Virgin!Reader wants to lose her v-card, but doesn’t want it to be to a complete stranger. Not being in a place long enough to actually get to know someone she "man up" and asks her best friend (one of the Winchester brothers) to take her virginity — while hoping he doesn't find it weird or ruins their friendship.
(I don't mind it, but I would really like it if he wasn't secretly in love with her already... idk, sometimes it just makes it feel like then it's for him and not her)
⋆｡ ˚ just once
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ when you finally work up the courage to ask your best friend to take your virginity, he agrees—not because he wants you, but because he cares enough to make your first time safe and good
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 922 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ soft smut !!
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, soft and gentle sex, use of condom, emotional vulnerability, best friends having sex with no romantic feelings involved, mild anxiety
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
you’re both sitting on the edge of the motel bed, the neon sign outside flickering through the thin curtains. your hands are shaking in your lap. you’ve rehearsed this conversation at least twenty times in your head, but now that dean is actually looking at you, patient and a little confused, the words feel too heavy.
“dean… i need to ask you something weird.”
he raises an eyebrow, beer bottle halfway to his lips. “weirder than the usual crap we deal with?”
you let out a nervous laugh that dies quickly. “yeah. probably.”
you stare at the ugly carpet for a second, then force yourself to meet his eyes. “i’m still a virgin.”
the words hang in the air. dean doesn’t laugh. he doesn’t look disgusted. he just nods slowly, waiting for you to keep going. he probably already knew.
“we never stay anywhere long enough for me to… you know, actually trust someone. and i don’t want my first time to be with some random guy in a bar who doesn’t give a shit.” you swallow hard. “so i was thinking… maybe we could do it. just once. help me get it over with.”
dean is quiet for a long moment. his green eyes search your face carefully. “you sure about this?” he asks, voice low and serious. “you want me to be the one?”
“i trust you,” you say simply. “and i know you don’t… feel that way about me. i’m not asking for anything more. i just want it to be safe. and kind. i don’t want it to suck.”
dean rubs a hand over his jaw, thinking. then he nods once. “alright,” he says. “if you’re sure. we do this your way though. slow. you tell me to stop at any point and we stop. no questions.”
relief floods through you so fast your eyes sting. “thank you,” you whisper.
he stands up and pulls you gently to your feet. his hands are warm when they cup your face. “no need to thank me, sweetheart. just breathe.”
he kisses you first—soft, unhurried, nothing rushed or hungry. it’s strange at first, kissing your best friend, but his mouth is gentle and patient. he waits until you relax into it before deepening the kiss, tongue brushing yours carefully.
clothes come off slowly. dean talks you through every step, murmuring quiet reassurances when your hands start shaking again. when you’re both naked he lays you down on the bed, covering your body with his own. his weight feels grounding instead of scary.
he spends a long time touching you, fingers sliding between your legs, stroking until you’re wet and breathing heavier. every time you tense up he pauses, checks your face, waits for your nod before continuing.
when he reaches for the condom you almost cry from how careful he’s being. “you still good?” he asks, rolling it on.
“yeah,” you breathe. “just… nervous.”
“that’s okay. we can stop anytime.”
he settles between your thighs, one hand holding himself up, the other brushing hair from your forehead. the head of his cock nudges against your entrance and you tense. “easy,” dean murmurs. “relax for me. breathe out.”
you do. he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stopping every time your breath hitches. the stretch burns, but it’s not unbearable. dean’s jaw is tight, clearly holding himself back, but his voice stays soft. “you’re doing so good,” he whispers when he’s halfway in. “taking me so well. almost there.”
when he bottoms out you both stay still for a moment. you feel so full it’s overwhelming. a tiny whimper slips out of you.
dean presses his forehead to yours. “you okay?”
you nod, arms wrapping around his back. “move… please.”
he starts slow, gentle rolls of his hips instead of thrusting. every stroke is careful, measured. the pain gradually fades into something warmer, deeper. your legs wrap around his waist without thinking. “that’s it,” he murmurs against your neck. “just feel it.”
the longer it goes on, the better it feels. soft moans start falling from your lips. dean keeps his pace steady, never rough, never rushing. his hand slips between you to rub gentle circles over your clit and your back arches.
“dean—”
“i’ve got you,” he says quietly. “let go if you can.”
you come with a surprised cry, thighs trembling around him. dean follows a few thrusts later, groaning low into your shoulder as he spills into the condom.
afterward he stays inside you for a minute, breathing hard, before carefully pulling out. he disposes of the condom and comes back with a warm washcloth, cleaning you up without a word. then he pulls the covers over both of you and tugs you against his chest.
“you alright?” he asks, voice rough but gentle.
you nod against his skin, tears suddenly pricking at your eyes. not from sadness—just from how safe you felt the whole time. “thank you,” you whisper. “really.”
dean presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “anytime you need me, i’m here,” he says simply. “friendship doesn’t change. not over this.”
you close your eyes, listening to his steady heartbeat under your ear.
for the first time, losing your virginity didn’t feel like something you had to survive. it just felt like being taken care of by someone who truly mattered. and even though there was no romance, no spark, no “i’m in love with you”, it was still perfect in its own quiet, honest way.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
SUMMARY : your boyfriend calls and soldier boy makes you answer.
WARNINGS : lust. smut. unprotected p in v. cream pie. cheating. homemade porn. strong language. sob!reader. praise kink. size kink. soldier boy’s cockiness. soldier boy being ruthless. mentions of soldier boy being technically challenged.
A/N : soldier boy can fuck the morals out of me 🤷🏽♀️ yeah, i said it.
I shouldn’t be here, you thought to yourself. How did I get here? The last thing you remember is being at the party, and now you’re in the middle of Soldier Boy’s bed. Your face rubs against his mattress as his pillow cushions your belly. His fingers squeeze your hips while yours grip the satin sheets, hanging on for dear life as he rams into your cunt at an unearthly pace.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his bellend strokes your G-spot. His grunts encourage your walls to embrace him tighter, causing his cock to twitch inside you. It had been a while since he fucked a woman with a pussy as tight as yours. Tonight was the first time you met the charmingly handsome supe, and as a result, your dress now lies on the floor of his room, your ass on full display, as he stretches you out. His dick is so deep in your guts, you forget your name.
The giant room feels smaller as the outside world fades away, the air thickening with the smell of sweet sex as your bodies move as one. Moans fall from your lips like they never have before. Not only did he have the looks and the superpowers, but he knew his way around the bedroom. Your toes curl as the pleasure becomes overwhelming. Tears cloud your vision as you feel your high approaching quickly.
Just as you were about to finish, your phone interrupts. Startled, you jump and search for your ringing device. The light from it shines from the nightstand, illuminating the dimly lit bedroom. You want to grab it, to turn it off, but you don’t want to disrespect the anti-hero by doing something other than focusing on his best work. So, he does instead.
“Who’s Jack?”
Oh fuck!
“U-uh...” You forgot all about him. How did you forget?! You were the worst! “M-my b-b-boyf-friend.”
He tosses it on the bed beside your face. “Answer it.”
Your eyes widen, horrified. “Wh-at?”
He responds with three deep thrusts, emphasizing each word. “Answer. It. Now.”
“Ok-kay.”
With a shaky hand, your finger slides across the screen, and the call begins. “Hello?”
You try your hardest not to make a sound, and Soldier Boy knows it.
“Put it on speaker.”
So you do.
“Where’d you go?”
“I was—pulled into a-a meeting.”
“A meeting? I thought you said no business tonight.”
“I—” The man behind you rams you so hard that a gasp stops you from talking.
“Y/N, you okay?”
“Y-yeah.” Your voice cracks. “I’m fine.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.” He says, unsure. “And what’s that noise?” He refers to the skin-to-skin contact.
“Nothing.” You quickly mute the call, and you let out a cry as he brushes your cervix.
“Nuh uh. Turn that off.”
“But—!”
“Do it.”
And like an obedient little girl, you do.
“How much longer are you going to be?”
“N-not sure. Oh fuck!” You accidentally breathe.
A sinister smile curls at the supe’s lips as he witnesses your slip.
“What the fuck is going on? What kind of meeting are you at?”
“I-I—” You let out a loud whimper as the tears finally shed when Soldier Boy lifts your hips and drives into your pussy at a rate that leaves you speechless. His balls slap against your clit, and you can’t hide it anymore.
“Y/N!” A string of moans erupts from your parted lips. “Y/N, you better fucking answer me right now! It sounds like you’re—!”
“Getting railed?” The supe asks as he picks up the phone. “Oh, buddy, you have no idea.”
“Who is this?! When I find you, I’m gonna—!”
“Do what?” He laughs as he continues his penetration.
“I’m gonna make you wish you never looked at my girlfriend.”
“Maybe if you fucked her right, she wouldn’t be in my bed now, would she?”
“You son of a bitch—My girlfriend loves me! You’re—you’ve got to be mind controlling her.”
“Sure, pal. My good looks and charming smile got her upstairs, and now that she’s here, with my dick rearranging her guts, she’s a drooling mess with no thoughts besides ‘more.’”
“That’s it! I’m gonna fucking kill you!!”
He chuckles so hard you can feel it, “That’s a good one. ‘Never had someone make me laugh as I fucked their girlfriend before.”
“Once I find you, you’re dead.”
“We’re in my penthouse. Find the elevators and tell the guards that Soldier Boy gave you permission to come up and watch your girl get fucked into oblivion.”
The call goes silent, but you sure don’t. Hearing how he spoke to your boyfriend made your body go hot. You wanted the supe more than you knew possible. If he were anyone else—even though you wouldn’t have succumbed to another—you would’ve been absolutely mortified. Hell, you still might’ve been if you weren’t so fucked out right now. If anything, it brought you to your orgasm faster.
“That’s it, doll.” He stares at your propped-up ass as it bounces with each thrust. “Cum on my dick while your boyfriend listens.”
He brings the device to your face, and you let out a whine, unable to say a word. What you should’ve said was ‘sorry,’ but how could you? Not like this. The man on the other line hears everything, especially the obscene squelching with every violent thrust. Refusing to listen to any more, Jack yanks his phone away from his ear and ends the call. The line drops, and you inform Soldier Boy. He frowns with disappointment, but finds your boyfriend’s silence amusing after realizing who he was dealing with.
“Guess I gotta send him a video.” He shakes the phone and demands, “Get me the camera.”
You don’t want to, but how can you tell him no? You fight off your climax and go to Jack’s messages. After clicking the ‘plus’ button beside the iMessage text box, you select the Camera option, then switch it to video. You explain that all he has to do is point and shoot, before handing your device over, knowing you’ll (most likely) regret it later. With a wicked grin, he starts the video.
“Look at her, Jack.” He points the phone at your sweaty and contorted face before angling it so he captures your body from above. “Doesn’t she look prettiest from behind?”
You move with his speedy rhythm as he holds your suspended hips with one hand. Through the camera, he watches your ass jiggle each time his dick slams in. He bites his lip, enjoying the view. Maybe I should learn how to use this thing, he thought to himself. It would be great to rewatch homemade porn.
“Go on, sweetheart. Show your boyfriend how hot you look cumming on Soldier Boy’s cock.”
You nod, and without wasting another second, you shudder on the supe’s well-endowed phallus. With screams of ecstasy, you cum harder than you’ve ever cummed before, and the camera caught it all. You should’ve been ashamed that it would be forwarded to Jack, your boyfriend of three years, who’s never fucked you quite like Soldier Boy has, but you weren’t; At least not now. That’s something you’d worry about later.
With a heavy grunt and a twitch of his member, he spews ropes of semen into your tight cunt. Your fingertips grip the sheets as you feel every pulse of his dick, spraying its hot contents onto your gummy walls. After you come down, he leaves you whimpering from sensitivity and the loss of his gigantic cock. He moves the camera lower as he keeps you in position, shedding light on your abused pussy. Your lips are red and swollen, but the attention lies on his milky white cum dripping from your overworked hole. What a fuckin’ sight!
“So pretty…” His thumb gathers your mixed juices, and you whine, wanting more. He brings it to your luscious lips, and without hesitation, your mouth opens wide, accepting his digit. You keep eye contact as you wrap your mouth and tongue around his thumb, licking and sucking it clean. He smiles with delight as he makes the speedy decision. “‘Think I might keep her around for a while. Thanks, Jack.”
SOLDIER BOY MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST
Warnings: praise, pet-names, degradation, explicit references to piv (missionary, riding, cowgirl), fauxcest (use of ‘dad’/‘kid/kiddo’), ben refers to reader’s v as ‘she’, bit of brat/brat-tamer and sub/dom dynamics, slight dumbification, hint of free use (ben for reader), mentions of mirror sex, talking you through it.
will talk you through it — even if, at times, it’s just talking during it.
loves to tease you, in whatever way; overstimulation, edging, talking
asks you questions he knows you can’t answer
he’s heavy with the praise, with the caveat that it’s so disgustingly condescending
he’d absolutely refer to himself as your “dad”
(gross? yes. will he stop? no)
definitely will talk to your pussy as well
pet names galore: “doll” “dollface” “sweetheart” “pretty” “pretty girl” “good girl” “honey” — even “kid” or “kiddo”
will also use some less savoury pet names — “slut” mostly, but he can get creative
(he’ll usually throw in a bit of praise around it so you don’t get too mad, not that he doesn’t like it when you do)
he won’t shy from outright degradation, but it’s for his meaner days
if you’ve been a brat, or you’ve picked a fight, he’s so much worse
he’ll probably be sweet from time to time — given it lets him fuck you longer
he’s much sweeter, almost soft, when you’re making love, but if you’re fucking? you’re getting fucked
see below:
“so fucking wet f’me, doll.”
“what happened to all that big girl talk, hm?”
“thought you fuckin’ hated me, what happened to that?”
“gonna put it in pretty, hold still.”
“christ, relax a little, would you kid? that’s it, good girl.”
“perfect fuckin’ pussy, know that?”
“don’t need me — fuck, is that right?”
“look at the state’ve you. god, do anything for this dick, wouldn’t you?”
“now, c’mon pretty, cum f’me, all over dad’s cock.”
“jus’ the prettiest slut, ain’t you?”
“what? no snarky comeback from little miss feminist?”
“did I fuck all that big talk out of you?”
“too dumb for my cock to use that smart mouth, huh?”
“well? I’m listening, sweetheart. c’mon, tell me how dumb you are over dick.”
“think you can give me one more. c’mon pretty, be good for your dad.”
if you haven’t pissed him off, it’s a whole lot more praise — it’s still condescending, but a little less so
especially if you’re on top
when you’re on top it’s not really a different story
loves to lean back, let you get off, whilst giving you the full running commentary
for example:
“that’s it, honey.”
“know it’s big, but look at you. fuck. taking me so well.”
“wish you could take a look at this view princess, so fuckin’ pretty.”
“jus’ taking what you need from dad’s dick, yeah?”
“shit, already making a mess. you gonna clean that up later?”
“selfish little whore. been waiting for this, hm? been a good fucking girl for this?”
“y’know your tits look so perky when you bounce like that. christ.”
“c’mon kid, keep going, know that pussy just loves bouncing up and down on dad, don’t she?”
“wanna see you make a big fuckin’ mess all over my cock, sweetheart.”
“that’s it, keep going... knew you just couldn’t wait to cum f’me, always such an eager fucking slut.”
“gonna give me one more, ain’t you? turn ‘round and let me see that ass while you ride my dick.”
“gonna miss ‘em tits, though.”
“god. remind me to get a mirror next time I’m out. just gotta see both.”
MDNI (18+!) nsfw under the cut!
CW: spoiling, oral (fem!receiving) sugardaddy!Ben
w.c: something close to 2k
Part 2
The first time Soldier Boy hands you his black card, he does it like it means nothing.
“Go buy yourself something nice,” he says, leaning back against your kitchen counter like he owns the place. Which, honestly, he practically does by now.
Your dad laughs from the dining room. “Careful, Ben. She’ll bankrupt you.”
Ben snorts. “Sweetheart, if Dior and Prada couldn’t bankrupt me in the eighties, your daughter sure as hell won’t.”
You roll your eyes, but your fingers still close around the card.
That’s the problem with Ben.
Everything with him feels effortless. The expensive gifts. The shameless flirting. The way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, even while talking to someone else. He makes indulgence feel normal, expected, deserved.
And maybe it’s pathetic, but you like it.
Like him.
Which is dangerous for a lot of reasons.
For one, he’s your dad’s oldest friend. They’ve known each other forever—military contracts, shady deals you don’t ask about, years of disappearing and reappearing like nothing has changed.
For another, he’s Soldier Boy. America’s former golden hero. Walking ego. Certified menace.
And, unfortunately, insanely attractive.
“Don’t encourage her,” your dad calls. Ben glances at you. “Too late.” His grin is lazy and crooked, like he already knows exactly what effect he has on you.
You hate that he does.
By the end of the week, three shopping bags sit on your bed and your phone lights up.
Ben:
You alive in there or did shopping finally kill you?
Your dad thinks emojis are spyware. I’m not worried.
-----------------------------------------------
You laugh out loud. He knows how to be funny. Atleast sometimes.
Ben:
You free tonight?
------------------
You hesitate.
You know exactly what this is becoming. Not official. Not said out loud. But Ben has started showing up for you. Not your dad. You. Coffee exactly how you like it. Jewelry because it “matches your attitude.” Dinner reservations under the excuse that “your old man hates sushi.”
And every time he brushes your waist or leans too close or calls you sweetheart in that rough voice, something in your chest tightens.
You:
Maybe.
------
Ben:
That a yes?
-------------
You bite your lip. Thinking.
You:
Depends what you’re bribing me with.
---------------------------------------
His response is instant.
Ben:
Use your imagination.
-----------------------
Heat rushes to your face. God.
You really shouldn’t be flirting with Soldier Boy.
Especially not when he flirts back harder.
He picks you up at eight. Because of course he does. Not a driver. Not instructions. Him. He’s standing at your door when you open it, leaning in the frame like he belongs there but then he looks at you and goes still.
“Jesus Christ.”
His eyes drag over your outfit.
You cross your arms, feeling slightly shy under his gaze. “What?”
“That dress should be illegal.” Your pulse skips. “You say that about everything I wear.”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “But I mean it this time.”
He holds his hand out. And after a second, you take it.
Which was a big mistake.
The second his fingers close around yours, your brain goes quiet, because Ben touches like he owns certainty. Like he expects the world to respond to him.
And the worst part?
You do.
Dinner turns into drinks.
Drinks turn into a rooftop bar overlooking the city.
“You’re spoiled, you know that?” you tease as he orders something ridiculous. Because what the fuck is 'The Sacred Mountains of the Pekingese Cloud Gods"? What kind of drink is that?
The place bends around him without trying. Staff move faster and people stare, while some recognize him. Ben ignores all of it, his attention stays locked on you.
He raises an eyebrow. “I’m spoiled?”
“You throw money at problems.”
“And?”
“That’s not the point.”
He leans in across the table. The space between you shrinks. “Sweetheart,” he says, “money exists to be spent. If I want to spend it on you, I will.”
Your breath catches. There it is again.
That.... shift. Heavier. Intentional. Less joke, more truth.
You look away first.
The ride back is quiet, and not comfortable. Tense.
Ben drives one-handed, city lights sliding over his face. He keeps looking at you. Every time you notice, your chest tightens. When he parks outside your apartment, neither of you move.
“Well,” you say finally.
“Wow,” he deadpans. “Compelling conversation.”
You huff a laugh, then the air changes again, making you quickly get out of the car.
“You know, I’m trying real hard to behave myself,” he says.
Silence snaps tight.
Your heartbeat stutters, feeling your palms sweat uncomfortably. “Who says I want you to?”
Then he reaches over, tucking your hair behind your ear, fingers grazing your jaw.
“So pretty,” he murmurs. You stop breathing.
Nobody looks at you like he does. Like you’re something he’s already decided on.
“Ben…” “Yeah, sweetheart?”
Your brain fails. And then you kiss him. It happens before you can think. Ben makes a low sound and pulls you closer to him instantly.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes against your mouth.
The kiss turns messy fast. Heat. Pressure. Months of restraint breaking. His hand grips your waist hard. Not rough—certain. You can feel how strong he is even when he’s trying not to overwhelm you.
“Been thinking about this,” he admits between kisses.
Your face burns. “Yeah?”
“Sweetheart,” he says hoarsely, “you have no idea.”
And you believe him.
But your mind doesent work fast enough anymore to comprehend that he just sank to his knees infront of you. Not until you feel his hot breath brush against your thighs, you squirm.
"wha-"
His rough hands tug at your skirt. "Need to taste you, Y/n." You only hear him mumble breathlessly, and with that, your skirt is off, bunched up on the pavement. Hes insane, does he really want to eat you out in the middle of the street? Feeling like he can read your mind, He licks a stripe of your clothed cunt, making you shiver. The air itself is fresh, so It clashes wonderfully with the warm wetness of his mouth on your pussy. Finally, he tugs your panties to the side and latches his lips to your sensitive clit, moaning against it. Freak. One of his fingers slowly inches inside your tight hole, but you open up with ease just for him.
He flicks his tongue over your clit and curls up his finger inside of you, making your hands tangle in his hair.
He keeps up the rythm until you finally come all over his tongue, leaving you panting.
After that, things escalate without ever officially changing. Because Ben appears everywhere.
Flowers. Packages. Jewelry boxes on your counter with notes.
'Buy something decent for dinner.'
'Saw this. Thought of you.'
Miss me yet?'
He remembers everything.
Your coffee and the way you take it. Your favorite snacks. The way you hate thunder but pretend you don’t.
On a cold evening, a storm brews up. The wind bangs against your windows as you cuddle up under a blanket. And just when you're about to turn on the tv to watch something, the power goes out. Great.
You always were scared of the dark- but you'll live! -right?
Well, twenty minutes later, there’s pounding at your door. Half-asleep and mildly irritated, you drag yourself over to open it.
Big mistake. Again.
Ben stands there soaked from the rain, takeout hanging from one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. You blink at him. “Are you serious?”
“You hate thunder.”
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.” He brushes past you like he belongs there, setting everything down on the counter while rainwater drips from his jacket.
“You remembered that?” you ask softly. It’s such a small thing. Barely worth remembering, really.
But he did remember. And somehow, that alone is enough to make the lump rise in your throat.
Ben pauses, glancing back at you like the answer should be obvious.
“Yeah. Obviously.”
“Well,” you mumble, “it wasn’t obvious to me.”
He walks past you without a word, slumping down onto the couch, leaving you standing there. 's not long before you're snuggled up in his lap tho.
Your dad notices the necklace first.
“Where’d you get that?” he asks quietly, but there’s suspicion tucked beneath every word.
Your hand instinctively rises to your throat, fingers curling around the chain. “It was a gift.”
“From who?”
The question hits sharper than it should. Who does he think he is? “Why do you care?”
“Because I didn’t buy it.” Before you can answer, Ben speaks from the couch.
“I did.”
The room goes still.
Your dad turns slowly toward him. “You buying my daughter diamonds now?” Ben shrugs, completely unbothered. “It’s small.”
“It’s still a diamond.”
“And?”
Silence streeeeeeeetches. Your dad looks between you and Ben while suspicion settles in.
Then Ben says, calm as ever, “She’s worth it.” Your stomach drops. Your dad only exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ, Ben.”
But he doesn’t throw him out, not yet, atleast.
Later, you find Ben standing in the kitchen, staring into the fridge like it personally offended him.
“You need to stop,” you say immediately.
But he doesn’t even look surprised. “Stop what?”
“That.”
“What?”
“Looking at me like that in front of him.” Now he looks at you. “Like what?”
You open your mouth—
—and absolutely nothing comes out.
A slow smirk pulls at his mouth.
“That’s what I thought.”
“You’re impossible.” “And you’re cute when you’re mad.”
Heat rushes to your face. You turn to leave before he can see it, but his hand catches your wrist instantly.
You freeze. “You nervous?” he asks quietly.
“No.”
“Liar.”
With barely any effort, he pulls you closer until you’re standing between his knees.
Too close. Always too close.
“You trust me?” he asks. That hits differently.
You swallow.
“Yes.” Something shifts in his expression then. Not softer.
SUMMARY: When Homelander hears Ashley yelling at you, and catches you crying in the bathroom after, he gets attached and possessive of you. With lots of manipulating, he tries turning you into his perfect girl.
MDNI (18+!) dead dove do not eat | c.w: Manipulation, brainwashing, angst, homelander being icky
W.C: almost 4k (this is a long one | NOT PROOFREAD)
Literally hate Homelander but had to write about him...
Rain hammered against the glass walls of Vought Tower hard enough to blur the city lights below into streaks of gold and white, and by the time you stepped out of the elevator onto the thirty-seventh floor, your nerves already felt shredded thin.
It was nearly ten at night.
Most of the office lights were off except for the long strip above your department, flickering faintly over empty desks and abandoned coffee cups, and your heels clicked too loudly against the polished floor as you hurried toward your office clutching the stack of files against your chest.
You shouldn’t have forgotten the quarterly reports.
Ashley had called you twenty minutes ago screaming so hard through the phone that you’d had to hold it away from your ear.
-“If those numbers aren’t on my desk by tomorrow morning, I swear to God—” Then the line had gone dead. So now you were here. Alone. Again.
You pushed into your office with a sigh, dropping your bag beside the desk before bending to search through the disaster of paperwork scattered across the surface.
The storm outside rattled faintly through the windows.
Your phone buzzed. Maya. You answered immediately, relieved for the distraction.
“Hey.”
“You’re still there?” your friend asked. “It’s ten at night.”
“I forgot the reports.” “Again? Jesus. That place is killing you.” You laughed weakly, rubbing at your eyes. “Tell me about it.” You could hear traffic on her end, muffled music in the background.
Normal life.
Outside life. For a second, you envied her so badly it hurt.
“You still coming tomorrow?” she asked. “Brunch. Eleven. Don’t cancel this time.”
“I won’t.”
“You said that last week.”
“That was different.”
“You always say that.” You opened your mouth to answer—
—and froze.
There was someone standing outside your office.
Tall. Broad shoulders, still as a statue behind the glass wall. Your stomach dropped so violently it almost hurt.
The hallway lights reflected faintly off the blue of his suit.
Homelander. You stopped breathing.
Maya was still talking through the phone. “…and if your boss says anything, tell her to go fu—” You hung up instantly.
His eyes followed the movement. Even through the glass, you could feel it. That unbearable pressure of his attention.
Then he smiled. Slowly. And pushed open the office door.
“Hi.”
Your throat tightened immediately. “H-Homelander.” He stepped inside casually, glancing around your office like he belonged there. Maybe he did.
Everyone in the building belonged to him in some horrible way. “You’re here late,” he said.
You forced yourself to straighten. “Just finishing reports.”
“For Ashley?” You nodded. A flicker crossed his face. Barely there. Displeasure.
“She works you too hard.” The way he said it made your skin prickle. Not sympathetic. Possessive. Before you could answer, he glanced toward your phone still sitting on the desk.
“Who were you talking to?” “My friend.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
Too fast. You hated how fast you answered. His smile widened slightly.
“Good.”
The room suddenly felt very small. You tried to laugh politely, but it came out thin and nervous. “Did you need something?” Homelander walked slowly around your desk instead of answering immediately, fingers brushing over the edge of the wood surface.
Calm. Relaxed.
Like a predator already certain the prey wouldn’t run. “I noticed you’ve seemed stressed lately.” Your pulse started climbing. “I’m okay.”
“No,” he said softly. “You’re not.” He stopped beside you. Too close. You caught the clean, expensive smell of his suit, something sharp beneath it like static in the air before lightning strikes. “You look tired,” he continued quietly. “You skip lunch half the time. Your shoulders tense every time your phone rings. And every morning you come into this building already anxious.”
Your mouth went dry.
Because those were things no one should know. Things no one could know unless they’d been watching. Homelander tilted his head slightly when you didn’t answer.
“I pay attention to you.”
Something cold slid down your spine. The storm cracked outside, thunder rumbling through the glass.
You took a careful step backward.
“I should really finish these reports—”
“Ashley screamed at you today.”
You froze.
His expression didn’t change.
“She made you cry in the bathroom afterward.” Your heart started pounding so hard you could hear it.
How did he—
“She shouldn’t have done that,” he said, and the softness in his voice scared you more than anger would have.
You swallowed hard. “It’s fine.”
“No,” Homelander murmured. “It isn’t.”
The office lights buzzed faintly overhead. Outside the windows, lightning flashed silver across the city skyline. Then Homelander reached up and touched your face.
Gentle. Careful.
His thumb brushed just beneath your eye like he was handling something fragile. You should have moved away.
You knew you should. But shock rooted you in place. His voice dropped lower.
“People are very cruel to you.”
Your chest tightened unexpectedly. Not because he was right. Because nobody had ever said it out loud before. Everyone always acted like you were overreacting.
Too sensitive. Too emotional. Too weak for the industry.
And now the most terrifying man on earth was looking at you with something dangerously close to tenderness.
“I can take care of it,” he said softly.
Alarm shot through you immediately. “No.” His eyes sharpened slightly.
“No?”
“You don’t have to… do anything.”
Silence. Then that smile returned. Pleasant and artificial.
“You’re scared of me.” Your stomach twisted. Because denying it felt impossible.
Homelander watched your expression carefully, and for one horrible moment you saw something wounded flicker underneath his calm facade.
Not guilt, neither shame. Loneliness.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said quietly. The words should have comforted you. Instead they made your pulse spike harder. Because you suddenly understood that he wanted you to believe him.
Wanted it badly. You stepped away from his hand carefully. “I should get back to work.”
For a second, the room went still. Completely still. Then Homelander smiled again and stepped back.
“Of course.”
Relief flooded you so fast your knees almost weakened. He moved toward the door.
Stopped. Without turning around, he asked:
“Why do you flinch every time someone raises their voice at you?”
Your breath caught and he glanced over his shoulder. Those bright blue eyes pinned you in place effortlessly.
“I hear things,” he said softly. And then he walked out.
—
Three days later, Ashley disappeared. Nobody explained it. One minute she was storming through meetings throwing binders and screaming at assistants, and the next her office sat empty with the blinds drawn shut.
People whispered about scandals.
Transfers. Rehab? Nobody knew.
But the new department head smiled at you too much and approved your vacation request without even reading it. And every time you passed security downstairs, people suddenly avoided eye contact.
Like they knew something you didn’t.
By Friday, you couldn’t sleep. Every tiny sound in your apartment made your heart race. You kept remembering Homelander’s hand against your face. That awful gentleness.
The way he’d said “I can take care of it.” You told yourself it was coincidence, because it had to be-...It had to be.
Until Saturday night.
You were standing in your kitchen making tea when your phone buzzed with a text from Maya.
you:
Running late. Some creep followed me off the subway lol
You frowned immediately.
you:
What?
No response. You stared at the screen. One minute. Two. Then your phone rang. You answered instantly. “Maya?”
Static and heavy breathing. Then a man’s voice.
“Cute friend you got.” Ice flooded your veins. “What the fuck—”
The line disconnected.
You grabbed your coat so fast you nearly dropped the phone, panic rising sharp and ugly in your chest as you rushed toward the apartment door—
—and found Homelander standing outside it, making your entire body lock up instantly. He looked immaculate as always. Cape draped perfectly behind him. Hair untouched by the rain. Like he’d stepped out of a commercial instead of into the hallway outside your apartment at eleven-thirty at night.
“Don’t panic,” he said calmly.
You stared at him in horror. “My friend—”
“She’s fine.”
“How do you know that?” He smiled slightly. “I handled it.” your blood ran cold once again.
“What did you do?”
“He scared her.” Homelander shrugged. “So I scared him more.” The hallway suddenly felt suffocatingly narrow.
You backed away instinctively. “Did you kill him?Homelander’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
Not anger.
Confusion. Like the question itself was unfair. “He touched someone important to you."
The word hit hard enough to make your stomach twist. “You can’t just murder people!”
“Why not?” The sincerity in his voice terrified you. Genuine confusion. As if morality simply worked differently for him.
You shook your head, breathing unevenly. “You can’t solve everything like that.” Homelander stepped closer slowly. “You were terrified when you opened that door.”
You said nothing. “And then you saw me,” he continued softly. “And part of you relaxed.” Your chest tightened immediately because he was right. You hated that he was right. He watched realization cross your face and smiled faintly.
There it was again. That look. Like he was learning you piece by piece.
“You don’t have to do this alone anymore,” he murmured. The rain battered against the apartment windows behind you. Your pulse hammered painfully. Homelander reached up carefully and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with unbearable softness.
“I take care of the things that hurt you,” he whispered.
And standing there in the dim apartment hallway with fear tangled so tightly with relief you couldn’t separate them anymore— you realized that was exactly how he wanted it.
The first thing you noticed was that the building had become quieter around you. Not all at once. Not enough to alarm you immediately.
Just slowly, subtly, over the course of a few weeks after Ashley disappeared. Conversations stopped when you walked into break rooms. Coworkers who used to dump work on your desk now smiled too quickly and told you not to worry about deadlines.
People moved out of your way in the hall.
Even the security guards downstairs straightened when they saw your ID badge, suddenly polite in a stiff, nervous sort of way that made unease crawl beneath your skin every single time.
At first, you tried convincing yourself it was coincidence.
Then one morning, you overheard two assistants whispering near the elevators.
“—I’m telling you, he watches her.”
“Shut up, are you insane?”
“I saw him leave her floor last week—”
The elevator doors opened before you could hear more. The moment they noticed you standing there, both women went pale. One of them physically stepped back.
Like you were dangerous too.
By the time you reached your office, your hands were shaking hard enough that you spilled coffee across your desk. You stared at the spreading stain blankly. Your heart wouldn’t slow down. Because deep down, beneath all the rationalizing and denial, you already knew.
Homelander. Everything kept leading back to him. The promotions. The sudden kindness. The fear in everyone else. You pressed trembling fingers against your forehead. This was insane- You needed distance, and space- and something normal.
Which was why, by six-thirty that evening, you were sitting in a tiny Italian restaurant downtown across from Maya, trying desperately to force yourself back into reality.
The restaurant smelled like garlic and wine and fresh bread, warm light glowing softly from little candles on every table, and outside the rain drizzled steadily against the windows while traffic blurred red and gold across the wet streets.
It felt normal. And safe. Thank god. Maya was halfway through complaining about her boss when she stopped abruptly and frowned at you over the rim of her wine glass.
“Okay, seriously. What’s wrong with you?”
You blinked. “What?”
“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.”
“Sorry.”
“You look exhausted.” You stared down at your untouched pasta. The knot in your chest had been there for days now. Tight. Constant. Every time your phone buzzed. Every time someone looked at you strangely at work. Every time you imagined blue eyes watching from somewhere above the city.
Maya leaned forward slightly, concern softening her face.
“Is this about Vought?” You hesitated. Too long, thats what makes it obvious. Her expression shifted immediately. “Oh my God. It is.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
You laughed weakly, but it came out strained. Maya lowered her voice. “Did something happen?” You opened your mouth. Then stopped.
Because how could you even explain it?
I think the most powerful man in the world has become obsessed with me.
It sounded delusional. Worse—it sounded impossible. And yet every instinct in your body had been screaming danger for weeks. “I just…” You swallowed hard. “I think I need to quit.”
Maya blinked. “Then quit.” “It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?” Because he would notice. The realization slid into your mind so naturally it made you feel sick.
Homelander would notice, because he noticed everything. The thought alone made your pulse jump. Maya stared at you carefully now, really looking. Then her expression changed. Not fear. Recognition. “You’re scared.”
You looked away immediately. Outside, headlights smeared across the rain-streaked windows. “I’m just stressed.”
“No.” Maya’s voice softened. “You look terrified.” Something sharp tightened painfully in your throat. Because she was right. You were terrified. Terrified in that exhausting, constant way where your body never fully relaxed anymore, where every shadow felt watched and every silence stretched too long.
And somehow the worst part wasn’t even fear of what Homelander might do to you. It was fear of what would happen if he suddenly stopped paying attention altogether. That realization horrified you enough that your stomach twisted. Maya reached across the table and touched your hand gently.
“Hey. Talk to me.”
Warmth spread suddenly behind your eyes. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed someone normal to touch you. Someone human.
Your voice came out small. “I think something’s wrong with me.” Maya frowned immediately. “What?”
“I keep…” You laughed shakily. “I keep thinking about him.” The words tasted poisonous. Maya went still.
“Who?” You already regretted saying it, but exhaustion cracked something open inside you.
“Homelander.”
Silence. Not the comfortable kind, but the heavy kind. Maya stared at you for a second like she genuinely thought she’d misheard. Then
“…Homelander?” You nodded once, humiliated instantly.
“He keeps showing up and talking to me and I know it’s weird and I know I should report it or something but every time he looks at me I feel like I can’t think properly anymore—”
You stopped abruptly, breathing unevenly. Maya’s face had gone pale.
“You need to stay away from him.”
“I know.”
“Y/n, I mean it.”
“I KNOW.”
Several people glanced over, making you lower your voice immediatly, and Maya leaned closer across the table.
“Listen to me very carefully. Men like that— men with power like that— they don’t get attached normally.”
Your stomach dropped once again, because attached was exactly the word you'd been searching for- Not 'interested' nor 'flirting'.- attached. Like something tightening around your ribs day by day. Maya squeezed your hand harder.
“This is how it starts.”
Fear curled sharply through you, traveling from your toes to your chest.
“How what starts?”
But Maya never answered- because suddenly the restaurant went silent. Instantly.
With conversations getting cut off and forks being set down, the air itself seems to tighten, and your blood turned to ice before you even looked up. Maya’s grip on your hand loosened slowly. Around you, people stared toward the front windows. Toward the figure descending from the sky outside the restaurant in a blur of red, white, and blue.
Your heart stopped.
No.
No no no—
The entire restaurant watched as Homelander landed lightly on the sidewalk beyond the glass, cape settling behind him in perfect waves despite the rain- People immediately started reaching for phones. Someone whispered- “Holy shit…”
Maya looked at you. Really looked at you. And the horror that crossed her face made your stomach lurch. Because she understood instantly.
Homelander smiled the moment he saw you through the window. Not at the restaurant, but at you. That terrifyingly soft expression spread across his face like he’d finally found what he’d been looking for.
Then he walked inside. The atmosphere changed the second he entered. The restaurant owner rushed forward nervously. People stared. Nobody breathed properly. But Homelander ignored all of them. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, fully focused.
“Maya,” you whispered urgently, panic clawing up your throat, “don’t say anything.”
Too late.
Homelander reached your table smoothly, smiling down at you like this was some perfectly ordinary surprise visit.
“There you are.” Your pulse hammered violently. “How did you know I was here?” He tilted his head slightly.
“You told someone at work you were getting dinner downtown." Jesus fuck, had he been listening then too?
Maya slowly pulled her hand away from yours under the table. Homelander noticed immediately. Of course he did.His gaze flickered briefly toward her before returning to you.
“You left work early,” he said softly. “I was worried.” Worried. The word wrapped around your lungs like silk. You could feel the entire restaurant staring. Maya sat rigidly beside you now, fear written plainly across her face.
"i have to use the bathroom." She excuses herself quietly. Traitor, leaving you with him. Homelander noticed that too. And smiled. Not in a polite way, just Patient. Like he understood something she didn’t yet.
“You seem tense,” he murmured to you. No shit, your voice barely worked. “I’m fine.”
“No,” he said gently. “You’re frightened.” The way he said it made heat creep shamefully into your chest. Like he was the only person observant enough to notice. Like fear itself had become intimacy between you.
Homelander crouched slightly beside your chair then, bringing himself closer to eye level, and the entire restaurant seemed to disappear beneath the weight of his attention.
“You know I’d never let anything happen to you,” he said quietly, and your throat tightened.
Because part of you believed him completely. That was the worst thing. Not the fear. Not even the obsession. It was the unbearable safety you felt whenever he appeared. Like no matter how terrifying he was, nothing else in the world could possibly touch you while his eyes were on you.
Homelander saw something change in your expression then. He saw it happen. His smile softened with slow, terrifying satisfaction.
“There she is,” he whispered.
And you realized with sudden horror that he was watching you become dependent on him in real time.
Just waiting.
By the time Maya returned to the table, your head already felt strange, Like the entire evening had slipped sideways into something unreal while you weren’t paying attention.
Homelander had moved back slightly by then, posture relaxed again, one arm hooked lazily over the back of your chair as if he’d always belonged there, as if seeing the most powerful man in the world sitting in a tiny downtown restaurant beside an ordinary Vought employee was somehow normal.
But nothing felt normal anymore. Not the way people stared at you now. Not the way your pulse reacted every time his attention settled fully onto you. Not the awful, humiliating relief spreading slowly through your body whenever he spoke in that low, gentle voice.
Maya sat down carefully, eyes flicking between the two of you. You could tell she’d been crying in the bathroom. Shes always been an emotional person. Her mascara looked slightly smudged beneath the dim restaurant lighting. Guilt twisted sharply in your chest. Because she looked scared.
Not for herself, but for you.
Homelander smiled at her pleasantly. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” she answered too quickly. You noticed she didn’t look at him anymore when she spoke. Only at you, like she was trying to communicate something silently.
Run. Leave. Wake up.
But then Homelander’s hand settled lightly against the small of your back beneath the table and every thought scattered instantly. The touch wasn’t forceful, and that was the problem. His fingertips barely rested there at all through the fabric of your dress, warm and steady and impossibly careful, yet the moment he touched you, your body reacted before your mind could.
The tension in your shoulders loosened, your breathing slowed and Homelander felt it happen. You knew he did because his thumb stroked once, slow and approving.
A tiny movement. Still your stomach flipped violently. Maya saw your expression change.
Horror flashed across her face immediately, if thats even possible at her current expression anymore. You looked away from her first because you hated yourself for that.
Dinner ended not long after.
Nobody argued when Homelander quietly insisted on taking you home.
How could they?
Outside, the rain had gotten heavier, pouring silver beneath the city lights while crowds gathered along the sidewalk behind barricades and security trying desperately to catch a glimpse of him. Phones flashed constantly. People shouted his name. But Homelander barely acknowledged any of it.
His focus stayed on you as you stepped outside beside him, arms wrapped tightly around yourself against the cold night air. The second the rain touched you, Homelander frowned.
Then his cape settled around your shoulders, making you feel warmer immediately. It smelled like him.
“You’ll freeze,” he murmured.
The crowd noise seemed distant suddenly. Muted. Like the entire world had narrowed down to the warmth wrapped around you and the terrifying softness in his eyes.
You should have refused.
Instead your fingers clutched the edge of the cape tighter around yourself automatically.
And Homelander smiled. God, that smile. Not public, an' not performative. Atleast he makes you think that.
Maya stepped closer quickly before you could move.
“Text me when you get home,” she said firmly. Too firmly. Like she was trying to remind you of something. You nodded immediately. “I will."
Homelander looked between the two of you, quietly observing, or rather analyzing. Then he asked softly-
“Do you always worry this much about her?” Maya stiffened.
“She’s my best friend.”
At that, something unreadable crossed Homelander’s face, its gone almost instantly. But you felt his hand press slightly more firmly against your back. Possessive.
Maya noticed too, And you could see fear rise behind her eyes again. Then Homelander smiled warmly at her.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take good care of her.”
The words should have sounded reassuring.
Instead, they landed like a threat.
Maya heard it too. You saw it in her eyes.
But before either of you could say anything else, Homelander’s arm wrapped around your waist. The movement was smooth and natural enough to almost seem casual. Except the second he pulled you against his side, your entire body locked up from the sheer overwhelming awareness of him.
Strong.
Not human.
His hand rested securely against your hip while the rain poured harder around you, the city glowing gold and red beneath blurred stormlight.
“You ready?” he asked softly near your ear. Your throat tightened. What is he talking about?
“For what?” His smile deepened slightly, and then the ground disappeared. A startled sound tore from your chest as the world dropped violently beneath you, wind rushing past in freezing waves while the city exploded into dizzying lights below. Your fingers grabbed his suit instantly. Instinct.
Homelander laughed quietly at the reaction, one arm tightening around you effortlessly as he carried you high above Manhattan. “Easy,” he murmured. The sound of his voice vibrated through his chest beneath your hands. You couldn’t breathe properly.
Not from fear alone, no-...just, from him. From the overwhelming closeness of him.
Rain whipped through the air around you while clouds swallowed the city lights below in silver haze, and you buried your face against his shoulder automatically as another gust of wind hit.
Immediately, Homelander’s expression softened.
“There you go,” he whispered, too soft for a disgusting Manipulator. Like he liked seeing you cling to him. Like he wanted it. The realization made heat twist low in your stomach despite the terror.
You hated- no, despised- how safe he felt.
Hated how his arms around you made the rest of the world disappear completely.
The penthouse came into view slowly through the rain.
Massive windows glowing gold high above the city.
Isolated & untouchable. Your stomach flipped hard at the sight. Because suddenly, horribly, it didn’t feel like he was taking you home. It felt like he was taking you somewhere that belonged to him.
Somewhere above everyone else. Into his Nest.
Homelander landed smoothly on the balcony, barely jostling you despite the force that cracked faintly beneath his boots.
But he didn’t let go immediately afterward.
His arms stayed around you.
Keeping you close against him while rainwater slid down the sharp line of his jaw and the city glittered endlessly beneath the storm behind him.
For a second, neither of you spoke, not being able to.
You became painfully aware of your hands still gripping the front of his suit.
Of how close your bodies were.
Of the way he was looking at you.
Not hungry. -actually, hungry. Really fuckin' hungry. Your pulse stuttered unevenly.
“I should go home,” you whispered.
Homelander’s eyes searched your face quietly.
Then very gently, he brushed wet hair back from your cheek.
“You don’t want to be alone tonight.”
The words wrapped around your exhausted mind so softly that for one horrible second, you almost nodded.
Because after weeks of fear and confusion and pressure and loneliness—
the thought of leaving him suddenly hurt. He saw the exact instant your expression weakened, and something dark and deeply satisfied flickered behind his eyes.
Not victory, just ownership. His thumb brushed slowly across your cheekbone.
“Come inside,” he said quietly, knowing just what tone to use. Not a command- worse. An invitation he already knew you wanted to accept.
Lightning flashed across the sky behind him, illuminating the enormous penthouse windows glowing gold in the dark like something beautiful and dangerous waiting with its mouth open.
And after a long, trembling hesitation—
you followed him inside.
He did it. You're his perfect girl now.
Okay, thus is so bad its literally embarassing. 💀💀 Where even is the plot fml
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
dededos
