I'm Raven. I'm 27, and I'm married. Discord: RavenRose21 I'm a Celestial Witch. Message me if you want to Rp. The Walking Dead and Supernatural are my favorite shows Twitch Streamer: ravenrose0716 "Family don't end in blood." - Dean Winchester/ Bobby Singer My Socials and Husband's: https://ravenrose0716.carrd.co/
SUMMARY: With darkness unleashed upon the world, they have a new battle to fight. Amara seems to have taken a liking to Dean, which sends his girlfriend’s thoughts spiraling down a road of worry, jealousy, and insecurity. When her newfound hope starts to stand on shaky ground again, Dean knows just the way to rebuild the foundation of their relationship.
SHIP: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
GENRE: Angst, Smut (MDNI)
TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Not Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Cowgirl Position, Unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it)
WORD COUNT: 5.8k
A/N: After 84 billion years and then some, the Epilogue is finally here! I have to thank everyone who has read, liked, and commented on this story, and of course I will forever cherish @flanneledfae for hyping me up and beta-reading this fanfic. ❤️ This sure has been a journey — the first longer multichapter project I have done in years. Thank you for joining me on this rocky ride!
CREDIT & LINKS: Header by me ──〃★ divider by me ──〃★ Series Masterlist ──〃★ Ao3
⏪PREV. CHAPTER ⏯️PLAYLIST
Bony fingers brushed over his jaw, the touch surprisingly tender. Cold skin and breath ghosted against his, almost melting together but not quite. Pale lips made promises, the words by no means hollow.
“You will understand eventually, Dean.”
Except he did not. None of this made any sense to him. Where he was, who he was talking to, and why they knew his name. It was all engulfed in a thick, dense fog — the gray, stormy clouds that used to be in his head were suddenly set free, and they were now hanging above and around him instead.
The dark tendrils infiltrated his head as though the curse was still pulsating deep beneath his veins.
The only difference now was that he was staring at the Mark of Cain on someone else — something else. On a sharp collarbone, hidden barely by the flowing fabric of a black dress and tickled by brown curls. The appearance might’ve been that of a human, but every fiber of the hunter’s instinct warned him otherwise: Whoever was standing in front of him was no ordinary woman.
He meant to ask what she was, but out came an inquiry of whom he had the pleasure of speaking with.
“Amara,” she declared, not particularly solemnly, but the three syllables carried a certain weight. “My name’s Amara.”
None of Dean’s muscles would move, no matter how much he thought he should run away. Something prevented him from doing so. At first, he thought it was her doing. But when her dainty hand trailed down his arm, stopping at the empty spot where the scar used to sit, he realized with horror that he didn’t want to escape.
The grazing left a familiar buzz in his blood, his skin prickling with a dangerous warmth — a deep, insatiable hunger.
“I have to thank you for setting me free,” said Amara, voice steady and earnest, and somehow Dean didn’t know whether it should make him angry or scared.
They should’ve known better. Hell, they did. Of course, removing the curse would lead to consequences. Even Death warned him about what would happen. But this, whatever it was, was too big of a mystery.
“Who are you?” Dean repeated.
“I’m your past,” she answered vaguely, her delicate hand brushing over the red outline sitting just below her shoulder. A scar, the shape of which would haunt Dean for years to come. “And I’m your future, Dean.”
“This,” she trailed off, tapping the Mark embedded into her skin. “This is what binds us. Even if you no longer have it, it’s our connection.”
Dean scoffed, though it lacked the heat he wished he could scream into the world: “So, what are you? The curse running loose?”
“Think of me as the manifestation of all the Mark made you crave,” Amara explained calmly.
Bloodshed? Violence? Chaos?
“Evil and destruction incarnated?” Dean gruffly guessed, his answer only half-sarcastic. “That’s reassuring.” His senses were tingling, hyper-aware of how dangerous Amara was. Just because someone wore a pretty face and was not aggressive from the get-go did not mean they weren’t capable of causing harm.
Her eyes softened, though it took him a second to realize that it was disappointment flickering across her features. It was almost like what he had accused her of upset her personally.
“No, no such thing. Nothing bad,” she muttered, brows knitted together like she needed him to really understand her. Her hand wandered lower, frigid palm pressed flat against his, with her fingers splayed out.
“I am above good versus evil,” Amara sighed. “There are beginnings and ends, shadow and light. But they aren’t opposites; they’re two sides of the same coin. One can’t exist without the other. It’s a symbiosis.”
Dean didn’t know what to make of that lecture. Nor did he know how to handle the swirl of black, ash, and dust filling his lungs and blurring his vision.
He jolted awake with a gasp, sitting upright in his bed, and a layer of sweat sticking to his forehead. It was the dim glow of their moon-shaped ceiling light that eased his state of disorientation. He lost count of how many times this strange dream interrupted his sleep.
And hers.
“Dean?”
Déjà-vu.
And at the same time, things couldn’t be more different from his last streak of nightmares. No imaginary red blood was staining his hands. He no longer felt the urge to rip something apart. But there was something about the stale air, the heavy silence, and the uncertainty that had him think they were back to square one.
He could certainly live without the full circle moment of startling in the middle of the night, alerting his concerned girlfriend like he had so many months ago. As if on instinct, his clammy hand rubbed over his lower arm, just like last time. The tension in his shoulders did not vanish until he found the spot empty now.
That’s right. They’ve successfully removed the Mark of Cain. So why could he not shake this icky feeling? What was the meaning of this reoccurring dream? He saw it flash before his eyes every night, and without failure, he’d forget most of it by the time he woke up.
“Just a weird dream, sorry,” Dean muttered, voice shakier than intended.
The bedsheets rustled softly as she sat up beside him. He couldn’t bring himself to look in her direction. After all, they’ve been through enough already. He wasn’t ready to face a new problem already. Even worse: He couldn’t bear the thought of burdening his girlfriend with yet another impending doom.
Was it even on that scale? Maybe he was overthinking things, maybe it wasn’t half as bad as he feared it might be.
“A tea-with-rum kind of dream?”
Her question was meant to lighten the mood, even if one could argue it was a little early for jokes about their last predicament. Still, his lips twitched into a weak, crooked grin while he shook his head. Even if it took him a deep breath to believe the mantra, this was no life-or-death situation. None that required any liquid courage either.
He appreciated the effort regardless. It felt good knowing she would always have his back, even now. Still, no immediate danger was afoot. Just his girlfriend, offering him a reassuring smile and an open ear. This time around, he knew to accept it without hesitation. He’s learned his lesson the hard way.
“C’mere,” Dean breathed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, and settling back into the pillows with her. She snuggled up to his side, letting him tuck her against his chest like this was where she always belonged.
“I don’t want you thinking I’m keeping any secrets,” he murmured afterwards, voice laced with the guilt from the past couple of months. He’s fucked up quite a few times there. He did not want to repeat his mistakes. “I keep having this weird dream. Can’t really tell you what it’s about, though. It’s all a blur.”
Her fingers were splayed over his chest, absentmindedly tracing the outlines of his tattoo. The touch stirred something in him, triggering flickers of someone else’s hands ghosting over the non-existent mark on his arm and of someone else’s palm sizing up his.
Tensing ever so slightly, Dean took her wrist — his grip was both gentle and firm, neither pushing away nor pulling closer. He did stop her movement, though. He just needed something to ground himself with. To remind himself of what was real and what was fake.
“I’m back in that grey storm outside the diner, and there’s this woman. Amara, I think,” Dean continued, hesitantly so. “She’s got the Mark of Cain. But I don’t know what she wants.”
That, at the very latest, made her freeze. She blinked up at him, droopy eyes and sleepy lashes now wide and alert. When Dean’s gaze met hers, he thought the question marks in her eyes mirrored his own. He, too, was absolutely clueless.
“It’s probably nothing,” he sighed. “Aftershocks of the stress or something.”
But she wasn’t buying it. It sounded too specific to be brushed off as random. “I don’t know,” she muttered, her weak attempt at getting to the bottom of this already faltering. “Maybe we should look into it more. Can’t hurt to be careful.”
She hated to be paranoid. Hell, if anyone knew how badly they needed a break from constantly being on edge, it was her. At the same time, they couldn’t afford any more risks. Even with the Mark of Cain gone, a deep fear had settled in the pits of her stomach. What if it wasn’t over? What if the spell didn’t work, or if the curse somehow would restore itself?
Dean mulled over her words, watching the concerned crease between her brows deepen into a brooding furrow. He gently poked her forehead, drawing her attention.
“We’ll look into it,” he agreed somewhat begrudgingly. Under one condition: “Tomorrow.”
Before she could even think of a counterargument, Dean pressed a chaste kiss to her hairline, practically feeling her anxiety ease under his caress.
The wrinkles on her forehead melted, as did the bristling behind that stubborn skull of hers. Frankly, she was tired and still a bit drowsy from just waking up in the middle of the night. Whatever battle they had to fight next, it could wait until tomorrow. What better way to restore your energy than nestling into Dean’s embrace and allowing yourself to drift back into slumberland?
Dean, on the other hand, did not fall back asleep for a while.
He kept lying wide awake, his hands rubbing slow circles on the small of her back. No matter how many bad scenarios must’ve popped up in her head, double the amount swirled in his own. It was not until he forced himself to listen to her deep in- and exhales, a steady rhythm, that he was lulled back into a restless sleep.
Their concerns, as it turned out, had not been entirely unwarranted. Looking up lore on some Amara or more information about the Mark of Cain was futile. However, an unexpected ally joined their forces soon after.
From what they could gather, the dark mass of fog they unleashed upon the world proved to be highly dangerous. An entire town was wiped out by it, and people exposed to the fog for too long fell ill or died shortly after. All but one, anyway. They were in the middle of questioning this man when they realized the course of his life had changed forever.
“Professor Redfield,” she started through gritted teeth, hating to be the bearer of bad news and struggling to find the right words.
“Call me Donatello,” the man responded, a proud smile twitching at his mustached mouth. “I’m named after him.”
“The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?” Dean asked, confused.
A beat. Donatello’s smile faltered, faded, then turned into an awkward one.
“The Renaissance sculptor,” he clarified.
“Right,” she nodded and awkwardly cleared her throat. “Dean, a word.”
She tugged at his sleeve, pulling him aside. Over her shoulder, she glanced back at Donatello, who sat down on the folding chair, looking as out of place as can be. The poor bastard had no idea what was coming for him. A flash of pity rushed through her.
“He’s a prophet,” she whispered to Dean.
“Didn’t he just say Donatello was a sculptor? Which one is it?”
“What– No, you idiot!” she groaned. “Not the artist Donatello, him.”
And when Dean still looked confused, she pointed towards the innocent old man with his tiny spectacles sitting on his button nose and his round cheeks. He was wearing a vest made out of soft wool, for God’s sake! The guy looked like he preferred to spend his afternoons nursing a tea and knitting in an armchair by the fireplace. The most adventurous event in this guy’s life was probably the annual mini golfing with his brother-in-law and his niece.
It was obvious this guy was not made to join their fight against demons, but such is the cruelty of fate.
“Donatello Redfield. The visions he’s describing? The sudden epiphany of clarity, or whatever? He’s a prophet.”
Scratching the stubble on his chin, Dean didn’t look too convinced. “Didn’t Crowley have them all wiped out?”
That part confused her, too. She thought the King of Hell ensured that nobody could steal and read any of the tablets anymore. But judging by everything Donatello said so far, she had no other explanation. There was the iconic moment that felt a lot like getting struck by lightning — in this case, a stormy cloud of mystic darkness — as well as the strange visions.
She shrugged, sighing: “Maybe it has something to do with the dark fog.”
Dean nodded along, eyes flickering back and forth between her and the witness. It was strange that he survived such a long span in the fog and came back with nothing but sudden, frequent migraine attacks, which were apparently accompanied by weird imagery flashing before his inner eye. Visions. Maybe she was onto something.
“Donatello, we have some more questions for you,” Dean said then, approaching the desk he sat at again.
The man, his hands folded neatly on the table’s surface, looked up at him as though he was a high school student about to get scolded. Yeah, you just had to feel bad for him.
“You’re not in trouble,” she reassured him quickly, thinking the quiet part to herself: Yet. “We just want to hear about these visions you mentioned. Is there anything in particular that you keep seeing, or anything else you remember?”
For a moment, Donatello frowned, then he took a deep breath. “Uhm, I suppose there is this woman. Brown hair, black dress. She has this… symbol on her chest. Right here. A tattoo, maybe, or a scar. I’m not sure.”
She felt Dean tense at her side without having to look at him. He stiffened, suddenly anxious.
Nervously chewing on the inside of her cheek, she fished for a small notepad and pen, handing both to the professor. “Do you think you could draw the symbol?”
Donatello scribbled the design down hastily. Something that looked like an upside-down L with two little lines emitting off to the side. Undoubtedly, the Mark of Cain. Unless this professor, who, to their knowledge, was teaching chemistry, had a special interest in religion or Christian mythology, this proved that she was right about her hunch.
The huntress glanced over to Dean, who stared at the doodle like it personally offended him. He looked like he had seen a ghost.
“Donatello,” she continued, nudging Dean’s side with her elbow. “Could you read this out loud for us, please?”
She scrolled through her photo gallery until she stopped at a picture of an Enochian spell, handing the man her phone. He took it, eyeing it with suspicion and bemusement.
“I have never seen a language like this, what even is—” Donatello chuckled nervously, before his eyes suddenly darted back to the screen. He squinted, and surely enough babbled to himself: “Combine two crushed raven skulls and a vial of angelic grace over a fire— What is this?”
And there they had it.
She gave Dean a ‘told you so’ look, but he still seemed shook by Donatello’s drawing. Which, when the professor noticed, she quickly snatched away. “I never said I am as much of an artist as the man I was named after,” Donatello muttered shyly, almost apologetically.
“You’re fine, this gave us an important hint,” she reassured him. “We might need your help at the station. Can you come with us?”
It took some convincing, but eventually the professor was sitting in the backseat of the Impala. Dean was dead silent while he drove them back to the Bunker — past the local police station. Before Donatello could voice any concerns, she shot him a telling glance. “Sorry, Prof. You’ll be safer with us. We’ll explain everything later.”
Turns out the explanation was trickier than anticipated. She couldn’t blame the guy for being a non-believer. Try kidnapping an atheist and bringing him to an underground Bunker in the middle of the woods, filled with occult artifacts and strange sigils covering most walls. To top it all off, you just had to inform him that he was a Prophet of the Lord, yes, like the ones in the Bible, and of course, he would stare at you like you were bat-shit insane.
“Sit,” she sighed, nudging Donatello into the nearest chair. The poor guy, probably more out of fear than anything, complied. Since he wanted some cold, hard proof, she had to deliver. She wanted to go about it the nice way, but Dean, ever the one without patience, laid out the cold, hard facts for him. Their quote-unquote victim didn’t stand a chance against the good-cop-bad-cop method, though.
Mercifully, fate sent an angel their way — literally. The moment Castiel entered the bunker, she practically jumped him. It was the perfect opportunity for him to show off some magic tricks, whatever it took to convince Donatello that his kidnappers might be insane, but they weren’t liars. Moreover, whatever it took for Dean to go easy on the poor bastard.
What sucked most about this was the tension and its familiarity. Watching Dean fall back into a pattern of clenched jaw, gruff tone, and short temper triggered several alarm bells within her. Suddenly, she found herself overcome by the same kind of worry she thought they had conquered weeks ago.
The fact that she couldn’t even blame him came in close second. It was the same for her, after all. Whatever was happening was clearly tied to the Mark of Cain and to their removing said curse. Everyone and everything had warned them that there would be consequences, likely of cosmic scale. It didn’t exactly bite them in the ass, since they saw it coming. But it bit them regardless, and now they realized that despite all the apocalyptic dangers they’ve dealt with so far, maybe they bit off more than they could chew.
The research won bronze in the category of shittiness. Just reading more texts about the Mark of Cain — or rather, rereading the same old songs, because she was pretty sure she already memorized most of them by heart — filled her with nausea. She thought she’d never have to look at the symbol ever again. Oh, how wrong she had been.
She could try to stay calm and collected all she wanted. Every “We can tackle this, too.” in her mind was followed by a mean, small whisper at the back of her head. Could they? What if they couldn’t? They did it before. Except they didn’t, otherwise they wouldn’t be in this mess again. In fact, they never left this mess behind at all.
Their research, reports from the angel radio, and translations done by their newly installed prophet all pointed to a solid 10/10 in how badly they were screwed. The more they found out about this brunette woman, Amara, the more worry washed over the huntress. And not just that. It filled her with jealousy. Irrational and selfish jealousy.
Amara — whatever she was, a Goddess? Darkness? Not even the lore they studied really had a term for her — she was directly connected to the Mark of Cain. And the Mark of Cain, removed or not, had been connected to Dean. Apparently, that was enough for this being to take an interest in him.
Dean didn’t choose any of this. He didn’t want any of this, she knew that. But all of a sudden, there was this almighty entity, which was ancient and powerful and greater than anything a mere huntress like her could ever hope to be. How could she not feel small in comparison? Unimportant. Disposable. Worse than that: Replaceable.
Who was she to stand in between what might’ve been destiny for Dean and that curse and Amara? Time and time again, there’s been that thought that maybe she should’ve heeded to what his demonic version wished for; to leave him be.
Slowly but surely, she fell back into old patterns as well. The schedule was tight — shower, library, if she was lucky, a little snack while she was still hunched over another book, sometimes a power nap at the desk. Her days consisted of sleep deprivation and insecurities. Not to mention the desperation, which worked wonders against the need to rest. Who needed shut-eye when you had an impending doom waiting to be fixed?
By the time she lost count of how many nights she spent at the library instead of their shared bedroom, she didn’t even flinch anymore at Dean’s voice. Every evening, he asked her to get some sleep, to which — every evening — she said she needed to finish up on research first.
Eventually, Dean had enough, though.
“Don’t make me carry your ass to bed,” he sighed.
“I’m not making you do anything,” she countered, humorlessly.
“I mean it, sweetheart,” Dean insisted. He walked up to her, reached over her shoulder, and snatched the book away. That one was new; he was switching tactics. Before she had a chance to protest, he snapped it shut and held it out of her reach. “We can save the world tomorrow.”
“What if there won’t be a tomorrow?” she snapped without meaning to. Her biggest fear just escaped her mouth like she wasn’t able to contain it anymore. But in her mind, she had a point. Who knew how much time they had left? What if this Amara was already tracking Dean down? What if she didn’t even need to do anything like that? It probably takes one snap of her fingers, and she’d steal you away, just like that. And then what could we possibly do to save you this time? Kill another cosmic entity? Cause another mayhem? Set the world ablaze? How would I even go about that? And what good would it do, since I stand no chance against Amara anyway?
In fact, the bond between you and her is divine, Dean. Divine! Like biblically set in stone, if not preceding holy scriptures and shit. How should I compare?
She didn’t even realize that she was rambling all this out aloud. Not until Dean firmly cupped her face and forced her to look at him, to which she effectively pressed her trembling lips into a fine line.
“Whoa there, easy now,” Dean cooed. “Breathe, baby.”
She tried, and though she didn’t do it very well, the attempt was what counted.
“It’s gonna take more than that for anyone to steal me away. Hell, no smiting in the world could make me pick something else over you.”
Her brows furrowed slightly. A subtle twitch of her eye made him wonder if she really didn’t believe him entirely or if the stress was starting to get to her. Good thing was that there was a remedy for both — a two birds with one stone kind of solution. In one swift motion, his calloused hands let go of her face. Instead, he hooked one arm under her knees and wrapped the other around her shoulders, pulling her out of the chair and picking her up bridal style.
Despite the yelp that escaped her, her fingers curled in his shirt. “What are you doing?”
“I told you I would carry your ass to bed if you didn’t listen,” Dean huffed.
He successfully ignored all the complaints she had and wordlessly walked down the hallway. Upon arrival, he entered their room, kicked the door shut behind them, and carefully dropped her onto the mattress. She let out a soft oomph, bouncing on top of the sheets, but looking up at him half-expectantly.
If she needed him to prove just how much he worshiped the ground she walked on — along with the legs she was doing it with; or the sweet treasure in between them — Dean would gladly comply.
He climbed on top of her, arms bracketing her shuddering frame. His eyes never left hers while he unbuttoned her shirt with one hand and used the other to unbuckle her belt. He relished the hitch of her breath like he knocked the air out of her lungs. He soaked up the shiver that went down her spine like she quenched his thirst.
The fingers of his left hand splayed over her chest, his palm flat against her warm, soft skin, and pressed right against her heartbeat — it whirred like a little hummingbird, precious and quick. Alive and kicking. Uncontrolled, because of him. The fingers of his right hand ghosted over the waistband of her jeans first, before slipping past layers of fabric and lace — she felt both like velvet and silk beneath his touch. Fluttering in tandem with her pulse. Already damp, because of him.
The sweetest of whines escaped her pretty mouth, and the most beautiful shades of pink dusted her nose. All because of him. And he would be damned if he let anything or anyone stand in between this. In between them.
Dean pressed closer, applying pressure to both the valley of her breasts as well as her core until she erupted into another one of those cute gasps. His mouth nipped at her jaw, where he paid extra attention to the sensitive spot just below her ear. His lips curled into a half-smirk when he felt her shaky fingers claw at his shoulders.
“You really think I would trade this for anything else?”
His voice was a siren’s song in her ear, the lyrics inviting her to just let go.
Once she was just there, teetering on that sweet edge of bliss that his ministrations expertly had pushed her towards, he pulled away. An involuntary whine escaped her, feeling hollow because the only physical contact left was the string of her arousal sticking to his digits. Not that she had much to fret over for long.
The next thing she knew, Dean captured her lips as though a deep kiss might make up for her denied orgasm. He slanted his mouth over hers and pawed at the plush of her hips.
It couldn’t have taken more than a couple of seconds, but then again, every touch and every piece of fabric shed was a hazy blur. Like time couldn’t go fast enough, there was also the urge to savor every second. Thus, hungry hands were both eager to undress as well as make the most of it.
Her shaky fingers unbuckled Dean’s belt, he kicked off his jeans, she yanked at the hem of his shirt, he pulled it over his head.
Her lips wandered from his down his jaw. She nipped at his neck, hard, sometimes biting with the intent to leave a mark. A claim. A signature. She wasn’t even sure who she wanted to prove her ownership to. She was, on the other hand, very much aware that it was unnecessary — pure hedonism drove her to this point.
Dean belonged to her, and she wanted everyone to know. Him. Herself. Amara. Didn’t matter, so long as he carried a piece of her brandished on his skin.
Her hands moved with the same confidence. She explored every inch of him, tracing every freckle and scar without having to look, because this was Dean. Her Dean. And she knew him inside and out in ways others could only dream of.
Apparently, great minds think alike. Judging by the way Dean’s grip on her waist tightened, at least. His fingers dug into her skin so firmly that she wouldn’t be surprised if prints were left behind the next day.
Suddenly, he lifted her. Within one yelp, they flipped around so she was on top of him. With their positions now switched, Dean sat back against the headboard and pulled her into his lap. Her thighs were already trembling as she straddled him, and her dripping folds were now pressing against his hard cock instead of gushing around his thick fingers.
Even better.
She rolled her hips; slowly at first, then ground down against him more insistently, until she found a rhythm that had Dean grunting against her mouth.
His head fell back, hitting the wall behind him with a soft thud. The green of his irises was swallowed up by a black — the kind that did not startle her, but filled her with a perverse sense of power. She was the one he was looking at like she hung the damn moon for him. She was the one earning herself that smug smirk. It was her fingers that carded through his hair until it was messily sticking out in all directions, her mouth that painted constellations on his throat, her body fitting seamlessly against his.
“You wanna claim your stake, sweetheart?” Dean rasped. Damn mind reader. Then again, it wasn’t only her knowing him too well. It went both ways. He leaned in closer, until their noses brushed together and their breaths mixed. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “Take what’s already yours.”
She didn’t need to be told twice.
Lifting her hips, with a little bit of his help, she shifted to align herself perfectly with his throbbing length.
Both their breaths hitched as she sank down. His bulbous tip breached her entrance; her warm walls welcomed him in.
Dean didn’t thrust up, not yet, not until she lowered herself all the way and dropped her forehead onto his shoulder. They sat there, bodies tightly intertwined with one another, not knowing where one of them began and the other ended. Both inhaled shakily and exhaled all the same, in unison, just feeling each other.
She lifted her head, resting her forehead against his now instead. Her gaze dropped to his kiss-bitten lips, then blinked back up into his. Again, without having to ask any questions, Dean answered: “I’m yours.”
They melted together, Dean bucking his hips, she tightening around him, their lips closing the little space that was left between them. They moved together, synchronized to perfection. With heaving chests and each other’s name rolling off their tongues like prayers.
She was the first to shatter. Her peak hit her like a tidal wave, unexpectedly washing over her and consuming her mind, body, and soul. She clung to Dean like her life depended on it, collapsing against him while he drove his hips up into hers.
Thanks to her fluttering around him, he followed close behind. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, holding her impossibly close. Hot, red skin stuck to hot, red skin, flushed and sweaty. His mouth latched onto the curve between her neck and shoulder, where his teeth sank in to muffle his growl. He spilled deep into her, milked by the pulsating of her tight channel.
They held each other like that for what felt like an eternity. A blissful eternity, that is. Basking in the aftermath like it was paradise on earth. Their chests were still pressed flush together, hearts beating in a harmony that slowly but surely ebbed into a steady rhythm. The same applied to their heavy panting, which eventually softened as they caught their breath.
Dean was the first to speak up, but not the first to move. Neither of them did. Neither of them wanted to let go, let alone pull away. Not when she felt so heavenly and warm around him still. Not when he was stretching her out so nicely, even as he softened inside of her.
“Still have any doubts?” Dean huffed, only half-joking.
“Are you teasing me?” she pouted, only half-offended.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dean chuckled in response. “Unless it always leads to good sex.”
At that, she couldn’t help but snort. She rolled her eyes, but there was no heat behind it. In fact, the smile that twitched on her face was gentle. Loving. As was the twinkle in her glossy eyes, laced with raw adoration.
“What I’m hearing is you think I’m hot when I’m jealous,” she concluded, poking fun at herself more than anything.
Now it was his turn to let out a humorless laugh. He shrugged, brushing his fingers up and down her arm tenderly. “Jealous, huh?” he echoed with a shit-eating grin.
That earned him a smack to his arm, not a hard hit, but definitely firm enough to make him chuckle and reel back. “Okay, okay!” Dean laughed, then winked. “You’re not jealous, got it. Just a little possessive, eh?”
“I’m worried, jackass,” she huffed, but the flustered pink dusting her nose gave her away. She was totally jealous, and there was no use denying it. “It’s just— all this talk about Amara being connected to you scares me.”
The silence that followed was just slightly tense, but not uncomfortable. Just earnest and vulnerable. She thought of this as an ugly wound that she was laying out for him, her heart on her sleeve, except it was battered and bruised. A sad little thing hanging on by a thread.
“Me too,” Dean hummed eventually, triggering a doe-eyed reaction.
He didn’t know what was so baffling about his anxiety. He understood perfectly well why she was so tense. It wasn’t that much different for him. If anything, he was the one with a weirdo on his ass talking about doomed fates and whatnot. The only difference between her fear and Dean’s?
He never, not even for a moment, second-guessed whether or not they belonged to each other.
After all that they’ve been through, after everything they endured together, their bond was stronger than ancient shitheads and monsters he killed for a living. In the end, that’s all that Amara was, too, right? Just another case to solve.
A stronger one, sure.
And maybe they couldn’t say that they’ve survived worse. But they’ve survived enough to know that they could conquer this, too.
“I’m not invincible, you know?” he chuckled, stopping the movement of his hand right at her wrist. Where his thumb felt the thrumming of her steady pulse. “We don’t really know what we’re up against, so yeah, that’s terrifying.”
“We know that whatever she is, she’s got her eyes on you,” she shrugged with a frown. She didn’t even mean to sound jealous on purpose. It wasn’t even just that. But clearly, Dean already knew.
“Then she can watch me pick you, always,” he replied without hesitation. Like it was some unwritten rule of the universe that she would always remain his number one choice, unconditionally and without exception.
She rolled her eyes again, in that flustered fashion, with the shy smile on her lips and the blush on her cheeks. “You’re such a sap, Winchester,” she mumbled before she leaned in to quickly peck his lips.
“I mean it, though,” Dean continued, closing his hand around hers to lift it to his mouth and press a chaste kiss to her palm. “You’re stuck with me, remember? And the rest, we can deal with tomorrow, one battle at a time.”
── content warnings: F!reader, mention of anime, Dante being needy, fluff, cute and light content and part two is here!
── word count: 653!
⭑.ᐟ Dante is always, ALWAYS, in contact with you and it doesn't matter where or when. — This is not an exaggeration, or a complaint, never. — Whether through physical touches or messages, SMS, — that man only uses his damn cell phone because of you and even though it's risky — he never lets you keep in contact.
“thinking about you right now ;)”
“Dante, you only left about 5 minutes ago…?”
“painful, isn’t it? do you believe i have an amazing joke ready? i need to tell you when i get back.”
⭑.ᐟ The demon hunter loves to snuggle up to you, to cling to you; being unable, and in his words, impossible, not to be close to you. — Well, that's his biggest weakness. — Dante always kept his hands around you, usually on your waist and caressing the region. — Like holding your hand, caressing your face and massaging your thigh.
⭑.ᐟ He loves receiving your attention, especially when he is between your boobs and receiving caresses, which make him fall asleep instantly. — you know this very well — However, there was one night, after a long and unbearable killing against beings from the underworld, Dante ended up falling asleep during one of the night conversations, which was your routine, and ended up drooling on your shirt.
⤷ The scene was…naive, also pitiful; your boyfriend was tired, he needed rest more than anything else. — And you, wanting to make him comfortable and pleasant, tried to get out of the position, which was to be underneath him, but an extremely sleepy and heavy Dante prevented your action and mumbled inaudible words — asking you to stay there, with him — and even without understanding, you obeyed.
⭑.ᐟ DDR — DanceDance Revolucion nights? This has become a routine worthy of you and Dante. — Every night, no matter what time it is, and even knowing that you have things to do the next day, this gentle game becomes a competition; Dante, without even caring who is in front, doesn't miss the chance to have fun with his girl.
"Come on, ma'am! Make me impressed, go, go!" + “It was with that swagger that you won me over, right, you smart little girl?” + “I can’t believe you beat me at my own game?”
“Shut your pretty mouth, big boy.”
⭑.ᐟ You are the only person, the only thing that can breathe, that can touch or question his necklace. — There is no discussion about that. — Dante trusts you, until his last breath, even though he has reason to distrust everyone and everything, he would never leave or abandon his loyalty and trust in you. — Out of fear, and respect and common sense, you don't dare to touch it on some occasions and Dante realizes this, he finds it funny, cute, pure; feeling loved and so cared for by you.
⤷ “There’s not a day, not a single day, that the memory of the day she gave me that necklace doesn’t cross my mind.” — Dante mentioned his mother, able to feel a small and unbearable burning in his eyes; he sighed, arranged you in his lap, directing a compassionate look in your direction as your fingers pass through the cord, without touching the amulet. — “And every day, i’m sure she would adore you.”
⭑.ᐟ Dante knows how to be a knight with you, and he really does. — Last piece of pizza in the box? He makes a point of leaving it for you, and that's a high-class knightly role in his eyes. — Even living such a complicated life, working with something so violent and filthy, he can't help but indulge his girl in a few whims.
⤷ Little writings on small pieces of old newspaper, which he left in his pants or jacket pocket, telling some joke or unfunny pick-up line and decorations are typical of Dante. — Teaching you to play pool and then beating him and your prize are moments of grabbing? Oh, Dante is a lucky boy.
summary: dante is touch-starved, and he thinks the only way for him to feel something is to get punched by you
pairing: dante x afab!reader | based on the netflix version but definitely canon divergent
warnings: dry humping, unprotected p in v, creampie, degradation kink, very light choking, lots of swearing, kind of soft dom dante and light pain kink if you squint, idiots in love, friends to lovers, bit of praise, fem bodied reader
w/c: ~3.2k
a/n: this is definitely not my best work but it's a warm up ig. lol anyway i absolutely loved the dmc netflix version, and i'm considering getting the games
"Punch me."
Not a question, but an indisputable demand coming from the demon hunter, which made you do a double take, place the barrel of your M4 carbine on the table, and flat-out refuse.
"No."
He snarled, yes, snarled at you, slamming his pistol against the table with a loud bang. You looked up from your own weapon, taken aback by Dante's reaction, concern written all over your face. Was he high??
"Come on, Y/N, just do it. Just one punch, one tiny little punch. I know you want to." His cocky grin did numbers on your nerves, but you still refrained from giving him the satisfaction of hitting him. It’s been years since you met Dante, by this point you were used to his shenanigans.
"Why, though?" You decided to focus on cleaning your weapon, the sharp smell of isopropyl alcohol filling the room.
"Because," Dante groaned, snatching the bottle of liquid from you, causing you to glare daggers at him, "I'm touch starved."
You blinked once, twice, trying your hardest to process both his honesty, and the logistics of his request.
"Why not ask for a hug, then? Or, I don't know, go to therapy?"
"Hah! I'm sure my therapist is gonna have a field day with me! So, my dad, a demon, disappeared without a trace, then my mother and twin brother died, but actually my brother is alive somewhere. My therapist is gonna need a therapist."
"Okay, okay, you made your point. Still, you could just rephrase it. Maybe leave out the demon bit." You wiped the barrel clean before setting it aside.
"I'd rather get punched. Now, please."
"Dante, a punch isn’t gonna solve it. Are you sure you don’t want a hug? I could cook you something. Or we could grab a few beers and watch a movie, or talk about your feelings." You shrugged.
Both of you had done this before — went out for drinks, danced, cooked together, fell asleep together — it was so intimate, almost like you were a couple. But the reality was that you weren’t. Not by a long shot. Unfortunately for you, Dante was protective of you in the way an older brother was. You thought that, perhaps, he missed Vergil so much that you were the closest thing he had to a sibling in years.
"A punch would be less time consuming. Cooome on, babe, just hit me!"
You hated when he called you babe. He called other girls babe, girls that were hot, pretty, girls that were his type, and it was the nickname that made you clench your jaw and purse your lips.
"Ugh, fine!" You sat up, rotated your wrist and flexed your fingers. "Are you sure this is going to help in any way?"
"Positive. Right here." Dante pointed at his cheek.
"What, in your face?"
"You're stalling."
Without a single ounce of hesitation you swung your arm, hitting the demon hunter square in his face, but it caused you more pain than it did him, and you stumbled back, holding your fist in your other hand.
"Son of a fucking bitch!" You cried out in pain, knowing damn well that would happen. Still, you couldn't say no to him. Ever.
"Are you okay?" Dante was visibly concerned — a rare sight since he was always cool and edgy, even when his own life was in danger.
"Fuck no! Feels like I punched a brick wall!" You practically growled at him, gaze quickly softening when you saw the pure look of terror in his eyes. "But hey, nothing a little ice can't fix, right?"
"Right." He nodded and got up, making a beeline for the freezer.
There was no ice in it, but there was a pack of frozen peas somewhere at the bottom of a drawer, which Dante picked up and brought to you. When you reached for it, he, instead, took your sore hand in his, gently pressing the cold legumes onto your knuckles. You winced, instinctively trying to retract your hand, but he held it in place, his fingers wrapped around your wrist to stop you from backing away.
The pain wasn't gone, but it was becoming bearable, and a relieved murmur escaped past your lips, one that sounded closer to a moan than a sigh. Dante's cheeks burned, tinted red with embarrassment and arousal because you were yet another girl in his life who just didn't want to be involved romantically with him. Not that he tried anything with you, because he always thought you deserved better. Sure, he was cocky and flirtatious, but he wasn't a dick. If no one reciprocated the flirting, he didn't push his luck. It was simple. And he wasn’t the type who did one-night stands, despite the rumours. Dante enjoyed having a connection to the people he took to bed, he became sexually attracted to those he knew on a deeper emotional level. But sometimes, when he was really, truly desperate, he would download Tinder and hook up with random girls.
And he reeked of desperation.
"Dante, you can let go of my hand now." You told him, part of you hoping he wouldn't.
Who could blame you? He was an objectively attractive man, with a charming smile and a body sculpted by the gods themselves. Why would he ever want to get involved with you? Dante was your opposite — he talked, he sang, he danced, he was obnoxious. You were quiet, most of the time, and shy. In fact, when he first met you, he thought you had some form of speech impediment, with your nose in Boccaccio’s The Decameron, a book you stole from the public library because you were much too young to read. That’s when knew you were trouble, just like him.
"Yeah, of course." Dante stepped back. "How's your hand?"
"Better. How are you feeling?"
"Me? Why are you asking?"
"Hello?" You scrunched your nose and frowned. "You wanted me to punch you because you were touch-starved. Did it help?"
"I'll be honest, it felt more like a tickle than anything." He shrugged. "Are you sure you didn't pull your punch?"
There it was, the one thing that turned you from an introvert to a bat-shit crazy bitch — his stupid little mouth that he opened without ever thinking.
"Are you fucking kidding me? You're telling me I risked breaking my bones so you could feel better, only for you to not feel anything? I swear to fucking God, Dante, this is the last time I'm doing anything nice for you."
"Nice? You punched me!" He threw his hands up in exasperation, while your blood boiled inside of you, sending you into a blind rage.
"You asked me to punch you, you maniac! You should've fucked me instead!"
Your eyes widened at the sentence that came out of your mouth without a single thought, mortified at your own stupidity.
"Hugged. I meant hugged. Shit."
"No, no, hold up, you didn't say hugged." Dante tilted his head, one hand rubbing his chin. "Isn't that called a Freudian slip?"
"I- well- how the fuck do you even know what a Freudian slip is?" You tried changing the subject but he didn't bite.
"Google." He closed the gap between the two of you, and for the first time you felt intimidated by him. "Do you want me to fuck you?"
The bluntness of his question, coupled with the sudden change in the pitch of his voice made you feel like a cornered prey. There was no possible way he was serious. But he wasn't wrong — the nature of your jobs made it impossible for either of you to have partners, and besides, you've known each other for years. It was only natural that some form of physical attraction would have developed between you two, right? But why you? Why now? And the worst of all your questions, why not?
You didn’t want to think about how this would ruin almost a decade of friendship. All you could think about was the look of pure lust in his eyes as he held your gaze, and how months upon months of sexual frustrations accumulated inside of you, bubbling and boiling and exploding when you dropped the pack of peas on the floor.
"Yes. I want you to fuck me."
Without a sliver of hesitation, you felt him pick you up with ease, hands roaming up and down his back as he slammed you down onto the table, desperately pushing away all the guns and knives. How thoughtful of him. Your hands slithered under his blood red coat while he tugged at your t-shirt, pulling it over your head to expose your bare breasts to him.
"No bra? Kinky." Dante stopped to take a better look at you.
"Stop talking." You firmly told him, but the chuckle that erupted from your throat betrayed you.
He was the one person you felt most comfortable around, so much so that you didn't feel weirded out by him pressing his lips onto your neck, or his fingertips bruising the plush of your hips, or his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples. No, it felt natural, too natural, like your skin was made to be touched by him.
With his coat on the floor, you tackled his shirt, effectively tearing it off of him because you were just as desperate as he was, and Dante pulled your body closer to his, your clothed cunt accidentally rubbing against the bulge in his trousers. You were aching from the lack of sex, and you uncontrollably moaned at the tiny bit of friction before mumbling a weak 'sorry.'
"Fuck, don't be. That's actually kind of hot." He shamelessly admitted, and you rose a brow.
"Yeah? Then you wouldn't mind me doing it again?" You chewed on your lower lip, but he could see past the fake innocence when you rolled your hips, frantically and feverishly rubbing your clit through the layers of fabric. "Shit, I could come just from this."
For a split second, Dante wondered if this was all real. What happened to your shyness? How was it possible that his best friend, the quiet, nerdy girl he'd known for such a long time, was worse than any demon he'd ever encountered? Not that he was a saint. Far from it, because when you threw your head back, desperate to climax, his is eyes darkened, black seeping into his sclera. It should've made you afraid, but it had the opposite effect. The thought that he could activate his Devil Trigger and quite literally snap you like a twig turned you on.
"Do it, then." Dante's hand snaked behind the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. "Show me just how needy you are."
Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead as you fucked yourself on the half-demon, fog settling in your brain with each breath, each movement, each beating of your heart. Faster. Harder. Faster. Harder. Faster.
"Oh-" Any sentence you tried to utter stopped in your throat, replaced by a string of whimpers and curses. Whatever you were trying to babble was reduced to incoherent words.
"Well shit, I didn't know you were such a filthy little slut."
"Just- oh- shut up-"
"Hmm, I don't think you really want me to shut up." Dante sneered when you picked up the pace. "I think you like it when I talk like this."
"N-not true!" You yelped as he pinched your nipple, barely doing anything and yet you were a mess already.
"So, you don't want me to call you a fucktoy, then? Bet you're dripping right now. Bet you want me balls deep inside of you."
"Fuck, I'm gonna come!" You proved his point when your entire body quivered under his, mind blank and vision blurry.
"There, there." Dante pressed his lips onto your forehead. "I got you."
The noise of his belt unbuckling made you snap your eyes open, filling you with newfound desire and guilt — poor Dante, his cock was probably aching by now while you had the time of your life. He stepped back, letting his trousers pool at his feet, and you lifted your skirt to peel your panties off. You caught him staring at you, taking the sight in, and what a sight it was — locks of hair fell out of your bun, sticking to your sweaty temples, your legs still shaking from the orgasm, and your cunt dripping wet.
"I'd love to eat you out, babe, but my balls are genuinely gonna explode." He confessed, earning a giggle from you. Even with his eyes pitch black and his Devil Trigger on the verge of activating, Dante was still Dante. And you loved that about him.
"Hurry up and fuck me, then."
"Are you that desperate that you forgot your manners?" He dug his fingertips into the plush of your hips, violently pulling you closer to him.
"Please hurry up and fuck me?" You pouted.
"Good girl, that's better." Dante pushed your leg to the side with his elbow, dragging his cock up and down your slit.
You didn't get the chance to take a look at it, but the tip felt huge, so much so that you gasped, propping yourself on your elbows to see better, and you were not disappointed. In fact, you were concerned. You could not take it.
"Dante, it's not gonna fit."
He shook his head with a half-smile, finding your concern quite cute.
"I'll make it fit."
It was both a promise and a threat, but you trusted him. God, you trusted him with your life. He slowly and gently pushed the tip, your slick more than enough to lubricate his cock, but he stopped every time you looked uncomfortable to make sure you were okay.
"Tell me if it's too much."
"No, you can- it's fine, keep going." You closed your eyes, the discomfort causing you to clench around him instead of relaxing, which made Dande forget how to breathe or think.
But the worst came to a halt when he was fully in, stopping briefly to allow you to accommodate to the size. Your breathing went back to normal soon enough, and the last ounce of pain in your body was swiftly replaced by a surge of electricity when Dante moved, slowly and softly rolling his hips, unable to abstain any longer. And you didn't want him to when his cock filled you up so good, reaching places you didn't even know existed inside of your body. Your fingernails dug into his back, clawing at his skin with desperation and impatience, like you needed more than what he was already giving you.
"See? I told you I’ll make it fit. And you take me so well." Dante said, dragging his mouth over your neck, your scent overloading his senses.
But it just wasn't enough. No matter how painful, you wanted it-
"Harder."
Assertive, demanding, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he pulled back to look at you, as if not believing your request.
"A minute ago, you were wriggling in pain, now you want it harder?"
"Yes." There was no hesitation. "I want it harder, faster, please-"
You were shushed by two digits forcing open your mouth, and you instinctively wrapped your lips around them, sucking obediently.
"You talk too much." He gave you a taste of your own medicine. "Should've known you were just a dumb little cocksleeve."
The degrading words caused you to moan and drool around his fingers, tears welling up in your eyes. Each thrust had you clench tighter, the tip of his ridiculously large cock punishing your cervix. Pain and pleasure bubbled inside of you, sparking through your body as Dante practically ripped his fingers from your mouth, only to wrap them around your throat. He was a hungry man, and you were dinner — arching your back to get closer, deeper, you fucked yourself on his cock with his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, and he revelled in your worship.
"Shit, you like it when it hurts, don't you?" He whispered, squeezing harder while you nodded eagerly. "Of course you do."
Of course you did. How could you not when he fucked you so good that your dignity and modesty were long forgotten? When Dante stripped you of your decency to bring out the worst in you? You felt your second orgasm build up, causing you to twitch under him, eyes rolling back as you slipped your hands under his arms, holding on for dear life.
"Again- gonna come again, Dante! Fuck!"
"Atta girl." He held your quivering body, his own hips stuttering, brutally thrusting into you with raw, animalistic passion.
You came undone on his cock, fingers carding through his hair, pushing away white locks to look at his pretty eyes while his arm slithered under your lower back to both support you and bring you closer to him. Dante was close, his throbbing cock still stretching your sore cunt out. He bucked his hips, splitting you open while you latched your arms around his neck, tits pressed against his chest and your lips ghosting over his earlobe.
"Almost there, babe." Dante promised. "You're doing so well." He pulled back, nearly on edge, but you squeezed your legs tighter around his waist.
"Don't pull out." You demanded, and that was enough to help him reach enlightenment.
He filled you up, and when he did pull out, watching his cum slowly leak out of you, you could've sworn he whispered 'marry me' under his breath. Surely it was just the brain fog, or the post-orgasm high. Your whole body was numb, and you stumbled into Dante's arms when you tried to get down from the table, muscles sore and aching.
"You wanna get pizza?" He nonchalantly asked, as if he didn't just fuck his best friend.
"I- shouldn't we talk about this?" You avoided looking into his eyes, opting to stare at the floor instead.
"About what?"
God, he was either insufferably oblivious or remarkably good at pretending.
"Us." You sighed.
"What's there to talk about?" Dante's fingers found your chin, and he gently lifted it up, forcing you to look at him.
"Don't make this harder for me, please. You know things won’t be the same now. We’re not in a relationship and-"
"I don't follow." Confusion was written all over his face. "Do you not want to be my girlfriend?"
"Girl- I- hold up, what? Do you want me to be your girlfriend?" You tilted your head, baffled by his question, because of course you wanted to. You just never had the guts to admit that you like him. It was even more shocking that he liked you back. Wasn’t this all just a one-time thing?
"I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious when I fucked you. What, you thought I nut and dip? That I shoot a load and go back on the road? That I cum n go?"
"Wow, please never use those euphemisms ever again." You cringed at his words, trying your best to hide the smile that crept on your lips.
"Christ, babe, you know I don't do one-night stands unless I’m really desperate. And here I thought you were my best friend. Guess I was wrong." Dante gasped, dramatically feigning offence by placing a hand on his chest.
"I’m not your best friend anymore." You said, voice serious and cold, and his charade was quickly replaced by actual worry and offence. "I'm your girlfriend now. And your best friend."
"Okay, I was genuinely concerned. Fuck you." He flipped you off and you sneered.
Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions
A/N: I don't really care if people hate the Netflix anime, I love it. I want a season 2 right now.
the type of guy who would buy you a cowboy hat when you say you want to ride his cock
you don't have to wear the hat when you're riding him but he thinks it adds to the fun
a very touchy guy, he can never keep his hands to himself
Dante refuses to keep his hands away from your clit when you're having sex, it is a magical pleasure button after all, so even if you're doing most of the moving he still wants to give himself something to do
slaps your ass a lot, more often with just one hand but sometimes with both and always grabs you where he slapped, especially when he knows you're still sensitive
if you get tired he will lift your legs up, his arms below your knees and fingers interlocked with yours, before he starts hammering his cock into your sensitive wet hole
very chatty and will always tell you how much he's enjoying himself, or how hypnotized he is by the view of your pussy swallowing his hard cock, your pussy making his white pubic hair wet with it's slick, the slapping, lewd noise that your pussy makes when you lower yourself on him over and over
grins up at you and gives you a thumbs up when you make him come while riding him
when he wants you to ride him he will sit on the bed, pat his thighs and tell you to get on, and yes, he will absolutely also say yee-haw
has condoms in lots of different colors to make things more fun when he has to watch his cock go in and out of you
one interesting thing that he likes is to fuck you from behind but then he will stop, leave just the tip of his cock inside of you, feeling your pussy tighten, trying to pull him back in but he won't move
instead he tells you to ride his cock from this position
as much as he loves getting ridden he is still Dante at the end of the way, so of course he will find a way to be a cocky bastard about it
not like you didn't know that before you started dating, now your sex life is that much more fun, for having Dante there
Glad y’all liked this series - had been missing Max & Chloe a lot lately and wanted to do something for Storm Week.
The way I designed these was, with each day she’s getting closer to water, until finally she’s in the storm. And at the same time, she’s getting closer to Chloe, until she’s standing with her. The lyrics for the individual posts (1|2|3|4|5) are from a song from their respective episodes, and meant to represent togetherness or apartness.
summary: you and SOLDIER BOY were always fighting, until one night he decided to break your tough act and put you in your place, showing you exactly what a brat like you deserves.
after butcher and mm managed to unfreeze soldier boy, the safehouse became a total living hell. the team quickly realized he was way too unstable to be left alone, and since butcher, mm, hughie, and frenchie were always out chasing leads on vought, the annoying job of babysitting this piece of shit fell right into your lap. what followed was a routine of pure mutual hatred.
on that specific tuesday afternoon, the heat inside the house was unbearable. frenchie and hughie had gone out to get food, and butcher was locked in the office with mm, screaming about something on the computer screen.
in the living room, ben was sprawled on the couch, wearing just some old grey sweatpants and a white tank top that showed off his thick, massive arms. he held a beer bottle in his right hand and a lit cig in the other, letting the ash drop straight onto the floor.
"ben, i've told you a hundred times not to ash on the floor. i just cleaned this room," you said, standing right in front of him with your hands on your hips, glaring daggers at him.
he didn't even flinch. he took another long drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before blowing it right in your face. you coughed, waving the air with your hand, your face turning red with anger.
"and i already told you i don't take orders from kids, brat," he answered, his voice deep and dragged out, full of that typical arrogance you were so sick of. "in my day, girls like you knew their place. they cleaned up the mess without complaining and kept their mouths shut when a man was relaxing."
"your day is gone! you're just a sexist idiot who spent years frozen and now you're useless, just drinking all day and having those explosive tantrums," you snapped back, taking a step forward, trying to hold your ground even though you knew he could crush you with one hand.
ben let out a loud laugh, shifting his posture on the couch. he leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at you from head to toe, his eyes narrowed as he took in your expression of pure hatred. he found it fascinating. seeing you gesturing, stomping your foot, and losing your mind over his teasing was the best part of his day. his pride would never let him admit what he felt seeing you stand up to him, so he turned everything into humiliation.
"look at you. think you scare anyone with that angry face, little girl?" he scoffed, standing up and towering over you. he reached out and patted your cheek mockingly. "you gotta respect your elders, brat. if i want to throw ash on the floor, on the table, or on your face, i will. and you're gonna clean it."
"get your hands off me, you idiot!" you yelled, slapping his hand away. "i loathe you. everyone here only puts up with you because they need your strength against homelander, but the second this is over, i'll make sure to kick you out myself."
the argument was getting loud enough to echo through the halls. the office door banged open and butcher appeared at the top of the stairs with his usual scowl, holding a pack of smokes.
"what the hell is all this noise down here?" butcher roared, stepping down the stairs, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. "i'm trying to work and you two sound like dogs fighting over a bone. girl, i gave you one simple job: keep him quiet inside the house. is it really that hard?"
"he's throwing ash everywhere and treating me like a maid!" you complained, pointing at ben, hoping for some support.
ben took another sip of his beer, looking at butcher with a smirk. "your nanny is a crybaby, man. can't take a joke. in my time, women had thicker skin. this generation today is made of sugar, the slightest thing and they wanna cry and scream."
butcher let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. he had zero patience for this. "i don't give a shit whose fault it is."
"but..." you tried to protest.
"no buts, fuckin' fix it," butcher cut you off, turning around and heading back up to the office, slamming the door hard.
when silence returned to the room, you looked at ben and he had the biggest, smug bastard smile on his face. he set the beer on the coffee table with a thud and leaned back on the couch, locking his hands behind his head, savoring your defeat.
"see that, little girl?" he whispered, his voice smooth and venomous. "even your friend knows you're just a spoiled brat making a drama out of everything. now, do me a favor. go to the kitchen and get me another beer. and try not to cry on the way, yeah?"
you clenched your fists so hard your nails almost cut your skin. the hatred you felt for this man was overflowing, and the amusement in his eyes only made it worse. you knew he was doing it on purpose, of course you knew. he always did everything to get under your skin, and he always succeeded, damn it.
later that week, things in the house got even tighter. the place wasn't actually that big; it was a well-hidden underground structure so vought wouldn't find you.
since you were the only girl in the group, mm and frenchie had insisted you deserved some privacy and dignity. they agreed you'd get the only single bedroom in the house, while the men shared the other rooms and makeshift beds. ben, of course, complained at the time, saying it was ridiculous for him to be cramped while a brat got a whole room to herself, but butcher told him to shut the fuck up.
things changed on a thursday night. starlight showed up out of nowhere, wearing a heavy coat to disguise herself, desperate to see hughie. they were going through a rough patch with vought and she needed a safe place to crash away from the spotlight. hughie was so nervous, pacing back and forth in the kitchen, it was almost sad to watch.
you looked at hughie, who was staring at you with those puppy-dog eyes, and let out a long sigh. you liked them and knew how hard the situation was. "it's fine, hughie. she can stay in my room with you tonight. i'll grab some blankets and sleep on the living room couch, no problem."
"seriously? wow, thank you so much, for real.” hughie said, looking like he was gonna cry tears of relief, while annie gave you a quick, grateful hug.
later, you went upstairs and grabbed your jammies—a pair of short cotton shorts and an old t-shirt—along with a pillow and a blanket. when you came down to set things up on the couch, you ran straight into ben coming out of the kitchen. he was finishing a beer and stopped in his tracks, watching you carry your stuff with that heavy, lingering gaze of his.
ben took the last gulp of his beer, set the empty bottle on the counter, and checked you out from head to toe, noticing your short jammies. his eyes lingered on your legs and the outline of your chest under the t-shirt.
"goodnight to you too, little girl.” he rumbled in his deep, dragged-out voice, letting out a short, mocking chuckle from the corner of his mouth as he walked past you.
he didn't say anything else, just turned his back and walked up the steps slowly, heading toward the bedrooms upstairs. you exhaled, relieved he hadn't started another fight, and started fixing the blanket and pillow on the couch.
after lying down and pulling the blanket over yourself, silence finally took over the house. the exhaustion from a stressful day made you fall into a deep sleep quickly.
the living room was almost pitch black, broken only by the grey streaks of moonlight cutting through the blinds. you were totally vulnerable there, curled up on the couch, having no idea that at the top of the stairs, the door to the room ben was sleeping in opened without making a single sound.
he walked down the steps slowly, barefoot, wearing only those loose grey sweatpants. he hadn't come down for water or a smoke. he came down specifically to see you. his pride, shaped by decades of being america's greatest hero, would never let him admit it out loud, but the image of you sleeping in the living room in those short pajamas had been hammering his brain all night. he felt an overwhelming, violent, suffocating urge for you, something that made him furious because he couldn't control it. he hated the fact that a girl who stood up to him every day had so much power over his thoughts.
he stopped right next to the couch, arms crossed over his broad chest, just watching the shape of your body in the dark. ben couldn't resist. the need to possess, to touch, and to break your tough attitude spoke way louder. with calculated slowness, he knelt on the floor, his face inches from yours.
his large, calloused hand reached out to your exposed leg, tracing up your skin before sliding under your shirt. centimeters by centimeter, he pulled the light fabric up with torturous care, exposing your chest to the cold air. your nipples hardened instantly, and ben swallowed hard, staring at your soft skin.
his pants were already tight, but he forced himself to hold back from sucking you right then so he wouldn’t wake you up.
the sudden chill and the weight of his hand finally woke you. your eyes fluttered open to see ben looming over you, his fingers against your bare skin.
shock hit you like electricity. you gasped, trying to scramble back and push his chest away, but ben instantly pinned you down. with terrifying speed, he locked both your wrists above your head with one hand, while his other hand slapped over your mouth, smothering your scream.
he shook his head slowly, looking down at your wide, terrified eyes with a cold, dominant stare.
"shh... quiet, doll. you don't want to wake up the whole house and have them see you like this, do you?" he whispered darkly against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.
you thrashed beneath him, trying to kick, but his strength was an iron press. seeing your panic, his expression softened into something purely manipulative. "calm down... relax, sweetheart. look at me," he murmured, loosening the pressure on your mouth just enough but keeping his fingers close. "you're so beautiful. a perfect little thing."
tears of pure fear spilled down your cheeks. ben shook his head, feigning disappointment. "no, no. don't cry, baby. I'm not gonna hurt you, you know that. I just wanted to talk." he used that calm, steady voice to break your resistance and make you feel small. "you know this is your fault, right? you're a tease. walking around this house all day in those tiny shorts... it's disrespectful to the men here. you kept me wound up all day, parading around. I couldn't resist."
his words twisted your mind, making you feel a sudden wave of guilt. he leaned into your neck, inhaling deeply. "I've been starving for you since the day they defrosted me. I always wanted you for myself. you have no idea how pissed I got whenever you laughed at frenchie’s stupid jokes or talked late with butcher. I wanted to break their faces. because I'm the one who's supposed to hold you. you're mine."
the heavy manipulation confused your fear with an overwhelming sense of submission. you always acted tough during the day, but being helpless under the most powerful man in the house completely broke your facade.
ben saw you hesitate. he gently stroked your wet cheek, his eyes dropping lower. "let me fuck you, doll... daddy's gonna take such good care of you. promise you'll be a good girl, hm?"
you shook your head in a panic reflex, biting your lips so hard you almost bled, your whole body shaking. "i... i'm a virgin, ben... no. please... don't."
ben froze. he closed his eyes for a few seconds, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself. his jaw clenched.
fuck, you were untouched. that piece of info just made his desire explode to dangerous levels. the idea of being the only one, of completely corrupting your innocence, was the peak of everything he wanted. he opened his eyes, locking them onto yours with a predatory intensity. "virgin..." he rasped. "okay. listen to me, little girl... i’ll be careful, but you gotta to let me in. you want this, i know you do. let your man show you how it feels. accept it, baby?”
completely manipulated and driven by panic and the sweet ache you felt when he confessed his obsession, you ended up nodding your head, crying softly. you accepted.
ben smirked, savoring your surrender. he leaned in and pressed his mouth to yours, starting a tense, deep kiss, mixing his taste with your tears. his massive hand gripped your nape firmly while his mouth traveled down your neck, leaving dark hickeys on your soft skin. mid-kiss, his large hand gripped the hem of your shirt and, with one firm tug, yanked it over your head, tossing it onto the floor.
only then did his hand grip the back of your neck, his mouth dragging down to your throat, leaving dark bruises on your soft skin. you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut and trying your best to stay quiet. now completely bare from the waist up, you shivered as ben moved lower, his hot tongue tracing down to your breasts. he took one pert nipple into his mouth, sucking hungrily while his other hand squeezed your opposite breast, leaving red marks under his touch.
"fuck, baby... your tits are so good," he growled against your skin. "perfect for daddy."
he continued down, licking your stomach slowly, making your entire body twitch and ache with anticipation. when he reached your hips, ben hooked his fingers into the waistband of both your shorts and panties, pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion and discarding them.
with you completely naked and vulnerable beneath him, your legs shook, but ben gripped your thighs firmly, forcing your hips open wide as he pinned himself between them. he looked up for a split second, admiring your flushed face and panting chest, before lowering his head and pressing his mouth straight against your untouched center.
the feeling of his tongue, hot and wet, against your sensitive skin made your hips tilt upward. you tried to close your legs out of pure bashful reflex, but his hands were like iron cuffs holding your thighs wide open, exposing all of you to him. ben started lapping from bottom to top, tracing your lips firmly, coating everything in his warm spit. the wet sounds his mouth made down there were loud in the silent room, making you die of embarrassment.
"no being shy now, yeah?" he muffled his words against your skin, his voice vibrating right on your clit, sending an electric shock through your spine. "answer me baby, you like having my mouth right here?"
you covered your face with your forearm, choking back a needy moan, tears still flowing but now mixed with a wave of pleasure you'd never felt before. "yes... yes, ben..." you confessed in a thread of a voice, your face burning. "please... keep going... it's so good."
hearing you beg like that, totally submissive to his control, was the exact fuel his ego and lust needed. ben caught your clit between his lips and started sucking hard, while the tip of his tongue flicked there in a fast, relentless rhythm. he alternated between licking your entrance and sucking your lips with a ravenous hunger, leaving you completely drenched.
and ben seemed determined to make it very clear how much he was enjoying finally getting what he wanted so badly. he proved it with small, muffled groans of satisfaction, his dedicated suction making wet noises fill the space, not to mention the way his fingertips dug into the skin of your hips in a clear demand for you to stay wide open.
"b—ben… this is so good. you're so good," you said softly between needy whimpers.
he started eating you out like he was starving, the wet sucking sounds getting even louder and driving you absolutely crazy.
your back arched with pleasure and your thin fingers gripped chunks of ben's hair with enough force to hurt, but he showed no bother and definitely didn't stop, only groaning and getting even more skillful with his mouth.
he pressed his lips hard against your clit, sucking intensely, making your hips twitch involuntarily on the couch. when he felt you were right on the edge, totally vulnerable and panting, he gripped your thighs tighter, moving his large fingers to massage your skin in circular motions.
slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes dark as they watched you writhe with your eyes closed, whimpers slipping from your mouth.
realizing he'd stopped, you opened your eyes and looked down, meeting his green eyes gleaming as they stared at you. you blinked slowly, trying to hide the disappointment before asking: "b—ben? why did you—"
"what would happen if one of the boys woke up to your loud little noises, hm?" you heard ben comment, his voice raspy, cutting you off. he started using his thumb to stimulate you in slow, torturating strokes, almost like a caress. "y'know... they'd come down to see what the noise is, and then they'd find you here, exactly like this, all open and dripping for me. imagine that, baby. they'd see that the complaining little brat is nothing but a helpless little slut, yeah?"
ben spoke those filthy words while lowering his head again, pressing his mouth back into your wet pussy. he alternated slow sucks on your clit with wet kisses on the inside of your thigh, making you even more sensitive. the humiliation of his words and the real fear of someone coming down the stairs sent such a heavy jolt of adrenaline through your body that your pussy started throbbing. you were completely turned on by the danger.
in a reflex of pure shame and denial of what you were feeling, you shook your head, whining softly, but your own body betrayed your mind. unable to resist the pleasure, you ended up tilting your hips up, pushing your pussy against his lips, silently begging him to keep eating you out.
feeling the shift of your hips and the way you surrendered to his touch, ben stopped abruptly. he raised his face, his eyes glinting with amusement.
"am i right? answer me.” he commanded in a deep voice, holding both your thighs tightly to keep you still.
you just shook your head again, trying to hide your face with your arm, lacking the courage to admit out loud how much that humiliation was exciting you.
seeing your stubborn silence, ben didn't hesitate. he raised his heavy hand and brought it down in a sharp smack right against your pussy, making a loud slap echo in the quiet of the dark living room. the impact of his palm against your sensitive, slick skin made you jolt on the couch, whimpering from the mix of sting and pleasure the strike caused, drawing tears from your eyes.
"you know you are, baby," he whispered cruelly and softly, leaning back over your trembling body and tracing his fingertips over the tender skin. "you're a helpless little slut, hm? we both know it, doll."
"y'know what?" he kept talking in a raspy voice, bringing his face close to your cunt, his hot breath making your skin goosebump all over. "even if they showed up... i wouldn't be able to stop. fuck 'em all."
he slid his hands up your thighs, digging his fingers hard into your flesh, making his control over you clear.
"you're so hot, my love... so irresistible with this soaked pussy, begging for me, that i just don't give a rat's ass. i wouldn't care one bit if i had to fuck you right in front of them to make it crystal clear who you belong to. i'd keep burying my tongue in you while they watched their precious little girl cry and groan in my ear."
your eyes widened and you felt yourself get even wetter, your thighs twitching with arousal as you forced yourself to keep your legs open for him. ben smirked as he caught your reaction to his words, going back to biting and sucking the inside of your thighs, sliding his fingertips up and down between the slick folds.
"imagine, me fucking you good and your idiot friends walking in right then?" ben asked raspily, spitting right onto your swollen clit, rubbing his fingers over it with a wet noise, watching fascinated as the little mound twitched under his touch. "would you like them to see you getting fucked by me, hm? would you like them to see me using you however i want?"
you closed your eyes for a moment and your slender fingers gripped his hair tightly, forcing yourself to hold back a whimper at ben's dirty talk. just as much as your face burned with embarrassment at the things ben said with such natural ease, you felt an undeniable pleasure where your pussy was getting even wetter and hungrier for his touch.
"d—don't keep saying those things," you whined, rubbing your hands over your hot face, then propping yourself up on one forearm so you could watch him, your chest panting up and down non-stop.
you felt the moment ben chuckled softly, going back to sucking you, causing those sharp, wet, delicious noises, his short beard tickling as he made a point to rub his face against you.
little by little, your body started giving those signs that you were gonna come soon. it was getting hot and tingling in that familiar way, and you were rubbing your feet against the couch in agony.
"ben… i—i feel weird," you said alertly, your fingers tangling back into his hair so you could see his green eyes. "i'm gonna… something. please," you groaned confusedly, not knowing exactly what you meant or what you were feeling. you groaned, opening your legs even wider, and ben stopped sucking you, but he spit on your pussy to rub it with his fingers in quick, agile circular motions.
"you want me to make you come, but you know only pussies that belong to daddy get to come, don't you? is your pussy mine, doll?" those words were enough to make your legs twitch and your back arch, your eyes rolling back under your lids.
"answer me, doll, who does it belong to? does it belong to daddy?"
"yes! yes it is," you said in agony, and ben shook his head no.
"yes what? belongs to who?"
"to daddy! it belongs to daddy, ben. it belongs to you." a sharp, excited cry caught in your throat when ben, seemingly satisfied with your answer, went back to sucking you slowly, leaving you coated in his spit.
as ben sucked you, his cheeks were slicked with the mix of his saliva and the cum pouring out of you, and his green eyes were locked, watching with interest the pleasurable expressions on your flushed, sweaty face, your pink mouth open in tearful, desperate whimpers. he knew the exact moment you were coming when suddenly your delicate little body started shaking all over in beautiful little spasms, trying for all you were worth to pull away from the extreme stimulation and close your legs so ben would stop.
while the orgasm dragged out, you weren't even aware of how you kept whimpering "daddy, daddy, daddy..." non-stop. and ben was persistent, his strong hands firmly gripping both your thighs so you'd keep them open, stopping you at all costs from pushing him away and preventing him from getting more of your sweet taste directly in his mouth.
and with all that extreme stimulation and you slowly coming down, tears pooled in your eyes and you started swatting your hands against ben's shoulders, crying out for him to stop because you couldn't take any more.
he finally stopped, pulling away from you with a loud, wet pop, panting heavily, a few strands of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, his lips and beard glistening with spit everywhere, making quite a sight.
"you okay?" he asked carefully, and heard you whisper a yes. he leaned over your little body, practically covering you, propping both hands on the couch on either side of your head, starting to pepper kisses all over your face. "you sure?"
"uh-huh..." you said breathlessly, turning your face a bit more so he'd start kissing your mouth, tasting your own flavor on his lips.
"okay." ben whispered between the quick kisses.
he pulled back just a bit, enough to kneel between your open legs. calmly, ben gripped his massive, throbbing cock and pulled it out of his sweatpants, letting you see it right there in the dim living room. the sight of its size, gleaming slightly from being completely pre-wet, made you swallow hard. a pit in your stomach and a bit of fear took over your chest, making you shrug your shoulders against the couch.
noticing your hesitation, he tried to calm you down with a caress on your face. ben slotted his hips between your legs and you felt his cock brush against your wet entrance.
"it's okay, doll. look at daddy," he said in an extremely sweet, gentle voice, planting a wet kiss on your cheek.
"i don't know if i c-can take it, p-please don't do this."
you let out the words right before a whimper escaped your mouth from feeling his cock rubbing against you.
"you can, baby.” he said finally.
ben held his cock by the base and kept rubbing it up and down against you, feeling your entrance open every time he rubbed there. he knew he had to be careful, he really did. but he didn't want to, fuck. he was never careful when he fucked. he had a tendency to make it hurt, leave bruises, see the person cry until they couldn't take it anymore. but he had to try.
he noticed how hard it would be when he tried to put just the head of his cock into your tight opening, your body pushing him out at all costs. if he shoved it all in at once, he might end up killing you, damn it.
"fuck, try to relax." he said softly, running his fingers through your messy hair. "it won't hurt as much if you relax your body, okay? can you do that for me?"
you nodded slowly, wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to his body like a koala.
ben tried one more time, having to look down, he very calmly started pushing just the head of his thick cock in, which could barely wait to shove the whole thing. you felt yourself stretch as ben slowly pushed, and in the same second, you let out a gasp mixed with a sharp cry, the kind where the sound gets cut off by a lack of air.
"fuck baby, you're so tight," ben whispered in your ear, feeling you scratch his back in pure desperation.
"ben!" you groaned his name way too loud, not even having half of him inside you yet. "take it out, p-please."
"i didn't even put it all in, baby," he said, laughing at your face which was contorted in pain. "you're gonna take it."
ben slid out of you, causing a wet suction sound. he grabbed both your legs and bent your knees, leaving you wide open and vulnerable. his hands held tight right in the crook of your knee and thigh, leaving you exposed and easy to enter.
you felt a wave of relief when you didn't have his weight hurting you anymore, even though you wanted it badly. and that relief completely vanished when ben rammed his entire cock into your tight heat.
you were caught off guard, totally off guard.
before you could let out the first cry of pain from the impact, ben lunged forward with his palm and clamped your mouth shut hard, completely muffling your sounds in the dark room.
ben buried his cock deep inside you with force, groaning raspy in your ear, feeling the tightness all around him.
"so tight, fuck," he groaned heavily, bending your legs even more.
he started taking deep, hard thrusts, making your entire body shake on the couch.
your eyes were wide open, staring at him, filled with tears, panic, and shock. while your trembling hands tried to push his rigid chest and your head shook no, a silent plea for him to stop.
but he was infinitely stronger and took advantage of every second of your weakness, using your little body like it was just a hole for his pleasure, taking out the hatred and desire he felt for you after all the fights you'd had since he was unfrozen.
"fuck, i needed this.” he growled against your ear, his voice straining from the physical effort as he drove deep, without a shred of mercy. "you gotta take this, baby. know how many times i imagined shutting your mouth like this? while i fuck you?"
you tried to scream and whine against his palm, but the sound came out totally smothered.
"this is for you annoying me, if you were a good girl, it wouldn't have to be like this.” he hissed cruelly, your spit running down his hand in your attempt to bite him. "but girls like you deserve to be treated like this, fuck. this is for you learn to respect me, got it? learn to respect your elders, slut.”
driven by the panic of being heard by the rest of the group in the house and the confusing, overwhelming pleasure that degradation caused down there, you stopped fighting. your arms fell weightless to the sides of the couch.
ben took his hand off your mouth, replacing it with his own lips in a calm kiss. "can you hear daddy? look at me, doll."
fuck, he was fascinated.
"it'll pass, alright? i promise, in a bit it'll pass."
ben started moving slowly, trying to ignore the urge to flip you onto your stomach and fuck you until you passed out from the ache.
"it hurts s-so much, d-daddy."
ben sealed his lips over yours again and started moving faster, your quiet whimpers slipping into his mouth.
"baby, you okay?"
the moment you nodded, ben didn't care about anything else. in one single motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, arching your backside way up.
you whined in fright, losing all your support and burying your face against the cushions, while you felt the cold air of the living room hit your bare, exposed skin. before you could even process the change, ben slotted right behind you, gripping your hips with a force that would definitely leave purple marks on your skin.
without giving you time to breathe or get used to the new position, he lined up his massive cock and buried it all at once, entering from behind with a dry, violent thud.
he started hammering you just the way he'd wanted since the moment you came down the stairs and showed up in front of him in those trashy little shorts. the movements were brutal and accurate, spilling pre-cum inside your tight pussy, feeling it squeeze around him and try to push him out at every turn.
the pain of the impact made your whole back arch, and your eyes widened in the dark. you opened your mouth to let out the scream trapped in your throat, but ben was faster: he reached forward, pulling your hair back hard to steady your head, and with his other palm, clamped his hand tight over your mouth again, completely muffling your crying.
your body was shoved forward every time ben slammed into you, your sensitive nipples rubbing against the couch fabric, making you whimper.
even with his hand trying to smother your mouth, your sharp cries and whimpers escaped between his fingers, echoing muffled and desperate through the quiet living room. ben heard the sound of your despair and smiled against your nape, completely turned on by how your body reacted to every blow.
"fuck, princess." ben could see perfectly his cock vanishing inside you. the obscene, wet sounds of his full balls slapping against your backside only egged him on to go faster, to rough you up. the sound echoed heavy in the dark living room, mixing with your ragged breath and smothered whines.
"you were made for this, dammit. to be ben's little puppy and get fucked by him, yeah? say it, little girl.” he ordered, delivering a loud, firm slap to your ass that left your skin stinging.
"i... i am...", you started to murmur, your voice cracking, cut off by the brutal thrusts he refused to stop giving.
"you're what, fuck? say it right, you slut.” ben insisted, his voice even raspier and more impatient. he held your waist with both hands now, digging his fingers into your skin with force, and gave a thrust so deep it made you curve your back, letting out a sharp cry that echoed through the room. "say it to daddy."
with your body already exhausted and your mind completely hazy from the overload of sensations, you looked at him over your shoulder and bit your lips, your heavy eyes trying to focus on his face in the dark. your legs started shaking and the feeling that you were gonna pass out scared you, the pleasure mixed with physical exhaustion leaving you totally without strength to hold yourself up.
looking for any kind of support so you wouldn't collapse on the couch, you leaned your back against ben's bare, sweaty chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the steady thumping of his heart. you made an effort to turn your neck, looking over your shoulder, searching for his eyes. with your lips parted and a completely surrendered, needy look, you let your voice out real quiet:
"i'm your little puppy, daddy... i-i was made for you to use me. ben's little girl.” you finally managed to say, your eyes glistening as you looked at him.
in that exact instant, his huge hand grabbed your neck with a possessive grip, squeezing a bit. he yanked your body all the way back, slamming your back straight against his broad, bare chest, keeping you totally trapped and dominated, without stopping messing with you for a single second. the thrusts kept coming deep, rhythmic, and relentless, making your hips smack against his with a muffled, wet sound.
he leaned his face forward, burying his teeth into the side of your neck in a firm bite that made you let out a sharp gasp and goosebumped your entire body. "my dumb little puppy. daddy's favorite, y'know?"
"daddy. i-i..." your eyes rolled back when you felt ben's hands roughing up your chest, making you come all over again.
his heavy, calloused palms squeezed your breasts with brutal force, tugging at your sensitive nipples which were already sore from the friction of the couch. your entire body locked up in a violent spasm, your pussy squeezing so hard it trapped his cock in a suffocating grip while you melted completely all over again, whimpering quietly against his chest.
"tell me who you belong to, little one. say my name." your release dripped onto the couch and slicked ben's cock, which kept pounding into your sensitive heat. your body was limp, completely surrendered and shaking with every brutal blow he delivered from behind. "make daddy happy, baby. do it."
"i-i belong to d-daddy ben… i'm y-yours, yours, b-ben." you said, closing your eyes, your voice destroyed by crying and exhaustion, and your pussy burned, trying at all costs to push ben out of the tight heat.
you were so sensitive that every thrust felt like it was burning.
"mine. my little slut, daddy’s little puppy." he held your waist with his fingers sinking into your skin, pulling your hips hard against his.
he leaned his face right to your ear, his voice coming in a dragged, possessive growl.
"fuck, girl. i'm gonna cum." he whispered, squeezing your waist tight. "i'm gonna fill you all the way up with my cum, doll. can i? do you let daddy fill you all the way up, little girl?"
totally weak, crying quietly and lacking the strength to deny your man anything, you moved your head slowly, nodding against the cushion while letting out a needy, dragged-out groan.
"y-yes... daddy, please... cum inside me.” you begged in a thread of a broken voice, squeezing your eyes shut hard.
ben let out a heavy breath and delivered three final, hard thrusts, shoving his massive cock all the way to the hilt inside you. the force of the impact made your back arch and your eyes roll, completely losing your breath as his body locked tight against yours.
with a low, raspy growl that vibrated right in your back, ben pumped all his cum, deep inside you. giving you such an absurd feeling of fullness that your body started contracting in involuntary spasms of pure pleasure and exhaustion, squeezing his member while the fluid started to overflow and slowly run down your trembling thighs.
he kept pushing his hips to stretch out the climax, his cock still incredibly hard.
his body relaxed heavily over your back, his broad, sweaty chest rising and falling with a noisy, tired breath right next to your ear.
"doll?" he called calmly, his breath hitching. he stayed buried inside you for a few long seconds, feeling the heat and the tiny squeezes your body was still giving around his member.
"daddy..." you managed to say, your raspy voice cracking.
with a long sigh, ben finally started to pull away. when he slid his cock out of you, the wet sound and sudden emptiness made you let out a quiet whimper of pain, feeling your chafed entrance sting instantly.
he rubbed his cock against your ass, watching drops of his cum still dripping from the tip.
his warmth started to overflow and run in slow threads down your thighs, staining the dark couch.
"there you go, little doll... daddy's here. it's over now.” he murmured in his raspy, soft voice, pulling your trembling little body by the waist to lay you facing him in the narrow space of the couch.
his hand came up to your face, brushing away the strands of hair stuck to your forehead and wiping the traces of tears from your cheek with his thumb. he started giving you sweet, calm kisses all over your face, on the tip of your nose, and on your still-swollen lips.
"does it hurt a lot, baby?" he asked quietly, looking deep into your eyes.
"i-it hurts a bit, ben... you were really rough.” you confessed in a broken whisper, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, seeking the heat of his skin to calm down.
"i know, my baby. but you were a very good little girl for me. daddy's proud, y'know?"
feeling this tenderness from him after he'd hurt you made your eyes glisten and your cheeks heat up. you let out a tiny smile, completely forgetting the ache in your pussy.
"really, d-daddy?" you asked in a sweet whisper, with a very needy voice and your eyes shining in the dark, looking for approval. "you really thought i did good?"
"i did, doll. daddy's real proud of you.” he answered, amused by how completely surrendered you were and leaving a long kiss on your swollen lips. "you're my perfect little girl, yeah? you're daddy's girl?"
you nodded slowly, rubbing your face lightly against his bare chest, totally enveloped by that warmth and the sense of belonging that dominated your chest.
"yes daddy, i-i'm your little girl.” you murmured in a very needy, dragged-out voice, your eyes almost closing from pure exhaustion, but with a warm heart from being right there.
he squeezed you a bit tighter against himself, letting you listen to the steady thumping of his heart. his hand kept up a slow, constant caress in your hair, sliding down your arms to give you a gentle rub and calm you from the shock and physical stress.
after your breathing started going back to normal, lulled by the long caress ben was giving your hair, he gave a tender kiss to the top of your head and moved slowly on the couch.
"hold on, doll. i'll be right back.” he whispered in his raspy voice, getting up.
you curled your legs against your chest, feeling your body limp and your lower half stinging with the cold air of the room. in the dark, you watched ben walk to the bathroom. in a few minutes, he came back carrying a small towel, damp with water, and your clothes that he'd thrown on the floor.
he knelt back down on the edge of the couch, and with extreme gentleness, ben held your ankles and opened your legs slowly so you wouldn't jump from the touch. he started wiping with the towel carefully, cleaning the trail of mess mixed with the tiny bit of blood from your entrance that coated your thighs and your sore opening. every pass of the cloth brought immediate relief to the burning on your sensitive skin.
"alright, little doll.” he murmured after a few minutes of wiping your body, setting the towel aside. "tomorrow you take a shower, okay?"
he picked up your cotton panties. holding your hip with one hand to lift you slightly, he slid the soft fabric gently over your trembling legs, pulling the piece up carefully so it wouldn't squeeze your bruised area. next, ben took your shorts, slipping one foot in at a time, and pulled the elastic up to your waist, fixing the clothes on your body with total patience, as if he were taking care of a toddler.
lastly, he grabbed your shirt. he helped you sit up on the couch, propping your weight against his chest because your little body was still totally out of strength. you slid your arms through the sleeves and he pulled the cloth down, covering your nipples which still stung from his grips.
with you fully dressed and protected, ben smirked, satisfied to see his little girl comfortable again. he lay back down on the couch, pulling you by the waist so you'd rest your head directly on his bare, sweaty chest. he covered both of you with the blanket up to your chest.
you gathered the tiny bit of strength you had left and shyly tilted your face up, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and pressed your lips to his in a slow, wet kiss.
ben let out a low sigh, surprised by your sudden gesture, and his smirk grew, finding your attitude the most beautiful thing in the world.
after the little kiss, you quickly hid your face in the crook of his neck, snuggling even closer against that broad, protective chest. you threw your arm over his waist, holding onto his body as if the outside world didn't exist. you both knew perfectly well that in a few hours, the day would break and the others would come down the stairs and catch you two exactly like that: crashed on the couch, covered by the same blanket, and smelling like what you'd just done.
lulled by the steady rhythm of ben's heart and the sweet caress he wouldn't stop giving your hair, you finally let out a heavy sigh of relief and fell fast asleep, knowing you were completely safe in his arms.
a/n: hiii, i hope you guys liked this story as much as i did, cause it pleased me so much 🤭🤭 thank you so much to everyone who is following me and liking my stories, okay? you all live in my heart ♡
summary: a single mistake at vought as an employee leaves you at the mercy of soldier boy.
content warnings: ( 18+ ) mdni. explicit sexual content. extreme degradation & verbal humiliation. absolute domination & submission. mild dumbification/objectification. consensual non-consent. rough dirty talk. rough oral sex (m receiving). face-fucking/deepthroating. hair-pulling & restraint. face-slapping. spit play. forced spit & cum swallowing. size difference & super-soldier physiology. severe power imbalance & psychological domination. primal fear turned sexual arousal. high-risk exhibitionism. severe risk of public humiliation & being caught by other supes. toxic masculinity & discarding/abandonment. forced gratitude & praise. age gap/generational gap. pet names. no use of yn.
word count: 1.5k
The massive doors of The Seven's conference room clicked shut, the ominous thud echoing through the vast, sterile space like a coffin sealing.
Moments ago, the room had been a wolf den. Homelander had been looming over you, his eyes glowing a violent, incandescent red, ready to slice you in half for the media leak. You had been hyperventilating, tears stinging your eyes, paralyzed by the primal terror that always accompanied a displeased supe.
But then, Soldier Boy had stepped in. He didn't do it out of kindness; he did it out of pure, unadulterated dominance. "Sit your ass down, boy," he had growled, blowing cigar smoke directly into his son's face. "You're throwin' a fucking tantrum over a little leak. Leave us. I'll handle this one myself." Even Homelander, desperate for his father's approval, couldn't withstand that suffocating energy. He had backed down, storming out with the rest of the team.
Now, you were alone with him.
The fear inside you was a living thing, making your knees tremble, but beneath that terror was a sickening, intoxicating heat. You had wanted him since the day he arrived at Vought. You wanted the casual, dirty ways he stared at you in the hallways. You wanted the danger.
Soldier Boy didn't say a word at first. He walked calmly over to the head of the massive conference table, pulling out his heavy leather chair. He sat down, spreading his legs wide, completely unbothered. His tactical suit remained entirely intact—the dark green, bulletproof material, the heavy chest plate, the leather straps. He looked like an untouchable god, completely armored, while you felt entirely stripped bare.
"Come here," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated in your chest.
You walked over, your heart hammering against your ribs, stopping right between his spread thighs. You looked up at him, your eyes wide and pleading. "Sir... I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"
Slap.
The strike wasn't enough to break your jaw, but the sheer force of his heavy hand against your cheek snapped your head to the side. The sting was immediate, blinding, leaving a bright red mark on your skin. A gasp left your lips, your vision swimming with tears.
"Did I tell you to speak, sweetheart?" Ben murmured, his face a mask of cold, ruthless amusement. He reached out, his leather-gloved hand fisting into your hair with brutal force, yanking your head back so hard your spine arched. "Look at you. Shakin' like a fucking leaf. You thought that psycho asshole was gonna melt your pretty little face off, didn't you?"
"Y-yes, Sir," you whimpered, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, terrified to touch him without permission.
"You're lucky you're a pretty thing," he growled, his grip tightening on your scalp, forcing you to look into his cruel, dark eyes. "Because if you weren't so damn easy on the eyes, I would've let him do it. I wouldn't have given a single fuck about you. But I hate seein' a good piece of ass go to waste. So, you can consider this your official punishment."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink into your panicked mind. His gaze slowly dragged down from your tear-filled eyes, lingering on your trembling lips before tracking all the way down your body. A dark, sadistic smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he realized just how much power he held over you.
"On your knees. Now," he ordered roughly, shoving your face down.
Trembling, you dropped to your knees immediately, the cold floor biting into your skin. You remained there, hovering helplessly between his massive thighs, your eyes fixed entirely on his dark and lustful ones.
He leaned back in his chair, his heavy hand moving to your face. His thick fingers clamped hard around your jawline, squeezing until your mouth parted in a silent gasp. Without an ounce of gentleness, he shoved two thick, rough fingers deep into your mouth, stretching your lips apart and swirling them over your tongue. He coated his fingers in your saliva, asserting absolute dominance, making you realize just how small and helpless you were compared to him.
He pulled his wet fingers out, wiping them carelessly on your cheek before tapping his fly with a ruthless, impatient smirk.
"Don't just fucking stare at me like a scared little puppy, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic rumble that made your thoughts scatter. "Let me see how truly sorry you are before I change my mind and let Homelander have his way with you."
You swallowed hard. You knew what this meant. And you were scared to death, but the deep, throbbing heat between your legs made it impossible to know if you actually wanted it to stop.
You lowered your eyes from his face down to his lap. Your hands shook violently as you slowly reached for the zipper of his tactical suit. Pulling it down, your breath caught completely in your throat. Even flaccid, his size was intimidating, but as he hardened in your hands after a few seconds, his length became absolutely monstrous—thick, heavy, and completely unforgiving. The sheer scale of him made your stomach twist with a fresh spike of fear, knowing your mouth was never meant to accommodate something so huge.
But looking back at his eyes and his dark, expectant smirk, you knew you had no choice. You parted your wet lips, trembling, and leaned forward to take him in.
The moment your lips wrapped around the swollen head of his cock, Ben showed absolutely no mercy. This wasn't a gentle encounter; it was a punishment designed entirely for his own pleasure. He gripped your hair like a leash, his knuckles white, and began to shove his hips forward, forcing his massive size down your throat. You choked, your hands instinctively reaching out for support. Your fingers desperately gripped his thick, muscular calves, holding onto his suit for dear life as he used your mouth with a heavy, relentless rhythm.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Every thrust was a brutal reminder of his strength. Tears streamed down your burning cheeks, ruining your makeup along with whatever dignity you had left in the very room where Vought's elite decided the fate of the world.
"Yeah, take it, you greedy little slut," Ben taunted, his voice dripping with shameless degradation. He delivered another sharp, humiliating slap to your unmarred cheek, making you whimper around his length. "Look at you, gagging on a real man's cock right where the whole team sat five minutes ago. You did this on purpose, didn't you? You fucked up that file just so I'd trap you in here and put you in your place."
He pulled out abruptly, making you gasp for air. Your chest heaved, saliva dripping from your chin, your vision blurred as you desperately tried to catch your breath.
Before you could inhale a full lungful of air, Ben fisted your hair again, yanking your face up. "Open up," he commanded darkly.
As you opened your mouth to gasp, he leaned over and spat directly into your mouth, the thick saliva landing right on your tongue.
"Swallow it," he growled, staring down at your ruined, messy face with a sadistic, satisfied smirk. "You're nothing but a pretty little dumpster for me today, and you're gonna take every single fucking thing I give you."
Driven entirely by fear and an overwhelming, pathetic need to please him, you swallowed, whimpering against his hand.
But there was no reprieve. Before you could even wipe your chin, his fingers tightened in your hair once more, mercilessly shoving his cock back down your throat. The rough, punishing rhythm resumed immediately, just as harsh and unyielding as before. You were entirely undone, trapped between his heavy legs, holding onto his calves as he ruthlessly claimed your mouth for long, agonizing minutes.
When he finally reached his limit long minutes after, Ben didn't pull out. He shoved himself deep, holding your head pinned securely against his lap as he came, filling your mouth completely with his heavy, warm release. You choked under the sudden volume, your eyes wide with tears as he forced you to take every last drop.
"Swallow it all, sweetheart. Every single bit," he commanded, his thumb rubbing roughly against your cheek, where he had slapped. "Don't let a drop spill."
With a desperate, aching gulp, you forced it down, your throat burning.
Ben stared down at you, a dark, amused smile playing on his lips. He didn't let go of your hair just yet. "Now, what do you say to a man who just saved your useless little life?"
"T-thank you, Sir," you sobbed softly, completely broken and humiliated at his feet. "Thank you..."
"Good girl. See? You can learn to be obedient when you actually try," he chuckled, finally letting go of your hair. He casually tucked himself back into his suit, zipping it up and straightening his gear without offering you a second glance.
He stood up, towering over you as you collapsed slightly on the floor, weak, messy, and entirely ruined. "You took your punishment like you deserved. Now crawl back to your little office and try not to fuck up again."
And with that—without a word of comfort or a hand to help you up—Soldier Boy simply turned on his heel. He opened the heavy conference room doors, stepping out into the hallway and leaving you abandoned on the cold floor.
a/n: i honestly don't think i'm normal after writing this 🥀 the nastiest shit i've ever written and it's literally my third post.
pls feel free to tell me if u enjoyed it, it'd give me a little peace of mind that i'm not a complete freak. requests are always open!
࿐ soldier boy putting you back in your place in front of the seven
18+.ᐟ canon typical language & sexual content.ᐟ mdni
“ben i'm sorry..” you pouted your glossy lips softly, batting your lashes prettily.
usually, the puppy eyes trick works on soldier boy. your pretty eyes being one of his ultimate weaknesses – but not today.
today you stepped wayyy out of line and over his tolerance point with your terrible bratty behaviour, and in front of everyone else including his own weirdo son – homelander.
the last person he'd want to be a witness of you making him look powerless and out of control, after all he was a goddamn alpha male, controlling his woman was supposed to be easy and come naturally.
“you're sorry?” ben's voice low and ragged, you could smell cigarette smoke on his breath as he stepped closer towards you, closing the distance and caging you in between the seven's conference table behind you and his broad, muscular body.
ben grabbed your jaw with his big calloused hand, wasn't too gentle about it either, forcing you to look up into his eyes. pure fiery fury behind his emerald greens, oh he was pissed.
“show me just how sorry you are then, doll.” he growled lowly, pressing your jaw open with his merciless fingers. “go on.”
you whimpered weakly at the pressure on your face, blinking twice to battle your pathetic tears. you haven’t seen this side of ben yet, the ‘keep acting like that and see what happens.’ side with a pitch of anger and bruised ego.
“you wanna run your mouth in front of everyone? let’s see how well you do with my cock stuffed down your throat.” ben spat out with something that gave you the chills, he was lowkey scaring you, and not only.
most of the seven couldn’t look away, seeing soldier boy – homelander’s father, snap at you was probably the most entertainment they’ve had since weeks.
✦Read on aO3! - Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlist✦
✦summary: after being woken up, soldier boy found a woman, promised he'd never leave her, then did. two years later, he's back and looking for one thing only. you.✦
✦warnings/tags: Soldier Boy x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, age gap (he's a hundred, it's to be expected), angst, softer!ben, canon divergance, pining, some plot to get to the smut (posessiveness, some spanking, dirty talk, teasing, praise and degredation kink, dom!Ben, fingering, begging, manhandling, nipple play, pussy slapping, fingering, oral f!reciving, edging, creampie, big dick ben, overstimulation, body worship, rough sex, just complete debauchery, dumbification, dacryphilia, finger sucking, squirting), love confessions, fluff✦
✦wc: 11.1k✦
✦author's note: made myself start drooling with this one. enjoy!✦
You had a secret. And you kept it buried in the deepest, most sacred corner of your heart. Not out of shame.
Out of survival.
It’s best to keep your head down, in a world like this one. Supes patrol the streets, and people who are a little too loud and unhappy get sent to their death. Vought says it’s just to be corrected, but you know. Everyone knows.
They’ve just all learned how to whisper about it.
And you’re braver than you wanted to be. You do more than you should be doing, when the most anyone should be worrying about is waking up in their bed the next morning. But there’s the teenage girl who lives down the hall from you, who got loud about hating Homelander in school, and almost got taken because of it. You helped her get out, and lied to the face of the people who showed up to find her.
You lied with a smile, too.
He would’ve found that amusing. He would’ve teased you about acing so cool and collected, right up until you were staring down the barrel of a gun. There hadn’t been a trip of your heartbeat, or stumble in your breath. Lives depended on you being able to do this.
And they depended on you being able to keep your head down.
You’d gotten good at it. Before him, it had been your job to keep calm and collected. Doctors couldn’t be panicking and crying over everything, or nothing would ever get done.
“What about when something’s real fucking gross and sticky?” He used to ask you. “You allowed to cry then?”
You’d smiled at the dishes in your hands. “Would you cry over something gross and sticky?”
“No, because I’m not a-“
“Fucking pussy.”
You’d dropped your voice to mock his, your smile becoming stupid and ditzy as the chair had scraped on the floor behind you. Riling him up was too easy. And if he didn’t want you to keep poking all his old, shiny buttons, he shouldn’t make it so damn fun.
“You got a mouth on you, doll.” Ben had muttered in your ear, arms wrapping around your stomach.
“Hm.” You hadn’t stopped washing the dishes. He’d rip them away from you soon, you might as well focus on what you can.
“Hm? All you got to say is hm?”
“I think you like my mouth.” You’d swayed on your feet, shrugging lazily.
Ben’s arms had tightened around you. “I like somethin’ about your mouth.”
“You like all of it. You like me so much, you chose weed over me, you think I’m better than weed-“
Your dishes had clattered into the sink. Ben spun you around, grabbed your wrists, and pinned them to the counter as he slammed his mouth of yours. You’d made a happy sound, craning your neck to try and chase more, and he’d chuckled. Soft, light kisses had been trailed down your jaw and over your throat, landing on a spot that seemed to be permanently dark since you’d met him.
He’d bitten at the skin, then sucked, letting his tongue flick slightly. Before him, you hadn’t even known you were into that. Now you can’t even graze the spot without your body getting fuzzy and confused. Like it knows he’s supposed to be there.
But he’s not.
“You’re lucky I like you.” Ben had muttered. “And you’re not a genius to figure that out, I think I’ve made it real fucking clear.”
You’d beamed at the air, wrapping an arm around his neck when he released one wrist. His massive hand had grabbed your waist, slipping fingers under the hem of the shirt. You’d shivered, and leaned into his mouth.
He’d been solid. Safe. And you’d been so foolishly sure that he was going to be there forever.
“You have.” You’d breathed.
And you’d really believed it.
But then he’d just… Left.
You’d woken up the next morning, and he’d been off with William Butcher to deal with Homelander. He’d failed, on both the being with William Butcher front and the deal with Homelander front. They’d said he had died. You’d sunken into something like a ghost, wandering through the world without touching anything, passing through days like they were all just a veil to something else.
There were regrets. Not demanding that he stay. Not kicking him out the first time he ended up on your doorstep. Talking to him that first night at the corner store at all, because at least then your heart would’ve still been beating instead of this hollow, gray husk.
But you also wouldn’t have traded him for the world. The time had been fleeting. Only a few splatters of paint on what had previously been a clean, respectable life.
You’d found out you liked being dirty. You liked all the color it came with, and you’d liked how Ben had held your hand through the whole thing. You don’t know why he had. You don’t even know why he’d liked you, why he’d bothered coming back over and over, why he’d decided that you—of all the many, more interesting, more carefree people in the world—were the one he wanted to share himself with.
“You shouldn’t eat those.” You’d told the strange, handsome man at one in the morning.
He’d looked at you like you were crazy. You’d blinked innocently back—a faint bell in your head, ringing that he looked familiar, and you should’ve listened to it—and he’d raised his brows.
“You talking to me?”
“Um,” you’d looked around the aisle. “Yeah? Who else would I be talking to.”
The man had grunted. His eyes hadn’t left yours for a second, and he’d been staring like he was trying to peel you apart. You’d started to feel all dizzy under the attention—he was very pretty, and pretty people shouldn’t stare like that—and shifted on your feet.
“There are studies.” You’d said lamely. “About those drinks. They give you cancer.”
“Cancer?” The man had snorted. “Doll, I’m not worried about fucking cancer-“
“You should be. It’s linked to pancreatic cancer, which is very- Fast spreading.” All your usual, well performed confidence had been wavering. Why had he been staring at you like that. “Because of the pancreases function in, um, your body, it’s basically- It’s fast spreading-“
“You said that already.”
You’d swallowed. His voice was very deep. “Oh.”
His eyes had shined with something that, in the moment, you hadn’t understood.
Now you know it to his form of affection. When he’d look at you and decided that you were real fucking cute, like a twitchy bunny—his words—and wanted to have more.
In the store, you’d hadn’t been sure if he was going to murder you or make an indecent proposal.
He hated that movie. You’d made him watch it, a few weeks later, and he’d been furious she chose the penniless sad sack. You’d told him you’d chose him, if he was the penniless sad sack. He’d grumbled that he hoped you’d have better survival instincts than that, but you’d been able to read him by now. He’d liked that a lot, and you had the hickies after to prove it.
And he’d laughed.
That night, he’d just laughed.
“You some kind of a fucking doctor?”
“Yeah.” You’d said, nervous and small. “I- I am.”
The man had blinked. Looked over you like he was seeing you for the first time, and leaned back as if the sight punched him in the face. You’d still been wearing your scrubs. Later you’d tease him about not paying attention.
He’d say he’d just been that enraptured by your beauty. You’d flush, and tell him he was using that word wrong. He’d say he didn’t fucking care, and kiss you until you were stupid and giggling.
“What’s good?” He’d jerked his head at the drinks, and you pointed to a different can a shelf over.
He’d eyed you suspiciously, but grabbed it and stomped away. You’d thought he’d be gone when you paid for your own food and walked to the parking lot. Instead he’d been waiting at the counter, watching you with that same, wearily curious expression.
“Are you going to stalk me to my car?” You’d asked causally, careful not to look him in the eyes.
He’d grunted. “I’m escorting you. Stalking makes me sound like I’m some fucking creep-“
“You’re a stranger who’s going to follow me to my car. I should be calling 911.”
“911 couldn’t stop me, sweetheart.”
You’d paused, frowning at him. He’d rolled his eyes, looking around the store like he expected a camera crew to pop out and tell him the whole thing was a prank.
“Don’t call 911.” He’d muttered.
“Why shouldn’t I.”
“Cause I’m not going to fucking hurt you, that’s why-“
“And why should I trust that?”
He’d blinked. That thought hadn’t occurred to him at all.
“I swear I won’t.”
“Promises mean nothing.”
“My promises mean something-“
“Not to me, they don’t.”
He’d stared at you. You’d tipped up your chin, and held his gaze. You were not going to be murdered in a parking lot tonight. You’d ordered new pants last night, and you wanted to be alive to see them.
The man had caved before you. He hadn’t been happy about it, but you’d come to learn that he was never openly happy about anything. There was his genuine annoyance, and his fluffy annoyance. Where he didn’t mean a single groan or eye roll or muttered curse.
He saved that second one for you. And he hated that you called it fluffy annoyance, because he wasn’t ‘fucking fluffy’. But you’d tell him that you liked him fluffy, as long as it was just yours. And he’d said he was just yours, and he’d promised, and you’d learned how to believe him.
“My name is Ben.” He’d told you, reaching into his jacket. “And if I try to hurt you, use this.”
And he’d handed you a fucking gun. The poor cashier that had been listening to all of this shrieked and ducked behind the counter. You’d gaped at Ben, then smacked his arm.
“What the fuck-“
“You can’t just pull out a gun, are you crazy!”
“Don’t call me crazy, I’m trying to make you feel- Fucking better or whatever-“
“How is a gun going to make me feel better, I’m a doctor-“
“So you can stitch me up after you shoot me, all the fucking better-“
“I am not going to shoot you-“
“But you could, that’s what the damn gun is for-“
“I don’t want your gun, I just-“ You’d cut yourself, glancing at the shaking cashier. It had just been some high school kid. He didn’t deserve to deal with this.
And even then, some part of you had known. Ben was a lot of things. Most of them weren’t half as pretty as his face.
But he wasn’t a liar. He’d realty thought the gun would make you feel better.
Later, you’d learn that it had really only been meant to make you feel better. Literally. That if he had been intending to hurt you—which he hadn’t, as he reminded you all the time—the gun wouldn’t have done fucking shit to stop that. But he’d thought it would help you be less nervous. And as much as you’d punch his dumb, big chest after he told you, you had to admit that the plan had—in a very roundabout way—worked.
“Come on.” You’d turned on your heels and walked out of the store.
Ben had followed.
And for a strange, priceless month, you’d known that if you looked over your shoulder, he’d be there. It had become a comfort. It had become the best thing in your life.
Then it had been gone.
Ben had left you, and the world had only gotten darker from there.
So you have all these regrets, that you pile on top of your secret. And they tell you to be more careful. You haven’t been on a date since Ben, although you never even technically dated. You’d never even fucked. It had been a lot of kisses and sharing a bed and wandering hands. Ben had asked. He’d asked all the time, and always sighed dramatically when you said after. After he was done with Butcher. After he dealt with Homelander, he could have whatever he wanted from you.
It was already his for the taking, he just needed to reach it.
And now all of you sat on a high, dusted shelf, waiting for hands that would never reach it.
Now, you’re careful.
After that girl down the hall, there had been the couple on the side of the highway. They’d been trying to hide from Black Noir, but one of them had an infected cut and was getting a fever. You’d treated it, then been on your way.
Then there had been the little boy who’s parents had been taken, and the shrapnel in his foot. The older woman who’s son had been shot, and the people who’d been hit in collateral and didn’t have insurance. And you kept helping and helping and helping, but always with your head down. If you were smarter, you wouldn’t help at all. It draws attention. Attention begs for investigation. Investigation undercovers secrets, and Ben had always been very clear.
No one could know who you are. What you were to him.
Why you have that gun in your closet, unloaded and kept clean like an heirloom. It wouldn’t be hard to trace it to Ben. It wouldn’t take a long time—especially for Sage, who you’ve only seen once from afar but sent a chilling fear through your bones all the same—to realize why you had one of Soldier Boy’s guns. To look at cameras and place timelines and know. What you’d meant to him.
Part of you wants her to. Maybe she’d be able to tell you, after.
Because he hadn’t stayed for you. And you hadn’t been foolish enough to ask him to.
But still.
You’d hoped he would.
“We should go somewhere.” He’d muttered one night, lying flat on his back.
And you’d looked at him in the dark, and found him staring back. He’d always been staring back.
“When this is done.” Ben had reached over, grabbing your wrist. He did that when he needed your attention. You don’t think he ever knew that he had all of you, whether he wanted to grab it or not.
“Done?” You’d breathed. Ben had nodded.
“The whole thing. All of it. I’m not going back into acting and shit, everything is bad now anyway-“
“You liked Paddington 2-“
“Shhh.” Ben had covered your mouth, eyes shining. “Can’t fucking prove that, can you, doll.”
You’d shrugged smiling against his hand. Ben had leaned down until your brows were pressed together, and let out a slow, heavy breath.
“We’ll go.” He’d said it like a secret. Like even in the empty room, you were still the only person he wanted anything to do with in the world. “Anywhere in the world that you want. No more of this fucking bullshit. Just you and me.”
And you’d giggled. You’d pulled his hand away with a laugh, and kissed his adorable little frown.
“You like me so much.” You’d whispered.
Ben had only stared. His heavy sigh had fanned over your cheeks, and he’d kissed the space between your eyes.
“You got no idea.”
And you wish you had.
You wish you’d asked him to stay, but you keep that buried with the rest of it. You don’t want to think about how if you had, he might’ve.
If you had, he might still be next to you today.
You broke a cup.
The TV in the breakroom is always on, but you usually just spare it passing glances. Since Homelander’s takeover, it mostly just plays Firecracker’s stupid propaganda show, or reruns of old Vought movies with Starlight’s scenes cut out. It makes for a clonky, confusing storyline. Sometimes you watch it when you’re bored, if only to feel a ghost of a smile.
Other days, they play Ben’s old movies. And you can’t stand to listen to those. Just his voice makes you shiver and look around the room, as if he might materialize and grin at you the same way he always did. Like in his eyes, everything just narrowed down to you. The walls existed to hold you and everything around the room was a noise or blockade that needed to be moved, so he could be at your side.
I’d swim in the ocean for you, doll. He’d told you one. You’d laughed. He’d meant it to be romantic, but he’d just sounded annoyed about it, and it had been so stupidly sweet you’d fallen a little more in love with him. But love with Ben had always come like that. In slow drips that built up and up and up, until there was a bucket to be doused over your head and you had to understand.
That he had been everything.
You’d known too late. The downpour had come with the news of his death, when every light had become too bright, and all the color in the world had been washed out to nothing. You hadn’t been able to tell your co-workers why you’d stumbled and started to whine like a lost dog. Why you’d needed the week off, because your legs had turned to lead and it was too hard to get out of bed.
And you’re not going to be able to explain this, either.
Why you hear his voice, look up at the TV on an instinct you’re never going to be able to squash, and drop your cup.
It shatters all over the floor. The two nurses at the table shoot up to help, one saying something about walking carefully over the broken glass, but you don’t hear it.
There’s only the ringing in your ears, and—rising above it all—Ben’s voice.
This isn’t old footage. You’d know. You’ve watched every video and listened to every archived radio interview, just trying to hold onto what you could.
No.
This is new.
Which means Ben- He’s alive.
He’s on the TV. Standing next to Homelander with a bored, unimpressed expression, hands on his belt, looking the exact same as he day he left you.
He left you.
It wasn’t death that took him. He’s right there, instead of at your side. His gaze is just as intense as before, and he holds himself with the same confident, lazy posture, and his mouth stays in the pretty, downturned line that you always loved grabbing up and pulling into a smile.
He’d grab your wrists, but not move you away. He’d ask what you thought you were doing, but he already knew. You’d beam and kiss his nose. He’d pretend to bite yours, and you’d dissolve into giggles and wrap around him like a koala. He’d tell you he didn’t know what he was going to do with you. You’d call him a liar. Say he knew perfectly well what he wanted to do with you. And he’d grumble, because you teased him so much without ever actually throwing him a bone.
You always reminded him there were plenty of other women out there who would happily want his bone. You’d wink, and he’d give you that adoring, exasperated look.
He’d say he didn’t care about any other bones but yours. You’d say that you were both losing the metaphor.
Ben would say he didn’t fucking care, and flip you under him. You’d lose track of time. Of the movie you were supposed to be watching. Of the world.
And then he left.
Just left.
Wasn’t taken. Ben just… Left. After telling you so many sweet thing, after making so many promises, he just left. And now he’s back.
But not back with you.
Your hand is bleeding. You tried to pick up some of the glass, and it sliced along your palm. You barely even feel it. A part of you was already bleeding all over the floor anyways.
He didn’t come back.
Ben couldn’t fucking find you.
He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to go up to any of these weird little pussies and ask them where you were. He didn’t need them to know you existed. No one needed to know you existed but Ben himself.
Before he chased after Butcher, he’d gone to your apartment. And he’d been a fucking idiot with this picture in his head, where he’d knock on the door and you’d been thrilled to see him. He’d sweep you off your feet, and you’d be crying with joy, then he’d fuck you and carry you far, far away from here.
But he’d knocked. And knocked. And shouted your name, but no one had answered the fucking door.
He’d broken in. You’d be mad about that, if you were with him. That was the kind of thing that got him a stern finger and snapped Benjamin like he was a damn dog being scolded for pissing on the couch.
Don’t kill that guy who’s harassing me, Benjamin. Don’t pick up that car in my parking spot and throw it across the street. Don’t punch the dickheaded dumbass who cat called me, it’s fine, it happens all the time.
It was real fucking cute when you got all mouthy and angry with him, as if there was a damn thing you could do about it.
Although he had always listened.
But it was real hard to tell you no. Or upset you. Or do anything that made your voice all thick and eyes all watery and sad. Ben had a lot of fantasies about your wobbling lips and sad little kicked kitten eyes—the ones you gave him when he was gone for longer than he said he’d be, or had very fucking reasonably verbally threated the men who’d been giving you a hard time—but none of them involved you being sad. They were all about how pretty you looked like that, and how nice it would be to see that gorgeous sight without feeling so fucking bad about it.
His heart squeezed uncomfortably, when he made you upset or nervous. It was incredibly fucking annoying. When it had first happened, he’d decided he needed to keep you close. To figure out what the fuck you were—what supe or Russian spy had been sent after him—so he could neutralize you.
Then you’d just been a person. And Ben had to deal with the fact that his dumbass fucking heart just did that for you. It didn’t do that for anyone else, and he’d been alive a damn long time.
He’d been angry about it, for about ten seconds.
And then you’d smiled at him.
He’d decided that as long as you were smiling, there wasn’t much to be angry about in the whole fucking world.
There were things to be angry about now, though.
You weren’t smiling. You weren’t there. Ben had kicked down your apartment door and found it empty. Bare.
Hollow.
Something inside of him had split and become so fucking hollow. He’d ripped up the floorboards and checked in the vents. He’d punched a hole in the wall and roared your name, but you’d been gone.
Someone had to have taken you. You’d always been to smart and kind, you might’ve said something truthful and gotten dragged off to one of Homelander’s stupid camps for it.
If you were dead, Ben was going to break some shit. A lot of shit. Namely, Homelander’s fucking skull between his hands.
And if you were alive, he’d still probably do that anyways. For hiding you and hurting you. He’d just be faster about it. You didn’t need to see that shit, and the moment Ben had you again he wasn’t going to let go for a damn second.
He just had to find you first.
Ben had been good at investigating, in his day. But shit had also been simpler. There hadn’t been Sage hanging over his shoulder and watching him like a very annoying hawk. That Firecracker girl hadn’t been trying to hit on him—a shame, because his dick was sore, but his hands hurt even trying to touch someone else so he shut it down fast—and Homelander hadn’t been whining like a little fucking bitch baby all the damn time.
All these damn computers with their fucking passcodes and weird words didn’t help either. Ben spent an hour trying to break into one, then physically broke it, and all the others in the lab.
The Fish-Fucker walked in on him. Ben narrowed his eyes, and the pussy paled and raised shaking hands.
“Hey, dude, I didn’t see anything-“
“You know how to open a computer?” Ben barked, and Fish-Fucker blinked.
“Uhh… You mean log into one?” Fish-Fucker laughed, high and weak. “Yeah, bro, I know how to log in to a computer, who doesn’t know how to-“
He cut himself off as Ben’s jaw ticked, going even paler. He even looked like a fish.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean- You shouldn’t kill me! I can log in, I can find whatever you want-“
“Shut up.” Ben raised a hand, and the Fish-Fucker fell silent. “You know how to keep your mouth shut?”
“Yes. Yes- Sir-“
“Open it.” Ben pointed at the computer, and Fish Fucker scrambled forward.
He grabbed the back of the pussies neck before he could sit down, dropping his voice to a hiss.
“You tell anyone about this, I stuff you up like a fuck doll and turn you into fucking chow, you got that?”
Fish-Fucker nodded, throat bobbing and body twitching all pathetically. Ben let him go, and stood back up.
“Good. I got a name for you to look up.”
Fish-Fucker laughed nervously, nodding as he hit his fingers all over the keyboard. “More revenge, sir?”
“No.” Ben muttered, clasping his hand in front of him.
Revenge isn’t going to help, Ben. You’d told him that over and over again, but you’d also run your fingers through his hair and told him you wouldn’t stop him. He’d asked you if you’d still be there when he came back with blood on his hands. He’d meant it to be teasing, a thing he used to say to old lovers to test how much they could handle. They’d always giggled and rolled their eyes like they thought it was a damn joke. You’d tipped your head at him, eyes sharp and bright, and sighed.
You’d told him he’d need to take a shower, first.
And Ben had known.
“What is it, then?” Fish-Fucker asked, and Ben didn’t bother to answer.
That wasn’t for anyone to know but him. You weren’t for anyone to know. Not these horrible, weak people who would hurt you and use you against him.
Your face popped up on the screen. The smiling photo that you’d used on social media—you’d taught him what that was, and he didn’t fucking care for it but he sure as hell liked seeing pictures of you—and a link to your profile at that hospital you’d worked at.
You still worked there. You weren’t gone.
Ben’s heart did a little flutter. He ignored it. That kind of gooey shit could be saved for after he found you.
“Who is she?” Fish-Fucker peered at your photo. Ben should pop his eyeballs out of his damn skull. “A Starlighter?”
Ben grunted. “Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.”
Fish-Fucker said something else. Ben didn’t listen to it.
He had to go find you.
You get home, and you feel like nothing.
It’s been two weeks, since you found out Ben was alive. Two long weeks where time dragged you through the mud and you had to learn how to keep your heart beating.
You pulled out the gun every night. You’d never shoot it—you didn’t even have ammunition—but you’d needed to hold it. To cling to proof that it hadn’t all been a dream. He’d been here. He’d given you part of him to keep.
Then he’d decided you weren’t worth the rest.
You’d thought, like a naïve, lovesick school girl, that you were going to be worth the rest.
You kick off your shoes, and go straight for the gun again. You lie on the floor, because it’s cold and that forces you to stay awake. You haven’t been sleeping properly, and when you pass out from exhaustion you don’t wake up well rested. It all hurts. It always hurts, and you don’t think it’s ever going to not hurt again.
You close your eyes, hugging the gun tight to your chest. Tears are burning behind your eyes again. You’d been hoping you’d run out, but you feel the hot shame of one sliding down your cheek. A broken sob rattles through your chest, and you’ve given up on fighting it.
This is just always going to hurt.
“I didn’t give you that so you could shoot yourself, doll.”
You scream. Your hands fly before you can think, scrambling to grab the gun. Some scratch in the back of your head knows that a bad idea, and drum in your chest demands that it’s bad idea, but you’re tired and afraid. You thought you were alone, and you’re not, so you aim the gun straight at the man standing in your door.
Ben grabs it like he’s taking a toy from a toddler. He takes out the empty clip and examines it with a frown, his hair flopping over his face. You’re breathing so shallow you think you might have passed out. You’ve had a lot of dreams about him since he left. You’ve just finally gone off the deep-end, and now they’re hallucinations.
“Hm. Not loaded.” Ben tosses the clip off to the side, shooting you a smirk. “Good girl.”
You don’t know if you scream again, or crawl to him on your knees. He sounds real. He looks real. He’s smiling at you like he never left, like you hadn’t pour every piece of yourself out to make room for the swelling grief of his absence. If you reach out, you think you’d find solid muscle and warmth. A heart that beats under your fingers, in a rhythm you always hear when you close your eyes. Ben would cover your hand with his own, holding onto your wrist the same way he did before. Like he wanted to tie you together. Like he could never bear to let go.
Or you’d just pass right through thin air.
And everything you have left would dissolve with the illusion.
You wrap your arms tight around your stomach, drawing your knees to your chest. You know this is fear. You know Ben thinks fear is weak, but he’s never looked at you and said you were anything but his.
Then he left.
And you’re not anyone’s anymore.
Ben says your name, and you swallow. He sounds so real.
“Ben?” You whisper.
A familiar smile ghosts over his lips. It terrifies you.
“Me.” He murmurs, tossing the gun onto the couch without breaking your gaze. “Hey, doll.”
He takes a step forward.
You push back, pressing yourself into a small ball on the floor.
Ben freezes. His brow furrows, and his lips press in a tight, thin line. He reaches out. And you don’t want to touch him and know he’s not real.
You shrink away.
“How did you get in.” You whisper, fixing your gaze on his knees.
“You didn’t lock the door.” Ben grunts. “Which we gotta talk about later, that’s not fucking safe, but first-“
He says your name, reaching once more, and you squeeze your eyes shut.
Strong, warm fingers grab your chin. You make a tiny noise from the back of your throat, and for a split second, the whole world goes still.
You can feel him. He’s tipping your chin up, handling you like a baby bird even as he angles it how he wants, and you can feel him.
“Look at me.” Ben mutters, and you drag your eyes open.
He’d kneeling in front of you, brow furrowed tight. There’s that look again. The one that makes you naked and exposed, your clothing sticking to your skin and every inch of you seen.
Ben sees you. You can see him.
And either you’d fully lost your mind, or he’s… He’s really…
“You’re here.” You breathe. “You’re real.”
Ben’s eyes snap to yours. His frown deepens.
“’Course I’m real, why the hell wouldn’t I be real.”
“You left.”
And something flashes over his features. It’s furious and loud, but not directed at you. His fingers on your chin don’t even flex.
“I didn’t leave.” He grunts, the words pushed through his teeth. “I told you I’d never fucking leave you.”
Your tongue flicks over your lips. You shake your head.
“I saw you on TV.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, those weird fuckin’ attention sluts love a camera-“
“You were there, Ben.” You cut him off with only a whisper. “Not here. I- I thought you were dead.”
The stupid tears are back. And they always blur the whole world, but Ben remains sharp. Of course he does. Bastard.
“I waited.” Your voice breaks. Ben watches you, his jaw clenched tight. “I thought you were dead and I still waited, and you- You were just on TV-“
“Don’t say it like that, it’s- That’s not what this shit is-“
“You left.”
“No, I didn’t-“
“You left me.” You scream, and Ben blinks.
It’s like every bit of pain, every scrape and open wound you’ve been treating with paper band-aides, Ben’s ripped everything wide open. Your tears are falling freely, your voice high and soft as you struggle to breathe, all the grief and anger at him crashing from your mouth in unforgiving waves.
“You left me, you said you’d come back, you said we’d go anywhere and you’d be here and you- You fucking left me here and I- I-“
Your word crack into a body-shaking sob, and you try to slump away from him. To just sink into the floor where he can’t see your weakness, your crying, every fissure in the mask you’re usually so good at keeping together. You don’t want him to see the rawness underneath. The way that you’ve always been ill-matched, because there’s nothing in Ben that even knows how to break, but you’re like an gastropod. Every bit of armor is borrowed and crafted. Under it, you’re nothing for him.
Weak.
“You left me.” You’re still breathing it out. You can’t stop. “You left.”
Ben sighs. And when he gets up and walks away, you’re going to be okay. You’re going to find a way to be okay, even if that means just having this gaping feeling forever.
But Ben doesn’t leave.
He wraps around you, and you wiggle a little, but he doesn’t let go. He pulls you fully into his lap, and you go limp. Your face presses into his chest, tears flowing freely with every shaking, silent sob. Ben rubs your back, holding you steady. And despite yourself, you hold on. You sink in your nails where you never should’ve let go, and you hold on.
His heartbeat hasn’t changed. And everything in your still recognizes it.
Still calls it yours.
“Didn’t run.” He mutters once your breathing has evened, tangling his fingers in your hair. “Butcher turned on me, helped Homelander and that Maeve bitch knock me off the tower. Got put back under. Homelander woke me up. And the first fucking thing I did was start looking for you, but you weren’t where I left you.”
You swallow. You’d moved because you couldn’t stand that apartment without him. You turned every corner and expected him to be there. It was pure torture.
“But I found you.” Ben continues. “I fucking found you. And I’m not going again, doll. We’re leaving, together, and that’s it.”
Ben tugs on your head, and you let him pull you back. He’s not crying—you’d be shocked if he knew how—but there’s a heavy light in his eyes, like a lamp that’s begging to be bright enough to be seen. You reach up to trace his jaw. His eyes close for a second, and he leans into the touch.
Your throat bobs. Your voice is still small.
“Why should I believe you?”
Ben’s eyes shoot open, glinting and sharp. Not dangerous. Never to you.
Just focused.
“Because I’m telling the fucking truth-“
“Swear it?”
Ben nods, and you tilt your head.
“You swore you’d come back.”
“And I am back.” He grabs your wrist, keeping your hand to his face. “No promises got broken, doll. And I’m not fucking leaving without you.”
You laugh, something in you breaking and fusing together all at once. Like glass, burning before it gets to be something beautiful. Something that can let the light in.
“Don’t say that.” You breathe, holding his gaze. “I’ll believe you.”
Ben’s eyes narrow. He leans over you, that attention as unwavering as always, and suddenly there’s nowhere to hide. Not that you ever could. Not from him.
“You think I’m not serious?” He murmurs, low and dangerous.
You don’t flinch. You never have.
“Prove that you are.”
A deep sound rumbles from Ben’s chest. He lets go of his hand, his own flying up to frame your face. Your breath hitches, right as his lips slam against yours.
You’ve kissed Ben many times. He always does it like it’s going to be the last time he ever touches you. He’s demanding in how much you take, but never how much you give. Your mouth falls open in a moan, and he grunts, hauling you up his chest to deepen the kiss. It’s sloppy and wet, your fingers scrambling against his shirt to keep steady, but he doesn’t falter for a single second.
“Be- Ben-“
He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing as his teeth drag over your swollen lips.
“Ben-“
“That’s right.” He grunts. “Say my name, I know you didn’t forget who fuckin’ owns you.”
God, you should shove him for that. But he knows what it does to you. He smirks, when your thighs clench and a soft whine escapes your lips.
Ben lands a sharp slap on your ass. It makes you keen, collapsing over his chest. You’re pulling at him, kisses uncoordinated and desperate—how did you ever survive without this, you’re not sure—as you try to further a kiss that’s already fusing you together by the mouth.
He doesn’t even come up for air.
“Oh- Fuck, Ben-“
He speaks against your lips, voice rolling in his chest.
“I know, doll. You believe me now, don’t you.”
“Ye- Yes-“
Another slap. This time he lets his hand drag lower, teasing over the crease between your thighs, then the hem of your shorts. Your hips buck into the featherlight touch. Ben grunts, short and tight.
“Dirty girl.” He mutters, starting to wander his kisses over your cheeks. “Say it louder. You fucking believe me.”
“I- Ooooh-“
You press your face into his neck, biting down a moan. The tips of his fingers are tracing your pussy through your shorts. You sink your nails into his shoulders, your breathing ragged as he starts to trace them back and forth.
“You what?” He teases, nipping at your ear. “Heard you start to say something doll, you already that stupid? I’m barely fucking touching you.”
“You- You’re touching enough.” You breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut. “More- Please-“
“More?” Ben snorts. “You’re always getting me on that fucking feelings shit, you don’t get more until you talk.”
You shake your head. “Ben, I- I can’t-“
“Can’t what? Can’t speak? Can’t say Ben, I believe you. ‘Cause trust me doll, when you do I’m going to touch you for real, and you’ll feel real fucking stupid for how you’re acting right now.”
Ben rips clean through your shorts, and thick, warm fingers start to rub the lips of your pussy. He scissors two fingers, pressing them just upside your core, then dragging back and forth. It’s all pressure and not enough friction. It’s going to drive you out of your mind.
“Come on, baby, where’d all that fucking spunk go-“
“You- Benjamin-“
“Uh oh.” He laughs. “I’m in trouble.”
The tips of his fingers graze your clit. You whine, grinding back into the touch, and Ben grabs your pussy with a single hand. He’s covering it completely, pinning you to his chest, and you moan so loud you think it echoes.
“Think you’re going to forgive me?” He mutters in your ear. “Think I’m not dead fuckin’ serious, when I tell you that I’m back. That I want you, all of you, and I’d kill people to have it.”
“I- I don’t want you to kill anyone.” You breathe, dazed and drunken on him.
Ben chuckles, kissing right under your jaw.
“I know you don’t, pretty girl. And I’ll go on the damn leash if you’re yanking me, but I’m not letting you drop me. We go, we go together, you fucking remember that. We get out. You gonna get out with me?”
“Ben-“
“I’ll take care of you.” He mutters. His hand starts to move again, torturously slow. “I’ll be real fucking good to you, swear it. Swear it on you.”
Two fingers slide over your pussy, spreading your arousal on his fingertips. A slow, breathless sigh of escapes your lips, and Ben lets you have this. He teases those fingers over your cunt a few times, then slowly pushes one of them in. You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. Just his finger is the biggest stretch of your life.
“I know.” He kisses under your ear, pressing it further in until he’s at the knuckle. “It’s a lot, isn’t it. But you’re doin’ so fucking well. Sweet fucking pussy, all wet and tight for me.”
“Mmmh.”
“Say it’s for me.” He demands, crooking them so they hit a soft little button you’re never able to find yourself.
“Ben-“
“Say it.”
“S’ for you-“ You take in a sharp breath, when he starts to slowly pump them in and out. “All for you, Ben, I- I’m all-“
Your words break into a moan. He’s pressing back against that same spot, rubbing it until you’re squeezing around him before drawing shallowly out and slamming back in. Obscene sounds fill the room, and you didn’t even know you could get this wet.
It’s a grace. Ben’s finger is massive. You can feel every drag of him inside you, and you’re not sure how you’re managing to take it when you keep squeezing around him.
“How- How big is your dick?”
He barks a laugh, pulling your face back with his hand on the back of your neck. He kisses you slowly, matching the pace of his fingers moving inside you.
“You’ll see, baby.” He says. “Just need to be good.”
You pout slightly. “I am being good.”
Ben’s lips twitch. He kisses your forehead, then suddenly speeds his fingers up. Your back arches, hips grinding as you try to chase the feeling, but he holds you firm.
“Ben-“
“Say it.” He grunts, squeezing the back of your neck. “You wanna be so fucking good, say it-“
“I love you!” Your words come sudden and desperate. “I- I love- I love you, please-“
You almost scream, when his fingers stop moving. You grab his wrist, blinking in hopeless confusion. Ben’s jaw is clenched tight, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring.
Then you realize.
Shit.
“Ben, I- I didn’t-“
“You didn’t mean it?” He grunts, and you shake your head frantically.
“I didn’t mean to- I just- I missed you, and you said- And you were-“ You gesture frantically at his hand. His fingers, still buried deep inside you. “And I- You don’t have to-“
Ben moves, and your words turn into a squeal. You’re airborne, being tossed over his shoulder as he stands.
“Fuck- Benjamin, what are you-“
He slaps your ass, then drags two fingers back through your pussy. You close your eyes, biting your lower lip to stifles the moan at the perfect combo of pleasure and pain.
Ben spanks you again, his voice stern as he moves to his feet.
“Don’t fucking do that quiet shit. Let me hear you.”
His finger pushes back into your cunt, finding that spongey spot in a second. This time you let yourself moan fully, and you’re rewarded with a scraping kiss on your ass.
“There you go, baby. That’s what I want.”
You keen at the praise, and you don’t know why you bothered hiding it from him. Ben feels and see the flutter of your pussy and chuckles. Your knees are dragged together, forcing more pressure, making you tighter around his finger when he shoves it back in.
“Be- Ben-“ Your getting light-headed, from the combination of his touch and being upside down. “What- What’re we doing-“
“You’re telling me where the bedroom is.” He grunts, turning in a circle like a magic sign is going to appear. “Then I’m fucking you ‘till you can’t walk.”
“Oh- Okay.”
You grab a fistful of his shirt as he slaps your ass again, moaning when that fucking finger starts to pump once more. There’s a pressure building in your core, and the way he’s holding you is only making it worse. Like you’re just a toy, but still the most important thing in his life. He keeps kissing your thigh and ass while he fingerfucks you. Your exposed to the cold air, the window is open, but the warmth of his hand and body—the warmth of what he’s doing to you—is almost too much to handle.
“Bed, doll.” His reminder is gruff, but soft.
You nod, your tongue all loose and hopeless. “I- I um- It was- That way-“
You press on his shoulder, steering him towards the door and Ben slaps your pussy.
“Good girl.”
The praise and touch shoot through you like a drug. You think you might be about to cum just like this. Over Ben’s shoulder with barely any friction at all.
He kicks the door open, and marches into your room. You’ve never seen him so focused before. He lays you down on the bed with shocking care, before ripping at your clothing like a child on Christmas.
Ben whistles, when you’re fully exposed to him.
“Look at you, baby, can’t believe I was sleeping next to you for months and you wouldn’t let me touch.”
You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your breasts. “You didn’t earn touching. Only good, domesticated boys get that.”
Ben scowls, pulling off his shirt. “I’m a domesticated fucking man, doll.”
And you giggle. Because he’s so fucking stupid, but he’s here. You’d cry if there wasn’t a helium filled light, blooming through your body.
You still might cry.
Ben’s looking at you like you’ve lost your mind—and like he doesn’t care the slightest, he’s just mostly concerned—and you laugh more because you’re definitely going to cry. You’re going to cry during sex with Soldier Boy, and he’s still going to fuck you anyway.
“You know it’s not nice to start fucking laughing before a man takes his pants off-“
“I love you.”
You say it plainly, because it is. You love Ben. You have for so long, and it had been buried like treasure, but now he’s here. Now it gets to shine, and it’s far too bright to be ignored.
Ben looks shell-shocked. He’s panting like you punched him, but you’re not worried. He’s a big boy. He’ll be okay.
You both will.
“I love you,” you repeat, beaming up at him. “I love you so much, Ben, I-“
You giggle again, as he almost stumbles forward to kiss you. His massive chest envelops you, his kisses pushing you back into the mattress, and you meet him with everything you have.
Ben pulls back. Staring at you the same way he always has.
Like he’s found the last, greatest wonder of the world.
“Say it again.” He mutters.
“I love you.”
You offer it easily. It’s his to have.
And Ben seems to swallow it. His mouth closes, his tongue flicking over his lips, and you know that face.
It means he’s on a fucking mission.
“Here’s how this is going.” He grunts, fixing you with a glare. “You listen. I work. I’m tasting you,” he slaps your pussy again, lips twitching at the full body shutter it gives him. “Then you’re going to cum on my cock until you’re sobbing, and I’m going to keep fucking you until you can’t walk. You got that.”
You swallow and nod. Ben’s eyes narrow.
“You talk to me, sweetheart, I can’t read your fucking mind.”
“Got it.” You breathe, your legs spreading wide.
It’s a shameless offering. Ben slaps your pussy again, and you buck a little of the bed with a whine of delight.
“Hold onto something.” He winks, sliding slowly down your body. “I ain’t going fucking easy.”
You expect no less of him. And you’d be able to make that joke, if he didn’t lick a thick stripe up your pussy and make you shriek.
“Holy fuck-“ Your eyes roll back in your head, your hands clawing at the sheets.
Ben chuckles, the sound vibrating against you, and repeats the motion. Your thighs press together, but he shoves them back open with a single hand, settling fully down.
“No hiding from me.” He mutters, breath warm over your core. “Look at you, doll. Even prettier from down here, didn’t know that was fucking possible.”
You laugh breathlessly. “Kiss ass.”
“Gets me places.” Ben kisses the inside of your thigh, sucking softly.
His beard scrapes and tickles against you, his chin pressing where you need him and his nose bumping your neglected clit.
“Ohhhh.” You close your eyes, slowly running your fingers through his hair. “Oh God, Ben-“
He hums in approval, switching to match the mark on the other side. He’s let go of your thighs to grab everywhere else, rubbing your ass, your hips, your sides. He slides a massive palm over your abdomen, pinning you to be bed. You should know that’s a warning sign, but you’re too lost in the heat of his mouth.
“Ben...” You moan freely, covering his hand with one of yours.
He flips it over, and you thread your fingers together.
Another warning.
“That’s- Fuck-“
He blows on your clit, and shivers run up your spine. You don’t think you can take being teased any longer. Not right now.
“More, Ben, more-“
A dark, promising chuckle rumbles in his chest. You crane your neck to look at him, and realize your mistake too late.
He’d been waiting for you to ask. And now that you have, he’s not holding back.
Ben shoves his face fully between your thighs, lapping and sucking at your clit and soaked pussy like a man starved, and your mouth falls in a long, silent scream.
You’ve been eaten out before, but never like this. Ben’s going at you the same way he kisses you. The same way he does everything. With everything he has, and the mindset that less is a sin. If something is worth doing, he’s not going to slack.
And your pussy is under that full focus. It’s almost too much to handle.
Ben makes out with every sensitive spot, inside and outside. He licks and tongue-fucks, letting you squeeze around him and pushing your ass up to hit a better angle. He noses at your clit while he works on your gaping, leaking hole, then switches.
Soft, slightly chapped lips wrap around your clit, sucking on you with all the power of a fucking sex toy. His tongue flicks back and forth over and over again, building you into a whining, cloudy eyed frenzy. You scratch at his scalp and pull on his hair, but it just makes him moan, and now everything is vibrating.
Everything seems to make him moan. Ben grunt every time you jerk your hips, slamming them back down and squeezing your hand. He moans when you squeeze down on his tongue, when he brings you right up to the edge then stops at the last second, so you slam his shoulders in frustration.
Sometimes he laughs. And that’s even worse. It makes his massive arms—wrapped around your hips—flex, and it goads him into working you impossibly deeper. You turn your face, pressing it into the pillows. Ben squeezes your hand, dragging your clit between his teeth before pulling away for a single second.
“Eyes.” He grunts, and your attention snaps over.
“Be- Ben-“
“Watch me, doll.” He open-mouth kisses you clit, and you whimper. “That’s right, don’t you look away for a fucking second.”
Now that you’re watching, you couldn’t if you tried.
Ben goes back to his self-assigned job, and the sight is more lewd and sinful than any porno in the world. His massive shoulders roll and flex as he moves you how he wants. You can’t see his mouth, but you can see him moving his head with his tongue on your clit. He shakes it, playing the nerve bundle like a bop-it, and you’re right back up the edge again.
And again, Ben stops.
You almost scream, and Ben chuckles. He kisses your poor, throbbing clit all sweet, then goes back to slowly working his tongue against your entrance. You’re wound too tight. You think you might snap from just the wrong breath.
“Be- Ben-“ You pull his hair, trying to get him back up to your clit. “Ben, let me cum- I- I need to cum-“
He just moans again. You’re going to kill him.
“Please, I- I can’t take it-“ You moan, trying to squirm your body further onto his face. “God, Ben, I can’t- I need it so bad, please-“
Sharp, lust-blown eyes snap to yours. You whimper, giving him your best hopeless pout. It’s the one that usually gets him to cave. He laughs and shakes his head and gives you whatever you want, grumbling affectionately about how damn impossible you are.
But this time, he just smirks against your pussy. And you might have him wrapped around your finger, but he’s got you cornered.
Take it. He’d said.
You don’t think you have a choice.
“Look at you,” Ben drawls, kissing your clit. His beard drags. You whimper, eyes locked onto his.
The sounds earns you another kiss, and it makes you squirm. With how his eyes gleam, you’re worried he’ll just keep you like this all night.
“You’re close.” He mocks, rubbing his palm against your pussy. “So close, baby doll. I can fuckin’ see it, you’re about to cry.”
You glare at him, and he just grins.
“You think I’ll give a shit? Think I don’t want to see you break for me?”
He presses his hand down harder. You go to reach for it, but Ben grabs your wrist and pins it firmly next to him on the mattress.
“No touching.” He grunts. “Mine.”
Oh, that makes you clench around nothing. After, you’re going to force him to make dinner and maybe do taxes or drive a car to earn feminism points back, but right now everything is just Ben, lying between your legs, calling you his.
And he’s staring at your pussy, almost transfixed. You moan as his thumb rubs your clit, his hand rising up so he can watch you react. You can feel yourself, gushing and fluttering. Desperate for anything he can give you. You’ll beg more, you’ll take it however he wants, you just need more.
“Christ on a fucking cross.” Ben mutters, pressing his cheek into your thigh. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of pussies, doll.”
You shoot him a look. “Romantic.”
He rolls his eyes, pinching your clit between his fingers.
“Was going to say yours is the best, you fucking brat.”
You smile, cupping his cheek with trembling fingers. You’re seconds from exploding with desire, but you just want to hold him. Feel him, for only a little longer.
Something in Ben’s expression shifts. For the briefest moment, it softens. His shoulders relax, and the slow breath he lets out sounds like a release. He kisses the inside of your palm. His thumb pushing on your clit, dragging it back and forth in a steady, relieving rhythm.
But you’re too sensitive. You’re being worked back up too fast, and tears start to prick.
“Ben.” You breathe, fingers curling against his cheek. “Please.”
He smirks. There’s one last kiss on your clit, then another on your well-bruised thighs. He rises to his knees, slapping your pussy while one hand undoes his belt.
Ben chuckles, at the way you fully tremble from the hit.
“You fucking like that shit, don’t you.”
You shrug, watching his belt slide away. “Maybe.”
“You do. Can see it, you-“ He pushes two fingers back into your cunt, and you moan.
“Ben- Oooooh-“
He tosses aside his belt, spanks your clit, and grins triumphantly.
“Fucking felt that. You started pouring on me like a waterfall, you love it-“
You kick at his thigh, flushing and rolling your eyes. “Shut up.”
“Don’t think I will.” He drawls, going back to his pants. “Think I get to talk as much as I want, baby doll. You’re the one that’s going to be fucked all damn stupid.”
You had a smart, sharp retort.
It dies when Ben pulls down his pants, and you see his cock.
Of course he’s such an arrogant, smug ass. Endowed is too weak a word. He’s blessed. He’s got the most beautiful cock you’ve ever seen—thick and long in all the best ways, like it was handcrafted to give your pussy a heart attack—and with the look on his face, he fucking knows it.
“See something you like,” he grins down at you, stroking himself slowly.
“I… Um…” You lick your lips, crawling slowly up the mattress. “You’re very…”
You trail off again. You’re humping the sheets like an animal, forcing yourself not to just fucking touch yourself, but it’s impossible. He’s too… everything.
Ben laughs, prowling up over you.
“You’re fucking drooling.”
“You’re pretty.”
“I am not fucking pretty.”
“You are.” You roll your eyes, letting Ben drag you onto your back. “You’re so pretty, Ben, it’s bonkers.”
He grunts, settling himself above you. “Pretty is what you call a fucking show pony.”
“You are a show pony.”
That earns you a glower. You beam back in return, giggling at your own jokes.
“When we’re done, you should let me braid your- Oh my God-“
You grab at his shoulder, eyes going wide as Ben slides his cock into you with one, smooth movement. He drives right into your g-spot, dropping his hips so he’s pinning you into it. He grinds down, abs rubbing on your clit, and there it is.
That coil that had been building in you all night. Ben gets inside of you for ten seconds, and you snap.
You writhe and scramble under him, grabbing at his chest and trying to hide from the overwhelming orgasm ripping through your body. Ben grabs your jaw and forces your gaze back to his, still grinding down onto you as it drags on. You whimper, making garbled sounds of his name.
Ben kisses you, as you twitch through the last bits of it. You turn to limp putty, moaning into his mouth and shivering as he settles at being bottomed out.
“That’s what I wanted to see.” He mutters, nipping at your upper lip. “That’s what I fucking dreamed about.”
You whimper, and Ben laughs. He gives you a shallow thrust, and your eyes go wide.
“Don’t think I’m done with you yet, baby.” He teases, ghost his lips over yours. “We got a lot of fucking time to make up for, and you,” he gives another, sharper slam of his hips. “Are too fucking gorgeous to just give one orgasm.”
A strangled sound escapes your lips, and Ben grins.
“I know. But feel that,” he pulls all the way out, then slams back in. “Real good, isn’t it. Fuck, this pussy was made for me. Going to fuck you until my name is written on it, until it can’t even take anyone else.”
His logic is flawed, but you still moan. Hard not to, when you’ve got all the mass and power of him over you, driving in and out of you at a torturously slow pace.
“That’s my girl.” He coos, bumping your nose before going for a hot, sloppy kiss. “That’s a good fuckin’ cock slut for me, aren’t you.”
Your eyes fly open, your pussy clenching down, and Ben laughs. He starts to drill into you, knocking every bit of air from your lungs.
“Yeah, I know how you like it. My dirty baby, get off of me telling you that I own you,” he slams down, and tears burn at your eyes. “That I’m going to fucking wreck you, turn you into my fuck doll, my sweet little fucking whore.”
You moan, the shame only making the heat in your tummy build faster. Ben rises over you, hair pressed to his brow from sweat.
“That’s right. Take it, take this cock and thank me for it.”
He slides his thumb over your lips, pressing down ever so slightly as his cock fucks ruthlessly in and out of your pussy. You mewl, opening your mouth for him to take. Ben laughs, thick and breathless, and pushes his thumb in.
“Fucking- Christ-“ He groans as you start to suck. “You’re so fucking beautiful, and- Tight-“
He groans, fucking impossibly harder. The bed squeaks and shifts. You moan around his thumb, tears flowing down your cheeks.
“Crying for me, baby doll, so fucking desperate you’re going to cry for it- Shit-“
Your second orgasm hits suddenly. You clench down on Ben, making him groan loudly. His chest is tight with restraint, and you scratch at the muscle, whining around his thumb.
It’s so much. Too much. You’re stuffed so full, and you can barely breathe, and it’s perfect but you don’t know what to do with yourself but sob and moan.
“There you go, so tight and warm.” Ben’s babbling. You think he’s lost himself as much as you have. “Fuck, you’re going to be death of me if you keep lookin’ like that, gotta-“
You squeak as Ben pulls his thumb and cock out with wet sounds. There’s no time to protest the loss, though, before you’re being flipped onto your stomach and fucked within and inch of your life.
Ben drags your ass in the air, barely giving you a second to recover before he’s back to railing you into the mattress. You cum even faster this time, between the filthy words and deeper position.
“Greedy pussy can’t get enough, can she.” Ben grunts in your ear, his chest draped over your back. “You love it, fucking love being marked up and fucked like an animal. You fucking slut, bet that pretty mouth needs something to suck on again. Be you’ll look so pretty choking on my dick, to bad you look even fuckin’ better like this.”
You cum again with Ben’s thumb in your mouth, tears on your cheeks, and his body wrapped around yours. Then a third time, when he rises up and plays with your ass, shoving your head into the mattress to watch you cry and try to wiggle back on his cock.
After a while, you lose track of what position your in. You’re over him, then under, then pressed against the headboard and folded in half. You don’t know how he’s held himself off this long. You’re a boneless, oversensitive puddle made of countless orgasms, by the time Ben starts to rut and groan.
Ben finishes inside you, holding you firmly above him as his hips jerk up. You watch him come apart under dazed, tear-stained lashes. It’s the most beautiful sight in the world. He’s pumping into you, hot and jerking, dripping out of your pussy as just more and more comes. A wet sound fills the air, and you can see his own release stained over his abdomen as he just keeps going.
You think you pass out, after. You must, because when you come too, you’re lying on clean sheets and wearing Ben’s shirt. You stare at the ceiling for a while, still partially lost to the world.
You come back to earth, when Ben says your name. He’s coming out of the shower, bare-chested and glorious.
He gives you that small smile, and you return it without a thought.
“Feeling alright?” He mutters, climbing into bed at your side.
No pants. Unhelpful.
“Um-“ You stare at his cock, swinging between his thighs. Your mouth is watering. “You…”
“Jesus, woman.” He snorts. “I’m not trying to fucking break you, stop slobbering.”
“I am not slobbering-“
“Yeah, you fucking are.”
You stick your tongue out and try to roll away, but Ben’s right. He worked you. One movement comes with a whine, and suddenly you’re being pinned below Ben’s bare body.
“Rest.” He scolds, and you roll your eyes.
“You’re not my boss-“
“Yeah, but I love you, and I’m going to be real damn pissed if you hurt yourself.” He taps your jaw. “Rest.”
You blink at him.
And again, Ben just finds a way to make you feel more full.
“You love me?” You whisper.
He blinks. You don’t think he knows he said it.
“Of course I do-“
“Say it.”
He scowls. “You heard it, means I said it-“
“Say it again.” You give him that look. The pouty one.
This time, it’s going to work.
“Please?” You add.
Ben sighs, shaking his head, and glares at you like you’re the bane of his existence.
You might be. But he likes it, and he’s the one who’s going to be keeping you at the center of his universe.
“I love you.” He grunts.
You beam, and Ben kisses you with a labored sigh. It’s slow. Romantic.
Meant to remind you that you have time.
“Good boy.” You whisper, and he groans.
“You’re real lucky-“
“Yeah.” You cut him off, and he lets you.
He always lets you. Because he loves you.
“I am.”
✦End note: i dont care what he does in the show this is my emotional support old horny man✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
