide open.”
Beau took a slow step into the yard, his posture defensive as his jade eyes scanned the perimeter of the property. “The lock was thrown from the other side, darlin’,” Beau said quietly, his voice smooth but laced with a sharp, protective strain. “Nothing forced. Whoever was behind that door just unlocked it and walked straight out into the house.”
Your stomach dropped into a sickening freefall. You crossed your arms over your chest, squeezing your elbows as the cold realization set in. “Walked into the house? When?”
“Sometime between when the hatch slammed shut and when we made it down the hall,” Dean muttered, stepping slightly closer to you, his posture going rigid as he kept himself positioned between you and the dark treeline. “We checked the main floor. Front door was unlocked, but there’s no sign of anyone in the rooms.”
“Yet,” Ben added with a grim, humorless huff. He crossed his broad arms, his muscles flexing as he stared down at the dark opening of the hatch in the grass. “If they’re in the house, they’re playing hide-and-seek. And I’m about ready to start kicking doors down until I find ‘em.”
“We’re not tearing the house apart blindly, Rambo,” Dean snapped, his tone sharp and authoritative, though his eyes flicked down to you for a fraction of a second—checking on you despite the lingering, wounded wall he was still trying to keep up. “We clear the place systematically. Room by room. Floor by floor.”
Beau stepped up beside you, his warm hand briefly resting against the small of your back in a subtle, reassuring touch that made Dean’s jaw tighten instantly. “Dean’s right,” Beau said softly, his voice a steadying anchor amidst the rising panic. “We don’t know what kind of threat we’re dealing with. We stay together. Nobody wanders off.”
“Fine,” Ben grunted, though his dark smirk returned as his gaze swept over your bare legs and the soft curve of your collarbones in the sundress. “Then let’s start with the upstairs. Beginning with her room.”
Ben stepped into your bedroom with the others right on his heel. He glanced at the bed and didn't bother hiding the smirk that crossed his face. It was brief, as the soldier mode snapped back into place. Beau looked under the bed and Ben threw open the closet door. “Empty,” he muttered. “Not even clothes,” he said gruffly, eyes finding yours. There wasn’t an apology there but it was an acknowledgement that you hadn’t been lying, at least.
Dean was already off to clear the next bedroom. Beau walked out next. You turned to leave and Ben caught your elbow gently, spinning you back towards him, your dress flaring out enough to almost show your ass. Almost. “Not so fast, princess.”
You stumbled a half-step into his chest, your sandals scraping against the carpet as Ben’s broad hand slid down from your elbow to wrap firmly around your waist. His grip was heavy and warm, anchoring you flush against him before you could even think about pulling away.
His dark eyes searched your face, dropping down to the ruched bust of the sundress, and the view of cleavage it afforded him, for a long, heavy beat before rising to meet your gaze. The arrogant smirk was completely gone, replaced by a dark, possessive intensity that made your pulse jump into your throat.
“You locked your door last night,” Ben murmured, his gravelly voice dropping into a thick, rough rumble meant only for you. His thumb made a slow, deliberate sweep across the swell of your hip through the thin yellow fabric. “Pushed a chair up against it like you were trying to keep me out.”
He did try to come to my room.
Your breath hitched. “Ben—”
“Didn’t work as well as you think, doll,” he cut in softly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he leaned down, fanning hot air over your sensitive skin. “I was standing right outside your door for half an hour listening to you sleep. Next time you want to lock me out, you’re gonna have to do better than a little chair because I won't be so...patient.” He ran his lips lightly down your jaw until he brushed them over your lips without actually pressing a kiss to them. Your breath hitched again. He smirked against your lips.
He straightened up just as smooth, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway toward the doorway. Ben didn’t immediately let go of your waist—instead, he took his sweet time casually sliding his hand off your hip, ensuring whoever walked through that door saw exactly how close he’d been holding you.
Beau appeared in the doorway, his tall frame blocking out the hallway light. The moment his jade eyes registered Ben’s hand trailing off your body, the quiet, steady warmth on his face instantly vanished. His jaw set into a hard, dangerous line, his posture going completely rigid.
Beau didn’t yell or throw a fit—which somehow felt so much more threatening. He just stepped into the room, his eyes dark as they locked straight onto Ben.
“The other bedrooms are clear,” Beau said, his voice dropping into a low, icy rumble that vibrated with warning. He didn’t look at you or your flushed face, keeping his entire focus pinned on Ben. “Dean’s checking the attic. You done back here?”
Ben let out a short, low huff of dark amusement through his nose, thoroughly enjoying the rise he’d just gotten out of the Sheriff. He shot you one last lingering look before stepping past Beau, deliberately brushing his broad shoulder against Beau’s as he exited into the hall.
“All yours, Sheriff,” Ben muttered, his voice thick with smug satisfaction.
About ten minutes later, the house was clear and everyone was sitting around the living room. You sat on the couch with your legs crossed and the hem of the dress sliding slightly higher on your thighs than you cared for it to. Dean was sitting next to you and was trying desperately and failing miserably to keep his eyes off of your long, exposed legs.
Beau was sitting in an armchair, also failing to keep his eyes off of you. Ben, on the other hand, was sitting on the other side of you, in another armchair and he was shamelessly letting his eyes wander and rake over you.
You flushed and finally cleared your throat. “I need some air,” you announced and stood up, tugging your hem down as far as it would go. Beau instantly stood and you looked back at him over your shoulder with an apologetic look before saying, “Alone.”
He nodded and sank back into the seat.
“Stay away from the hatch. Stay where we can see you,” Ben commanded.
You nodded absently and stepped out onto the patio. All three of them could clearly see you there. You took in a deep breath of fresh air. The breeze had picked up slightly and it felt good combined with the warm sun on your face.
You closed your eyes for a second, letting the gentle wind cool the flush on your neck and shoulders. Being trapped inside that living room—under the heavy, suffocating weight of three identical pairs of green eyes tracking your every move—had felt like sitting in a pressure cooker.
Outside, the silence of the neighborhood felt almost peaceful by comparison, even with the bizarre, unnatural perfection of the manicured lawns.
You walked to the edge of the patio, wrapping your arms loosely around yourself as you stared out into the quiet yard. Through the clean glass of the patio doors, you could feel their eyes still locked on your back. They weren’t even trying to hide it. Dean was leaning forward on the couch with his elbows on his knees, jaw tight; Beau was watching with that deep, protective worry; and Ben was practically daring anyone to stop him from coming out after you.
The breeze kicked up again, rustling the thin yellow fabric of your dress and carrying the sharp, crisp scent of pine from the dense tree line surrounding the yard.
You took another deep, steadying breath, trying to process the absolute insanity of the last couple days. Three men who all claimed a piece of your past, three men who all knew the exact details of a dress you had no memory of owning, and a house that seemed to be actively pulling the strings just to watch the fuse burn down.
A quiet, rhythmic tap-tap-tap suddenly broke the quiet.
Your eyes snapped open. The sound hadn’t come from the house, and it hadn’t come from the open hatch in the grass.
It was coming from the edge of the woods.
Standing just past the tree line—barely visible between the thick, shadowed trunks—was a tall, dark silhouette. It looked ominous in its stance and it wasn’t moving. It was just standing there, obscured by the deep shade of the pines, watching you.
Your breath caught in your throat, every muscle in your body freezing as your heart slammed into your ribs. You instinctively took a small step backward toward the patio door.
Before you could even turn around or call out, someone grabbed you by the arm and yanked you off of the patio and into the grass. You stumbled but caught your balance, only to look up into the hollow eyes of Ned. He wasn’t smiling now and his face was eerily blank as if no one was behind those eyes. But you knew no one was.
You tried to pull away from him but his grip on your arm was tight. “You have to come with me. NOW!” he said and while his voice rose on the last word, there was no actual emotion behind it. Just a command.
“No! Let me go!” you screamed, trying to dig your feet into the yard as he started to pull you towards his house next door.
Instantly, the backdoor slammed open and Dean rushed out first, his hunter instincts kicking into high gear, with Ben and Beau tight on his heels.
Dean didn’t hesitate for a single second. The moment his eyes registered Ned’s hand clamped around your arm, a sharp, murderous roar ripped from his throat. He cleared the patio steps in a single leap, crossing the grass with terrifying speed.
“Get your fucking hands off her!” Dean shoved himself right between you and Ned, bringing his heavy forearm down like an axe onto Ned’s wrist to break his grip.
Ned didn’t even flinch at the impact, though his fingers reluctantly slipped from your skin as Dean slammed his shoulder directly into Ned’s chest, shoving the blank-faced neighbor back several feet.
You stumbled backward, but two broad, solid hands caught you by the waist, steadying you instantly. You looked up to see Beau, his face drawn tight in a terrifying scowl. He pulled you safely behind his back, his jade eyes blazing as he shielded you. He immediately drew his gun, pointing it at Ned.
Ben moved past all of you like a freight train. He didn’t bark a warning or wait for a plan—he just closed the distance between himself and Ned in three broad strides. Ben grabbed Ned by the throat with one massive hand and slammed him brutally down onto the grass, pinning him to the earth.
“Who sent you?” Ben growled, his gravelly voice dropping into a low, lethal rumble as he leaned his full weight onto Ned’s neck. “Talk, you empty-headed fuck, or I’ll snap your neck right here.”
Ned lay on his back in the grass, completely motionless despite the crushing weight on his windpipe, if he even had one. His hollow, unblinking eyes didn’t even fix on Ben—they stayed locked strictly on you, staring right past the three towering men standing over him.
“You can’t let it in,” Ned spoke, his voice completely flat, monotone and void of any human cadence, even with his throat being crushed.
“Let what in?” Ben snapped.
Ned was still staring at you before he shifted his eyes up to meet Ben’s. “It wants her. You can’t let it have her,” Ned said.
A shiver ran up your spine and you instinctively stepped forward, grasping Beau’s shoulders and pressing yourself into his back. “What?” you said, your voice barely a whisper.
“What wants her?” Dean barked.
Ned looked at Dean. “Keep her safe.” Then his hollow eyes looked to Beau. “Don’t let it in.”
Before anyone could say anything else a loud POP rang out in the yard. Ned’s head exploded, covering Ben and Dean in a grayish-purple goo. You let out a loud gasp.
Ben stood up and stumbled back, raising his hands in front of him and looking down at the front of his goo covered body. “What the fuck?!” he growled.
Dean just wiped his face with his hands, and shook them, flinging the goo onto the perfectly green lawn. “Fuckin’ Ned,” he muttered, but didn’t seem all that surprised, unlike everyone else. He turned to face you. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
You nodded, still clinging to Beau’s shoulders with a look of shock scrawled across both yours and Beau’s features. Dean gave you a tight nod but he didn’t seem to have that anger in his eyes anymore. They weren’t soft, but it was still progress. Slowly, Beau holstered his weapon but he didn’t take his eyes off of Ned’s body for a long beat.
Dean and Ben went to take showers, tying up both bathrooms, while you and Beau sat in the kitchen. He’d made coffee and you were discussing what you’d seen.
The other two walked back in about ten minutes later, hair still damp and matching scowls on their faces.
Dean slid into the seat across from you at the table, eyes intently focused on you. Ben walked over and pulled the fridge open. “Since when do we have beer?” he said, grabbing a bottle and pulling it out to inspect it.
Everyone turned and looked.
“Thank fuckin’ god,” Dean said. “Pass them out, Soldier Boy.”
Ben grabbed a few by the necks of the bottles and handed everyone a beer. You opened yours, immediately taking a long pull.
“What the hell happened out there?” Ben asked. “Before we got there.”
“There was someone—or something—standing right in the tree line,” you said, your voice a little unsteady as you thought about the silhouette. “Between two big pine trees. It was just... watching me,” you said, eyes staring at your beer bottle, unfocused. “I didn’t even see Ned. Not until he grabbed me.”
The room fell dead quiet, the only sound was the low hum of the refrigerator.
Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his green eyes boring into you with an intensity that set your skin buzzing. “What did it look like?” he asked, his voice low, measured, and entirely free of the bitter bite from earlier. “Tall? Short? Built like a brick wall, or thin like a ghost?”
“Tall,” you murmured, tracing the cold condensation on your beer bottle. “Dark. I couldn’t make out a face or clothes—it was like looking at a shadow cut out of the trees. But it was watching me. I could feel it.”
Ben took a long swig of his beer, his jaw working as he stared past you toward the backyard window. “Whatever it was, Ned knew it was coming. ‘Don’t let it in.’ ‘It wants her.’ Sounds like a fucking warning.” He set the bottle down on the counter with a sharp clink, his dark eyes snapping to yours, possessive and sharp. “Nobody goes outside alone again. Not for air, not for five seconds. Am I clear?”
“For once, Rambo’s right,” Dean said, his eyes flicking to Beau before landing firmly back on you. The lingering hurt and spiraling, suspicious thoughts were still buried deep under his ribs, but the protective hunter in him had completely taken the driver’s seat. “Ned’s brain popping like a cheap balloon means whoever’s running this place has a kill-switch on the locals. They used him to draw you out, or to pass a message.”
Beau, sitting right beside you, set his bottle down with a quiet, steady thud. His warm shoulder brushed reassuringly against yours, a subtle anchor in the middle of the room. “If that shadow was what Ned was warning us about, it knows where we are,” Beau said softly, his jade eyes tracking Dean and Ben. “And if the house is giving us beer now, it wants us relaxed. Or preoccupied. Probably wants our guard down.”
“Let it try,” Ben growled, crossing his heavy arms over his chest. “I’ll take whatever’s in those woods and rip it apart with my bare hands before it steps foot in this house.” Ben turned back around and pulled the fridge open to grab another beer and paused.
You noticed. “What is it?”
“The rest of the beer is gone.”
“Of course it is,” Dean muttered.
“But there’s this now?” Ben pulled out a bottle of whisky and held it up.
You blinked. The house was upping its game quickly.
Dean motioned to Ben with his fingers. “Give that here.”
Ben handed it to him and Dean popped the top off and took a long pull straight from the bottle.
The three of you just watched.
Dean let out a short, breathy huff, though there was zero humor in his eyes as he held your gaze. “Alright, we stick together. We keep the doors locked, we stay in sight, and we try to figure out what the hell’s been down that second tunnel before whatever’s out in those trees decides to come knock on the front door.”
Before anyone could reply, the lights in the kitchen flickered sharply twice—and then went pitch black.
There’s a liquor store near my house that seems to be run exclusively by frat boys. They lovingly curate these bags, which I browsed today while “Oops I Did It Again” played through the store speakers. This is art to me, there is beauty everywhere for those with eyes to see it
Remade the background in the 20th anniversary art incase anybody wanted to draw their of or some other character in it. Its kinda sloppy but it should work.
Ive been using it for Antarctica.. Wip!!! But it'll be done soon.
✦Read on aO3! - Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlist✦
✦summary: ben starts acting rather strange. being quiet. hitting on you less. making sure you eat. you're worried, even though he doesn't want you to be. you never could've guessed the reason why.✦
✦warnings/tags: Soldier Boy x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, age gap (he's a hundred), light angst, softer!ben in a way (as soft as he can get lmao), canon divergance, pining, plot to earn the smut (panty stealing/kink, posessiveness, teasing, messy sex, size kink, dry humping, sex pollen, stripping, body worship, dom!Ben, blowjobs, finger sucking, masturbation, fingering, begging, nipple play, manhandling, oral f!reciving, pussy spanking, overstimulation, praise and degredation kink, clit abuse, creampie, monster dick ben, rough sex, this man is a sex god, just so many orgasms, dumbification, dacryphilia, hyperspermia, squirting), love confessions, fluff✦
✦wc: 10.3k✦
✦author's note: request! i dare to ask the question. can this man get hornier✦
Ben is being quiet. It’s incredibly worrying.
You’d been waiting for them to get back from the mission on the couch, and he’d stormed into the room like the world outside was on fire. You’d sat up with wide eyes, and he’d gone perfectly still. His face had been red, his eyes blown out, his attention almost burning through you.
“Ben?” You’d whispered, unsure if you should be running to him, or as far away as you could get. “Are you- Is there something wrong-“
He’d lurched back, blinking wildly. You’d sat up on your knees, ready to reach for him, and he’d taken a staggered step back.
“Ben-“
He’d marched into the meeting room like something was dragging him there. You’d sat on the couch for another minute, staring blankly after him until the rest of the team came up.
You sat next to him for the debrief. You always sat next to him, no matter how you protested. It didn’t matter how many times you asked not to play babysitter, you were the best at it.
It was a low bar. You just had to not egg him on like Butcher, or try to give him a free, unlicensed therapy session like Hughie. You just sat there, and glowered while he grinned, and everyone said you had Soldier Boy on a leash.
“What’s wrong with you,” you hiss during the meeting, and Ben shoots you a sideways glare.
He still doesn’t say anything. When you poke his arm, he recoils, flinching as if he’d been shot.
That’s what makes you freeze.
Ben doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t wince, and he doesn’t whine or bitch or moan. You’ve seen a rocket launcher slam into his chest, and he’d roared like an animal before throwing the thing back at the shooter. You’ve poked and slapped him almost every day for the past year. He’s only ever looked down at you with raised brows and a smirk, like you were a misbehaving bunny trying to eat his socks.
But this time, his eyes are black, and his brow is knit. There’s a tension in his jaw that makes your breath hitch, and his nostrils flare. The table whines under his grip. You’re rooted to your chair, unable to rip your gaze away. He grunts your name, low and rough, and you’re suddenly all too aware of it. The space between your bodies. Your knees aren’t pressed together under the table. His fingers aren’t grazing your arm every few moments, like they have every single day since Butcher tossed you into his den and told you to keep the old man from blowin’ something up.
There’s a heat radiating from his body that makes your head spin. It’s not the radiation or the bomb. His eyes aren’t empty and there’s no glow coming from his chest.
Ben runs warm. You’re more aware of it than he’s ever going to get to know. Ben’s always made of the kind of heat that pools between your thighs and makes your heart skip, even when you’re shoving his chest and flipping him off.
But this.
This feels like a fever.
Soldier Boy isn’t supposed to be able to get a fucking fever.
You open your mouth to ask what’s wrong again. Ben looks away, and leans back in his chair. His body is angled away from yours. Your feet bump, and he jerks away with a low, almost feral sound. You swallow, a bile rising from the back of your throat. He’s never passed up a chance to touch you.
Through the entire debrief, there wasn’t one word. He grunted in response to questions. Not an insult or crude joke, not a brag or boast about how much they’d needed him, not even an attempt to get into your pants. He’d sat, stiff and silent, then left the moment Butcher waved for everyone to fuck off.
You watch him go, your hands clasped under the table, worrying at the cuffs of your sleeves. You’re not worried about him. You don’t get worried about him. He’s an old ass with a pretty face, who spends more time trying to make you spread your legs than listening to plans for missions. But there’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, and it feels like a ship, rocking back and forth in a storm.
“Butcher?” You call, still watching the door Ben vanished through.
Butcher turns back to the table with a groan, glaring at you in your chair. “Fuckin’- I was about to go get Waffle House, love, so if you’ll excuse me-“
“What happened?”
“What-“ Butcher cuts himself off, running a hand down his face. “You mean on that mission Ijust fuckin’ debriefed-“
“No, I mean with Soldier Boy-“
“Ah, your sweet lil Ben-“
“No- I mean- He’s not-“ You shake your head. “Butcher, I’m fucking serious, he’s being- He was quiet.”
Butcher shrugs. “So? Far as I can see, he’s learnin’ how to be a good boy.”
“But he’s not,” you say flatly. “He’s not a good boy, and- You fucking know that.”
“Maybe. But I don’t go ‘round lookin’ for holes in good things, Love-“
“Oh, fuck off, that’s all you do-“
“Well, I’m a changed man.” Butcher gives you a lazy grin. “You got anything else for me? Gonna whine about grandpa actin’ too polite?”
You narrow your eye, holding Butcher’s stare. His tone is indifferent. His posture is bored. “You know I’m right about this,” you say, cold and quiet. “Don’t try and- And fucking dance around this. Ben’s acting weird, and-“
“Ben,” Butcher coos, and you snap your mouth shut. “Ain’t that sweet-“
“Butcher, I swear to fucking God-“
“What? You’re gonna tattle on me to your Ben-“
You shoot to your feet. “I am worried about the safety of our team, you dipshit-“
“Then go talk to your sweet Benny Boo, and maybe he’ll let you tickle his balls for an answer-“
The door slams open, and you and Butcher both freeze.
You’ve never found Ben as scary as you maybe should. He’s all muscle and talk and bite, but the teeth don’t seem sharp when they’ve only ever been bared for you. He tells you he’s a breathing fucking weapon, so you should watch your mouth. You ask him why you should bother, when he’s watching it for you. He laughs in that way that only you ever get to hear, and tosses his arm around you on the couch. Not a danger. A mountain of a man, that you know better than to try and topple with nothing more than moral hands.
A mountain that you’re used to bowing down to your height. That usually looks at everyone else like he’s measuring the minimum amount of effort he can use to crush their skull, right before offering you a hand to climb. When you take it, his lips twitch. When you tell him you don’t need help, he stares at you like he’s still learning how to look.
You know what the team says about you. What they think about the peace you’ve found with Ben, and the way it lingers around him whenever you’re near. But that’s really all it is. An understanding. Something close to friendship that you’re not brave enough to name. You think about him in the dark. He tries to fuck you, and you turn him down because you know.
It would be easier to fall for him that it should be. Whatever things are broken inside of you, he’s made of a kind of gold that pours into the cracks and makes them shine. But it’s fool’s gold. It would crack under pressure, leaving you more hollow than before. He’s not the kind of man that would want to build something. You only want to build something. And so he gets nothing, and you remain empty in a way that still lets your heart beat.
And you never fear Ben.
Not until he’s looming in the doorway, glaring between you and Butcher with a white-knuckle grip on the door and a glint in his eyes.
Butcher takes a small step back. You can’t move. Ben makes a low, rumbling sound from his chest, and the air suddenly feels hot and wet. No one dares to move.
“Ben,” you breathe, and his gaze snaps to yours. “Wha- Are you okay-“
He vanishes. You feel the floor rumble, as he stomps away, leaving you and Butcher frozen in the room. You turn slowly, glaring at Butcher. He throws you a winning grin, and slips out the door before you can ask if that seemed normal. Your fingers curl on the table.
Something’s going on, and you’re going to figure out what the fuck it is.
In the days after the meeting, Ben seems to almost get better. He speaks again. He walks around and jokes and smokes on the couch like everything is normal. Butcher acts like nothing happened, but you catch MM and Hughie giving him cautious looks. Annie and Kimiko are hanging around you more, and Ben seems angrier about it than usual.
“I think we need a new dryer,” you mutter one morning, sighing when Hughie gives you a curious look. “It’s eating my underwear.”
“Eating your- What?”
“My underwear. Like- How washers eat socks.” You frown at your cereal, poking it with your spoon. “It’s all going missing, I think it’s the dryer-“
“The fuck is wrong with the dryer,” Ben grunts, dropping next to you at the table.
“She thinks it’s eating her underwear,” Hughie mumbles, watching you nervously. “Are you sure you’re not just like- Dropping it in the hall or something?”
“Yes, I- I’ve even gone back and checked, it’s all just- It’s getting eaten, I swear-“
“Well- Um-“ Hughie glances at Ben. “Has your underwear been eaten?”
“Fuck no,” Ben grunts, and you sigh.
“He doesn’t believe in the dryer.”
Hughie blinks. “What- What do you mean, doesn’t believe in it?”
“Too many fucking buttons,” Ben grumbles. “Never trust a fucking robot to do what you can do with your goddamn hands. I wash my shit in the sink.”
“Mhm,” you smile at your coffee. “And then I wash it with the machine.”
Ben glares at you. You smile in return, and his mouth twitches. You expect a smart little comment about whatever gets you touching his boxers. Instead his eyes dart to your cereal, then your mouth.
“What-“
“You’re not eating.”
You blink. “I- I was talking to Hughie-“
“Why.”
“Because- My underwear- And-“ You swallow. The room is getting hot again. Ben’s glare is almost like a laser, driving into your body. “Ben, I’m going to eat-“
He grunts, and pushes the food closer to your body. He doesn’t look satisfied until you’ve cleared the bowl. You glance at Hughie, who seems just as lost as you do.
“Um- The dryer-“
“I’ll look at it,” Ben stands up, his own coffee and bacon completely ignored. You and Hughie exchange another look.
“Ben,” you say gently. “You- You can’t even turn it on-“
“It’s just fucking buttons, I’ll figure it out-“
“But- Ben-“
He’s already walking away. You chase after him, and barely manage to stop him from ripping up the whole laundry room. You’re not sure if this is part of it. You’re not really sure of anything right now, except odd looks behind your back, and your increasingly declining supply of underwear.
You keep an eye on him, closer than you have to. You don’t want him exploding, or going feral, or getting sick. If he gets sick, you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with it.
If he gets sick, you’re going to have to watch him get pale and small, and the thought makes your gut turn into a tight, strangling fist that reaches your throat. You spend the night curled up, staring at the ceiling. You walk to Ben’s room and linger outside the door, then shake yourself and go back to your room. You’re not some foolish, doting nurse. You’re his friend, and he’s a grown man who can take care of himself.
“Are you feeling okay?” You ask him in the morning, because you can’t help it.
Ben laughs, rich and deep. “Feel like a million fucking dollars, doll.”
“Hm,” peer at him on the couch. He’s relaxed. The color on his face is back to normal, and his thigh is pressed against yours easily. Ben catches your gaze, and smirks.
“You got something you wanna say to me?”
“No,” you say quickly, and Ben laughs.
“You gonna take my fucking temperature? Ask about my sleep and my fucking smoking habits?”
Your nose twitches. “No, I’m just- You had a fever yesterday-“
Ben cuts you off with a grunt. “I don’t get fucking fevers.”
“You were sweating, Benjamin-“
“Room was hot,” he grumbles. “Don’t lose your damn head about it.”
You scowl, moving up to your knees. “I’m not- You were acting weird,” you hiss. “You weren’t talking, and you- You didn’t touch me once-“
You cut yourself off, face flooding with heat, and Ben’s smile becomes wolfish.
“Oh,” he drawls, turning in his seat. “You missed me touchin’ you?”
“I- That’s not what I said-“
“Isn’t it?” He leans forward, fingers brushing near the top of your thigh. “You want my touch, sweetheart, all you have to do is say please.”
You narrow your eyes, tipping your chin up like it can defend you. “Fuck you.”
“Don’t you want to,” he teases, and your jaw drops.
“I- You’re fucking- I hate you.”
He laughs. His fingers trace the hem of your shorts. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You’re a shit fuckin’ liar-“
“You’re a shit fucking liar.” You spit, hoping he buys the false venom in your voice. “You were sick, Benjamin.”
Ben shrugs. “And you’re givin’ me the sex look.”
Goddamn him. Every, massive, cocky inch of him, and how you can’t seem to figure out how to stop him from affecting you. “I- I am not- There’s no- No-“ You look around the room, leaning forward to hiss low enough no one will hear. “There’s no fucking sex look.”
Ben hums, looking you up and down with that dragging gaze. The one that makes your body hum in excitement, that feels like more pressure than any other man’s hands.
“Stop doing that,” you snap, and he laughs.
“You’re real mouthy this morning, aren’t you.”
You scowl, sinking back into the cushions. “I’m hungry.”
Ben goes rigid. His hand fists on his knee, and his eyes lock on yours with that gleam again. You blink, leaning slightly back. Ben’s mouth presses in a thin line, and a low grumble rolls from his chest.
“Wha- What-“
He stands up, and marches away. You don’t move, too confused to remember how. Things hadn’t been back to normal, but they’d been a stilted version of it. Then he’s gone again, leaving you with too many fucking questions and an empty couch.
You’re seconds away from following him, when he stomps back into the room with a scowl.
“Ben, what’s- Shit-“
He tosses an apple straight into your lap. You fumble with it for a second, trying to figure out if a secret code or something, then look up at him with an openly confused expression.
“I- Um-“
“Eat that,” he grunts.
You blink. “What?”
“You said you’re fucking hungry, didn’t you?” He snaps, jerking his head to the apple. “Eat.”
You stare at each other for a long moment. The apple feels heavier than diamond in your hand, but Ben’s gaze is a burning, impossible pressure. It presses down against your core and makes your thighs ache. His eyes have gone almost wholly black. He’s back to that predatory stillness. You look at the apple, then him, and slowly raise it to your mouth.
Ben watches you take a large bite, and hums in satisfaction. You chew, and his eyes gleam. A little juice dribbles down your chin, and your tongue swipes out to catch it on instinct.
He moves back. You sit up, the apple tight in your fist, and Ben stumbles backwards like you’d punched him.
“Ben, what the fuck-“
He marches away again. You’re alone again, this time with an apple instead of Butcher.
At least the apple is less judgmental, while still offering the exact same amount of answers. You stare at it for twenty minutes, before you move. Ben doesn’t come out of his room for hours, and when he does, he won’t even look at you.
And that heat. The air-waving, mouth-watering heat is back, rolling off of him like an approaching storm. No one else seems to notice it. You’d think you were going insane, if you didn’t still have that apple, tight in your fist.
“You didn’t finish it,” Ben grunts from behind you, and you yelp in surprise.
“Jesus fucking- Ben-“
You whirl around, and cut yourself off. He’s right behind you. His legs are pressed to yours, his arms braced at his side, the weight of him almost locking you against the counter. Your hold on the apple goes slack, and it thuds to the floor. Ben’s glare deepens. His brow is beaded with sweat again.
“Hi,” you breathe, and he grunts.
“You were supposed to eat the fucking apple.”
“I- I had eggs,” you say, and Ben’s jaw locks.
He takes a long breath through his nose, leaning further down. This is the kind of thing that should make you want to run. It doesn’t.
“Who the fuck made you eggs,” Ben growls, and you blink.
“Me? I- I mean- I made me eggs- And- Um-“ You scan over his red face, his black eyes, and God, all that heat is so intoxicating you might be getting dizzy. “Be- Ben?”
He grunts your name. His arms brace on either side of your body. You might be about to melt.
“Can I please check your temperature?” You whisper. “I’m getting really worried. About-“ You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and forcing the words out. “About you.”
Ben doesn’t answer. You don’t dare to look. There’s something hard and thick, poking into your upper thigh. You grab Ben’s forearm for balance, and a low, dangerous sound rumbles from his chest.
Then, suddenly, the weight of him is gone. And when you open you’re eyes, it’s almost like he was never there at all.
Hughie coughs from the dining table, and you blink at him. You hadn’t even realized he was there.
“What- What the hell was that?”
You shake your head, staring blankly ahead at the wall. “I- I don’t-“ You cut yourself off, then look back to Hughie. “You were on the mission.”
Hughie swallows. “I- Um-“
“Hughie-“
“What mission?” He says, moving to his feet. “I mean- We go on so many, it’s easy to lose track-“
You block his path out of the kitchen, and he swallows.
“Please don’t-“
“Sit,” you point back to his chair, and he obeys.
“I- I really- I think Annie’s calling me-“
“Talk,” you hiss, and Hughie swallows. “Now.”
Ben got hit with a chemical. Hughie doesn’t know what—none of them do—but you’ve got a theory.
It’s a fragile thing. The way he’s acting, how you could possibly deal with it. You walk into the kitchen in the morning and find that he’s made you eggs. The plate gets shoved towards you with a grunt. Ben doesn’t stop staring until you’ve eaten every last bite, and then he stomps away without another word. You do your laundry and catch him staring at your clothing with twitching hands. You shower that night and open the door to find him standing in the hall, his whole body tense and his mouth hanging open.
“Ben,” you say gently, and he takes another one of those stumbling steps back.
You sigh, as he vanishes down the hallway. He hasn’t had a normal conversation with you in three days. The last time you bothered to try, he’d pinned you down on the couch and stared until you whispered his name, and he ran again.
He spends most days locked in his room. He comes out to make sure you’ve eaten or follow you to the grocery store, pressing behind you in the milk aisle and glaring at anyone who comes too close.
“Do you want anything?” You ask him softly before you go to checkout, and he just stares at you. Some days he’s not even talking anymore. Last night Annie tried to walk past you both on the couch, and he snarled like a dog.
He leans down until his nose is pressed to your hairline. His lips drag over your brow, and you stare up at him, trying not to let your heart burst out of your chest. He inhales deeply, and a low rumble rolls through his chest. His hand finds your waist, massaging and kneading at the skin.
Your gaze drops down, and there it is again. The outline of his cock, tenting in his jeans. You bite the inside of your mouth. Your knees wobble, and your hand flies to Ben’s shoulder. He’s burning up, skin searing even through his shirt.
He yanks back again, eyes black and chest heaving. You sigh, and turn back to the grocery cart. You’re too used to it now. It makes you worry more.
You try to get a straight answer out of Butcher that night. It’s somehow more useless than last time.
“I know Hughie blabbed, ain’t no reason in tryin’ to talk to me-“
“You know what’s wrong with him,” you hiss, and Butcher shrugs.
“Maybe. Gonna make any fuckin’ difference to what you’re doin’?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m fucking asking-“
“Oh, like you ain’t figured it out yourself.”
You glare at him. He smirks back, challenge lining every inch of his expression.
“You gonna go put your money where your mouth is, doll?” Butcher mocks. “Or just keep whinin’ around about it?”
And you don’t have an answer. Because he’s right. You figured it out when Ben snarled at MM for offering you a cup of coffee, a boner pressing through his sweats that everyone pretended to ignore. It would take a true idiot, to not be able to figure it out.
“When did you know,” you mumble, leaning back against the counter. Butcher shrugs, watching you carefully.
“Moment it hit the fucker.”
“Where you there-“
“I was the only cunt in the room.” Butcher shudders. “He started moanin’ and gettin’ hard, it was the most disgustin’ thing I’d ever seen.”
You sigh, giving him an unimpressed look, and Butcher smirks.
“He was cryin’ for you, love. Almost had to put him back under to stop him just sprintin’ back to the house to take you. Like a fuckin’ dog.”
You blink. Your heart does a little flip that you refuse to acknowledge. “He hasn’t touched me-“
“Don’t know why,” Butcher mutters. “I thought I was gonna follow him inside and find him- Well, you know.” He winks, and you narrow your eyes.
“But he hasn’t. Which-“ You swallow, looking up to the ceiling and biting your tongue.
It’s fine. It’s fine if it’s not you he wants to do this with. Probably for the better. It helps you cling to that last shred of dignity. The sliver of an illusion, that you don’t think about him more than you think about yourself,.
“Do we think this- Can it hurt him?” Your voice is smaller than you want it to be. Butcher just shrugs.
“Ain’t gonna kill him. Probably hurts.” His lip curls. “Permanent fuckin’ blue balls. Hell don’t go deep enough.”
You sigh. “Well, what if we hire him like- a hooker-“
“Tried that,” Butcher dismisses. “Almost got punched through a damn wall.”
Your mouth opens, then closes. “What? That’s- Ben wouldn’t turn down a hooker-“
“He did,” Butcher gives you a pointed look. “And it ain’t a hooker he’s makin’ eggs for, genius.”
You blink at him. “No, that’s- That isn’t part of it-“
“You willin’ to bet his life on that?”
And you aren’t. You’re not willing to bet anything. Because it hasn’t just been boners and staring. Ben’s been feeding you, following you like all illusion of not being your personal guard doesn’t matter anymore, refusing to let you do anything that might get you hurt.
“But- If it’s just a sex chemical,” you say slowly, and he cuts you off with a raised hand.
“I ain’t holdin’ your hand through this,” he says. “You talk to him yourself, and-“ He looks you up and down, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Bring protection. We don’t need soldier tots runnin’ around the house now, do we.”
“Butcher-“
“Not just a sex chemical,” he shrugs. “And you know it.”
You do. You wish you didn’t but you do.
A sex chemical would be easier. You could climb into bed with Ben, get railed into oblivion, then collect your heart off the floor and move on. But this is more. This is possessive and targeted and that means something. Something you don’t want to know. Something you have to know.
Butcher leaves you in the kitchen to collect yourself. You close your eyes, and try to control your breath, but it’s useless against your pounding heart. He turned down hookers. He moaned your name.
If this means nothing, you’re going to fucking kill him.
If it means something, you’re ready to deal with it. You don’t think you really have any other choice.
“Ben?” You knock on the door once, forcing your voice to steady. “Ben, can you please- We need to talk.”
He doesn’t answer. You weren’t expecting him to. The knock was more of a polite courtesy, then a question. You steel yourself, holding the doorknob with shaking fingers, and push into his room.
You barely make it a step inside, before all the will is knocked out of your body. It’s as if you walked into a wet dream. One of the private, dirtiest ones that make you wake up with the sheets bunched between your legs, that make reality feel like a slap to the face.
The room reeks of sex. Salty and heady, sweat and something rich that just smells like Ben. The sheets have been ripped and tangled on the floor, the pillows tossed off the unimportant corners of the room with piles of boxer and shirt and panties.
Your panties.
Ben sits, silent and dark-eyed on the bed, completely naked. One hand is fisting on of your panties, the other is wrapped tight around his thick, red cock. It’s veiny and so big it makes you sore just to look at. It throbs in his grip, and your cunt pulses in return. White pre-cum leaking from under his thumb, and his balls sit heavy between his thighs.
Your tongue darts out over your lips, and you force your gaze to drag up. Ben’s staring at you with a vein in his brow and that same burning intensity. The heat lingers in the air, humid and electric. Sweat falls from his neck, over his broad, flushed chest. His thighs are locked, his lips parted and eyes narrowed.
You glance back to the panties in his hand and swallow. You suppose, at the very least, you were right.
“I lost those,” you breathe, and Ben grunts.
“I’ll give ‘em back later.”
You blink, then glance at the pile in the corner of the room. Ben doesn’t look away from you for a second, and a low chuckle rumbles from his chest. It sends a thrill up your spine, and you have to lean back against the door to stay upright.
“You here just to collect your panties, doll?”
You shake your head, looking back to him hopelessly. You’d had a whole speech, about how he needed you to fix this, how you knew it must hurt, how if he asks nicely, you’ll let him take what he wants. It’s misting into thin air, with every thin, fraying thread that had been holding your dignity. Ben doesn’t make it easy. His gaze rakes over your body, a strange, blurred line between worship and hunger etched over his handsome features.
You don’t know how you’re supposed to pretend like this. With all of him at your fingertips, only a few steps away. You’d prepared yourself to be a toy, but you’re a lamb to slaughter. An offering to a god who won’t take anything else, who holds your sanity like a delicate bird in his rough hands. He could destroy you, and you’re going to thank him. He could recreate you, and you’d never know a better blessing.
Ben leans back, something iron lining his words. “You should go.”
You shake your head, and his jaw ticks.
“Go.”
There’s a low, deep command in the word. You almost obey.
“Those are mine,” you breathe, nodding to the panties, and Ben sighs.
“Fuckin’ Christ- Go-“
“Why are they mine?”
The question is soft. You know he hears it, because he goes quiet again. You stare at each other for another long moment, and you take the smallest step forward. A low groan pulls from Ben’s throat. Your knees almost buckle.
“Don’t,” he gives you a look like it’s a command, but there’s something thinner under the word. Something soft.
“I- I know about the chemical,” you whisper, and Ben’s throat bobs. “You could’ve asked-“
“Ask what? For you to suck my cock? Like some limp-dick pussy who can’t handle his booze?”
Your lips twitch. “Your dick isn’t limp.”
Ben gapes at you. His cock jumps in his hand, and you take another step.
“You’re- Fucking unbelievable,” he grunts, and you laugh. “This shit ain’t funny, doll-“
“It’s a little funny,” you murmur, stopping right above him.
No part of you is touching. Every inch feels gravitational. He has to be the one to crash first.
“You turned down hookers for me,” you whisper, and Ben scowls.
“It doesn’t want hookers.”
You glance at his cock, then his tight face. “What does it want?”
He glares. You don’t back down. You never have before, and you’re not about to start now.
“Don’t be a fuckin’ tease-“
“Don’t be a dick,” you lean down. Ben’s legs part to make room for you. It’s an effort, not to just touch him. “What does it want, Ben.”
What do you want.
He hears the invisible question. His jaw works, and his eyes drop to your lips.
“I’ll fuckin’ break you,” he rasps, and you smile.
“No,” you say. “You like me too much.”
Ben’s gaze rips back up. You raise your brows, daring him to do it. To say it. To put you both out of your misery.
A low growl rips through his chest. “Go. Now.”
You don’t move, and watch as the last line of Ben’s control snaps.
He grabs you by the waist and drags you fully into his lap. You gasp as his lips smash against yours, the kiss rough and demanding. There’s so part of you that isn’t consumed by it, that doesn’t mold into his touch. Your legs spread so you can straddle his lap, and Ben grabs your ass with a grunt, forcing you up so his cock is pressed against your clothed cunt. You moan against his lips, and he presses his tongue into your mouth.
“Be- Ben-“ Your nails scrape at his shoulders, and he squeezes your ass with a grunt. “Fuck- Ben-“
“Already whining,” he mutters, dragging his free hand up to rest on the back of your neck. “Barely fuckin’ touched you are you’re already sayin’ my name like I fucked you.”
Your face burns, and Ben weaves his hand through your hair, gathering it in on fist and pushing it down to deepen the kiss. You almost don’t know what to do with yourself. His touch is hot and possessive, sending shivers through your whole body. His cock rubs against your underwear with every shift, and the pressure makes your legs spread wider. You start to grind down to chase the friction, and Ben moans, deep and low.
“That’s it,” he grunts, massaging your ass with shockingly gentle hands. “That’s a good girl. Show me what you’ve got, doll, prove that you’re gonna take this cock for me.”
You try to drag him closer, but he’s immovable. When you push, his hand moves from your ass to your lower back, pushing down so you can feel every inch of his dick, rubbing between your thighs. You make a strangled noise, and Ben chuckles. It’s an even rougher sound than before. His mouth has started to wander over your cheeks and jaw, pressing open, sloppy, kisses everywhere he can reach.
It’s almost like you’re being seduced into the same, sex-focused daze that’s taken a hold of him. The kisses light undying fires over your skin, spreading and spreading until you think you’ll die if he moves away. Ben’s started to lose focus himself, pawing at your ass like an animal and growling against your skin.
“Bennn,” you moan as his fingers graze on your inner thigh, turning your face to bury in his neck. “Mmmm- Ben- M- More-“
He growls again, and his hips slam up. It knocks the air from your lungs, and he’s not even inside you. Your arms wrap around his neck, trying to hold on as he starts to rut against your core, broken, desperate sounds falling from his lips.
You manage to lean back to look at him, and he’s thoroughly wrecked. He grabs your jaw, still rutting, and you try to smile. His nostrils flare and he kisses you again, the fervor only seeming to build as he chases his own orgasm. You hum against his lips, trying to make yourself pliant and soft, easy for him to use.
“Smell good,” he rasps against your skin, beard tickling against your neck. “Always smell so- So fuckin’ good-“
He cuts himself off with another groan, his cock twitching between your thighs. He shoves you further down, rocking his hips back and forth as he keeps trying to get there against your body.
“Gonna wreck you,” he mutters, mouthing at a pulse point. “Fuck you ‘till you can’t walk, fuck you stupid, fuck you mine.”
You moan happily, dragging your hands down his bare, thick back. The muscles ripple under your touch, and Ben moans like that touch is almost enough to set him off. You kiss over his cheekbone and beard, along his jaw, and slowly guide his mouth back to yours. He lets you lead this kiss, mindlessly focused on trying to fuck himself against your body. He’s panting so hard you’d be worried about anyone else.
He groans against your lips, clawing at your clothing with blunt nails. “Off- Get- Fuck- Get this shit off-“
He whines like a dog when you push on his chest, and you expect him not to let you up, but his grip loosens. You smile down at him, moving back to your feet, and he stares at you with a slack jaw.
“Get back here,” he growls, one hand still splayed on the back of your thigh. “Now.”
“I’m helping you,” you tease, slowly pulling down your shorts. “Say please.”
Ben’s eyes flash, and his jaw locks. You know he won’t beg. You don’t really want him to. This—the undivided, adoring attention, the way he’s staring at you like you’re the only thing he could ever possibly want in the world, when he’s spent a century of life indulging in sweet things and easier desires—is more than enough.
You sink to your knees, and he lets you. That hand on your thigh drags up to fist back in your hair, and he goes back to that predatory stillness as you rub his thighs with light hands.
“I ain’t beggin’,” he grunts, and you hum, letting your fingers brush against the base of his cock.
Ben’s hips jerk up, a moan ripping from his chest. You giggle, guiding his hand away, and he glares at you under hooded eyes.
“Something fuckin’ funny?”
“Mmm,” you shrug, wrapping your hand around his cock, and god, he’s even bigger than he looks. “I’m just… Learning.”
“Learning,” Ben echoes, the awe pushed through gritted teeth. “Jesus fuckin’- Christ-“
You lick a long, slow stripe up the length of Ben’s cock, and he tosses his head back like he’s praying.
“Holy- Fuckin’ hell-“ He tugs at your hair without actually trying to move it, biceps bulging as he tries not to overtake your mouth. “You’re- warm-“
You giggle again, pumping your fist as you kiss the tip. Ben makes a low, sinful sound, his free hand fisting at the sheets. You’ve never seen him in such control of himself. A living god that could skullfuck you until you sobbed, trying to let you lead your way. You think it’s something in the way he’s holding you like you’re made of lace instead of silicone. It makes an unbearable ache return to your core.
You take Ben in your mouth until he bumps against the back of your throat, and he groans your name so loud it must echo through the city. You work what you can’t fit in your mouth, sucking on his cock like it’s candy.
“Fuckin’- You can suck some fuckin’ cock, doll-“ He chokes out, hips bucking when you squeeze him near the base. “Best mouth I’ve ever felt- Son of a-“
His words turn to moans, and you look up at him under your lashes. He’s leaning back with a glazed eyes and veins pushing at his neck. His shoulders are tense, his abdomen flexing, and you can’t control your own hips as they start to chase relief against the air. Ben catches the movement, watching it as if he’s under a spell. His cock is heavy and pulsing in his mouth, and it just makes your cunt ache more, imagining the weight of him buried inside of you.
“Jesus, you’re a needy thing,” he mutters, his thumb dragging over the soft skin behind your ear. “You fuckin’ like this? Like choking on some proper dick?”
You whine, eyes rolling back as he presses back against your throat. You press your shoulder forward, forcing your tits further up for him to see. Ben jaw clenches, and you feel him try to not move. His pre-cum is getting thicker, and who knows how long he’d been going before you.
“Ben,” you pull off for a split second, dropping your hand to massage his balls as you kiss over the head of his dick. “Please.”
You drop back down, and he understands in a second. He uses you like a toy, pulling your head up before slamming it back down. You make your jaw slack, moaning around him with every single thrust. Your eyes roll back in your head, and the need builds and builds between your thighs.
You drag you’re hips forward shamelessly, grabbing Ben’s leg and angling your clit to rub against whatever it can reach. Ben groans at the sight, and the sound just floods between your legs.
“Shit, I can feel how fuckin’ wet you are,” he growls, and you whimper, watching him under glossy lashes. “Shit- Lookin’ at me like that, gonna make me-“
You moan eagerly, and Ben’s control snaps again.
It’s fun to see the edges of it. How the pit of his restraint is far deeper than you would’ve imagined a week ago. He tries to drag you off his cock as he cums, but you push yourself back down. It comes in thick, sticky ropes, shooting down your throat until you’re gagging and almost unable to breathe. You try to swallow, but there’s so much it falls out of your mouth like drool, dripping down your cheeks and onto your breasts.
“Jesus, thought you were gonna drown in it,” Ben pulls your dazed head off, grinning down at you. “Look at you, baby. Little fuckin’ trooper.”
You blink at him, still trying to lick the remains off your lips. You glance down to his cock, and it’s still hard. How the fuck is it still hard.
“Hasn’t been goin’ down since that shit hit me,” Ben mutters, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “Needs it’s pussy.”
“It’s pussy?” You breathe out, and Ben sighs.
“Your pussy,” he mutters. “Needs you, smartass.”
“It needs me?”
You give him your best innocent look. He glares at you, and you just tilt your head, smiling like you’re made of honey. You sort of feel like you are. You’ve never been this gooey, just from sucking a guy off. You’ve never even liked sucking someone off.
But this is Ben. Rough everywhere, but made of tiny divets that go soft when pressed. The kind of man you can crawl into and never have a harsh hand find your body again.
He swallows, his thumb lingering on your lips. You kiss the pad of it, then the knuckle, before slowly wrapping your lips around him and sucking. Ben’s cock twitches, somehow getting harder. You don’t think you’re ever going to walk again.
Worth it.
“I need you,” he rasps, pulling his thumb away. “Feet. Now.”
He taps your nose, and you scramble up. You’ll fight him tooth and dirt when he’s fighting back. When he’s not, you can’t think of a single reason to deny him a thing.
Ben grabs the back of your thigh again, watching you with an expectant glint in his eyes. You swallow and pull your shorts down, trying not to fall over when he stares at your core like you’re showing him a treasure. His fingers dig into soft skin, and his free hand wraps around his cock, pumping slowly as you continue to strip in front of him.
You peel off your shirt, and Ben’s tongue darts over his lips. His grip on your thigh tightens, and he slowly coaxes you forward. You rest your hands on his shoulders, shoving down the bubbling, electric nerves in your chest.
“Ben,” you whisper, and he hums, dragging a massive, rough hand up your side. “E- Easy-“
“Oh, doll,” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your breast. “This is easy.”
Your legs wobble, your confidence quickly waning. The doubts start to pool like rainwater in a gutter, as Ben takes in your naked body. Maybe you weren’t the dream doll he had in his head. Maybe you pushed it too far with the teasing. Maybe he doesn’t really want you in the same, volcanic kind of way you want him.
He drags two fingers along your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin as he mouths at your breast. You close your eyes, trying to just breathe, and Ben chuckles.
“And you wanted me to say please,” he drawls. “Look at you, all fuckin’ sweet for me. You gonna beg for me again, baby? Or that mouth only good for sucking my cock?”
You whimper, a gush of heat flooding between your thighs.
“Yeah, you like me talking,” Ben mutters, kissing over your sensitive nipple. “Like knowing you’ve got the only fuckin’ pussy in the world that makes me act like an idiot. Pretty girl, pretty fuckin’ tits,” he sucks a dark spot on your breast, his thumb slowly dragging between the lips of your cunt. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy, wet like a whore in the summer for me.”
Ben thumbs at your slit, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking hard. His thumb drags up in the exact same moment, finding your clit and rubbing tight, unrelenting circles. You vision blurs and you stumble forwards, wrapping your arms tight around his head.
“Be- Fuck- Bennnn-“
He hums around your nipple, grazing his teeth over the perked bud. His mouth is warm and wet, his tongue flicking back and forth until you’re in a sex-addled frenzy. You press your face into his hair, gasping his name as he drags his thumb back and forth across your clit.
He wraps a massive arm around your body, fingers splaying over your back and cradling you close to his body.
“Feel that fuckin’ mess,” he drawls, kissing over your breasts. “No one else gets you this wet, do they?”
You shake your head, and Ben leans back with narrowed eyes. He slaps your pussy with a harsh little tap, and a broken cry escapes your lips.
“Do they,” he growls, and you shake your head.
“No- No-“ You try to lean down, desperate to just kiss him, to get as close as he’ll allow. “Just you, Ben, just you-“
He smirks, slaps your cunt again, and goes back to making out with your nipples. You moan, slumping over his body as the tension becomes almost painful. You don’t know what he’s getting out of this until you feel his hips rocking beneath you. His cock rubs against his stomach and your thigh, already smeared with pre-cum again. You gasp and Ben moans around your nipple, the sensation vibrating through your whole body.
“Oh- Oh my god-“ You squirm, the pressure getting unbearable. “I- I’m- Oh my god-“
You’re babbling, but you’re not sure what else there is to do. You cunt his clenching around nothing, the thick scent of Ben clouding your head as he works you like a toy. Ben nips at your nipple and pushes his thumb down hard. Your knees buckle, almost making you fall back to your knees on the carpet.
Ben’s arm around your back tightens, and he rolls you both over, tossing you back onto the mattress without even a grunt. You almost cry out at the sudden cold, the lack of Ben all around you. It only lasts a second before he grabs your ankle and drags you forward.
You’re lain on the bed, staring at Ben with an open expression. His jaw clenches and he rubs your thighs, slowly pushing your knees up to your chest. Your cunt is on full, open display to him, and your breath catches as he drags his thumb between the swollen lips of your pussy.
“Look at that,” he almost purrs. “Mine.”
You whimper when he flicks your clit again, but it quickly falls into a moan as he leans down and presses an open mouth kiss to your pussy. Your eyes roll back in your head, your hips arching to meet his chapped, full lips. Ben groans against your cunt, his grip on your legs tightening.
You’ve had men eat you out before. You’ve had them be good at it, and horrible.
Ben does it like it’s a job, and he’s never hated work a day in his life. You were already on such a thin wire that the first press of his tongue against your clit makes you snap, a cry falling from your lips and your hands flying wildly to catch a hold of something. Ben grabs them and pins them against your stomach, forcing you down into the mattress as his mouth keeps working against your cunt.
He’s open with it, moaning and sucking and pushing his tongue into your fluttering cunt as he rocks his face back and forth, dragging your orgasm out until you’re almost floating. The heat hasn’t stopped building. Every time you think you’re going to come down, Ben kisses your clit, and darts his tongue back and forth like he’s trying to get a high score of most orgasms in an hour.
Maybe two hours. You can hear the bed creaking in a steady rhythm, as Ben’s fucks down into the mattress, but then he drags another orgasm out of you, and the only thing in the world is Ben’s mouth against your cunt. The sounds he makes, the way he’s watching you under hooded, smug eyes, the way his massive back forces your legs further apart whenever you try to close them and exposes you to him further.
You writhe when your third orgasm hits, shoving at his head with weak hands.
Ben draws back, pinning your legs down to the bed and fixing you with a stern glare.
“Stay still,” he grunts, and you swallow.
“Too- Too much-“
“You want cock?” He snaps, and you nod frantically. “Only good girls get cock, baby. You bein’ a good girl when you whine?”
Your lip wobbles. Your face burns. Ben raises his brows, daring you to be a brat, and any other day you would. You’d stick your tongue out and mock him, you’d test his buttons, you’d see just what you could say, to get bent over his lap or tossed around the bed.
But there are tears streaming down your cheeks, and you’ve never been so totally aware of how empty you are. You really think the chemicals might be contagious. You really don’t fucking care.
“No,” you whisper, shame burning at your cheek and between your thighs. “I’m not.”
Ben hums, spits on your clit, and starts to rub it with a fast thumb. “You gonna be a good girl?”
You nod, and Ben smirks.
“Yeah. I know.”
He dives back down, and stars burst behind your eyes as another orgasm overtakes your body. You’re trembling and gasping for air, pulling at his hair and only earning another moan that makes your back arch. Ben laps at you through the orgasm, hips still slamming against the bed.
Then, one second, his beard his grazing over your inner thigh and his lips are pressed against the over sensitive, pulsing bundle of nerves. The next you’re face down with a thick arm around your stomach, dragging you back against Ben’s chest like a ragdoll.
“Need to get in that pussy,” he growls, dragging his cock between the lips of your cunt. “Give you this cock real good, show you who the fuck you belong to, right now.”
Ben bites and sucks on your neck, the head of his dick bumping against your clit, but he still doesn’t push inside. Your nails dig into your forearm, the wet sound of him sliding against you filling the room, and you almost don’t know what the fuck he’s waiting for.
“Please,” you breathe out, dropping your head against his shoulder and giving him your best, sweetest eyes. “Please, Ben- Fuck me.”
Another one of those feral sounds rips from Ben’s chest, and his hand drags down to press two thick fingers against your clit as he slowly pushes himself inside. The breath is knocked from your lungs at the first inch, a broken sound escaping your lips.
Ben’s free arm wraps around your neck, the bulging bicep forcing your head back further so he can kiss over your open, drooling mouth.
“That’s it,” he coos, rubbing your clit back and forth as he presses deep into your cunt. “That’s a good little slut, takin’ just what I give you, come on-“
You whimper, and Ben deepens the kiss, pressing his tongue down your throat as he pushes another inch. You clench down around him and he groans, kissing you brutally as he bullies the last few inches inside of you.
He’s so big it makes sparks dance on the edge of your vision. You’ve never been this full, every single nerve in your body all too aware of the delicious split of Ben’s cock. Between the head lock and his mouth against yours, the tears can’t stop streaming down your face. Ben growls your name, kissing a stray one near your lips, his tone a warning you can barely hear.
“Christ- You’re fuckin’ tight- Gotta- Relax-“
You can’t. You’re overstimulated and so needy you can’t think, can’t move, can’t do anything but feel the smeared arousal between your thighs, the drag of Ben’s cock against your g-spot, the muscle and heat of his body wrapped all around you.
You clench down again, and the very last bit of Ben’s resolve snaps.
He cums inside of you suddenly, moaning down your throat as he ruts up in short, rough thrusts. The cum spills into your until you’re warm and stuffed, then runs down your ass and over your thighs. It’s so wet you think he’d slip right out of you, if it wasn’t for the headlock. You’re so full you don’t even remember how to breathe, until Ben squeezes just under your breast and groans your name.
“Don’t go out on me, doll, c’mon-“ He groans and kisses you again, his hand dropping back down to spread against your tummy. “Fuck- You feel so fuckin’ good- Better than coke, baby, Christ-“
You make another broken sound, your voice hoarse and small from the arm around your throat.
Then Ben starts to fuck you, and you think you might ascend.
He rolls his hips in long, deep thrusts, dragging in and out of your cunt like a machine. The sound of your cum mixing—sliding between your bodies with every single shift—is obscene. You’re being used like the most tended to, adored fuckdoll in the world. Ben cradles you like he thinks you’ll break, and fucking you like he’s trying to take you apart.
You feel him everywhere, with every single slam of his cock against your g-spot. Your vision swims, the tears falling freely, and Ben kisses every single one away with another, brutal thrust.
“Fuckin’ crying for me, babydoll?” He nips at your lower lip, and you whine a sound like his name. “Pretty girl can’t fuckin’ take it after begging? So sensitive you need to fuckin’ whine?”
You turn your cheek, giving him your best, pleading doe eyes. You can’t tell if his gaze sharpens or focuses. His thrusts become deeper, and his thumb finds your swollen, pulsing clit again. You sob, and he kisses the sound away with a hum.
“Bein’ such a good fuckin’ slut,” he mutters, pinching your clit and rolling it between his fingers. “Takin’ this cock like a pro, baby, like you were fucking made for me.
You babble his name again, and Ben smirks. This kiss is slower. Almost loving, and in a stark contrast with how he’s drilling into your gaping cunt.
The orgasm washes over you like a wave, and Ben moans your name as you squeeze down around him. Your vision goes white and you thrash, your body being wracked with so much pleasure you can only scream. Ben’s cock slams home against your g-spot, and rush of something wet and hot flood out of your pussy, and you think you might pass out.
At the least, you’re floating out of your body. Ben cums with rough, spat out praise, then slowly lowers you back down to the mattress. Weight shifts around. He rubs your back as you gasp for air, then slowly rolls you over and pushes your legs back open.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, the words far away, but his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Didn’t know you could get this fuckin’ dumb and quiet. Should’ve been fucking you every day.”
He laughs to himself, and your hand flies up, unsure what it’s looking for.
Ben catches it, twines your fingers together, kisses your knuckles, and presses it back into the mattress.
“Need more, doll,” he rasps, and you whimper. “I’ll go easy. Not tryin’ to break my-“
He cuts himself off. You don’t have the words to push him. You don’t have the energy to do anything. Ben kisses your stomach, then lower, then lower. You gasp softly, when you feel his tongue lapping at your pussy. It’s gentler than before. Slower, almost careful. He works you open, mixing your releases together and tasting it almost for the sake of tasting it.
Your eyes cross, as the soft, tickling sensations. They’re strangely relaxing, even if they make your pussy flutter hopelessly.
“Easy,” Ben murmurs, kissing over your clit. “Nice and fuckin’ easy.”
It is. You go limp again, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of his tongue. He’s not trying to make you cum, or get you ready. God knows you could probably take a fist in there right now, with how he’s left you soaked and open. You can hear his fist working against his cock again, and find the energy to look up again.
He’s almost art, above you. Hair mussed and tangles, dominating your vision, whole face wet and eyes blown out. You squeeze his hand in yours and smile. He blinks, and his jaw sets as he understands.
This time, he doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He must understand by now, that you might be more depraved than even he can dream up. You’d sit on his cock for the rest of your life, if he let you. And there are worse ways to be worshipped, than with everything a man—a broken, titan of a man who’s made of more than he can understand—has to give.
You let yourself lose track of it all. Ben moves you into positions you didn’t know you could make, hauling you back into his lap, flipping you over and dragging your ass in the air, sitting you on top of him and guiding your hips back and forth until you’re mewling his name and shaking around his cock. The whole room might have to be burned, when this is over. There isn’t an inch of your body he hasn’t cum on, kissed, spanked, or grabbed.
He ends up on top of you again, holding your knees back against your chest with a single arm, fucking you slow enough to drag long, loud moans from your lips every time.
“That’s my girl,” he mutters, watching his thick, swollen cock slide in and out of your cunt, smearing and spreading hours of cum between your thighs. “My pretty fuckin’ doll.”
You moan, reaching up with shaking hands to cup the back of his neck. His gaze drags back to yours, and you smile. You don’t know where the delicate, flowering thing inside of you is coming from. You think it’s always been there, and Ben’s stripped you so bare there’s nowhere to hide it, no way to make it wither. With his hands so gentle on your hips and thighs, his gaze so clouded with adoration you think that—to anyone else—he wouldn’t look like the same man, there’s nothing left to do but let this bloom.
“I love you,” you breathe out, the first words you’ve said in hours. “I love you, Ben.”
His eyes go impossibly darker. His fingers dig into you, and he crashes forward with a groan.
Ben cums one last time, and you pass out at his kisses all over your face, murmuring words you feel more than hear.
He doesn’t say it back. You didn’t think he would. Ben coddles you like a child after, wrapping you in a shirt that somehow survived the damage and carrying out back to your room. You get a warm bath and glass of water. Your stomach rumbles, and suddenly there’s food in your hand. Ben rises you both off in the shower, his breathing heavy and his face pressed into the crook of your neck.
You can feel it with every single touch. That he’s trying to find a way to tell you. That it’s carving through his chest that he doesn’t know how.
And you’ll wait. Telling him he doesn’t have to will do nothing but make him more frustrated, and you’re happy to have whatever he can offer after… this.
He figures it out faster than you thought, though. He lays in bed with you, glaring at the ceiling and rubbing your side. You watch him, your head propped on his chest, and smile. You lean up and press a kiss to his jaw, and he grunts in surprise, his gaze dropping to yours.
You smile again. His throat bobs. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks back to the ceiling and lets out a slow, deep breath.
“Marry me.”
You blink at him. If you had an ounce of strength left in your body, you’d sit up. “What?”
“You heard me,” he grunts, glancing back down at you. “You mean what you said?”
“Of- Of course I meant it-“
“You sure?”
“Fuck you,” you shove his chest, and his mouth twitches. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t sure, asshole. But-“ You point a stern finger. “I’m not marrying you.”
That makes him really, deeply frown. “Why not.”
“Because I’m not crazy.”
“That ain’t crazy, doll, you love something, you fucking marry it-“
“Marry it?” You snort. “What, are you gonna marry the fucking TV?”
“No, you brat, I’m marrying you.”
Your mouth falls open. Ben glowers at you, his fingers digging on your hips again, like he’s worried you’re going to run. “Me?” You whisper, and Ben grunts.
“Don’t see me fuckin’ proposing to anyone else, do you.”
You laugh weakly. “But this is- Ben, this is a bad proposal-“
“It is not bad-“
“It’s horrible-“
“You’re going to say yes,” he snaps, and you sigh, tracing over the line of his pecs.
There’s something raw under that demand. Something you don’t want to mock or poke at. That you want to nurture, to get him to show without barbing it in a defensive wire.
But you’re also not marrying him after one sex marathon.
“I want dinner,” you say, and he frowns.
“I’ll get you a fucking ring-“
“No.” You lean down until your noses bump. “Dinner.”
Ben glares at you. You glare back, rubbing his chest, and he slowly relaxes under your touch.
“Dinner,” he mutters, and you beam, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
He grabs the back of your neck, holding you above him. “You’d say yes, though,” he rasps, and god help you, you would.
You just kiss him instead. Long and slow and deep, telling him in a language you know he prefers to speak. And you can feel it, under every single touch. How much he really, truly means it.
Five dinners, you tell yourself, but if Ben keeps holding you like this, you know. You’ll only last until he asks you again, and then—just like before—you’ll all too happily give in.
✦End note: theory answered: yes he can ✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
˚₊‧꒰ა dean winchester ☆ @kiwi1027 ☆ sam winchester ☆ castiel ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
ꔛ. the beginning,
✧ who you are in the supernatural world .ᐟ
em, you’re already a hunter when the winchesters meet you, but you refuse to let hunting consume your entire life. with your scorpio sun, moon, mercury, and venus, you’re private, intense, and very difficult to fool. your virgo rising + jupiter in virgo make you practical enough to research properly, pack carefully, and notice the detail everyone else dismissed. but your mars in pisces is what keeps you working part-time as a veterinary assistant between cases. you can handle blood, danger, and ugly supernatural truths, then spend the next morning patiently coaxing a terrified dog out from beneath an exam table.
your worlds collide when several animals arrive at the clinic with identical black splinters embedded beneath their skin. the injuries look minor until you realize the fragments form pieces of the same sigil. naturally, you begin investigating after your shift instead of minding your own business. terrible for your sleep schedule. excellent for the plot.
your tattoos, septum piercing, metalhead style, and stocky build make people assume you’re tougher than tender. you are tough. but your softness isn’t a contradiction. it’s the reason you keep fighting.
✧ first meeting + first impression
dean notices your tattoos and deftones shirt first, then becomes visibly more interested when you identify metallica playing from the impala before he even opens the door. his first impression is that you’re cool, guarded, and probably fun to annoy. your scorpio intensity clashes with his aquarius energy enough to create immediate tension. unfortunately for everyone, dean enjoys tension.
sam notices your competence first. you already have photographs, notes, and a theory connecting the sigil fragments to an abandoned farm outside town. your virgo rising speaks directly to his, while your scorpio placements oppose his taurus-heavy chart in a way that makes him curious almost immediately. he thinks you’re sharp, serious, and far more caring than your first impression suggests.
castiel notices the animals trusting you. your mars in pisces connects naturally with his pisces moon, while his venus in cancer understands the gentleness underneath your guarded exterior. his first impression is simple: you’re kind when nobody’s watching. that matters to him more than anything performative ever could.
✧ the friendship dynamic
with dean, friendship is built through music arguments, sarcasm, and the discovery that you’re both much softer than either of you advertises. he likes your edge and the fact that you don’t scare easily, but your scorpio-heavy chart reads him too accurately for his comfort.
with sam, the dynamic is quieter and deeper. your scorpio placements oppose his taurus sun, mercury, and mars, creating a strong sense of fascination and trust built slowly through shared research and consistency. he respects your instincts, and you appreciate that he never mistakes silence for disinterest.
with castiel, friendship feels unexpectedly gentle. he understands your compassion without treating it as weakness and takes your veterinary knowledge very seriously, even when dean starts calling you the team’s “monster vet”.
dean makes you laugh. sam makes you feel understood. castiel makes you feel safe enough to soften.
✧ quirks + fun things
→ dean steals control of the clinic speaker whenever your playlist becomes “too depressing”, then adds metallica as if that’s a meaningful compromise.
→ sam starts bringing you photographs of strange animal tracks from cases because he trusts your opinion more than whatever he finds online.
→ castiel becomes deeply invested in every animal recovering under your care and occasionally appears at the clinic just to ask for updates with complete seriousness.
ꔛ. something more,
✧ are you compatible .ᐣ first steps .ᐣ
with dean, there’s immediate chemistry. your scorpio placements square his aquarius energy, creating attraction, tension, and a stubborn refusal to admit either of you cares first. dean initiates the shift, probably after an argument that stopped sounding platonic several minutes ago.
with sam, the romantic pull is stronger and more sustainable. your scorpio stellium opposes his taurus placements, creating a magnetic slow burn with real emotional weight. your pisces mars also softens his grounded energy beautifully. sam notices his feelings first but moves carefully. he understands that earning your trust matters more than rushing the moment.
with castiel, the connection is tender and quietly intimate. his venus in cancer works beautifully with your scorpio placements, while his pisces moon understands your sensitivity. castiel feels the shift before he knows how to name it. you probably have to help him with that part. gently.
✧ the relationship dynamic
with dean, the relationship would be passionate, funny, and occasionally exhausting. he likes your confidence, your style, and your refusal to let him hide behind jokes forever. but your scorpio venus needs emotional honesty, while dean can become evasive when feelings get too serious.
with sam, the relationship would feel private, loyal, and deeply grounded. he shows love through reliability: remembering your shifts, helping with research, bringing food when you forget to eat, and giving you room without disappearing.
with castiel, love would feel gentle and sincere. he’d notice the smallest details, treat your softness carefully, and never expect you to become less guarded before you’re ready. the challenge is communication: castiel means deeply, but doesn’t always explain clearly.
✧ their favorite n worst version of you
dean’s favorite version of you, em, is when your dry humor comes out and you stop pretending you’re above enjoying his nonsense. his least favorite is when you become unreadable after something hurts, because he knows you’re carrying more than you’ll admit.
sam’s favorite version is the one quietly focused on helping something vulnerable—an injured animal, a frightened civilian, even one of them after a bad hunt. his least favorite is when you assume needing support would make you less capable. he doesn’t want you to turn strength into isolation.
castiel’s favorite version is the soft one you reveal accidentally. the one speaking gently to an animal that can’t understand every word but trusts the tone anyway. his least favorite is when you hide that tenderness because you think the world will punish it. he wouldn’t want you to harden just because hardness is easier to protect.
✧ fighting, hurting, making up
with dean, conflict comes from emotional avoidance. he jokes or withdraws, you go quiet and sharper around the edges. dean causes more damage because he may mistake silence for resolution.
with sam, the issue is stubbornness. your scorpio placements and his taurus ones can create standstills, but he’s usually more consistent about repair once he understands what hurt.
with castiel, misunderstandings come from bluntness and secrecy rather than cruelty. he may keep things from you because he thinks he’s protecting you.
emotionally, sam’s the most reliable communicator, castiel’s the most sincere, and dean’s the one most likely to need the conversation dragged out of him with metaphorical pliers.
ꔛ. scenario ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ vet by day ⋆ hunter by night
the clinic is technically closed, which means dean has no excuse for standing in the doorway with a paper bag of fries and the expression of a man personally betrayed by antiseptic.
“you said ten minutes,” he says.
“that was before someone brought in a cat with a cursed splinter in its paw,” you answer, not looking up from the tabby tucked against your chest. “hold the flashlight.”
dean sighs theatrically, but he takes it.
sam’s already beside you, sleeves pushed up, reading from the photocopied page you shoved at him five minutes ago. “the marking matches the sigil from the barn.”
“great,” you murmur. “love that for us.”
the cat growls. your hand moves automatically, stroking beneath its chin until the tension eases.
castiel watches with the solemn concentration he usually reserves for matters of cosmic importance. “it trusts you.”
“animals usually do.”
“more quickly than people?”
you glance at him. “cas.”
“that was not criticism.”
dean snorts. sam tries not to smile and fails.
once the splinter is sealed inside a salt-lined specimen jar, the cat settles against your shoulder as if it has decided you belong to it now. dean hands you a fry without asking. sam reaches over to tuck a loose strand of hair away from your face before it can fall into your eyes. castiel, after a thoughtful pause, places one careful hand on the cat’s head.
the cat immediately begins to purr.
“well,” dean says. “look at that. disney princess powers.”
“jealous?”
“deeply.”
you finally laugh, tired and soft, surrounded by fluorescent light, metallica playing quietly from your phone, and three men pretending they didn’t rearrange the entire evening around waiting for you to finish helping one small, angry animal. honestly, it might be the nicest case this week.
ꔛ. overall ゛with dean ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ 7.4 / 10 with sam ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ 8.9 / 10 with castiel ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ 8.6 / 10
em, dean gives you the strongest immediate spark. he’d love your edge, your music taste, your tattoos, and the fact that your softness has teeth. but emotional consistency would take work.
castiel is a genuinely lovely match. he understands your gentleness instinctively and would never ask you to become less sensitive to survive the world around you. communication may occasionally require translation, but the foundation is safe.
sam is the strongest overall fit. your scorpio placements need loyalty with depth, not surface-level reassurance. sam’s taurus-heavy chart gives you steadiness without making the relationship dull, while your shared virgo energy makes everyday life feel surprisingly natural.
dean would make you feel desired. castiel would make you feel protected. but sam is the one most likely to make you feel trusted with his softness and safe enough to offer him yours.
ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ request your reading ; all readings ; support my work .ᐟ
