soldier boy's wifey

knock knock who's there? go fuck your face

[sbwifey]

⋆⊱ i'm the most uncool motherfucker on the planet ⊰⋆

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[sbwifey]

Jealous Brat

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Supe!Female!Reader

Summary: Soldier Boy fucked Firecracker and you're not happy about it.

Warnings: Explicit Smut, Dub-Con/Consensual Non-Con, Rough Sex, Choking, Slapping, Degradation, Praise Kink, Possessive Ben, Toxic Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, Oral Sex (f + m receiving), Unprotected P in V, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Soldier Boy being Solider Boy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

A/N: Been wanting to write this for forever. Also if it isn't obvious, reader has telekinesis.

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The door to your room at Vought shut with a click that made your jaw tighten. You'd been avoiding him for two days, ducking into conference rooms when you saw him coming, taking the stairs to bypass the common areas, eating meals in your room like some kind of hermit.

It was pathetic. You knew it was pathetic.

But you'd heard Firecracker echoing through the halls, that annoying twang bouncing off the walls. You heard her talking to someone about how she fucked Soldier Boy last night.

You'd walked away before you could hear the details. Before you could picture it. Before you could remember the way Ben's rough hands felt gripping your hips, the way he'd growled my girl against your neck like he had the right to claim you.

You weren't his girl. You weren't anything. You'd abandoned The Boys, abandoned Butcher's whole disaster of a plan to use Soldier Boy to take down Homelander, and crawled back to Vought because you had nowhere else to go and, honestly? It's all you knew from the start anyway.

Couple years later, when Homelander unthawed Soldier Boy, then introduced him as number two in The Seven, Ben wasn't surprised to still see you here.

"Guess there's one good thing about being on this team," he'd said and winked at you.

Fuck him. Fuck Firecracker. Fuck all of it.

You kicked off your boots and flopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.

The knock came a little before 11 PM. Three sharp raps. You knew it was him, who else would be knocking on your door this late?

"Go away," you called out.

"Open the door, doll." Ben's voice was muffled but unmistakable. That gravelly, deep tone that still made something stupid in your chest flutter.

"I said go away."

"And I said open the door." A pause. "Don't make me ask again."

You should have left it locked. You should have told him to fuck off. But your feet were moving before your brain could catch up, your fingers undoing the deadbolt with a resentful twist.

He looked good. Too good, all broad shoulders, the green undershirt of his uniform tight on his muscular form. He still smelled like tobacco and Old Spice and something uniquely him, maybe gunpowder, regrets, and memories you didn't want to have.

"You've been avoiding me," he said.

"Been busy."

"Busy." He stepped into your space, forcing you back into the room. "That's funny. Everyone said you didn't have anything scheduled today."

"Stalking me now, Benjamin?"

"Watching out for you." The door clicked shut behind him. "Like I always have."

You laughed, sharp and bitter. "Right. You watched out for me so well when I was the one keeping you from nuking Manhattan. When I was the one letting you—" You cut yourself off, cheeks heating.

"Letting me what, baby?" His voice dropped, that annoying smirk appeared. "Say it."

"Nothing. Whatever," you spat, "it's in the past. Doesn't matter."

"Is it?" He circled you like a shark, and you hated how your body responded, how your breath hitched when he stepped close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. "Because you sure are acting like a jealous little brat for someone who doesn't think it matters."

"I'm not jealous."

"No?" He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His green eyes were cold, "Then why've you been ignorin' me, doll, hm? Why've you been staring at Firecracker like you're contemplating throwin' her off the goddamn roof?"

"She's annoying."

"She's a good fuck," he said deliberately, watching your face. "Eager. Obedient. Knows how to take orders."

Your power flared, your books rattling on their shelves, the lamp flickering. "Get out."

"Make me."

You shoved him. Hard enough to crack concrete. Hard enough to send a normal man through the wall. Ben barely stumbled, his hand moving to grip your throat.

"That's it," he growled, and there was something almost proud in his voice. "There's my girl. Thought you'd gone soft on me, running back to Vought with your tail between your legs."

"Fuck you."

"That's the plan, doll."

He kissed you like he was trying to consume you, all teeth and tongue, pressing hard against you, his hand squeezing your neck with just enough pressure. You bit his lip and he laughed against your mouth, that dark, delighted sound that had haunted your dreams for months.

"You want to fight me?" He spun you around, shoving you face-first against the wall. Your cheek pressed against the cool surface, his body caging you in, that hard length grinding against your ass. "Go ahead. Give me your best shot."

You tried. You threw an elbow back with supe strength. He caught it, wrenched your arm behind your back, and you gasped at the stretch. Wincing from the pull.

"Pathetic," he breathed against your ear. "You used to be able to take me down. What happened? Got comfortable here in your ivory tower? Forgot how to be dangerous?"

"I hate you."

"No, you don't." He yanked your other arm back, pinning both wrists in one massive hand. "You hate that I fucked her. You hate that I fucked her before I fucked you since being out of the fuckin' box. And you really hate that you want me anyway."

"Let me go."

"Say please."

"Fuck you."

He laughed again, that deep, low chuckle, and dragged you backward toward your bed. You struggled against him, wriggling and trying to using your strength and telekinesis to get away from him. He loved it.

He threw you onto the mattress and you bounced, scrambling backward, but he was on you in an instant, those heavy thighs straddling your hips, his hands tearing at your clothes.

"Ben—"

"Shut up." He ripped your shirt off. "You don't get to talk. Not after a whole day of the silent treatment. Not after you made me chase you like some kind of bitch."

"I'm not—"

He slapped you. Not hard enough to bruise, he knew your durability, knew exactly how much force to use. The slap was sharp, stinging, enough to make your head snap to the side and your pussy clench around nothing.

"Did I say you could speak?"

You glared at him, defiant, and he slapped you again, his other hand roughly palming your breast through your bra, thumb dragging over your nipple until you couldn't suppress the moan.

"That's better," he murmured, leaning down to bite your neck, your collarbone, leaving marks that would fade but felt permanent in the moment. "Stop pretending you don't want this."

"I don't—"

He cut you off with a hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision spot. "Lie to me again and I'll gag you with my cock. Understand?"

You nodded, pulse hammering, and he released you only to tear your bra off completely, tossing it aside. He palmed your breasts roughly, pinching and pulling at your nipples until you were arching into his touch despite yourself, despite the anger still burning in your chest.

"Look at you," he sneered. "All that attitude and you're already aching for me. Is this what you wanted? For me to come find you? To remind you who you belong to?"

"I don't belong to anyone."

"No?" He shoved your legs open, palming you through your pants, and you bit your lip hard enough to bleed to keep from crying out. "Then why are you dripping through your pants, you little slut?"

"Stop calling me—"

He slapped you again, then gripped your jaw, forcing your mouth open. "You don't tell me what to do. I tell you. And you're going to take everything I give you, aren't you? Going to be a good girl and spread your legs and let me use you however I want."

"Ben—"

"Wrong answer."

He flipped you over like you weighed nothing, yanking your pants and underwear down in one rough motion, leaving you bare and exposed. You tried to push up on your hands and knees but he shoved you back down, his palm between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the mattress.

"Stay."

You struggled anyway, trying to move away, and he brought his hand down on your ass with a crack that echoed through the room. Then again. And again. Until you were gasping, your skin hot and sensitive, your pussy absolutely aching.

"Please," you whimpered, and you hated yourself for it.

"Please what?"

"Please—"

He spanked you again, harder, and you saw stars. "Please what, you stupid fucking slut? Use your words." He was already undressing himself.

"Please fuck me," you sobbed, the words tearing out of you like a confession. "Please, Ben, I need—"

"That's it." He pulled your hips up, pressing against you, his cock heavy and hot against your thigh. "That's my girl. Begging for it like the desperate little bitch you are."

He didn't prepare you. Didn't ease in. He shoved inside in one brutal thrust that made you scream into the pillow, your body stretching around him, your telekinesis flaring so hard that every loose object in the room lifted into the air and crashed down around you.

"Fuck," he groaned, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Still so fucking tight. Still mine, aren't you? Even when you pretend you're not."

"Not yours—" you gasped out, pushing back against him.

He laughed and started to move, setting a brutal pace that had the bed slamming against the wall, that had you clawing at the sheets. He wasn't gentle, he didn't do gentle, especially not with you, not when he knew that you could take it. That you wanted it.

"Say it," he demanded, yanking your head back by your hair, arching your spine. "Say you're mine while I fuck you. Say it or I'll stop."

"Don't...don't stop—"

"Then say it."

"I'm—" He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision white out, and you sobbed. "I'm yours, okay? I'm yours, I'm yours—"

"Louder."

"Yours!" you screamed as he pounded into you, as his free hand reached around to rub rough circles on your clit. "I'm yours, Ben, fuck, please—"

"Good girl." He released your hair only to grip your throat again, pulling you up against his chest, changing the angle so he was hitting even deeper. "Now take my dick like the good little whore you are. Take it and thank me."

You clenched around him helplessly, teetering on the edge but not quite there, but close. Very close.

"Ben, I'm gonna—"

"Did I say you could cum yet?" He pulled out and you whimpered at the loss, at the emptiness, at the way your arousal started to drip down your thighs. "Greedy little thing. You think you deserve it?"

"Please," you whispered, shaking.

"Please what?"

"Please let me cum. Please, Ben, I need—"

"Show me." He flipped you onto your back, shoving your legs wide, and stared down at where you were spread open for him. "Touch yourself. Let me see how desperate you are."

You reached down, embarrassed and aroused and hating how much you wanted this, and started to rub your clit. He watched, predatory and pleased, his cock stirring against his thigh.

"Faster," he ordered. "And look at me. Don't you dare close your eyes."

You obeyed, your fingers working yourself in tight circles, your hips bucking, your whole body flushed and overheated. He watched you like you were the only thing in the world, like he was memorizing every expression, every gasp.

He knew when you were close, just about to cum.

"Stop."

Your hand froze, trembling, right on the edge. "Ben—"

"I said stop." He grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away, and you actually cried out in frustration. "You don't get to finish yet. You haven't earned it."

"I did everything you—"

"You ran," he interrupted, his voice going cold and dangerous. "You ran away from me. Now I'm back and you ignored me over one little fuck. You think this fixes that?"

You stared up at him, chest heaving, tears pricking your eyes. "I had to leave. Butcher was—"

"I don't give a fuck about Butcher." He climbed onto the bed, kneeling over your chest, his cock hard and heavy in front of your face. "Open."

"Ben—"

He slapped you, sharp enough to get your attention. "Open your mouth. Now."

You obeyed, hating yourself, loving it, and he pushed his cock between your lips, his hand gripping your hair to hold you still. He tasted like salt and your own arousal, and you gagged as he hit the back of your throat, your eyes watering, your hands coming up to push at his thighs.

He didn't let you pull back. He started to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper, using your mouth the way he'd used your pussy, rough and completely in control.

"Look at you," he murmured, his hips snapping forward. "Taking my cock like you were made for it. Is this what you wanted? To be on your back, dripping wet, while I fuck your throat?"

You couldn't answer, could barely breathe, but you moaned around him and he groaned in response, his grip tightening.

"That's it. Take it. Take all of it, you beautiful fucking brat."

He came down your throat with a groan, holding you still as you swallowed around him, as tears streamed down your cheeks onto your tits. He pulled out slowly, his cock still half-hard, glistening in the light, and you gasped for air, your chest heaving.

"Good girl," he said softly, almost tenderly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Such a good girl for me, hm, doll?"

You turned your face away, embarrassed by the praise, by how much you craved it, and he chuckled, low and knowing.

"Still fighting it?" He moved down your body, settling between your legs, and you tensed. "Relax, sweetheart. Let me take care of you."

"Ben—"

He buried his face between your thighs without warning, licking a stripe up your slit, gathering your juices on his tongue. You cried out, your back arching off the bed, your hands flying to his hair.

"Oh god—"

"Not God," he murmured against your skin, the vibration making you whine. "Just me."

He ate you like he was starving, his tongue rough and demanding on your clit, two fingers pushing back inside you, curling to find that spot that made you see stars. You were so sensitive, so overstimulated, your body trembling from the sensations.

"Please," you begged, not even sure what you were begging for anymore. "Please, Ben, I can't—"

"You can," he insisted, his fingers working you ruthlessly. "You will cum when I tell you to cum."

He licked and sucked at your clit, adding another finger to your hole, curling them at just the right spot.

"Cum," he said, the vibration of his voice sending you over the edge.

You shattered, screaming his name. He didn't stop, didn't let up, kept working you through it until you were trying to squirm away from his mouth, oversensitive and shaking.

"Stop—stop, I can't—"

He lifted his head, his mouth shining with you, his expression dark and satisfied. "One more."

"No—"

"Yes." He crawled up your body, his cock hard again already, pressing against your entrance. "One more, and you're going to take it. You're going to cum on my cock, understand?"

"Ben, it's too much—"

He silenced you with a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and he pushed inside in one smooth thrust. You were so wet, so open, but still sensitive, and you gasped into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Ride me," he ordered, rolling onto his back and taking you with him, settling you on top. "Show me how sorry you are. Show me how much you want to make it up to me."

You planted your hands on his chest, your knees straddling his hips, and started to move. It was awkward at first, your muscles trembling, but he gripped your hips and guided you, setting a punishing pace.

"That's it. Fuck yourself on my cock. Use me, baby. Take what you need."

You rode him desperately, chasing the pleasure, your head falling back as you found the angle that hit just right. He watched you, his eyes dark and hungry, his hands roaming your body, pinching your nipples, slapping your thighs.

"Touch yourself," he commanded. "I want to feel you cum on my cock."

You reached down, your fingers finding your clit, and it was too much, the stretch of him inside you, the pressure of your own fingers, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

"Ben—"

"Cum," he growled, his hips snapping up to meet yours, pounding into you from below. "Cum for me right now, squeeze my fuckin' cock."

You came with a scream, your whole body convulsing, your pussy clamping down on him so hard he groaned, his grip bruising on your hips. He sat up, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close as he thrust up into your spasming heat, chasing his own release.

He came hard, spilling inside you, filling you until it was leaking out around his cock.

"That's it," he panted against your neck. "That's my good girl. Taking my cum so good."

He held you there, pressed close, his heart hammering against yours, both of you gasping for breath.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then he softened, his grip loosening, his hands starting to stroke your back soothingly.

"You're an asshole," you mumbled into his shoulder.

"I know." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "And you're a jealous brat."

"Shut up."

He pulled back to look at you, his expression softer now, the dominance bleeding away into something gentler. "I didn't fuck her because I wanted to. I fucked her because I was trying to piss off Homelander."

You stared at him, surprised by the admission. "Ben—"

"Meant nothin' to me, doll," he said, brushing back your hair from your face.

You believed him. You shouldn't have found that romantic, probably, but something warm unfolded in your chest anyway.

He shifted, pulling out of you slowly, and you whimpered at the loss, at the sudden emptiness. He settled you beside him, tucking you against his side, his hand resting possessively on your hip. "You're mine. Even when you're being a pain in my ass. Even when you run. Understand?"

"You can't just—" You started to protest, but he cut you off with a look.

"I can," he said firmly. "And I am. You're mine, and I'm yours, and we're both stuck in this fucking tower, so we might as well be stuck together."

You stared at him, at this man who'd been frozen in time, who'd come back angry and broken and somehow capable of being a little tender beneath that rough exterior.

"Okay," you whispered.

"Okay?"

"Okay. I'm yours."

He nodded once. "Good. Now get some sleep. Homelander's got some bullshit conference tomorrow."

"You're staying?"

"Where else would I go?" He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "Beats seeing anyone else in this shithole."

"Guess I'm special." You said, leaning back into him.

"Yeah, doll. You're somethin'," he murmued, wrapping his arm around your waist tighter.

You closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the warmth of him against your back. Outside, the city hummed with its usual chaos.

But here, in the dark, with Soldier Boy's cum drying on your thighs and his arm draped possessively over your waist, you felt something dangerously close to safe.

"Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"If you fuck Firecracker again, I'll crush your skull with my mind."

He laughed, low and delighted. "My fuckin' brat."

A/N: Soldier Boy I love you

Taglist: @animelucky @mystic-writings @magster196 @soldierboysdoll @castielscaplan @mostlymarvelgirl @waynes-multiverse @winchesterwild78 @multiversefanfics

[sbwifey]

Y'all I did not expect this fic to get so many likes...

Thank you🥹

[sbwifey]

I'm gonna post the soldier boy p links soon i promise i didn't forget

[sbwifey]

i see jared and jensen again in 2 weeks oh my godddddd

[godmadeaterribleerror]

keep quiet

✦Read on aO3! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦

✦summary: you and dean have beautiful secret, and dean learns how to show you that he means everything more than he can say✦

✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, friends to lovers, loss of virginity, age gap (20s - 40s), dbf!dean, angst, overprotective, bad at feelings dean, pining, idiots in love because it's the best way to be, dean's down so bad, shameless smut (dry humping, senstive reader, begging, teasing, light spanking/pussy spanking, praise kink, massive dick dean, fingering, dean's got a panty kink, dean's dirty talk, spanking, oral f!reciving, stripping, body worship, degredation kink, nipple play, soft!dom Dean, size kink, begging, overstimulation, soft and rough sex, messy, creampie, mean dean, dumbification), love confessions, fluff✦

✦wc: 9.6k✦

✦author's note: from a few requests! i need him so so bad its like a problem✦

You know you’re far from the first, who’s dreamt about Dean Winchester. It would be like thinking you’re unique for liking ice cream, or wanting world peace. Nothing worthy of note. You gawk at him when he walks around the yard shirtless, and you’re no better than all the suburban moms and bar girls that lick their lips at his smallest smile. It’s really front page news, to be in love with the handsome, muscular man that holds open doors and helps old ladies cross the street. You’re really breaking barriers, drooling over his biceps when he works on a car and pressing your thighs together when he catches you watching and winks.

But that’s where you do start to get a little ahead of the curve.

Dean looks back.

He’s not supposed to. You both know he’s not supposed to, and you’re both awfully good at pretending you care. Dean walks into your house without invitation, saying he’s looking for your dad, and you suddenly have about fifty different reasons so bend over and stretch and wear the shortest skirt you can find. Your dad asks you to drop something off at Dean’s garage, and his secretary—an even older man named Bobby, who detests the word secretary, but doesn’t really have any other kinds of duties since he stopped being able to work on cars—doesn’t exist anymore. Dean needs to come out to greet you himself. He has to take the package and let your fingers brush, and his sleeves need to be rolled up, and he’s so sweaty he simply must use his shirt to wipe his face.

You gape at his thick, muscled chest and abdomen. He says your name, grabbing your waist for attention, and you both stare at each other a little too long.

He licks his lips. His throat bobs. Your breath hitches, and you take the smallest step forward. His dull nails dig into your hips, and your hand lands on his belt for balance. There’s an electricity in the air you can taste. It shoots down your spine like a lightning and makes your skin wet and hot. Dean’s eyes go dark, and you push up on your toes.

Then something rattles. Someone calls. Your dad walks back inside with a wide grin and spread arms, and you and Dean jump apart like children playing cooties. He steals a glance at you, before you walk away. You lock yourself in your room or car and rub your inner thighs, eyes squeezed shut with frustration, face burning from the flood of arousal between your legs, sticking your panties to your cunt and filling up the air with the smell of shame and need.

Neither of you speak of it. The dance replays itself for almost a year, and you’re not brave enough to change a single step.

But Dean isn’t either. Though he’d call it not stupid enough. It doesn’t matter than he’s told you he’s more at ease with you than anyone else he’s ever known. He doesn’t think the evidence of his need for you—impressive and mouthwatering, straining through his jeans whenever you accidentally let your ass press against him—amounts to anything but a desire that makes him sick.

It’s wrong, he’d say.

And you’d agree, if it wasn’t growing over your life like a weed. If you hadn’t tried to move on—over and over and over, with boys in clubs and co-workers and dating apps—but failed more times than you can count, all because of Dean. He lives in your dream, now. You structure your day around trying to steal a glimpse of him, because it’s all you’re allowed to have. You stop trying to work the weed of your love out. It’s prettier than all the other deadened brushel of your previous crushes. It breeds a new kind of ecology, makes you brave in different ways than you were before. You know more about cars  than you ever thought you would. Bobby let you into his old man book club—even Dean and your father aren’t allowed—and you can drive a boat because summer vacation comes with even more Dean, and it was just impossibly important that you basically sit on his fucking knee while he taught you to drive.

You won’t change yourself for him. You won’t play pool—there’s too much math and just… standing around—or pretend to like things you don’t. But you know you’re not the only one changing.

Your dad says Dean’s been listening to different music lately. That he doesn’t kill the fish after he catches them anymore, when they go out to the docks, and you’re sure it has nothing to do with you getting teary eyed when he tried to do it in front of you. He let you describe your makeup routine to him once, and remembered everything you told him, to the point that his sister-in-law Eileen noticed that he understood her product before his brother Sam. He’s even—supposedly—driving slower, after you hit his arm and told him not to get himself killed.

And the big one.

He doesn’t flirt.

Not the way he used to. He doesn’t do cheesy pickup lines that only work because he’s a living Adonis, and he doesn’t stuff numbers in his pockets like spoils of war. You overhear your dad making fun of him for having lost his game, and Dean just chuckles and shakes his head.

“Maybe I’m growin’,” he drawls. “You ever think of that?”

Your dad laughs, and it echoes over the lake. “Why the fuck would I have thought of that?”

Dean shrugs and takes a swig of his beer. You can feel his gaze, over the firepit. It’s warmer than the raging flame. You pull your knees into your chest, and don’t dare to look back.

“You really looking for something serious, Winchester?” Your dad asks, and Dean hums.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

Your dad beams and starts to talk about single women he knows, who might be good for Dean. They all sound perfect. Intelligent and kind and age-appropriate, with no weird complications. Your throat hurts like you’re catching a virus. You excuse yourself for the night, and lock yourself in your room.

And it goes like that for a long, long time.

But when the weeds grow over everything, it does, so slowly, start to change.

It’s almost inevitable. Like you both accept that there’s nothing to do but go with the tide, even if it’s sweeping you out to sea. It’s still not spoken about. It just… is.

“You doin’ something tonight?” Dean asks you, and you shrug.

“I never do anything. Any night.”

He snorts. “That ain’t true, sweetheart-“

“I don’t do fun things,” you counter, and Dean hums.

He’s lounging on your couch like he owns it, his arm tossed over the back of the seat and a beer in his hand. He watches you move around the room with lidded eyes and a hand fisted on his thigh. Neither of you acknowledge the almost bungee like tension, that sends you walking past him, even when you don’t need to be.

“I think you’re plenty fun,” Dean offers, and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, sure.”

He frowns. “I’m not joking-“

“Dean,” you give him a flat look. “It’s okay. I know I’m not- You don’t have to make me feel better about it. I have other redeeming qualities.”

“Redeeming-“ Dean cuts himself off with a disbelieving laugh. “Jesus, woman.”

“What?”

He shrugs and takes a long swig of his beer. You cross your arms and glare at him, trying not to get too stiff. You know you’re not fun. Not like the women he’s used to, not like most people. You can be fun, but you’re never anyone’s first choice to get a thrill. You keep yourself in your head, and you read, and you work, and that’s it.

Dean’s type, if your dad is to be believed, is long legs that are hard to catch and batting lashes that try to outdo his smirk. You’re very easy to catch. All Dean would have to do is offer a hand, and you’d fall to your knees. You couldn’t outdo his smirk if you tried, because the only weapons you have are eye rolls and sharp words. Difficult, you’ve been called.

Not fun.

But Dean’s looking at  you like he’s having the time of his life, staring you down from the couch. You tip up your chin and narrow your eyes, and he raises his brows, amused and lazy.

“What?” You demand, and he shrugs.

“Didn’t say nothing-“

“Yes, you did, you- You said Jesus, woman,” you drop your voice to mimic his, and he snorts.

“I don’t sound like that-“

“You sound exactly like that.”

“No-“

“Yes.”

And this is what you mean. You’re stubborn and mean and a lot of teeth for a girl who doesn’t really know how to use them. But Dean’s eyes gleam, and his smile only grows. Suddenly you’re restless. You need to press your away from that dangerous, hungry gaze, or you need to throw yourself into the dark and hope it’s as warm as you’ve dreamed.

“I think you can be plenty fun, princess,” Dean teases, and you bite your lip. “You just don’t go out.”

“You don’t go out,” you snip, because it’s all you can think.

Dean just hums, looking you up and down. “You’re right,” he muses. “We should fix that.”

You huff, then pause. “We?”

Dean grins, and that’s how it starts.

It’s not a date. You remind yourself of that the whole drive there, that this is not a date. Dean’s just taking you a dive bar he knows, far enough out of town that your dad wouldn’t catch you—though it doesn’t matter if he does, because this is not a date—and he’s going to buy your drinks and sit next to you in the booth and listen to you babble about nothing like you’re telling him the secrets of the universe.

He turns down a waitress with boobs almost spilling out of her shirt, and keeps his hand on some part of your body almost the whole night.

But it’s not a date.

“So,” he murmurs, his thumb drawing small circles on your wrist. You watch him with wide eyes, your breath caught in your throat.

He hasn’t been drinking. You didn’t know that was something he did. And he smells like sweet, summer smoke and leather and oil, and his body radiates heat like a furnace, and you think you might just melt under his gaze.

“You from ‘round here?” He drawls, and you swallow. 

You know that tone. He’s inviting you to play, but in a way that feels far more dangerous than usual. Dean leans down until you’re only inches away. Your eyes flick to his lips, and his hands fists on the table.

You shake your head, and his lips twitch.

“Just passin’ through town, huh?”

You nod, and he raises his brows.

“What’s got a pretty little thing like you, hangin’ out in a place like this?”

Oh. He wants to play play. To have the exact kind of fun you warned him you weren’t capable of.

But you can try.

Under Dean’s gaze, it kind of feels like you can do anything.

You pull all your confidence together with clenched knuckles, and lean forward. Close enough for your lips to brush, if either of you dared to breathe a little too heavy. Dean blinks, and his ears go a little red, but he doesn’t back away. You smile as coy as you can manage, and run your nails lightly up his forearm. You’ve watched a lot of movies, and you might not be fun, but you’re a fantastic actress.

“My daddy did me wrong,” you coo, fluttering your lashes. “Hurt me real bad, and now I’m lookin’ for something new.” You lean a little further forward. Dean’s throat bobs. “Can you help me find it, sir?”

Dean stares at you, and for a horrible second, you think you took the bit too far.

Then he laughs. It’s strangled and tight in a way you’ve never heard. It sends a rush through your blood, and paired with his red face and squared shoulders, you think you might get addicted.

“Fuckin’- Christ.” Dean takes a long drink from his beer, grinning like he doesn’t know what else to do with his face. “That was- Good one.”

You beam, your heart glowing under his pride. He pats your shoulder, throat bobbing, and your eyes dart down to his jeans.

To the thick outline, threatening the fabric. Your mouth waters, and you frantically look away before Dean looks back. He’s grinning when he does, casual but wide. His arm slings fully over your shoulders, his thumb dragging in those small circles, and you wonder if he has any idea, exactly what pathetic kind of doll he turns you into.

“See, princess,” he taps your nose, and it scrunches against your will. “You’re real fun.”

“I think,” you say slowly, trying not to sound too breathless, too desperate, too his. “You have a low standard.”

Dean shakes his head. “I think I got a high standard. You just never seen anyone else clear it.”

“But-“ You try to fight the question. It slips out anyways. “I- I clear it?”

And something in Dean’s face softens. You don’t know how to pinpoint it, because it’s so small, you didn’t even know there was tension. But it eases, and it’s like the clouds clearing from the sky.

“Yeah,” he says. “You clear it.”

You smile. He smiles back.

And before either of you can realize what’s happening, you both let go of that edge at the same time. The one you’d been clinging to, that plunges from stares to… Something.

Not dating. There’s nothing but soft touches shared the whole night. Dean looks at your lips but never moves. You stare at his chest but never climb it.

But there’s something.

And together, you start to fall.

Once a week, you go to the bar. 

You tell your dad you’re going for a walk, or to a friend’s. You go down the street, and Dean picks you up. Neither of you talk about why you’re sneaking around, even though you’re not sleeping together, because you know.

Whatever this is, it isn’t above board. It’s stolen glances and bodies pressed together against the bar. It’s Dean’s hand on your ass, but only ever over clothing, and you sitting in his lap but never kissing more than your drink. It’s secrets whispered in the dark and being backed up against a wall with no way out, and nothing close to a desire for one.

It’s Dean glaring at men who get too close, and you dressing up in a way you’ve never done for anyone else. He’s a causal man, but he turns wolfish when a guy your age sits next to you at the bar. You never wear anything you don’t want to, and you’ve never been lazy about your appearance, but with Dean you try. You get high on his dragging looks and glinting eyes, giggling and smoothing your skirt like a schoolgirl.

You’ve never been a fool for a man. But Dean doesn’t count.

Because he’s a fool for you in return.

“I don’t need the doctor-“

“Everyone needs the doctor, dumbass,” you tap your fingers on the wheel, and Dean grunts.

He’s slumped like a child in his seat. You rub his neck, trying to soothe him, but all you get is a lean into your touch and a few less complaints.

He made the mistake of telling you he hasn’t been to the doctor since his late twenties. You’d like him alive, so you’re putting an end to that now.

And neither of you mention, that you’re out in broad daylight. It’s dangerous. You can’t care, when Dean holds you hand walking into the office and demands you go back into the room with him. He’s restless the whole appointment, looking at the door like he’s thinking about running. You grab his knee, and he shoots you a glare.

“Please,” you whisper, and his shoulders slump.

“Fine,” he mutters, holding your hand on his leg. “For you.”

You smile, and float through the rest of the day.

For you.

He said it simply. Like it was all the reason he’d ever need. He agrees to eat a banana every once and a while, and lower his salt intake, for you.  

“I’m fuckin’ old,” he whines on the drive home, and you smile at the road.

“You complain like you’re young.”

“Haha,” he rolls his eyes, then gives you a strange look. You try not to squirm beneath it, but Dean never makes that kind of thing easy.

“What-“

“You really don’t mind,” he cuts you off with quiet words. You don’t have to ask what he means. “I mean- Princess, you could be runnin’ around with a real white knight, instead of-“

“Dean,” you give him a firm look. “Shut up.”

He raises his brows. He doesn’t look convinced, but his mouth twitches. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, and you huff.

He is a knight. Not the fairytale one, but you’ve never liked things that are so perfect they have to be plastic. You like Dean with all his scars and callouses and rough words. He doesn’t save you, and you don’t save him, but that’s not what this is about.

Your dad says Dean looks alive, in a way he hasn’t in a long time. Your friends say you look happy, in a way they’ve never seen. You don’t cry into pillows anymore. You drive to Dean’s place and knock on the door with teary eyes, falling into his arms because it’s safer than any fortress in the world.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he mutters, carrying you up to his bedroom. “Let it out. I’m right here.”

You still don’t kiss. Dean’s knuckles graze your bare skin, and his morning wood rubs between your thighs, but that’s it. You wear his shirt, and pretend not to notice that your panties go missing, every time you stay at his place.

There’s this line in the sand, and it keeps getting washed away. All that’s left is you and Dean, both pretending it’s still there. So the dance turns. Both of you take new steps in perfect time, staying in the boundaries of something acceptable. Something deniable.

Something leaveable, even if neither of you seem to be eyeing the exit.

Something safe.

It’s all still safe. Your dad has no idea. You think Bobby’s noticed, but he doesn’t say a word. You hold Dean’s hand with both of yours when he pulls you through a crowd, and he looks back to make sure you’re still smiling, but it all coated in the illusion of a friendship.

A friendship where he says he loves you, when he thinks you can’t hear. A friendship where your lips brush his neck when you’re cuddling, and you pretend not to feel his cock rut against your thigh. It’s not sustainable, but you’re willing to let the candle burn itself out, just to have him like this.

But it doesn’t burn out. It’s electric and solar powered, and every bit of warmth only lets it sustain itself long. Nothing dies. Nothing changes. You and Dean never let yourself touch deeper than your souls, and neither of you dare to ask for more.

Until something snaps.

It’s nothing. Compared to the everything that you and Dean have been pretending not to notice, there’s no real reason for this to be the break.

“You goin’ out?” Dean asks from the couch, and you nod, sorting through your purse.

“Yeah, um- Groceries.”

“Ah.” He glances at the fridge. “We outta something?”

Your mouth twitches. “We’re out of everything.”

“We ain’t outta everything, sweetheart-“

You yank the fridge open, revealing it’s bare innards, and Dean cuts himself off. You give him a pointed, smug look, and he drums his fingers on his knee.

“Huh.”

“Huh?” You snort, closing the door. “I think sorry is better.”

Dean laughs, low and rough, his gaze raking over your body. You flush, but don’t shy away. He always does this. It never amounts to something worth being flustered over.

You cross your arms and raise your brows, pretending to wait for your apology. Dean’s jaw works. His tongue flicks out, and you shift on your feet.

“You’re real dressed up for the store,” he mutters, and you shrug.

“So?”

A vein pushes in his brow. “Nothin’. Just- C’mere.”

He stretches out a hand, and you swallow. “Dean…”

He beckons. Two fingers, crooked and pulling you forward like he’s got you on a string. You almost stumble between his legs. You flush for the first time in a while, tucking your hands nervously behind your back. It’s never been this close before. You’ve stood here, but never with his hand so securely on your hip, with him leaning forward so his breath fans over your midriff. His hand drags down the back of your thigh, goosebumps rising in its wake. You shift on your feet, heat pooling in your core.

“You want to come with me?” You whisper, because it’s all you can muster.

“Nah.”

He doesn’t even look up, as he answers. He watches himself touch you, retracing sensitive spots and furrowing his brow in a brutal focus that makes your head spin.  You open your mouth to say his name again, but nothing expect a tiny gasp comes out. His fingers are teasing your inner thigh, and it turns your knees to jelly. You brace a hand on his shoulder. His eyes snap to yours, and there’s nothing teasing or restrained behind them.

His face is blown out with hunger, and you could so easily shove yourself away, but you don’t want to. He doesn’t need to give chase or fight. You’re not a hunt he’s going to lose. You’re laying yourself down like an offering, and whatever he does with it, you’re more than happy to comply.

Dean tugs you down to his lap in one movement. You squeak in surprise, and his free hand wraps around your neck. You barely have time to brace yourself, before he’s kissing you.

And this is better than dreaming.

This is Dean, warm and strong and demanding beneath you. He kisses you like he’s both going to and returning from war. His mouth slots perfectly over yours, lips chapped and warm and coated in a thin layer of spit. His tongue slides over your teeth, then presses down your throat, working in a way that makes your legs spread wide, imagining that heat against your count. His fingers press into your soft skin, encouraging you to mold easily into his body. You coo, throwing every bit of friction back, and a low rumble rolls through his chest.

Dean settles back against the couch. You straddle him, your wet core pressed against the tent forming in his jeans. You comb your fingers through his hair, and his beard scrapes against your cheeks and jaw. He sucks on your lower lip, squeezing the back of your neck. Your hips roll, and he groans.

He’s hard. Thick and hard beneath you in every possible way. Combined with the heat and unrelenting kisses, it makes you dizzy. You need him. You need him in a way you’ve never needed anything, so much it hurts, so much you think you’re going to scream.

And there’s a little problem. You think he knows about it. You’re less sure than you’d like to be. The tips of his fingers graze your inner thigh, and you buck against him with a whine.

Sensitive. Too sensitive. You think you could cum just from grinding against his rock-hard bulge, because it’s the only way you’ve cum before, and combined with Dean’s mouth roaming over your neck—planting open, messy, possessive kisses—you’re already halfway there.

“De- Dean-“ You gasp, and  he groans against your skin. “Dean, slow down-“

He pulls back immediately, his brow knit with worry. “What- What’s wrong-“

“No- Nothing’s wrong, I just-“ You swallow, and Dean’s frown deepens.

“Sweetheart, if you ain’t ready-“

“No!” You shout and Dean’s mouth curves in a smug, surprised smirk. “No- No, I just- Stop looking at me.”

It’s a pathetic whine, but Dean obeys it like an order. He squeezes his eyes shut and cups your cheek, like he’s still trying to keep track of where you are. You giggle, and his thumb drags over your upper lip. You let your tongue flick against the pad of his finger, and he groans.

Dean drops his face against your chest. Still not looking, but mouthing at the curve of your breasts, in a way that really isn’t fair to anyone. You weave your fingers through his hair, trying to only breathe steady. Dean rubs your waist, humming against your skin.

“Talk to me, baby girl.”

“I- I’m not-“ You’re stumbling. Stuttering even in your own thoughts, unable to think outside of Dean’s lips. “You know I’ve never- Been serious with anyone.”

Dean grunts, nipping at the swell of your tits, and you hide your face in his hair.

“It’s- I’ve never been anything,” you whisper. “Except myself. And I- I’m not very good at it.”

That’s an understatement. You cum too fast and it’s nothing more than a small, disappointing shiver. Toys barely help. Nothing helps, except thinking of Dean.

And now you have him below you. Completely still, breathing so heavy it makes you nervous. He’s gripping your hips tight enough to leave a bruise. Tears start to prick in your eyes, having nothing to do with the dull pain.

“I- I’m sorry-“

Dean’s head snaps up. His massive hand covers your mouth, and you blink with glossy-eyed, nervous confusion. You’ve never seen his eyes so dark, his jaw so set. That hidden gleam, that shines just for you, it’s out and free. Dean looks at you like you’re an angel, falling from Heaven, ready to be dragged to the deepest pits of his desire. Your body starts to tingle with excitement, your heart pounding out of your chest and in your pussy.

“Never?” He asks, his voice impossibly low. You nod nervously, and he swallows. “And you want- You want me?”

He asks it as if you’re insane. As if you could ever want anyone else. You grab his wrists and squeeze gently. His throat bobs, and he shakes his head.

“Princess, you could be doin’ so much better- Yes, you could.” He gives you a stern look, when you shake your head.

You push your hips further against him, and a vein in his neck throbs. You drop your brow against his, and he releases your mouth, cradling the back of your neck instead. 

“Baby…” He rasps. “I- I might love you, but I ain’t the only douchebag who’s gonna feel that-“

“But you’re the only one I love back.”

Both of you fall silent. Dean tenses, and you hold his stare. He said it first. You just said it back. Now it’s on him to actually fucking do something about it.

You’re offering to crash into the waves and drown together. He can either stay in line, or try this new dance. Be the one to show you, to have you, to finally just fucking take you. It’s not the noble thing to ignore this anymore. It’s only cruel.

Dean’s throat bobs. You wait.

“Yeah?” He chokes out, and you don’t hesitate.

“Yeah.”

“Are you-“

“Dean,” you breathe. “Please.”

His throat bobs. He nods, once to himself, then once more. Something sharp settles over his features, like a picture coming into focus. His hold on your body tightens, his breath steadies, and his tongue darts over his lips. A satisfied yet starved light shines in his eyes, and your heart thunders. You didn’t know anticipation could feel like wildfire, until you were trapped under Dean’s attention. But he  looks at you the same way he looks at a pool table before he makes a move, his hands starting to slowly massage your hips, and you’re being unraveled with nothing but his gaze.

“Please?” His tone is low. Close to mocking. “Please what?”

You swallow, your voice stuck in your throat. You’ve practiced this, in the mirror. Ever since this—this strange, beautiful dance—began, you’d spent hours under the steaming shower water, imagining Dean pressed behind you, the roll of his voice, the way you’d be cool and collected and match his every sparring tease with the ease of a woman he’d want. The older, leather-wearing, red lipstick models that wrap boys around their finger like they’re collecting rings.

But the practice is paying in nothing. You’re not one of those girls. You’re nervous and wired and wound up so tight, you can’t do anything but lean further over Dean’s chest and pant.

Dean raises his brows, dragging one hand down to kneed at your ass. Your breath hitches, and your hips mindlessly roll. Dean’s jaw ticks, his eyes going so dark you think you might be drowning in them. He pulls you closer, his lips parting as he watches you fuck yourself against his thigh, and it starts to dawn on you with the rising heat, electric up your spine.

For whatever reason, Dean doesn’t want the cool, collected woman. He’s entranced by you, confused and rigid and so frantic for him that you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And you’re in the best kind of trouble about it.

Dean splays his hand on your lower back and shoves you down, trapping you against him with no chance for friction. You whine, and his hand slips under your shirt. He drags a rough, light touch up your spine, bunching the fabric against his wrist, and wraps his fingers around the base of your neck.

“You’re gonna need to use your words, sweet girl,” he warns, dragging his thumb in tiny circles. “I ain’t able to help brats that won’t talk to me.”

You nod, but you’re still breathing too fast to speak. Dean hums, settling fully back into the couch cushions, and waits. Patient and cruel, rubbing your lower back and squeezing your neck in a gentle prompt.

“C’mon,” he coos. “Where’d all that smart talk go?”

You don’t know. You dig your nails into his chest and watch him with wide eyes, trying to drag your thoughts out of the humid, demanding throb between your thighs.

“Deeean,” you manage to whine, and Dean’s throat bobs.

“Right here, baby,” he rasps. His voice dropped. It sends a rush through your blood, the ache between your thighs growing.

“I- I-“ You try to grind down, to show him what you need, and a sharp spank lands on your ass. You squeal, and Dean’s mouth twitches in amusement, massaging the sting until it fades to only pleasure.

“You like that, huh?” He mutters, right before landing another. “Dirty girl. Been neglected too fuckin’ long, haven’t you?” Another spank. You fall against his chest with a cry of need, and his hand drags down, letting him thumb at your pussy through your shorts.

You wrap your arms around his neck, and he weaves his hand through your hair, delivering one more spank before kissing the side of your head.

“No one’s been takin’ care of you,” he says, low and rough. You clench around nothing, nodding uselessly, and Dean hums. “Needy fuckin’ baby, doesn’t even know what the hell to do with herself when she’s finally gettin’ some attention.”

“Dean,” you whimper. “Dean, please-“

He moves his hand around, grabbing your jaw and forcing you a little back. You blink at him through teary lashes, the eye contact too intense, too addictive.

“Please, what?” He taps your cheek, and you swallow.

“Please. Fu- Fuck me-“

Dean yanks you forward, cutting you off with a demanding, bruising kiss. Your nails sink into his shoulders, your body turning to putty as his tongue pushes back down your throat. Dean grunts, groping your ass and angling your head so the kiss deepens.

“De- Dean-“

“I know,” he grunts against your lips, barely giving you a second to breather between sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. “I know it’s achin’, baby. I’m gonna take care of it.” He kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I’m gonna take care of it.”

You mewl, nipping at his lower lip with every bit of energy you have. Dean grunts and stands, keeping you tight against his chest. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, and he half-stumbles down the hall and up the stairs. You make it five steps before he’s pressing you against the wall and focusing on sucking and licking your neck, then another five before he’s pulling at your skirt, teasing his thumb back over your clothed cunt. Like he can’t help himself from touching you. Like everything is secondary, to getting his hands all over your body.

The paintings on the wall shake, when he kicks open the door to your room. You hug him tighter, kissing over his beard with sloppy, uncoordinated lips. He grunts, swaying against the door frame. You dare a glance up, and find his eyes rolling back, his jaw gaping and breathing ragged. You double your efforts, hypnotized by the effect you seem to have on him. His fingers dig into your ass, and he moans, pressing further back against the door frame.

His eyes flick down to yours, and you keep thinking you’ve hit the bottom of his desire, just to find a new, rawer layer below.

“You like watchin’, sweetheart?” He rasps, and you flush so hard you think you’re on fire.

Dean chuckles and pushes off the wall, kicking the door closed behind him. His kisses turn suddenly sweet and slow, exploring your lips, working you up until you’re panting and scratching at his shoulders. It’s romantic in the worst way. He’s treating you like a delicate flower—setting you down on the edge of the mattress, kneeling between your legs and massaging your thighs—when you just want to be tossed around and fucked like a doll.

Then his hand glides ever so slightly up, his knuckles teasing against your clothed pussy. Your breath hitches, and Dean chuckles.

“You’ve never let yourself feel good, have you?” He murmurs against your lips, and you swallow.

“I- I don’t-“

“’S okay,” Dean kiss over your cheek, his knuckles grinding into your weeping slit. “Should’ve known my busy girl was neglectin’ herself. So smart, so sweet,” he nips at your jaw. “So fuckin’ bad at relaxing.”

You moan a broken agreement, and Dean hums. His mouth travels down your neck, sucking love bites right as his fingers hook around your panties. Your eyes go wide, your cry a strangle, desperate sound you didn’t really know you could make. Dean smirks, pressing his knuckles right against your clit before he rips your panties clean off.

“Dean-“ You cut yourself off with a choked whimper, your elbows shaking with the effort to keep yourself upright. The air on your pussy is cold, and the need just makes it impossible to do anything but blink at Dean’s set jaw and devout gaze.

He brings your panties up to his face and takes a deep, slow breath, his gaze never leaving yours. You whimper, grabbing his hand on your thigh, and he flips it palm up, letting your fingers lace together.  

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he grunts. “Bet you’re gonna taste even better, won’t you.” He squeezes you hand, and you whimper.

“De- Dean,” you spread your legs wider, shameless and needy under his stare. “Just- Please.”

Dean’s gaze drops. He shoves your skirt higher up, fully revealing your slick, pulsing pussy. You’re not sure you’re breathing, as you watch him take you in. He glances up to your wrecked, hopeless expression, a vein ticking in his brow.

“You’re gonna be loud,” he mutters, and you blink.

“Ma- Maybe, I’m not- I’ve never-“ God, you’re seconds from sinking into the bed and never coming back up. “I’ve never- Finished,” you whisper, and Dean’s hand flexes in yours.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Takes a deep, almost labored breath, and shakes his head.

“Gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he mutters, running his thumb over your knuckles. “Swear to god, sweetheart, you could make a man lose it just listenin’ to you.”

You swallow. “So- Sorry-“

“No,” Dean glares at you, and your mouth snaps shut. “No apologies. Never to me. Just gotta- Hold on.”

He kisses the back of your hand, and stands suddenly. You watch, trembling and cold without his touch, as he stuffs your panties into his jean pockets, then yanks his shirt over his head.

And dear lord, he’s a work of art. You’re only able to breathe shallowly, as if something too deep and loud will wake you from this heated, perfect dream. The one where Dean’s towering over you, all muscle and broad shoulders and warm, tanned skin. His chest alone is massive—his tits might be bigger than your—and his biceps bulge with every single movement. You don’t even realize you’re drooling under he’s wiping the spit from your lower lip, smiling with such adoration it makes you squirm.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he mutters, careful and slow. “I’m takin’ care of you, and you’re just gonna lay there lookin’ nice and pretty, alright?”

You nod frantically, trying to lie down immediately, but Dean catches you by the back of your neck. You falter, blinking up at him in confusion, and his lips twitch.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he says to himself, squeezing gently. “Gonna make that wet little pussy feel better, baby girl. Gonna make it feel so good.”

You whimper, and Dean lets out a ragged breath. He ducks down, pressing his lips slowly against your, and you push up on trembling fingers to kiss him back. He rubs your thigh, tracing his tongue over your swollen lips, and slowly presses you back into the sheets. You’re fully trapped beneath him, wrapped in pure warmth and safe, worshipful strength. 

Dean glides one hand up your side, teasing over your hips and ribs before resting it right under your breast. Callouses fingers flick your nipple once, before dragging gently over the hurt. He smiles against your lips, at your tiny squeak, the sensation sending a jolt right to your pussy.

“I know it hurts, princess,” he coos. “But you’re bein’ so good for me. So fuckin’ patient.”

You make a disgruntled sound. You’re not exactly choosing to be patient. You just don’t have the strength to wrestle with him, or the mind to argue. You’ve watched enough porn and read enough smutty fanfiction to think you’d understand how this would go. In all your carefully crafted fantasies, Dean rips off your clothing and pins you to the mattress, fucking you suddenly and desperately, like an animal finally let out of its cage.

But Dean’s not the kind of animal that others kept trapped. He had himself on the leash. He’s more practiced in control than you could’ve imagined, an expert at letting himself have just enough to be satisfied, without actually having anything at all. And now you’re spread on the bed for him to take without any kind of consequence he could make matter, and he’s not going to do anything but take his time.

“First time I fuckin’ saw you,” he mutters, lips brushing against yours. “Knew I was goner. Spent four years, hearin’ about how smart and kind you were, never knew you were a fuckin’ knockout too. Thought I’d died and gone to heaven, before I realized who you were.” He bunches the fabric of your shirt in his hand, slowly pulling it up your body. “Didn’t realize I was gonna be trapped in a hell where I couldn’t have the one girl I’d ever thought about wantin’ forever.”

Dean pulls off your shirt and begins to pepper kisses over the curve of your breasts, massive hands massaging your sensitive tits. Your back arches, a soft whimper leaving your throat as snaps your bra strap against your skin, then slowly traces the line of the fabric, all the way around to the clasp. He undoes it with a single, easy motion, and, before something ugly and green—reminding you of how many times he’s done before—settles in your gut, he squeezes your tit, and kisses his way back up your neck.

“You got no idea,” he purrs. “How much I’ve been dreamin’ about this. How fuckin’ hard,” he pushes his hips against your thigh, forcing you to feel the length of his hardened cock. “It’s been to keep my hands to myself, when you were runnin’ around looking like every fantasy I’ve had since I was a goddamn teenager. Used to pop one justwatching these bounce around,” he ducks back down, mouthing at your swollen tits. “And thinkin’ about how reactive you’d be, how good you’d feel…”

He trails off with a groan, wrapping his wet, warm mouth around your nipple, his free hand teasing the neglected bud with careful fingers. You pull on his hair and he groans, pushing his boner harder against you, all while offering no friction to your pussy. You try to protest and whine, try to shove his face lower, but he’s set on taking his time.

Dean switches attention between your tits, letting his hands roam your body with leisure. He maps every curve and dip, letting that dirty mouth follow the wake of shivering, burning need his touch leaves. He pulls your skirt down slowly, kissing over your stomach and hips, wrapping a massive arm around your knees and trapping them together when you try to grind into his face.

“Be good,” he warns, letting the tips of his fingers drag under your ass, barely brushing the lips of your pussy. “I know what you want, baby, but you’ve been waitin’ this long. You can be good.”

You think, somewhere in your lust addled brain, that he has a lot of misplaced faith in you. You cannot be good. Not when Dean kisses everywhere around your dripping mound, but never lets anything but his nose touch that little button. Not when he fully drags your skirt off your legs and teases your knees and feet, smiling to himself when you squirm and splaying a huge hand over your tummy, pinning you to the mattress and kissing his way back up your trembling legs.

He pushes your knees to your chest, and sucks dark, possessive marks on your inner thighs. Two broad fingers press the lips of your fluttering pussy together, and your hips buck, tears starting to spring into your eyes. You’ve never been teased like this. So careful and deliberate, like he’s trying to find every possible way to pull you apart. He kisses every spot twice, glancing at your slack, drunken expression like he’s measuring and memorizing each and every reaction. He blows on your pinched pussy and you cry out, grabbing his wrist and trying to roll away from the touch.

“Ah,” Dean spanks you cunt, pushing up on his knees. “This ain’t bein’ patient, sweetheart.”

“I’m- I’m trying,” you try and push his hand back against your core, but he’s too strong. “Dean, just- Just touch me, pleaaseee- Mhm-“

Dean leans down, kissing you back into the mattress. You’re almost folded in half beneath him, your cunt clenching around nothing, weeping for attention he’s taking his sweet time to give.

“If I’d known I was makin’ you this needy,” he rasped. “I woulda started fuckin’ you that first night.”

He spanks your pussy again, then swallows your needy sob with another kiss. You hump the air, the movements shorts and stuttered with how he’s keeping you pinned down.

“So goddamn wet,” Dean drags his hand against your swollen cunt, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. Your eyes roll back in your head with every short movement, and his lips curve in an adoring, smug smirk. “You like that, baby girl? Feels good?”

“Ye- Yes,” you manage to stutter, clawing at the arm pinning you against the sheets. “Dean- Deean-“

“That’s right,” Dean spanks your pussy again, before running two thick fingers through your soaked folds. “Just like that. Jesus, you’re dripping on my fucking hand.”

He laughs in disbelief, and you didn’t think you were able to flush more, but the heat starts to cascade like a waterfall, a wet pressure building up at the top of your core.

“De- Dean-“ You’re trying to warn him, but his eyes only darken.

“You’re gonna cum?” He pushes those fingers against your entrance, barely dipping them into your tight channel. “Lose it just from hearin’ about how I wanna fuck you?” He leans down, forcing your gaze to stay trapped against his. “How I wanna stuff this pussy up with my fingers, my cock, my fuckin’ cum? Fillin’ you up like you deserve, makin’ you even stupider and prettier than I’ve got you right now, let it drip out, let everyone see who owns this perfect little cunt-“

The heat snaps, and you cum with a long, broken scream of his name.

You’ve never had an orgasm like this. It makes every single one with your vibrator seem downright pathetic, the way this one crashes through your whole body, forcing stars behind your eyes and making you thrash like a dog in heat. Your pussy is gushing in a way you didn’t know was possible, your body rolling in the sheets as the pleasure crests and becomes almost too much to handle.

And you don’t get a chance to come back down. To settle and collect yourself and just beg for his cock, the way he’s been promising for too long.

Your orgasm doesn’t fade, because Dean doesn’t let it.

He presses your knees right to your chest, tangles your hands back together, and shoves his face right into your trembling cunt.

You thought the fingers and the dirty talk were bad. You thought you knew the limit of pleasure your body could take, but Dean seems to be determined to prove you wrong. You knew his mouth was warm and wet and unrelenting, but you hadn’t been prepared for how it would feel against your pussy. It’s like a vibrator got sent on fire and covered in cocaine, giving you a second hand high just from the contact. Dean makes out with your cunt like it’s your lips, but without demanding a single thing in return.

He groans when you pull on his hair, his tongue flicking back and forth over your clit so fast you can’t even find anything but a high-pitched whine in your throat. He licks a rough stripe up your cunt and mouths at your fluttering hole, drawing out every bit of arousal with the tickle and scrape of his beard against your already overused thighs. He draws back for half a second, spitting on your clit and using three fingers to rub your pussy so brutally, your knees give out laying down.

“Dean- Dean- Fuuuuuuck-“ You cry it over and over like a prayer. You hump his face and try to squirm away from it at the same time, but Dean never lets you get too far. He smiles and nips at your clit when you grind against his jaw, and chases you up the mattress when you try to get away, manhandling and dragging you back against his face. Soon you’ve got nowhere left to roll without falling off the bed, and Dean stops putting up with your antics.

You’re still in half below him, but he’s pressing you down too tight for you to move. You sob and crane your neck, holding onto his head for dear life, the slick between your thighs starting to feel too tight again. You don’t have to say it this time. Dean’s eyes glint, opening to look back to yours, and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it like the sweetest candy he’s ever tasted.

There’s a thick, slapping sound that fills the room, and you manage to focus from the blur of pleasure just long enough to crane your neck and find its source.

And Dean was already a sight, between your legs. His eyes peeking up, his muscles budging, the hair you convinced to let him grow flopping over his brow. But there’s a reason he’s pushed himself so high on his knees, dragging your ass fully off the mattress.

He’s freed his massive, thick cock from its confines in his boxers, and he’s beating it into his hand like he’s watching the most sinful, lewd porno in the world. He moans against your cunt, almost drinking up your arousal, and his hips jerk into his fist. A shining pearl of precum, falls from his angry red tip.

Your eyes roll back in your head, as your second orgasm rip through you like a storm. Pulling you so totally apart you think you float out of your body, twitching in the sheets and gaping at Dean under hooded eyes.

Dean groans, his mouth working you through it, and when you float back down he’s already started to rub his cock between the lips of your pussy, tapping the head against your clit, and smiling when it jolts you like lightning.

“Look at this fuckin’ mess,” Dean murmurs, bending over until he’s resting his chin on your knees, still trapped against your chest. “Look at you, sweetheart. Such a good girl for me, takin’ it so well.”

You keen under the praise, past words, past anything but the thought of Dean’s warm skin against your, his dick notched at your entrance, begging to just come inside and take what’s been his since the first time you saw him.

“You gonna talk to me?” Dean kisses the corner of your mouth, and you blink at him under fluttering, doe-like eyes. “Or did I work my girl a little too hard already?”

You shake your head frantically, grabbing his wrist. Dean pauses, raising his brows.

“Baby, if you’re tapped out-“

“No,” you manage to breathe, and Dean’s throat bobs. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

Dean stares at you, the mask of teasing and control slowly slipping away. All that’s left beneath it is a man that’s just as wrecked for you as you are for him. He smears drool over your cheek and takes a ragged breath, glancing down to where your bodies are almost joined, where his dick is begging to just drive into your pussy and make you his.

He looks back to you with a zealous, almost primal need. You tip your head back, offering your neck, your throat, your jaw, anything he wants, just as long as this lasts forever.

“You mine, sweetheart?” Dean says, low and rough, almost desperate. Like he’s afraid to know the answer.

You don’t know why. There isn’t another you could possibly give your heart, knowing their going to destroy it and keep it safe all at once.

“I’m yours,” you breathe, and that’s all Dean needs.

He pushes you into the mattress with shockingly gentle hands, dropping his weight over your legs to keep you nice and curled up beneath his massive body. His cock pushes slowly, inch by inch, into your abused, weeping pussy. You gasp, the stretch both more and better than you ever could’ve possibly imagined.

And the through worship of your body paid off. There isn’t a place in your body you can’t feel him. It’s like you’re being split in half and fused back together, all in the small, shallow thrusts that Dean uses to get himself fully seated inside you. His head kisses your cervix, his balls swollen and pressed against your slick ass, his face buried in your knees and his breath fanning—hot and ragged—over your tits.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he says, squeezing you tighter. “Son of a- You feel so fuckin’ good baby, you- You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

You giggle. You don’t know why. You can’t really justify it, past being so cockdrunk and wrecked that everything is kind of bubbly and bright. Dean’s head shoots up, his eyes narrowed, and you giggle again, smiling at him so freely, you can’t bring yourself to care about the tears streaming down your cheeks and cunt. You just feel full, and it’s perfect. You never want him to pull out.

Dean’s eyes glint, and you know you’re in trouble.

Good. You really want to be, as long as it’s with him.

Dean snaps his hips, and your giggle falls into a broken, shameless moan. Dean grins, kissing the tears off your cheeks and setting a slow, rutting pace in your cunt. He bumps over and over against your g-spot, fucking you into a whining, squirming mess within minutes.

“That’s right,” he whispers in your ear, pushing your knees a little higher up. “Feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? Sweet girl, takin’ this cock like you were made for it. Lettin’ me use you like the greedy little cockslut you wanna be. Mine,” he kisses a soft spot under your jaw, words rough and possessive. “Fuckin’ mine.”

You nod, babbling out a pathetic agreement. You are his. You’re a useless, soaked wreck beneath Dean’s massive body, but you’re his, and there’s nothing else you’d rather be.

And you were sure that you’d reached the limit for orgasms for the night, especially given that your previous record was one, weak and barely worthy of note.

But you’ve never been fucked by Dean before. And with the way he’s ruining you, you don’t think you’re going to be able to be fucked by anyone else after.

His cock slides in out of your pussy, like your bodies were made to mold together. The sound fills the room, obscene and lewd, mixed with Dean’s low moans in your ear and your own, pathetic whimpering. He bullies that gummy spot inside of you, driving against it over and over, as his thrusts become longer and harsher.  

Every inch of your body is so thoroughly claimed by him, you almost can’t stand it. The squelch of his dick, each vein and pulse making your wet pussy throb, his messily connected to yours and his hands groping desperately at your hips as you both reach your peak. The heat is building back up like a flood, making your eyes cross and your head spin. You grip his shoulders with shaking hands, your nose twitching and wrecked pleas falling from your lips.

Dean kisses everyone away, past words himself. He grabs your jaw one last time, angling his hand between your bodies to toy with your clit, and something at the very base of your spine shatters. It’s not like the dreamy floating of your last orgasm. It’s loud and wet, making you feel every single second of overwhelming pleasure as Dean’s thrusts become unruly and frantic. You milk his cock, crying his name, gushing with so much slick that you’re almost worried you’re peeing.

The sound that leaves Dean is almost inhuman. He doubles over, clinging to you with a reverence like you’re holy, emptying thick, hot ropes of cum into your pussy. You’re so full, so loved, you grab Dean’s bicep and gape up at him with open, loving eyes.

Dean grunts, drilling his cock into your g-spot with shallow, uncontrolled thrusts.

“One more-“ He grunts. “One more ‘f me, Babygirl, please-“

One last orgasms blooms and shudders through your core. Dean makes a feral, satisfied sound, and collapses over you with a moan.   

And for a little while, you both just lay there. Lost in the feeling of each other, the pure, simple ease. Dean kisses away your tears and buries himself a little deeper, whispering an apology against your lips when you whine.

“’S okay-“ You gasp. “Feels good.”

Dean grunts, still doubtful, and you give him a winning, gentle smile.

“I liked it,” you cup his cheek, pushing your breasts a little higher. “A lot.”

Dean’s cock twitches inside  of you. He groans and drops his face between your breasts, shaking his head. You giggle and pet his head, and he props his chin up.

“Too rough?” He mutters, and you shake your head.

“Perfect.”

“Hmm,” he looks you up and down, and you spread your legs a little wide, using your heels to push him closer.

He grunts and braces himself next to your head, eyes soft and gleaming in the dark. He takes you in—boneless, limp, and dizzy with happiness—and lets out a slow, ragged breath.

“Think I mighta just created a monster,” he mutters, and you beam.

“Maybe.”

He raises his brows, kissing the inside of your wrist. And he’s buried inside of you. You’re filled with his cum, and covered in love marks you have no idea how to hide.

You still flush.

Dean’s eyes gleam with satisfaction. He kisses your wrist again, massaging your hips.

“We’re gonna do this again, right?” You ask knowing the answer.

You just want to hear him say it.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, watching you like none of the world matters. Like it’s really only you and him, and a hazy but glowing and certain future. “We’re gonna be doin’ this until you get sick of it.”

“And if I don’t?” You whisper. “Get sick of it?”

Dean shrugs, smiling faintly. “Then I think we’re gonna be doin’ it for a long, long time.”

✦End note: dfb fever is getting me and i'm not. mad about it.✦

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✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[girlsadist]

Pressing a barrel of a gun against his bulge but he tries to grind into it

[bruisedfig]

[sbwifey]

need this fic

[dean-ness]

[sbwifey]

BABYYYYY

[sbwifey]

Jealous Brat

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Supe!Female!Reader

Summary: Soldier Boy fucked Firecracker and you're not happy about it.

Warnings: Explicit Smut, Dub-Con/Consensual Non-Con, Rough Sex, Choking, Slapping, Degradation, Praise Kink, Possessive Ben, Toxic Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, Oral Sex (f + m receiving), Unprotected P in V, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Soldier Boy being Solider Boy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

A/N: Been wanting to write this for forever. Also if it isn't obvious, reader has telekinesis.

Masterlist • Taglist

The door to your room at Vought shut with a click that made your jaw tighten. You'd been avoiding him for two days, ducking into conference rooms when you saw him coming, taking the stairs to bypass the common areas, eating meals in your room like some kind of hermit.

It was pathetic. You knew it was pathetic.

But you'd heard Firecracker echoing through the halls, that annoying twang bouncing off the walls. You heard her talking to someone about how she fucked Soldier Boy last night.

You'd walked away before you could hear the details. Before you could picture it. Before you could remember the way Ben's rough hands felt gripping your hips, the way he'd growled my girl against your neck like he had the right to claim you.

You weren't his girl. You weren't anything. You'd abandoned The Boys, abandoned Butcher's whole disaster of a plan to use Soldier Boy to take down Homelander, and crawled back to Vought because you had nowhere else to go and, honestly? It's all you knew from the start anyway.

Couple years later, when Homelander unthawed Soldier Boy, then introduced him as number two in The Seven, Ben wasn't surprised to still see you here.

"Guess there's one good thing about being on this team," he'd said and winked at you.

Fuck him. Fuck Firecracker. Fuck all of it.

You kicked off your boots and flopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.

The knock came a little before 11 PM. Three sharp raps. You knew it was him, who else would be knocking on your door this late?

"Go away," you called out.

"Open the door, doll." Ben's voice was muffled but unmistakable. That gravelly, deep tone that still made something stupid in your chest flutter.

"I said go away."

"And I said open the door." A pause. "Don't make me ask again."

You should have left it locked. You should have told him to fuck off. But your feet were moving before your brain could catch up, your fingers undoing the deadbolt with a resentful twist.

He looked good. Too good, all broad shoulders, the green undershirt of his uniform tight on his muscular form. He still smelled like tobacco and Old Spice and something uniquely him, maybe gunpowder, regrets, and memories you didn't want to have.

"You've been avoiding me," he said.

"Been busy."

"Busy." He stepped into your space, forcing you back into the room. "That's funny. Everyone said you didn't have anything scheduled today."

"Stalking me now, Benjamin?"

"Watching out for you." The door clicked shut behind him. "Like I always have."

You laughed, sharp and bitter. "Right. You watched out for me so well when I was the one keeping you from nuking Manhattan. When I was the one letting you—" You cut yourself off, cheeks heating.

"Letting me what, baby?" His voice dropped, that annoying smirk appeared. "Say it."

"Nothing. Whatever," you spat, "it's in the past. Doesn't matter."

"Is it?" He circled you like a shark, and you hated how your body responded, how your breath hitched when he stepped close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. "Because you sure are acting like a jealous little brat for someone who doesn't think it matters."

"I'm not jealous."

"No?" He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His green eyes were cold, "Then why've you been ignorin' me, doll, hm? Why've you been staring at Firecracker like you're contemplating throwin' her off the goddamn roof?"

"She's annoying."

"She's a good fuck," he said deliberately, watching your face. "Eager. Obedient. Knows how to take orders."

Your power flared, your books rattling on their shelves, the lamp flickering. "Get out."

"Make me."

You shoved him. Hard enough to crack concrete. Hard enough to send a normal man through the wall. Ben barely stumbled, his hand moving to grip your throat.

"That's it," he growled, and there was something almost proud in his voice. "There's my girl. Thought you'd gone soft on me, running back to Vought with your tail between your legs."

"Fuck you."

"That's the plan, doll."

He kissed you like he was trying to consume you, all teeth and tongue, pressing hard against you, his hand squeezing your neck with just enough pressure. You bit his lip and he laughed against your mouth, that dark, delighted sound that had haunted your dreams for months.

"You want to fight me?" He spun you around, shoving you face-first against the wall. Your cheek pressed against the cool surface, his body caging you in, that hard length grinding against your ass. "Go ahead. Give me your best shot."

You tried. You threw an elbow back with supe strength. He caught it, wrenched your arm behind your back, and you gasped at the stretch. Wincing from the pull.

"Pathetic," he breathed against your ear. "You used to be able to take me down. What happened? Got comfortable here in your ivory tower? Forgot how to be dangerous?"

"I hate you."

"No, you don't." He yanked your other arm back, pinning both wrists in one massive hand. "You hate that I fucked her. You hate that I fucked her before I fucked you since being out of the fuckin' box. And you really hate that you want me anyway."

"Let me go."

"Say please."

"Fuck you."

He laughed again, that deep, low chuckle, and dragged you backward toward your bed. You struggled against him, wriggling and trying to using your strength and telekinesis to get away from him. He loved it.

He threw you onto the mattress and you bounced, scrambling backward, but he was on you in an instant, those heavy thighs straddling your hips, his hands tearing at your clothes.

"Ben—"

"Shut up." He ripped your shirt off. "You don't get to talk. Not after a whole day of the silent treatment. Not after you made me chase you like some kind of bitch."

"I'm not—"

He slapped you. Not hard enough to bruise, he knew your durability, knew exactly how much force to use. The slap was sharp, stinging, enough to make your head snap to the side and your pussy clench around nothing.

"Did I say you could speak?"

You glared at him, defiant, and he slapped you again, his other hand roughly palming your breast through your bra, thumb dragging over your nipple until you couldn't suppress the moan.

"That's better," he murmured, leaning down to bite your neck, your collarbone, leaving marks that would fade but felt permanent in the moment. "Stop pretending you don't want this."

"I don't—"

He cut you off with a hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision spot. "Lie to me again and I'll gag you with my cock. Understand?"

You nodded, pulse hammering, and he released you only to tear your bra off completely, tossing it aside. He palmed your breasts roughly, pinching and pulling at your nipples until you were arching into his touch despite yourself, despite the anger still burning in your chest.

"Look at you," he sneered. "All that attitude and you're already aching for me. Is this what you wanted? For me to come find you? To remind you who you belong to?"

"I don't belong to anyone."

"No?" He shoved your legs open, palming you through your pants, and you bit your lip hard enough to bleed to keep from crying out. "Then why are you dripping through your pants, you little slut?"

"Stop calling me—"

He slapped you again, then gripped your jaw, forcing your mouth open. "You don't tell me what to do. I tell you. And you're going to take everything I give you, aren't you? Going to be a good girl and spread your legs and let me use you however I want."

"Ben—"

"Wrong answer."

He flipped you over like you weighed nothing, yanking your pants and underwear down in one rough motion, leaving you bare and exposed. You tried to push up on your hands and knees but he shoved you back down, his palm between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the mattress.

"Stay."

You struggled anyway, trying to move away, and he brought his hand down on your ass with a crack that echoed through the room. Then again. And again. Until you were gasping, your skin hot and sensitive, your pussy absolutely aching.

"Please," you whimpered, and you hated yourself for it.

"Please what?"

"Please—"

He spanked you again, harder, and you saw stars. "Please what, you stupid fucking slut? Use your words." He was already undressing himself.

"Please fuck me," you sobbed, the words tearing out of you like a confession. "Please, Ben, I need—"

"That's it." He pulled your hips up, pressing against you, his cock heavy and hot against your thigh. "That's my girl. Begging for it like the desperate little bitch you are."

He didn't prepare you. Didn't ease in. He shoved inside in one brutal thrust that made you scream into the pillow, your body stretching around him, your telekinesis flaring so hard that every loose object in the room lifted into the air and crashed down around you.

"Fuck," he groaned, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Still so fucking tight. Still mine, aren't you? Even when you pretend you're not."

"Not yours—" you gasped out, pushing back against him.

He laughed and started to move, setting a brutal pace that had the bed slamming against the wall, that had you clawing at the sheets. He wasn't gentle, he didn't do gentle, especially not with you, not when he knew that you could take it. That you wanted it.

"Say it," he demanded, yanking your head back by your hair, arching your spine. "Say you're mine while I fuck you. Say it or I'll stop."

"Don't...don't stop—"

"Then say it."

"I'm—" He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision white out, and you sobbed. "I'm yours, okay? I'm yours, I'm yours—"

"Louder."

"Yours!" you screamed as he pounded into you, as his free hand reached around to rub rough circles on your clit. "I'm yours, Ben, fuck, please—"

"Good girl." He released your hair only to grip your throat again, pulling you up against his chest, changing the angle so he was hitting even deeper. "Now take my dick like the good little whore you are. Take it and thank me."

You clenched around him helplessly, teetering on the edge but not quite there, but close. Very close.

"Ben, I'm gonna—"

"Did I say you could cum yet?" He pulled out and you whimpered at the loss, at the emptiness, at the way your arousal started to drip down your thighs. "Greedy little thing. You think you deserve it?"

"Please," you whispered, shaking.

"Please what?"

"Please let me cum. Please, Ben, I need—"

"Show me." He flipped you onto your back, shoving your legs wide, and stared down at where you were spread open for him. "Touch yourself. Let me see how desperate you are."

You reached down, embarrassed and aroused and hating how much you wanted this, and started to rub your clit. He watched, predatory and pleased, his cock stirring against his thigh.

"Faster," he ordered. "And look at me. Don't you dare close your eyes."

You obeyed, your fingers working yourself in tight circles, your hips bucking, your whole body flushed and overheated. He watched you like you were the only thing in the world, like he was memorizing every expression, every gasp.

He knew when you were close, just about to cum.

"Stop."

Your hand froze, trembling, right on the edge. "Ben—"

"I said stop." He grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away, and you actually cried out in frustration. "You don't get to finish yet. You haven't earned it."

"I did everything you—"

"You ran," he interrupted, his voice going cold and dangerous. "You ran away from me. Now I'm back and you ignored me over one little fuck. You think this fixes that?"

You stared up at him, chest heaving, tears pricking your eyes. "I had to leave. Butcher was—"

"I don't give a fuck about Butcher." He climbed onto the bed, kneeling over your chest, his cock hard and heavy in front of your face. "Open."

"Ben—"

He slapped you, sharp enough to get your attention. "Open your mouth. Now."

You obeyed, hating yourself, loving it, and he pushed his cock between your lips, his hand gripping your hair to hold you still. He tasted like salt and your own arousal, and you gagged as he hit the back of your throat, your eyes watering, your hands coming up to push at his thighs.

He didn't let you pull back. He started to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper, using your mouth the way he'd used your pussy, rough and completely in control.

"Look at you," he murmured, his hips snapping forward. "Taking my cock like you were made for it. Is this what you wanted? To be on your back, dripping wet, while I fuck your throat?"

You couldn't answer, could barely breathe, but you moaned around him and he groaned in response, his grip tightening.

"That's it. Take it. Take all of it, you beautiful fucking brat."

He came down your throat with a groan, holding you still as you swallowed around him, as tears streamed down your cheeks onto your tits. He pulled out slowly, his cock still half-hard, glistening in the light, and you gasped for air, your chest heaving.

"Good girl," he said softly, almost tenderly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Such a good girl for me, hm, doll?"

You turned your face away, embarrassed by the praise, by how much you craved it, and he chuckled, low and knowing.

"Still fighting it?" He moved down your body, settling between your legs, and you tensed. "Relax, sweetheart. Let me take care of you."

"Ben—"

He buried his face between your thighs without warning, licking a stripe up your slit, gathering your juices on his tongue. You cried out, your back arching off the bed, your hands flying to his hair.

"Oh god—"

"Not God," he murmured against your skin, the vibration making you whine. "Just me."

He ate you like he was starving, his tongue rough and demanding on your clit, two fingers pushing back inside you, curling to find that spot that made you see stars. You were so sensitive, so overstimulated, your body trembling from the sensations.

"Please," you begged, not even sure what you were begging for anymore. "Please, Ben, I can't—"

"You can," he insisted, his fingers working you ruthlessly. "You will cum when I tell you to cum."

He licked and sucked at your clit, adding another finger to your hole, curling them at just the right spot.

"Cum," he said, the vibration of his voice sending you over the edge.

You shattered, screaming his name. He didn't stop, didn't let up, kept working you through it until you were trying to squirm away from his mouth, oversensitive and shaking.

"Stop—stop, I can't—"

He lifted his head, his mouth shining with you, his expression dark and satisfied. "One more."

"No—"

"Yes." He crawled up your body, his cock hard again already, pressing against your entrance. "One more, and you're going to take it. You're going to cum on my cock, understand?"

"Ben, it's too much—"

He silenced you with a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and he pushed inside in one smooth thrust. You were so wet, so open, but still sensitive, and you gasped into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Ride me," he ordered, rolling onto his back and taking you with him, settling you on top. "Show me how sorry you are. Show me how much you want to make it up to me."

You planted your hands on his chest, your knees straddling his hips, and started to move. It was awkward at first, your muscles trembling, but he gripped your hips and guided you, setting a punishing pace.

"That's it. Fuck yourself on my cock. Use me, baby. Take what you need."

You rode him desperately, chasing the pleasure, your head falling back as you found the angle that hit just right. He watched you, his eyes dark and hungry, his hands roaming your body, pinching your nipples, slapping your thighs.

"Touch yourself," he commanded. "I want to feel you cum on my cock."

You reached down, your fingers finding your clit, and it was too much, the stretch of him inside you, the pressure of your own fingers, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

"Ben—"

"Cum," he growled, his hips snapping up to meet yours, pounding into you from below. "Cum for me right now, squeeze my fuckin' cock."

You came with a scream, your whole body convulsing, your pussy clamping down on him so hard he groaned, his grip bruising on your hips. He sat up, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close as he thrust up into your spasming heat, chasing his own release.

He came hard, spilling inside you, filling you until it was leaking out around his cock.

"That's it," he panted against your neck. "That's my good girl. Taking my cum so good."

He held you there, pressed close, his heart hammering against yours, both of you gasping for breath.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then he softened, his grip loosening, his hands starting to stroke your back soothingly.

"You're an asshole," you mumbled into his shoulder.

"I know." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "And you're a jealous brat."

"Shut up."

He pulled back to look at you, his expression softer now, the dominance bleeding away into something gentler. "I didn't fuck her because I wanted to. I fucked her because I was trying to piss off Homelander."

You stared at him, surprised by the admission. "Ben—"

"Meant nothin' to me, doll," he said, brushing back your hair from your face.

You believed him. You shouldn't have found that romantic, probably, but something warm unfolded in your chest anyway.

He shifted, pulling out of you slowly, and you whimpered at the loss, at the sudden emptiness. He settled you beside him, tucking you against his side, his hand resting possessively on your hip. "You're mine. Even when you're being a pain in my ass. Even when you run. Understand?"

"You can't just—" You started to protest, but he cut you off with a look.

"I can," he said firmly. "And I am. You're mine, and I'm yours, and we're both stuck in this fucking tower, so we might as well be stuck together."

You stared at him, at this man who'd been frozen in time, who'd come back angry and broken and somehow capable of being a little tender beneath that rough exterior.

"Okay," you whispered.

"Okay?"

"Okay. I'm yours."

He nodded once. "Good. Now get some sleep. Homelander's got some bullshit conference tomorrow."

"You're staying?"

"Where else would I go?" He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "Beats seeing anyone else in this shithole."

"Guess I'm special." You said, leaning back into him.

"Yeah, doll. You're somethin'," he murmued, wrapping his arm around your waist tighter.

You closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the warmth of him against your back. Outside, the city hummed with its usual chaos.

But here, in the dark, with Soldier Boy's cum drying on your thighs and his arm draped possessively over your waist, you felt something dangerously close to safe.

"Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"If you fuck Firecracker again, I'll crush your skull with my mind."

He laughed, low and delighted. "My fuckin' brat."

A/N: Soldier Boy I love you

Taglist: @animelucky @mystic-writings @magster196 @soldierboysdoll @castielscaplan @mostlymarvelgirl @waynes-multiverse @winchesterwild78 @multiversefanfics

[sbwifey]

i need to write some dirty fucked up soldier boy smut

like supe!reader smut where he can literally fuck you into a wall til it breaks

but i have no time to rn

soon....soon....

[tojislilusagi]

stepdad soldier boy helping himself to you in the middle of the night ♡

cw : dead dove do not eat !! , somno (cnc), stepcest + fauxcest, dad(dy) kink, p in v, f reader, an☆l fingering, prone bone + doggy, denial kind of ♡ 1,490 words

a/n : happy fathers day everyone (im late) i wrote half of this at 3am

PLEASE MIND WARNINGS MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

ben wakes up that night in hot sweats, the only company in his cold, empty bed being the alcohol-stained comforter.

you don’t wake up to the soft thump of ben’s feet against your room’s floor. he’s standing over your peaceful, sleepy body, hand cupped and slowly rubbing over the crotch of his sweatpants. you look so sweet - innocent - like this: the soft rise of your chest as you breathe, the little outfit you wear to bed, the cute panties he can just see peeking out from under your top. such a stark contrast to what he’s about to do.

you groan softly, still asleep, when he climbs on top of you. the mattress dips under his weight, but the commotion isn’t enough to wake you up.

“fuck, so sweet for me, baby,” his voice is rough and deep, the kind that sends shockwaves through your body.

he reaches out, gentler than usual, to hike up your top. he curses quietly when your breasts spill out, his hand immediately reaching to knead at your soft skin. your eyebrows tighten unconsciously when the tip of his pointer finger rubs over one of your nipples. he sits like that for a while, hovering over your body. his big hands cover the bottom halves of your breasts, rough fingers rolling and tugging your nipples.

you don’t so much as flinch when he rolls down your panties, tossing them from your ankle. his throat goes dry at the sight of you. you’re already starting to get wet from his little massage, a glisten of arousal dripping right between your lips.

“shit- trained up so well for daddy, huh? don’t even gotta touch you and you’re all ready to take me,”

he runs two fingers from the top of your mound alllllll the way down in between your ass. he brings his hand back up, pinching and rolling your swollen clit between the pads of his fingertips. you hike your hips up to meet his touch, a small whimper releasing from your throat.

his other hand reaches below the waistband of his sweats and grips the base of his dick. he holds back a grunt, not wanting to wake you yet, easing the pants down his hips to his knees.

he slowly rolls you to lie on your tummy, parting your ass with two hands to get access to your cunt. he opens his mouth and lets a dribble of his spit fall onto your puffy lips, sinking into your own lubrication.

he kneels above you, knees on either side of your thighs - effectively trapping you if you try to get away - and taps his tip against you. he sits like that for a while, tip rubbing and pressing against your entrance while his hands alternate from massaging your ass to rolling your clit.

finally, slowly, he sinks in.

you immediately jolt awake from the sharp intrusion, eyes snapping open and legs kicking in shock. you let out a string of whimpers and moans, hands reaching to find anything to hold onto.

“shhh, sweet thing. ‘s just me. ‘s just daddy.”

you continue to struggle under him, legs knocking upwards to slap against his calves, and he just chuckles. one of his hands reaches to grab your wrists, securing them behind your back like handcuffs. all you can hear is blood rushing through your head and his deep, raspy voice, your entire brain focused on how he’s bullying himself inside you.

“nu uh, c’mon, calm down. be good.”

his tip brushes your g-spot, and you melt back into the sheets with a breathless moan. to calm you more, he focuses there, grinding his hips down into the spongy spot. you mewl a quiet ‘daddy’ when you finally come to your senses, nerves still wired from waking up like this.

“mhm, dad’s got you, baby.”

he lets go of your hands, and you reach down to hold onto the sheets. he groans a curse into your ear when your back arches into his body, allowing him to slide even further into you. tiny tears prick your waterline as he pushes himself deeper and deeper.

“i know, it’s so scary to wake up with daddy inside you, but he needs this right now.”

you mewl when he bottoms out, his hips pressing into your ass. he doesn’t give you time to adjust, starts thrusting so deeply you get air and whimpers forced from your lungs.

“being such a good girl for me,”

you moan a small ‘dad’, trying your best to respond.

“aww, yeah, gettin’ so much better at takin’ daddy.”

wet slaps resound in the space between you two, your arousal coating ben’s upper thighs and your ass.

“remember when ‘could barely fit half in? threw a fit the entire time too, crying your lil’ ass off,”

you flinch away from him when you feel a free hand reeeeach down between your legs, above where he’s stretching you. he circles the tight hole between your ass with the tip of his thumb once, twice, before sinking in.

you cry out softly, lip caught between your front teeth.

“oh, still so tight, huh? how’s dad ever gonna fuck you in here if you can’t even take one of his thumbs?”

you hiccup after his rhetorical question, overwhelmed by being filled in both holes. his dick is brushing that sensitive spot so deep inside, hitting against it every time he thrusts. your body goes tense when he starts thrusting his thumb simultaneously, pulling on the entrance from the inside.

“too- oh- too full,” you whine, limp thighs shaking against the mattress. a second moan gets knocked out of you when he knocks his hips into yours. “daddy-”

“you getting dumb on me now? y’know you can take it,”

you cry quietly, lifting your hips slightly, trying to fuck back into him. you fail after two attempts, only managing a slight arch.

“aww, cute little thing,”

he removes his hand from your hip and slides it under your stomach. he lifts your bottom half, forcing you into a mean arch with your hips in the air, knees supporting your body. you immediately feel the change in position, biting back a loud whimper.

now, with each thrust, he hits every sweet spot and somehow gets deeper.

“oh yeah, that feels good, huh? feelin’ good for daddy?”

you nod feverishly, panting into the sheets and pushing back into his hips when his thumb starts moving again. you feel the tight, hot coil deep in your lower belly start to tighten, your clit throbbing for attention.

“fuck, tightenin’ on me like crazy,” he grunts, gritting his teeth so his eyes don’t roll back in the sockets.

he’s pretending not to know what you need. his thrusts get slower, allowing himself to grind as deep as he can while sitting still.

“daddy-”

“mmm, what is it, baby?” he smirks, and you can hear it in his voice.

“daddy, need’a cum so bad, please-”

“awww, can’t cum like this?”

you shake your head.

“thought i raised you better than that, greedy girl. gotta beg dad a little harder, yeah?”

you sniffle, sucking in shallow breaths.

“please, please- make me cum, dad, need it so, so bad- feels so good, please,”

he hums in satisfaction, smiling to himself as he increases the pace of his thrusts. you mewl, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. he curses under his breath, the hand under your stomach lifting you further towards him. it puts uncomfortable pressure on your bladder, making you cry even more.

“god- fuck, baby, such a pretty girl,”

his fingers trail down, latching to your clit and squeezing. he pinches so hard your eyes momentarily black out, and the next second you’re cumming hard. you buck and your mouth drops open, walls clenching around his dick.

he doesn’t stop. he rolls your sticky clit between his fingers, thrusting down into your g-spot, arm squeezing your lower stomach. your orgasm doesn’t end, and you feel the familiar feeling creep up under your clit. your eyebrows pinch, and a long whine drops from your mouth when you squirt, a stream of liquid pouring from your cunt onto his dick and thighs.

“oh yes, good girl, c’mon, cum for daddy,”

his hips twitch, and his eyes flutter closed. he continues to roll your clit, stimulating more squirt to come out of your body.

“daddy’s gonna cum, okay? gonna cum in you, baby- oh, fuck-”

he groans deeply and keels over your body, cum seeping inside you.

“oh- oh, fuck- oh god, baby- take daddy’s cum, take it all-”

you writhe from overstimulation, tears and drool pooling below your face on the sheets.

it feels like forever that you two lie there catching your breath. you nod in and out of sleep, blinking your eyes open when you feel a warm, wet towel wiping your folds. he murmurs, ‘shhh, go back to bed,’ so you do.

©️tojislilusagi 2026 do not plagiarize, republish, feed to ai or make ai bots based off of my work. i do not use generative ai tools to make my fanfictions. all of my work is done by a human, for humans.

[darksuccubuss]

𐙚 daddy's doll (age gap/daddy kink/smut) 𐙚

Ben groaned, his hoarse, guttural sound piercing you without the slightest hesitation. He laid you face down, pressing your cheek into the pillow, and with one massive hand he fisted your hair, jerking your head back to expose your throat. "Fuck, you're so tight. Like you were made just to take this from me," he growled in your ear, his breath hot and faintly scented with whiskey and tobacco.

Every thrust was purposeful, strong, and merciless. He wasn't gentle; he was claiming your territory. When you began to whimper, your voice muffled by the fabric beneath you, he didn't slow down, he fucking sped up. "That's it, cry for me, you little slut." "Show me how much you love being used by Daddy," he chuckled, though there was something possessive in the way his other hand caressed your thigh before digging his nails into your skin.

"Ben... I can't... I can't take it anymore," you moaned, your body shaking under the relentless onslaught of his cock.

"Bullshit. You'll take every damn inch I give you," he snapped, though with surprising strength he flipped you over, pinning your wrists above your head. His weight was crushing, warm, and overwhelming. He leaned down and kissed you with a greedy, desperate need that tasted like dominance. "You're mine, doll. Remember that. My sweet girl."

He shifted his grip, one hand sliding down to grab your buttocks hard enough to leave bruises, the other continuing to tangle your hair, forcing you to look up and meet his piercing green eyes. "Look at me when I fuck you, y/n. Don't you dare close those beautiful eyes," he commanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous, husky tone. He was relentless, his hips slamming against yours with a rhythm that felt less like sex and more like an act of war.

The friction was unbearable, your body stretched to its limits as he penetrated deeper, seeking to possess every single nerve ending. "Fuck, you're so fucking perfect," he hissed through clenched teeth, his cock pulsing inside you as he neared his breaking point. "My perfect little doll."

Without warning, he pulled back just long enough to flip you onto your stomach again, lifting your hips high. This angle was devastating. "Take it all, sweetheart. Every fucking drop." He thrust into you again, his movements faster, more primal. His breathing became ragged, filthy as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, lightly biting your shoulder, spilling everything he had, filling you completely and shouting curses that sounded more like praise than anything else.

He let out a final, trembling growl, burying his cock as deep as he could, his entire muscular body tensing as he poured his passion into you. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was his ragged, labored breathing and the wet slap of skin on skin as he slowly pulled out, though he didn't pull out completely. Instead, he dropped his heavy weight on your back, pressing you into the mattress, his heart pounding against your spine like a fucking hammer. He kissed your ass.

"Fuck me," he muttered into your hair, his voice rougher than gravel.

After a few minutes, catching his breath, he rolled off you, pulling you with him until your head rested on his broad chest. One of his hands slid down, absentmindedly caressing your thigh, where his fingers left red marks, while the other tangled in your hair. With his free hand, he reached for the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, took a long swig, and pressed his lips to yours, letting you drink it from his mouth.

"Good girl. Daddy's proud of you."

[dean-ness]

[sbwifey]

julie mcniven how did you survive this

[toosweetforcandy]

soldier boy will be returning in avengers doomsday because i said so

[nicostiel]

Jensen Ackles as Soldier Boy + Text Posts

[sbwifey]

The Protégé

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Summary: Alastair taught Dean how to torture souls. But one soul Dean tortured caught his eye.

Warnings: MDNI 18+. Purely smut. Choking. Spitting. Slapping. Rough sex. Squirting. Degradation. Knife play. Unprotected P in V. Creampie. I think that's it?

A/N: Been a while since I've written anything so this might suck + not really edited

Dean Winchester had spent decades being tortured in hell, and finally he gave in to Alastair's offer of taking him off the rack for good. Soon, it was his hands slick with blood and his soul twisted by Alastair’s lessons. Every day he chose a new victim, carving screams from each soul until they shattered. But one soul never shattered the way the others did.

You.

He noticed the way your body reacted when the blade bit into your skin. How your thighs pressed together, how your breath hitched not from pain alone but from something else. At first he thought it was defiance. This little bitch thinks she's defiant against one of Hell's best torturers? Ha! But then, the realization hit him like a truck.

You liked it.

That knowledge burned through him. So much so that the next time he dragged you from your rack, he didn’t reach for the usual hooks. Instead he shoved you to your knees on the scorched stone floor of the torture chamber.

“Open,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

You hesitated just long enough for him to slap your cheek hard enough to sting. The sound echoed. Your mouth fell open on instinct. "Don't move," he gritted, as he shoved his pants down in one motion.

He pulled his thick, leaking cock out and he shoved it between your lips without mercy. He gripped your hair with both hands and drove forward until your nose pressed against his pelvis, throat convulsing around him.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Take it all, you sick little slut.”

He facefucked you in brutal thrusts, using your mouth like a hole, spit and precum dripping down your chin onto your tits. Every time you gagged he pulled back just enough to slap you again, then shoved back in deeper. Tears streaked your face but your pussy throbbed, slick running down your thighs.

Dean yanked you off his cock by the hair and spat directly into your open mouth. “Swallow.” You did. He hauled you up, spun you around, and bent you over the blood-stained table in the middle of the room. One hand wrapped around your throat from behind, squeezing until your vision sparkled while the other dragged the flat of a knife along your spine.

He pressed the tip of the blade just hard enough to draw a thin red line between your shoulder blades. The sting made you moan. Dean laughed darkly.

“You’re dripping for this,” he said, kicking your legs wider. He reached down with his free hand, spreading your swollen pussy lips apart, gathering the slick on his fingers. He drew his hand back, bringing it to his mouth as he licked his fingers cleaned.

Then without warning he slammed his cock into your soaked pussy in one savage thrust. You cried out and he tightened his grip on your throat as he started pounding you so hard the table scraped across the floor.

Every stroke was punishing. He used the knife to trace fresh cuts across your ass while he fucked you, then he tossed the knife down on the table and he reached around to rub your swollen clit with rough fingers. The combination of pain, choking, the brutal stretch of his cock pushed you over fast. Your whole body seized and you came hard around him, soaking his balls and the floor beneath you.

Dean didn’t stop. He flipped you onto your back, slapped your tits, then shoved back inside while your legs shook. He gripped your thighs, holding your legs back, each thrust brushed against your sweet spot. He spat on your face again, rubbed it in with his palm, and kept rutting into you like he wanted to break you in half.

He grabbed the knife from the table, "Beg for it,” he snarled, knife at your throat now. “Tell me you want me to ruin this fuckin' pussy.” You gasped the words out between choked moans, "Please, please ruin me." He rewarded you by driving deeper, faster, until another gush of wetness sprayed from you.

He came with a guttural groan, hot ropes of his cum flooded your insides while the blade nicked your skin just enough to draw blood. When he finally pulled out, his cum and your own juices leaked down your thighs.

Dean pulled you down off of the table onto your knees again and he wiped his cock across your face, marking you.

“Clean it,” he ordered.

You opened your mouth again without hesitation, tongue working over every inch of his still hard cock, while he watched with dark, satisfied eyes.

There is no doubt now, you were his favorite soul to torture now, and he was nowhere near finished using you.

Taglist: @animelucky @mystic-writings @magster196 @soldierboysdoll @castielscaplan @skywalker0809 @winchesterwild78 @cas-is-my-angel7 @mostlymarvelgirl @chevroletdean @waynes-multiverse @eunoiaxmrvl @woulddieforapplepie @fatallyfixated

[legalmente-loca-blog]

Being Interrupted Is Not Always A Bad Thing

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female Reader x Mr. Marathon

Summary: Soldier Boy interrupts you and Mr. Marathon, along with Homelander, who are searching for something called V1. But instead of putting him to work, he decides to interrogate you. Or at least that's what he tells his son.

Word Count: 1,055

Tags/Warnings: +18, smut, anal, p in v (unprotected), creampie, threesome, dacryphilia

Mr. Marathon’s super speed made your insides vibrate as he thrust his hips hard upward against you. You moaned and laughed on top of him, those vibrations even tickling you.

“Who’s my good girl, huh?” He murmured.

His hands held your breasts so they wouldn’t bounce so much and hurt.

“Me! I am, Mr. Marathon.”

And of course, he loved it when you called him by his superhero name.

Your ass slammed against his pelvis again and again at an incredible speed, and every second that passed was one second closer to orgasm.

“Well, this is definitely a good fucking view.”

You looked over your shoulder as soon as you heard that voice and screamed instinctively, sliding off Mr. Marathon and lying down next to him, covering yourself with the sheet.

“Whoa, whoa.” Your partner put a hand out in front of him, covering his crotch. “Wait… Homelander? Soldier Boy?”

Your breath was rapid, and you pressed yourself as close to him as possible. You stared in astonishment at the two men standing in the room in their suits. Homelander wore a look of disgust on his face, unlike Soldier Boy, who smirked and looked at you intently and with a perverse intensity.

“God, you guys are the ones from TV.” You said, your eyes wide.

“Ugh, this is disgusting.” Homelander said, rolling his eyes. “We’re looking for the V1, and we were told you had it.” He stood at the foot of the bed, and you turned to look at Mr. Marathon.

“Um, well, I’m kind of busy right now.”

“I need it now.”

You swallowed at his threatening tone.

“Relax, son.” Soldier Boy said, patting his shoulder. “Why don’t you leave us alone and wait outside for a few moments, huh?” He led him to the door, a hand on his shoulder.

“What? Why?”

“I’m going to interrogate them about the V1. Now go.” He closed the door in his face and looked at them, walking slowly to your side of the bed.

“Uh, I don’t know anything about something called a V1, sir.”

He smirked and stroked your chin.

“Well, aren’t you a total sweetheart?” He glanced at Mr. Marathon. “Would you lend her to me?”

“W-What?” You stammered.

“Sure, Soldier Boy. It would be an honor.” You looked at your boyfriend in surprise, and he just smiled gently and stroked your shoulder. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s Soldier Boy!”

You turned your gaze back to the man standing beside you. He started unzipping his suit.

“Have you been with two supes at the same time, doll?” You shook your head. “Awww, look, we’ve got a virgin in our hands. What about your ass? Have you taken a supe there yet?” Your eyes widened, and you shook your head again.

“No, I haven’t deflowered her down there yet.” Mr. Marathon added, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Uh, so we not only have a virgin of supes, but also a virgin of ass.” He unzipped his pants. “Well, what the hell are we waiting for?”

⋆⋆⋆🝳✞✧★ఌ𐙚⋆⋆⋆

You felt your insides stretching deliciously as both supes pounded inside you. You were on top of Mr. Marathon, your hands on his chest as he thrust into your pussy again and again, while Soldier Boy was behind you, attacking your ass and making you feel things you never thought possible.

“Oh, this little fucking girl can really take it.” He said before grabbing your neck and pulling you back, pressing your back against his chest.

His balls slapped against you as Mr. Marathon’s cock pounded deep into your cervix, his hands holding your hips as he watched intently, licking his lips.

“Yeah, she takes it like a good girl.” He used his super speed to flick your clit with two fingers, making you tremble.

You were so close, and the pleasure was so intense, that you started to sob. It was simply too much, but you wanted more.

“Awww, look at her. She’s crying like a little girl.” Soldier Boy grunted. He licked a tear that rolled down your cheek and groaned. “Christ on a cross, even her tears are delicious.” He thrust his cock hard into you and you whimpered. “Yeah, that’s it. Keep crying. Quench my thirst, baby.” He licked two more tears from your face, moving your face to his liking with one hand.

“She’s close, I can feel her squeezing me.” The man beneath you groaned.

He began using his super speed again, thrusting in and out of you rapidly, making you bounce on his lap and causing Soldier Boy’s cock to move pleasurably inside you as well. You reached the peak of pleasure. Your body shook as if possessed, and your holes squeezed tightly around both cocks.

“God-Fuck, yeah, like that.” Mr. Marathon growled. “Y-yes, fuck!” He ejaculated his warm semen inside you, painting your pussy white as if his life depended on it.

“Shit, y-you’re squeezing me so good.” Soldier Boy closed his eyes tightly and tightened his grip on your neck, even making you gasp for air in those few seconds before he reached orgasm. “Yes! Yes, fuck!” He groaned deeply and he too released his semen, filling you.

You had never felt so full and tired in your life, and you were loving every second. Your body went limp, but Soldier Boy held you firmly from behind, so you stayed against him until he gently lowered you onto the other man’s chest. He slowly withdrew from you, feeling your walls wet with his semen, until he pulled his cock out. Immediately, his white fluid began to flow from you, and he laughed.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He slapped your ass, and more of his semen flowed out of you. “Look at that. Fucking perfect.”

He got off the bed and began to dress. Mr. Marathon stroked your back while his cock was inside your pussy, his semen oozing out all around under the watchful eye of Soldier Boy, who smirked.

“I’ll probably be back.” He winked at you. “Now, Marathon, get dressed and tell us what you know about V1.”

“Of course, Soldier Boy.” He nodded.

He gave you one last arrogant look before opening the bedroom door.

Homelander was on the other side, furious, his hands behind his back. He also looked horrified.

“What the fuck happened in there?!”

Soldier Boy One Shots

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Masterlist

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[sbwifey]

fuck.

[beecomingnothing]

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: dads!bestfriend!russell x reader , fauxcest if you squint , secret relations , blow job , 18+

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 315

#𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: this is so bad bc it’s late but enjoy ¿¿ getting me to write lately is like pulling teeth :(

dads!bestfriend!russell always made you promise it was the last time , but he never stopped looking for a reason to break that promise.

standing in the kitchen , nursing a beer while your father rambled on about a project in the garage. but underneath the tight fabric of his greyed jeans , he was reeling. mind trapped in the claustrophobic , humid air of the laundry room from twenty minutes ago. a sensitive ache , a phantom weight of your mouth refusing to leave him.

it had been dirty of you both. the moment his strained cock escaped his boxers , one soft ‘slap’ and his drooling tip escaped its confines. thick , watery precome ran in rivulets down the dense hair on his abdomen.

what really made him keep coming back to you , was when you paid extra attention to his sensitive tip. those small firm licks to the head of his purpled shaft. letting out a soft giggle when his breathing stopped and his cock started to twitch.

russell would try and press your head back, his knuckles white , a hiss the only warning he had left. “quit fucking doing— that sweetheart. ‘m gonna come too quick.” and you’d take every desperate, greedy bit of him in your mouth , your goal was to make him come harder than the last.

"you still with us?" your dad laughed , clapping a hand on russell’s shoulder.

"yeah ‘course i am," he cleared his throat, a register that felt like a secret confession. "just need a drink." and he’d let his gaze flicker toward you , where you stood by the sink , your lips still slightly wet and puffy.

as he swallowed , the faint taste of salt on his tongue. a reminder of taking his thumb , gliding against your lower lip to catch the lingering trace of his own release , and bringing it back to taste himself.

"this gotta be the last time, kid," he had whispered, lowly.

what a lie.