summary: you don't obey your stepfather, so he decides to punish you in a strange way, and things go south.
warnings: stepcest, fauxcest, infidelity, spanking, daddy kink, use of: daddy, dad, daugther, kid, age gap, fingering, raw sex, power imbalance, manhandling, degrading, mocking, slapping, hair pulling, sort of dumbification, mentions of reader being in shape, ben is creepy, ben is annoying as fuck
word count: 4.1k
Your father died when you were five. Therefore, you always sought and yearned for a father figure practically your entire life. That explained your attraction to older men, really.
When you were around fourteen, the worldwide famous supe, and America's greatest of all time, was found to be alive in a Russian lab, captivated by the Russian communists. It was big news. Big. You've seen Soldier Boy in your books during your youth. Which is why it was so fucking weird to see your own mother marry him over 3 years later after he got freed. They had been dating for only about 2 years when he had proposed. You found it all strange, but you guessed it was fair for him to settle down after all that madness he went through.
You weren't that happy about it. Ben was an asshole, and the fact he just appeared all of a sudden to play daddy and try to be a substitute for your real dad, whom you have some foggy memories of, you didn't like. Maybe if he were a nice guy, you'd be tolerating him, but no, this dude was a pain in the ass. Apart from all this, you still called him Dad most of the time. It kind of filled a hole in you.
They got married pretty fast. Sure, he wasn't that relevant anymore, but that man made a BANK back in the day.
Now you were 18 years old, studying for your finals. You were graduating high school soon. You wanted to leave this house, this town, this life behind.
You were hungry and tired as hell. You glanced at the time. 11:03. Just perfect. It's Friday, and instead of having fun like the kids your age or resting and watching movies and TV shows, you were studying. What a fun way to spend your free time.
You were running low on energy, you figured everyone was asleep, so you decided to check out the kitchen to see if there was something to munch on or something to quickly chef up. You get up from your desk and walk out of your room wearing an oversized tee and some tiny shorts. You walk down the stairs, carefully stepping down every step, slowly walking down due to your study fatigue. You walk straight into the kitchen to see Ben sitting on the couch eating some nasty buttered popcorn full of fat AND salt while watching some bullshit on the TV.
"What are you doing up so late, kid?"
You shot him an annoyed look before replying. "Studying for the finals, I have to start early. There's a lot. I want to get into college."
"Jesus fuck, you're such a fucking nerd."
You rolled your eyes in annoyance before opening the fridge.
"You hungry? There's some frozen pizza in the freezer."
You grab a glass and put some ice in it and pour a Diet Coke in. "I don't wanna eat that greasy unhealthy crap."
"Jesus fuck." His nose scrunches in disgust, and he gets up. He walks up to you, snatching the bottle just as you barely finish pouring it in. "Diet coke?!!"
He looks like it personally offends him. "Back in my day we drank normal sodas. You kids and your fucking sugar-free sodas. All that healthy diet food and drink crap. Fuckin' pussies."
You open the refrigerator again, grabbing some leftover low-fat, high-calorie pancakes. "I don't want to be unhealthy and gain weight, y'know? I gotta stay in shape."
"Fatten up?" "A little sugar ain't gonna kill ya. You're a fucking kid. Don't be stupid." "You need to grow and shit, you know. Be strong. Energetic. You ain't getting energy from this crap."
"I'm eighteen, not a kid. I'm about to graduate high school. Go to college."
"Kid, you might be… 'legal' or whatever, but you're still a fucking kid."
"NO I'M-" he cuts you off. "You still live under Mommy's roof, don't you? Get everything for free. Don't gotta pay bills. Don't gotta pay taxes or rent." … "Hell, you don't even gotta pay for that stupid smartphone thing you're addicted to."
"Tell me, kid. When was the last time you were responsible for something other than school and homework?" Pure. Silence. "That's what I thought."
"You're a stupid young girl. Don't try to be a smartass with me." God, you fucking hated him.
"You really should quit that diet shit. What happened to crap that actually tastes good, huh?!"
You ignore him. Grumpy old fuck. You think to yourself.
You sit down on the couch beside him, ignoring that he's even there. He stares, and you decide to speak up.
"You know this diet crap is way better than all the shit from back in the day. We eat clean. We don't die of cancer at fucking-"
"Hey, back in my days, kids respected their fucking elders, you know."
"I do respect my elders!!!" you protest.
"Bullshit. If you respected your elders, you wouldn't be sitting here backtalking me while sipping on that stupid crap." He says in a rough voice. He shoots you a death stare before speaking. "Prove it. Prove you expect your elders."
"Huh??"
"Pour that stupid crap out in the sink."
He can't be fucking serious.
"No!!"
"See! Exactly what I said. No respect. No interest in listening to your elders." … "Kids these days."
"You know… I don't see why I should listen. It's healthier. Besides… It's called not wasting food and drinks."
"You might as well go and drink metal. At least that'll give you some fuckin' iron."
"God, you are SO annoying!!" You finally lash out and can't take his shit anymore.
"I'll show you real fuckin' annoying you little brat!! I'll reorganize your fucking shit! All of it! Your little diet crap. Mess it all up." … "Don't. Piss. me. Off."
"Don't you fucking dare!!" "YKNO'W WHAT??!! FUCK OFF!!"
Getting ragebaited by your stepdad… soldier boy. Was not on your bingo card.
He laughs and pats your head. "Poor baby. So cute. Such cute little spitfire."
"Aww, I was just trying to be sweet. Just like your mommy likes it."
You get disturbed. You did not need to know that. No. You did not wanna hear that. Your eyes widen in disgust. Pure disturbance on your face.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!" "I DON'T WANNA KNOW THAT FUCKING SHIT!!"
You started to feel funny. He talked about screwing your mom, but besides disturbance, you felt jealousy. Like you wanted his attention. You've felt that before. Tried to push it away. But the feeling, the pang in your heart, felt like a rock.
"Aww, what's the matter? Jealous mommy is getting more attention than you?" "Boys don't give you attention, huh?"
Yeah, that was your last straw. You genuinely hit me. A slap echoing in the room. You just slapped your stepfather across the face.
"Did you just fucking hit me, kid?" … "You think you're tough, huh? Throwing your little teenage girl tantrums?" He was fuming. You could see it on his face. All you felt was pure fear. He actually felt like an authoritative figure for once. Not an annoying stepdad you bicker with.
"Did you forget who you're talking to? What I've been through? I fought the Nazis."
"You think you're so fucking brave. Hitting a guy twice your fucking size. Multiple times your age." "You're just a naive little girl."
You were silent. Didn't say a word. You felt a lot of fear. He could do anything, and you were terrified.
"No apologies? You're just gonna stay quiet looking like a fucking idiot. You need some fucking discipline, kid."
"You need to learn your place. I'm not letting some fucking kid disrespect me like that."
He grabs your arm and yanks you in his lap. Your food was left on the coffee table besides the couch. His grip is almost as tight as iron.
"Let's see how sassy you are when I put your ass over my knee."
What the fuck? He has to be joking. Your stepdad is seriously not about to spank your ass like a child.
"I'm not a kid- you can't-" "Hell, I'm not your biological kid I-"
Ben laughs loud and sharp, cutting you off mid-sentence. "Do I look like I give a shit?”
"Legacy kid or not…nobody fucking hits me and gets away with it."
He bends you over his knee. It sort of makes your stomach flip. But you ignore it.
“You had your fucking chance to behave.”
“Now count.”
“What the-“
"I said COUNT."
His voice is low and angry, the threat of a beating clear. He's not going to ask you again.
You immediately try to wiggle out, but it's no use. His grip is tight, and his free hand shoves up your baggy tee and lands on your ass.
The sharp painful smack echoes throughout the room.
"That's one," he says.
He raises his palm, hitting your ass once again.
“Two.”
You yelp as his palm cracks against your ass the second time.
You’re utterly embarrassed. Getting spanked by your stepfather at 18? Real fuckin’ embarrassing.
Your yelp is followed by another sharp smack, leaving behind a red print.
“Tsk, Tsk. No counting? I guess we'll start over."
“Please no-“
His hand comes down again, even harder than the first two. A sting spreading across your ass.
“I said count.”
But you can't help but feel turned on. It's wrong. He's your stepdad, for fuck's sake.
You try to push those feelings away, but the heat pooling in your stomach and your pussy throbbing against his thigh is something you simply can't ignore.
You're really getting turned on by this.
"No! I ain't counting!!" You protest against his command.
He feels it. He pauses for a moment before a smirk spreads on his face.
"Kid, are you seriously enjoying this? "You're into this shit?" He laughs. Sort of mocking you.
"Why would I be-"
He cuts you off with a low chuckle. This whole thing becomes a game to him. A game he knows how to play.
"Aww c'mon sweetheart. Don't you lie to me now." His free hand slides to your inner thigh, his thumb rubbing in slow circles.
"Tell me the truth." He says before smacking your ass once again.
You can't help but stay silent.
His hand on your thigh trails a bit higher, teasing you in a way he knows you'll break eventually.
"C'mon, don't be shy. Say it."
"No. You're my stepdad. You're."
"That's right. I am your stepdad." His hand smacks your ass cheeks even harder, making you jolt.
"And stepdads and dads take care of their kids." "And they make sure their kid, who behaves like a fucking brat, learns respect and good behavior."
"COUNT."
"No."
"Oh, you're really fucking pushing it now, babygirl. That behaviour may work with your mother, but not me."
*SMACK*
"I said count."
He waits for a moment, but he's followed by utter silence. You're defying him in every way possible. He sighs in annoyance before hoisting you up, manhandling you until you straddle him. This is useless. You won't listen.
The hard muscles of his thighs press into your crotch, and you can't help but get even more turned on. Your pussy throbs even more than before.
Jesus, kid. You're sick. You're really into this." "You're fucking filthy. Getting spanked by your stepdaddy and enjoying it, huh?"
His hand slides down under your shorts, feeling the soaked through cotton material with his fingers. You squeal. There is no way. No way you're wet and getting touched by your own stepfather. This can't be happening.
"As I said… Parents, biological or not. They take care of their kids."
"This is wrong," you mutter. But Ben chuckles. He knows both of you are too far in. Not to mention he's Ben. He does not give a fuck.
He slides his hand underneath your panties and spreads the slick of your pussy against his fingers. You whimper the moment he does that.
"Please-"
"Ah, Ah, Ah … There it is."
"Tell me what you want."
"Please touch me."
Here she is. His own stepdaughter that calls him "Dad," begging him to touch her in that way. Maybe after all she was just jealous of Mommy.
And he complies. Two fingers slide inside your wet heat, pumping in and out your tight warm walls.
"Fuck— Dad-"
He gets strangely turned on by it. He smirks as his fingers plunge deeper inside of you, fucking into you with force.
You let out a loud, involuntary moan. It doesn't stop there.
"Dad- Daddy- d- ahh-"
His hand clamps over your mouth in an instant. "Shh, sweetheart, you gotta be quiet, we can't wake up Mommy now, can we?" He says in a mocking tone. "Be quiet, Daddy's got you, baby."
You feel like you're on fire. Like, your temperature just rose by 4 degrees. You hold onto his shoulders while you moan into his hand that's muffling the sounds you're making to not draw attention. You only get wetter with each pump of his fingers sliding in and out.
"Look at that. Fucking soaked for me."
"You like this? You like being Daddy's little slut, huh? His hand unclamps from your mouth, waiting for an answer.
"Anwer me."
"Daddy-" you moan. "Yes- Yes I do- I am-"
"Mom would be so mad if she knew... so…mad..."
"I know she would sugar…I know." "She'd be furious. Hearing her little girl beg and moan.. While her husband is fucking her little girl with his fingers so deep huh? While she calls him 'dad' and 'daddy,' huh?
"So fucking slutty, huh? Letting me finger fuck you on the couch? Right where she could walk in on us?" He slaps you across the face.
You let out a loud moan at him slapping you, and his hand clamps over your mouth once again.
"Quiet."
"More- more please…" Your pleas were muffled by his large hand.
"You want more kid, huh?"
You just nod. A simple nod and he praises you for it.
"Atta girl. That's a good girl." He presses a kiss to your temple.
"See how nice daddy can be when his little girl is being good, hmm?" His fingers continue fingering your tight hole, making your eyes roll back in ecstasy and your hips buck against his hand. You didn't know fingering could feel this damn good.
"I've got a hell of a lot more in stock for you, babygirl. You gonna take everything I give to you?"
"You gonna let Daddy play with that cute little body however he wants hmm?"
"Yes, I'll be a good daughter... I'll let Daddy play."
He groans. Deep and rough. You know exactly what to say. It gets him so turned on and hard. His big cock straining against his sweatpants.
"Take it. Take all of it. Take it like a good little slut." His fingers hit that sweet spot inside of you, curling just the right way.
"Yes- Yes- Yes." Muffled desperate moans and pants leave your lips. Leaving you feeling completely dazed and dazzled.
His hand finally leaves your lips, sliding down to your throat, tightly wrapping around it and cutting off your air circulation.
"Now, sweetie, that ain't how you ask for what you want. C'mon. Ask properly." "Daddy ain't a goddamn mind reader."
"Daddy, please make me cum-" You gasp for air.
"C'mon, kid, you gotta try better than that."
"Dad, please!! Please make me cum- I- I'll be a good girl. I'll obey. I'll- Daddy… pretty please- please- dad-" You tear up in desperation.
His fingers curl up with precision. No more games from him. No more teasing. You clench around them while his hand squeezes your throat tighter as you tremble on his lap. Lips quivering. Tears spilling from your eyes. It's a sight for sore eyes, really. It gets Ben completely going. He releases the grip on your throat.
"Come on then. Let me hear it. Say how badly you want to cum. Again."
That was final. You could not hold it anymore. You let out a different series of "ah-ah's," moaning and gasping out loudly, not giving a fuck if your mom hears in the moment. Luckily for you she's a heavy sleeper. You squirt. All over his sweatpants and in your clothes you're still wearing.
"Jesus, kid, seriously?" "You couldn't hold it for another fucking minute? Squirting? You're pathetic." But it just elevates his ego through the roof. Maybe he should have gone for you instead of your mother. She wasn't like this with him at all.
"I'm sorry-" You hide your face into his neck in embarrassment. You're all flushed and hot, not just from the big orgasm but now embarrassment.
"Stop hiding from me now, kid. C'mon. Dad wants to see that pretty little face."
You glance back up, looking him in the eyes. "I've never squirted before. Like ever…" You mutter.
"The stupid toys don't do it for me."
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "And what? You thought some cheap plastic can get you off?"
"You should have gone to Daddy for help."
"Tell Daddy how much better it was. C'mon, kid."
He held you close to him. A firm grip around your body. He didn't like how soft he was getting for you.
You go on to tell him how good his fingers were. How much better he was. But it wasn't enough for you. You had a plan to get him to fuck you. You just played coy and innocent for now.
"Damn right, it was better. Daddy always delivers."
There was a hint of arrogance in his voice along with pride.
“Can you put me to bed? I'm not sure I can exactly walk, and I don't wanna feel alone after this.”
He looked annoyed before letting out a "Tch." "Fine. But don't expect me to read you a damn bedtime story or some shit."
He started walking toward the stairs, holding you in a bridal style.
"You better be out cold by the time I put your ass down, or we're havin' another problem on our hands."
No, I’m expecting you to fuck me to sleep, Daddy. You say in such an innocent tone.
He paused, his steps faltering for just a moment.
"Fucking brat," he muttered under his breath. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"
He finally continued taking you step by step up the stairs as he held you close to him.
He stopped in front of your bedroom door and pushed it open with a rough kick, still carrying you easily in his arms.
"What are we gonna do with you, huh?"
"Tire me out. Knock me out cold. Fuck me until I'm sleeping well." "Mom won’t know… I'll keep quiet."
He set you down on the bed, taking his sweatpants off, which were still stained from your mess. "That a challenge, kid?"
He got on top of you and caged you in, his gaze raking over you in a way that made your heart race. "You asking Daddy to wear you out?
"Mhm…"
He leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin. "Let's see how much you can handle, kiddo. Cause once we're done, you're gonna be sore as hell, darling." He pressed a kiss to your temple.
"You think you can take it?" He asks, with amusement in his voice.
"Let's find out, kid."
"Daddy's gonna put you through paces you've never even dreamed of until you're too worn out to do anything but sleep, sweetie." He starts undressing you. Starting with your shorts.
"I'll make sure you pass out alright." He pulls your shirt off of you.
"And you're gonna wake up sore in ways you can't even imagine. Daddy's gonna make sure you'll be aching for days after this."
“Remember that tomorrow when you're waddling and stumbling around like you're not wearing Daddy's handprint on your ass."
“If I fall asleep that quick, can you dress me up?”
He ignores your question and starts unclasping your bra, and he notices you getting nervous.
"Hey, no need to get nervous being naked in front of Daddy." "You're my daughter, huh? No need to hide from me. You're my kid, ain't you?"
He slides the straps down and throws it god knows where in the room.
He continues with your panties. Slowly pulling the fabric down your bare legs, which immediately causes you to clasp your legs together. You get shy.
"Oh, don't you go hiding from me, spread them open my pretty little girl."
You spread them open revealing your soaking wet pussy to him, clenching around nothing. You feel embarrassed. Getting your stepfather to see you in THAT kind of way.
"Why so nervous? You a virgin? I bet ya are."
"Yeah, I'm a virgin…"
"Daddy's got a real good little girl here, huh? Well, that's how it should be. Only I should be taking care of my little girl like this."
He didn't waste his time pulling down his boxers and shoving his large, thick cock with veins popped up right inside of you. He was a little too big for you, but you said you could take it earlier, right?
You gasps loudly. Not expecting THAT.
"Thought you said you'd keep quiet, Princess." "If ya don't, I might have to shove a pillow in that pretty little face."
Ben waited for you to get adjusted to his. While he waits, you ask that question you had asked earlier.
"Are you… gonna dress me… after…?" Except this time you're heavy breathing. Trying to keep your shit together.
"Yeah, Princess, Daddy'll dress you in one of his shirts if ya fall asleep on me."
He starts thrusting. It's slow and gentle at first. He doesn't want to hirt you or make you bleed. Luckily enough you're soaked so its easy for him to keep whatever pace he needs to fuck you in.
Both of his hands intertwine with yours as the thrusting goes deeper. He's going slow but deep. Making sure you enjoy that sensation. Making sure you feel all of it. Making sure you don't ever forget it. Forget what it's like getting fucked by your stepdaddy.
You can't even speak from how it feels. All you do is whine, moan, and whimper. He feels so good inside of you. He knows exactly what he's doing. All of this is filthy. He's your stepdad. You call him "Dad." But both of you feel so good. Both of you cannot stop.
"Such a dirty little slut, huh?" "Imagine if sleepy Mommy knew where I was right now. Huh?"
You keep eye contact with him. It's all sensual. He quickens his pace. Fucking deep inside of you making you feel it even more.
"Princess, you're so good. You're taking me so well." He leans down to kiss your lips. You moan and whimper into it. It just gets Ben to keep going and going.
He pulls out of you and quickly flips you around, slamming you on the bed, pulling you by your hair before thrusting back in. He's tired of self-control. Oh, and he almost loses it when you let out a squeal as he shoves it inside of your soaked pussy from behind. It feels different… hurts more.
He's so deep inside of you you swear you can feel him in your stomach. Your moans and whines get more desperate, so he quickens his pace.
"Awwhh, is my little princess getting close? "Don't you worry, sweetie. I'm about to cum too."
With that, he flips you back around. He wants to see your face. He knows you're not on any sort of birth control, so he knows he's going to have to pull out and cum on you.
He keeps eye contact with you as he fucks into you with rough, desperate thrusts now. You even start crying a little from both pain and pleasure. You swear you can see the stars. Your moans get loud at this point, and he puts his palm over your mouth to quiet you down.
Your moans get faster and start cutting off. He knows what that means. You finally finish all over his cock and collapse completely. Panting as if you just ran a 10km run.
He's cumming soon after. He pulls out and nuts all over your tummy. Painting your skin white with his thick seed. He grabs some tissues you have on the side of your bed and wipes you down.
"You okay, baby?" But there's no answer. He really did wear you out. He indeed fucked you to sleep. He carefully grabbed his shirt and put it on you slowly. Making sure you don't wake. He presses a one last kiss to your forehead before dressing into only his boxers.
"Might have to come back for another one, sweetheart. Sweet dreams, you little rascal."
authors note: I’m so sorry this shit took so long to write. Omg it’s literally 5:20 am I’m gonna cry. I’m so tired help. I hope yall enjoy this!! Also so sorry for how long this is.
domesticated!soldier boy x wife!reader, HEADCANONS
★ much to everyone’s surprise, Ben is a total wife guy– maybe it’s his old fashioned ways, maybe it’s because it’s what he always wanted, but this man is down bad for his wife.
★ he’s the type of man to refer to y’alls kids as “rug-rats” though he is a complete sucker for them.
★ who gave you hour-long rants about how “Sweetheart, there’s no way n’ Hell you’re bringing a goddamn mutt into my house” only for you to find him sprawled out, asleep on the couch with the dog thrown over his chest.
★ who always thought weddings were kinda stupid and only good for booze until he saw you walking down the aisle to him.
★ always said that if he ever had a kid it’d be a boy so he could have a mini-him soldier but once your little girl came along she had him on his knees in an instant.
★ who proudly claims your daughter’s feistiness, “comes from her ma” and has absolutely nothing to do with his smug personality.
★ Ben is the kind of husband which always takes his wife’s side– no questions asked.
★ the kind of dad that makes sure the kids have a “kickass lawn” to lay around and play with at your house.
★ denies having a dad voice despite absolutely having one.
★ who always made fun of “picket fence, apple pie lives” until he finally had one of his own.
content warning/s & word count: 18+!!!, NSFW!!!, foul language, dark!ben & dark!butcher, patronising and condescending behaviour, angst, guilt, stockholm syndrome in full effect, smut (f/m/m threesome, p in v, oral/cunnilingus, deepthroating, spit, drool, thumb in, cum swallowing, coming on, fingering, biting, kissing, degradation, humiliation, praise, rough, overstim), there's more but i have forgotten. 7.9k
The shift wasn’t sudden. It was slow, almost imperceptible—like the change in pressure before a storm breaks. Your orgasm had torn through you like a wire pulled too tight and snapped, and now you hung limp in Ben’s arms, trembling, breath catching on every inhale like your body had forgotten how to function without their hands on you.
And their hands were still on you.
Ben was holding you upright, arms locked beneath your ribs like he didn’t trust your knees to do the work. He was right not to. Your legs were jelly—shaking and useless, toes barely touching the floor as he cradled you against his chest. His mouth was at your temple now, dragging slow, wet kisses across sweat-slick skin, his nose brushing through your hair as he breathed you in. He was muttering things you couldn’t fully hear—pet names turned poison-sweet, too filthy to be tender but too gentle to be cruel.
Butcher was still kneeling in front of you. Still between your legs. Still watching the way your cunt pulsed and clenched around nothing, soaked and spent, twitching with aftershocks. His fingers had left you only minutes ago, but your body was still reaching for him, slick leaking slow down your thighs like confession.
You were babbling now. Soft. Slurred. Words falling from your lips like spit from a split lip. “Please,” you gasped, over and over, the only word your throat could shape. “Please—need it, I need—need both of you, please, please, I can’t—fuck—please—”
Ben chuckled, low and rough, nosing at your jaw.
“She’s beggin’ for it,” he said, and there was pride in it. “She don’t even fuckin’ know what day it is and she’s still tryin’ to get us to split her open.”
Butcher didn’t laugh. Not at first.
He leaned in, his hands now gripping your thighs, thumbs brushing over the tender skin he'd bruised. He kissed the inside of your knee, then the crease where thigh met hip. Then lower. Soft, absent kisses. Not hungry—cruel. Like he was savouring the fact that you were too far gone to realise he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted. Not yet.
He glanced up at Ben, eyes narrowing slightly. “You wanna fuck a mess, do ya?” He said, voice dry, lined with disdain. “She don’t even know where the fuck she is, and you’re ready to fuckin’ breed her.”
Ben huffed a laugh. “Not sayin’ I would,” he said, dragging one hand up your front, fingers spreading beneath the hoodie to cup your tits again, thumbs teasing over your raw, oversensitive nipples. “But look at her. She’s already halfway to fuckin’ heaven.”
You cried out—soft and hoarse—as his thumb pinched, the ache blooming behind your ribs. Your hips shifted forward without meaning to. Butcher’s eyes followed the movement.
“Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head like you were pathetic. Like you were a dog humping air. “She’s fuckin’ gone.”
“I know,” Ben murmured into your ear. “Ain’t it pretty?”
You whimpered again, head lolling forward, eyes barely open. You could feel your own slick still dripping down your thighs, still soaking your ruined underwear, the cotton twisted halfway to your knees. You were hot all over—face flushed, hair stuck to your cheeks, thighs trembling, nipples tight beneath Ben’s fingers. Your mouth opened again, trying to speak.
But nothing came out.
Butcher stood slowly, finally rising to his full height. He looked you over with an expression you couldn’t read—something between annoyance and amusement. He brushed damp hair back from your face and clicked his tongue.
“Fuckin’ look at you,” he said, quiet now. “Sweatin’ like fuck. Legs shakin’. Drippin’ down your own fuckin’ thighs. You think that’s a good time to ask for cock?”
You blinked at him, tears pooling again in the corners of your eyes. “I just—I need—please—”
“You don’t need cock,” he said, gripping your jaw suddenly, making your mouth hang open. “You need to get your fuckin’ head right.”
Ben’s hands stilled, warm and open against your belly.
“Butcher,” he said, almost teasing. “She’s tryin’. She came back to us. She begged. She let us wreck her.”
“Yeah. And now look at her. Fuckin’ delirious.”
You sagged in Ben’s arms, barely able to hold yourself up. You didn’t know what was worse—the ache between your legs or the weight in your chest. Every breath was thick with confusion, with need. Not just for sex. For them. For the certainty of them. You didn’t know what day it was. You didn’t care.
Ben kissed your neck again. Slower this time. Gentler. His voice dropped low.
“You still with us, baby?”
You nodded. Weakly. Desperately.
Butcher stepped in close, hand still on your jaw. He tipped your face up to meet his gaze. “You still want it?”
You whimpered. “Yes.”
He stared at you for a long beat. Then let you go.
“Not yet.”
Ben’s arms cinched tighter around you as your knees gave out completely. He shifted, scooping you up like he had before, cradling you in his arms. This time, it wasn’t rough. It was deliberate. But not tender. You weren’t being held because you were precious.
You were being held because you were broken.
He sat down on a chair with you in his lap, adjusting you until your head rested against his shoulder, your legs draped across his thigh. One of his hands came to rest on your belly. The other stroked through your hair, over and over, slow and rhythmic.
Butcher sat across from you both, lighting another cigarette.
The room was quiet.
Your body was still throbbing. Still soaked. Still hungry. But you were fading now—drifting into something thick and soft, like sleep without dreams. Your lips parted, breath evening out. You were safe. For now.
“You’re not ready yet,” Butcher said, almost to himself. “But you will be.”
Ben kissed your forehead. And you didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You were exactly where you were supposed to be.
You didn’t remember the exact moment your body gave out—only that one second you were trembling in Ben’s lap, hips twitching from the aftershocks, your thighs slick with your own ruin, and the next, you were curled against him like a doll dropped after play. Limp. Boneless. Soft. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, breath damp against his throat, your fists clinging to the collar of his shirt like you’d forgotten where your body ended and his began.
He didn’t push you away.
Didn’t shift.
He held you there, one hand spread across your thigh, fingers flexing gently like he was trying to ground himself, the other arm locked around your back, thumb rubbing circles into your side through the fabric of the hoodie. His breath was steady, but his jaw was tight, his mouth brushing your hair every time he exhaled.
Butcher lit another cigarette. The flick of his lighter cracked through the silence, followed by the soft hiss of smoke drawn deep. You couldn’t see him from here, your vision pressed full of Ben, your ears echoing only with the sound of his heartbeat. But you felt the room shift when Butcher spoke.
“All right,” he said, his voice low, rough, no longer cruel but not gentle either—just tired, like a man who’d seen this before. “Take her back.”
The words hit like cold water. Not harsh. Just final.
You whimpered—quiet, breathless, instinctive. Your arms curled tighter around Ben’s neck, nose pressing into his throat. “No,” you murmured, too small to be rebellion. “Don’t wanna. Wanna sleep with you.”
Ben let out a breath. It wasn’t quite a laugh—more like a groan made of surrender. He leaned back slightly, craning his neck to glance up at Butcher with an expression caught between amusement and complete fucking devastation. Then he looked back at you—still clutching him like something sacred, your lips parted, your eyes barely open.
Butcher snorted. “You’re fucked, mate”
Ben raised a brow. “Nah.”
“She’s got you wrapped around her little fuckin’ finger.”
“Fuck off,” Ben muttered, though he was grinning as he said it. His hand cupped the back of your head, fingers threading through your damp hair. You nuzzled closer, lips ghosting the edge of his jaw.
Butcher stood, still chuckling. “Jesus wept. Look at you, you cunt. You’re cuddlin’.”
Ben rolled his eyes but didn’t move. Didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he held you tighter.
“Put her down, Ben.”
Ben glanced at him, then looked back at you—and something in his face shifted. Like the weight of you in his arms had finally settled somewhere behind his ribs.
“She’s fuckin’ grippin’ me,” he said quietly. “You see this?”
Butcher smirked. “I see it.”
But Ben still didn’t move. Didn’t untangle you. He held you closer. You rubbed your cheek against his throat, sniffled softly, and sighed like you were finally safe.
Butcher stepped past the two of you on his way to the door, smoke trailing behind him like a ribbon. He paused only once, casting a glance over his shoulder with a crooked half-smile tugging at his mouth.
“You wanted to keep her.”
Ben didn’t answer right away. He looked down at you again. You were pressing your lips to his neck now, breathing him in, sniffling like a child, eyes fluttering closed. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Every inch of your body begged not to be let go.
Then, more to himself than anyone else, he repeated:
“She’s fuckin’ grippin’ me, man…”
Butcher raised an eyebrow.
“You can’t expect me to wanna put her down when she’s soft like this.”
You made a small, broken sound at that—something between a whimper and a sigh—and pushed yourself even closer, legs limp over his lap, one hand curled around the back of his neck. Your nose nudged beneath his ear, mouth grazing his jaw, like you were trying to breathe into him now, like he was air.
Ben groaned.
“Jesus fuck.”
Butcher laughed. Loud. Whole. “It’s your fuckin’ problem now. You wanted to housetrain her.” And then he left. Just like that. No orders. No rules. No permission.
The door shut with a soft click. Ben didn’t move for a long moment. The room was quiet. Heavy. His arms were still locked around you like a man drowning, and you were still pressed against him, breath slowing, body sinking.
He looked down at you.
“You gonna do this every time we wreck you?” He whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Cling like a fuckin’ kitten?”
You didn’t respond, but your body did. You pushed your nose back to his throat, breathed him in deep, and kissed the corner of his jaw so gently it barely counted.
Ben made a sound in his chest. A helpless one.
He stood. Lifted you up in one smooth motion—cradling you to his chest like you were weightless. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t ask where he was taking you. You just held on. He carried you through the halls, past the door you knew was yours. The mattress. The concrete. The sweat-stained sheets they made you sleep in. He didn’t even look at it.
He kept walking.
And you finally saw the hallway you were never allowed to enter. The lights were dimmer here. The air warmer. The floorboards wood instead of concrete. And at the end, a door stood open, golden light spilling out, soft and strange. Ben stepped through it and for the first time, you saw his space.
The place kept from you.
He carried you to the bed—unmade, rumpled, heavy with the scent of smoke and body heat—and sat down with you still in his arms. Your head found his chest again. His fingers stroked through your hair. Neither of you said anything.
You didn’t mean to shift.
But you did.
A slow, quiet slither—your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, your mouth brushing his collarbone. At first, it was nothing. Just a kiss. Barely a ghost of one, lips soft against the salt of his skin. But then your teeth grazed the spot. Right where his muscle dipped. Right where you knew his pulse lived.
Ben inhaled through his nose.
You felt the rumble under your palm before you heard it. His arm flexed tighter around your waist.
“You tryin’ to start somethin’, sweetheart?” His voice was low. Laced with warning. But not the kind that said stop. The kind that dared you to keep going.
Your answer was another kiss. Another nip. Firmer this time. You opened your mouth and sank your teeth in—soft, not enough to mark, not yet—but enough to claim. Enough to make him groan. The sound was raw, punched out of him like it shocked him too.
“Fuck.” His head dropped forward a little, chin brushing the top of your hair. “You got any idea what you’re doin’ to me when you do that?”
You didn’t reply. You didn’t have to.
Because your mouth was already moving. Sucking a bruise onto his shoulder, teeth dragging across the curve of it like you needed to taste every inch. You nosed beneath the hem of his shirt. Breathed him in like smoke. Salt and power and heat.
And Ben—Ben just let you.
For a moment. Then his fingers caught your jaw, tilting your face up sharp. His eyes were hooded, heavy, wild. His thumb smeared across your bottom lip.
“You think you get to bite me and I’m the one who ends up beggin’, huh?”
You blinked up at him. Breathless. Dazed.
He smirked. “Not fuckin’ likely.”
And then he was pushing you down—back onto the bed, onto his bed, the mattress dipped deep with his weight and soaked with his scent—and you didn’t even try to stop him. You went limp beneath his touch. Boneless. Ruined. Eager.
The hoodie was gone in a second. He peeled it up, over your head, baring you inch by inch, growling low under his breath when he saw the marks already blooming across your chest. His fingerprints. The memory of hands and pinches and bruises. He stared at them like they were scripture.
“Christ,” he muttered. “You’re a fuckin’ masterpiece, you know that?”
You tried to sit up—tried to reach for his belt, for the line of his jeans, the sharp cut of his hips—but he pushed you back with a firm hand to the centre of your chest.
“Nope,” he said. “Lie down. Keep still.”
You whimpered.
Ben’s fingers trailed down your stomach, his palm splayed wide. Possessive. He looked down at you like you were something holy and filthy at the same time. His thumb brushed just beneath your navel. Then lower.
“You were gonna suck me off, huh?” He drawled, lips quirking into something smug. “That what you wanted? Gag on it a little, get me all nice and stupid so I’d forget how fucked up you are for me?”
Your thighs twitched.
He chuckled.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
His mouth descended fast—hot and messy—teeth grazing down your ribs as he kissed and bit and bit, lower and lower, until you were gasping and writhing and trying not to beg. But it was crawling up your throat like a storm. That need.
Ben licked a stripe down your hip. Pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. Bit down hard enough to make your back arch.
Then his voice—muffled, cruel, reverent—against your skin:
“Bite me all you want, baby. Just remember—I'm the one who gets to eat.”
You tried to keep still. God, you really tried.
But Ben had you spread open, knees pushed wide, and his mouth—his fucking mouth—was already dragging fire across your skin, licking and sucking and biting down like he was starved and you were a gift from a god he didn’t believe in. He wasn’t slow. Wasn’t sweet. Not at first. He was hungry. Like he was trying to crawl inside you mouth-first. Like he wanted to own it—ruin it—before Butcher ever laid eyes on you again.
You slapped a hand over your mouth.
Ben noticed.
He growled, low and dark, the vibration bleeding into your thighs. “What the fuck d’you think you’re doin’?”
Your eyes fluttered open, hazy, wide.
“You tryna keep it to yourself, huh?” His voice was rough silk, taunting. His thumb dug into your hip hard enough to bruise. “You think he ain’t gonna hear you anyway? That it makes a difference?”
You whimpered behind your palm. Shook your head. Eyes wet.
He laughed. Wet against your cunt. “You’re so fuckin’ dumb when you’re like this. All pink and twitchy and quiet like you think I’ll be gentle if you behave.”
His tongue swept a slow, taunting stripe from your hole to your clit, and your entire body jolted.
And then his mouth was on you. Not soft. Not teasing. Devouring. Lips sealing around you, tongue lashing, nose pressed to where your body pulsed hot against his face. He grunted against you, shameless, filthy with it, groaning into you like he needed it to breathe. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, pushed them further apart, thumbs digging into soft flesh while he dragged his tongue in brutal, perfect rhythms that made your vision blur.
You moaned. High and sharp. “Please...”
Ben pulled back just long enough to sneer, mouth slick, chin soaked.
“That’s it,” he rasped. “Fuckin’ louder.”
You turned your face into the pillow. Bit down hard. He didn’t like that. Not one bit.
His fingers shot between your legs—two thick ones thrusting in deep, fast, curling right there while his mouth clamped back onto your clit like punishment.
You choked on your own gasp. The room spun.
“Think Butcher can’t hear this?” Ben muttered between licks, voice soaked in filth. “Think he ain’t sittin’ in that chair, drinkin’ his whiskey, knowin’ I’ve got my face buried in this fuckin’ pussy?”
You shook your head again. No, no, no. But he just chuckled. Pressed a kiss to your thigh.
“You ain’t his right now, baby,” he whispered. “You’re mine. And you better start fuckin’ actin’ like it.”
You gasped—high, ragged—as his fingers pumped faster, obscene and slick, knuckles battering that soft spot over and over while his tongue traced wicked circles that made your legs shake. You tried to close them.
He growled. Bit your inner thigh hard enough to make you yelp.
“Keep 'em open. You wanna be shy, go sleep in your own fuckin’ bed.”
You cried out then—honest, raw. And finally Ben grinned. His mouth never stopped.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “There she fuckin’ is.”
Your hands fisted the sheets. Your eyes rolled back. You were whimpering nonsense now, thighs twitching, body undone. It was too much. Too good. Too filthy. He was everywhere.
Ben’s voice dropped, velvet and venom. “You come loud for me, angel. Wanna make him jealous. Wanna make him burn.”
You keened. Repeated cracked pleases like a broken record. And then you broke.
The world splintered into wet heat and breathless gasps, and Ben groaned as you shattered—his fingers still moving, still stroking you through it, his mouth pressed to your thigh like he was proud.
You didn’t even feel the tears until his tongue dragged across one.
“Taste like surrender,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ sweet.”
And he wasn’t done yet.
Ben pulled back just enough to breathe—his mouth slick, his chin shining, the scent of you clinging to his skin like a benediction. His hands were still firm on your thighs, fingers branding bruises into the meat of them, but his eyes were darker now. Lazier. He looked at you like you were something finished. Not ruined. Perfected.
And then he raised his voice—sharp, rough, brash, breaking the heavy silence like a fist through still water.
“Oi! Butcher!”
Your whole body jolted. The sound of his voice, sudden and crude, cracked through the humid haze of sex like lightning. Your breath caught. Your fingers twitched in the sheets. And your eyes—half-lidded and glossy—snapped open in panic.
Ben didn’t look at you. Didn’t soothe. He just grinned, broad and bloody and smug, running a thumb across his lower lip where your slick still clung in threads of shine.
“What?” Butcher’s voice echoed from down the hall—gruff and irritated, boots creaking against the floor as he approached. “Christ, mate. What the fuck d’you want now?”
Ben leaned back on his heels, between your legs, one hand dragging slowly up your thigh until it rested just beneath the curve of your hip. He tilted his head and looked down at you, eyes gleaming.
“You better not try to go shy on me now,” he said, voice thick with mockery and delight. “Not when I’ve got your fuckin’ come all over my face.”
Heat scorched your skin. You turned your head into the mattress, teeth biting your bottom lip so hard it ached. But it didn’t matter. You were still spread out for him. Still glistening. Still twitching.
Ben laughed.
“Aww, c’mon now,” he cooed, cruel and lilting. “You were screamin’ five minutes ago. Sayin’ please like it was the only fuckin’ word you knew.”
The door opened. And Butcher stepped inside.
His eyes found you immediately—splayed and trembling on Ben’s bed, your thighs still parted, chest heaving, hoodie gone and your face half-buried in the sheets like you could pretend this wasn’t happening.
He raised an eyebrow.
Ben didn’t move. Just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at him.
“She’s so soft,” he said. “All clingy. You should feel her. She’s fuckin’ drippin’.”
Butcher exhaled through his nose. “She was supposed to be restin’.”
Ben scoffed. “Yeah? Well, she started it.”
You whimpered—quiet, mortified—and Ben’s head snapped back toward you, a devil’s grin slicing across his face.
“See that?” He said, gesturing to you with a jerk of his chin. “She loves it. Loves bein’ humiliated. All red-faced and twitchy and wet as fuck.”
Butcher’s jaw twitched. He looked you over again—slow, deliberate—and then crossed the room, hands in his pockets, the weight of him enormous. You couldn’t look at him. Not properly. Not when your legs were still open and your cunt still aching, not when Ben was licking his lips like he was proud of what he’d done.
Butcher came to a stop at the edge of the bed. Tilted his head.
“Well?” He asked, voice low. Measured. “What d’you want, love?”
Love. The petname sent a tremor through you. Your throat locked. Words wouldn’t come. You blinked up at him, lips parted, but nothing made it past the static in your head.
Butcher raised an eyebrow.
“Use your big girl voice.”
A shiver ran through you. You swallowed.
“I…” Your voice cracked. “I want… I want…”
Ben—who had moved behind you at some point—reached around and pinched your inner thigh. “Go on,” he coaxed, mouth twitching. “Say it.”
“I want you,” you whispered. “I want both of you.”
Something shifted. Butcher’s gaze darkened. Not surprised. Not smug. Just settled. Like a verdict handed down that he always knew was coming. He nodded once. Almost imperceptibly. Then glanced at Ben.
“What d’you want?”
Ben leaned back on his elbows, still grinning like the devil on Sunday. “I want her damn mouth,” he said, cocky and calm. “Wanna fuck her throat till she’s gaggin’ on it.”
Your breath hitched. A soft, helpless whimper slipped from your lips—and both men turned toward you like hounds scenting blood.
Ben’s smile widened. “You want it too, don’t you, baby?”
You nodded. Shaking. Barely breathing. “Yes.”
Butcher stepped closer. His hand came down slowly, brushing your ankle. Then up your calf. Up your thigh.
“You want me between your legs?”
Your nod was immediate. Emphatic.
“Yes. Please. Please, I—”
“That’s a good girl,” he said, voice lower now. “Told ya that you’d be begging soon enough.”
Ben sat up behind you, fingers dragging down the front of your body, knuckles grazing over your stomach, over your ribs, his mouth ghosting over your spine.
“You should’ve seen her, Butcher,” he said, voice dropping into something dangerously close to reverence. “You’d think we’d already ruined her for good the way she was squirming. Soaked for me. Still is.”
Butcher’s fingers slid higher. And you, beneath them both, didn’t dare move. Your body had become altar. And they were coming to worship.
Ben’s arm curled around your waist, dragging you back into the cradle of his body like you were made to fit there. Your thighs trembled where they straddled his lap, the inside of one still slick with the echo of everything he’d coaxed from you minutes earlier. Your breath was shallow, cheeks pink and damp, lips parted like they hadn’t remembered how to close. Butcher was standing in front of you—broad, immovable, the smell of him warm and sharp. His fingers were trailing up your thigh with the kind of calculated patience that made your skin burn.
“C’mon, baby,” Ben murmured behind you, patting your hip with a casual, possessive palm. “Turn around. Get those pretty lips around me.”
You blinked up at Butcher like you needed permission—even now, even after all this—and he didn’t say a word. Just raised one thick brow. That look said it all.
Do as you’re told.
Heat flared in your gut. You nodded—small, obedient—and pressed a kiss to Ben’s bare shoulder, worshipful and shaky. Then you began to shift. Your knees dug into the bed for leverage as you twisted around, one hand bracing against the mattress, the other curling lightly around Ben’s thigh as you started your descent.
Butcher didn’t stop you. He guided you—his hands settling firm on your hips, fingers spreading wide over the curve of you. And just as you ducked lower, mouth parting over Ben’s stomach, he pulled you back—slow and steady, lining himself up behind you like it was nothing more than routine.
Ben’s hand found your jaw. He cupped your face, coaxed you up just enough to kiss him—wet, messy, his tongue sliding deep before his lips barely left yours.
“Fuckin’ finally,” he whispered into your mouth. “Been lookin’ forward to this for months.”
Butcher pushed forward.
The thick head of him pressed against your entrance, dragging through the slick he’d already helped to create. You whined—helpless and soft—and Ben swallowed the sound like a reward. Your whole body tightened as Butcher breached you, slow but firm, one hand still clamped around your hip while the other braced on the small of your back.
“Christ,” Butcher groaned under his breath. “Feels better than I thought she would.”
Ben chuckled, low and smug, his thumb swiping at the corner of your spit-wet mouth. “Told you, didn’t I?” He said. “Said she would be tight. Said she would fuckin’ squeeze.”
You moaned, the noise muffled against Ben’s abdomen as your lips continued trailing downward—sloppy kisses, broken and hungry, dotting across the taut muscle of his stomach. You were shaking again, overwhelmed and overstimulated, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. Not with Butcher pushing deeper behind you, every inch forcing a gasp from your chest. Not with Ben watching you with blown pupils and parted lips, his cock hard and flushed, waiting for you like something inevitable.
They’d talked about this. Planned this.
And now you were in the middle of it. Split between them. Worshipped. Used.
You reached Ben’s cock with trembling hands, one wrapping around the base, the other bracing against his thigh. You kissed the tip first—soft, almost hesitant—then licked, long and slow, like you were tasting the moment itself. Butcher gave a sudden thrust from behind and you gasped—mouth slipping lower on Ben’s length just as your hips rocked back into the man behind you.
“Fuck,” Ben groaned, watching your mouth stretch around him. “That’s it. There’s my girl.”
Butcher began to move—deep, steady strokes, his hands anchoring your hips with bruising force. Every time he fucked forward, your mouth pushed lower on Ben, your throat fluttering, spit spilling past your lips. You started to moan—soft, rhythmic, each sound sending vibrations along Ben’s cock as your mouth grew more enthusiastic. Greedier.
“Look at her,” Ben said, voice hoarse, a hand threading through your hair. “Slobberin’ all over me while you ruin her from behind.”
“Don’t pretend she don’t fuckin’ love it,” Butcher growled, snapping his hips harder. “Little slut’s clenchin’ like she’s gonna come already.”
You were.
You could feel it—pressure blooming low in your belly, the obscene fullness from behind, the weight of Ben on your tongue, the warmth of his praise curling through your bloodstream like fire.
Ben was panting now, watching your lips bob along his cock. “We talked about this every fuckin’ night,” he muttered, his voice unraveling. “Told him how good you’d look like this. Cryin’. Mouth full. Cunt stretched.”
“Weren’t wrong,” Butcher bit out. “Weren’t fuckin’ wrong at all.”
And you? You moaned around Ben’s cock, eyes rolling, spit pooling at the corners of your lips. You were crying again—soft tears streaking down your flushed cheeks—and neither of them stopped you. Ben’s hand tightened in your hair. Butcher’s hips snapped harder.
You were theirs.
And you didn’t want it to end.
You knew Butcher felt it first—the way your body fluttered around him, muscles pulling tight like a bowstring as you started to unravel again. His pace shifted immediately, hips driving harder, faster, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips to yank you back onto him with each punishing thrust. You cried out, the sound stifled by the cock in your mouth, and your whole frame jerked forward with the force of it, shoving you deeper onto Ben.
You gagged hard, a wet, helpless sound muffled by the stretch of Ben’s cock down your throat. Instinct kicked in—you tried to lift your head, to pull back, to breathe—but Ben’s hand clamped down, fingers fisting in your hair, the other flattening against the back of your skull.
“Ah-ah,” he groaned, voice cracking into something dark and ragged. “Don’t go anywhere. Mouth’s too fuckin’ perfect, baby—stay right there.”
You whined, high and pathetic, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth, eyes blurring with tears. Butcher kept going, merciless, his thrusts now erratic as he chased the way you gripped him—tight and trembling, your slick coating his thighs. He looked down at where you were stretched around him, glistening and desperate, and laughed under his breath.
“She’s comin’ again,” he panted. “Tightenin’ up like a goddamn vice.”
Ben grinned through a grunt, hips twitching up into your mouth. “Fuck, I can feel it too. She fuckin’ shivers when she gets close. Throat goes all fluttery, just like her cunt.”
You moaned around him, incoherent and lost, your fingers scrabbling uselessly at Ben’s hips. The heat in your belly was molten now, spreading like wildfire—fuelled by their voices, their laughter, the unbearable stretch and fullness of both of them taking from you, drowning you.
“Look at her,” Butcher muttered, breathless. “Can’t get enough of it. Can she even fuckin’ hear us?”
Ben’s hand slid around to cup your cheek, thumb wiping away the tear that had spilled down your flushed face. “She’s gone, man,” he said, almost awe-struck. “Blissed the fuck out. That’s it, baby. Just melt. Let us use you.”
You were too far gone to argue. Too far gone to speak. You could only nod, lips wrapped tight around Ben’s cock, tears soaking your lashes, your body trembling from the inside out.
And then—
“Should we?” Butcher asked, voice low, something in it you couldn’t decipher.
Ben barked out a breathless laugh. “Fuck it. Do it.”
“I dunno if she’s ready for that,” Butcher muttered, shifting his grip on your hips.
Ben grinned, eyes wild. “She’ll be ready when it happens.”
You barely had time to process the words before you felt it—Butcher’s thumb, slick and hot, pressing against the tight ring of muscle behind you. You gasped around Ben, the sound shattered and high, your whole body convulsing as the intrusion broke something open inside you. Your eyes flew wide. Your knees buckled. Your cunt clenched around Butcher like a vice.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he hissed. “She just got even tighter.”
Ben let out a laugh that cracked like thunder. “Jesus Christ—she’s fuckin’ airtight. No holes empty. You feel that, baby?” His voice was a croon now, mocking and sweet. “You got both of us now. Every part of you used.”
And still—it wasn’t enough. You were pulsing, shaking, your orgasm ripping through you like lightning again. Your mouth stayed wrapped around Ben, throat fluttering as you sobbed on his cock, and still he didn’t let you go.
His hips stuttered. His breathing broke.
“Fuck,” he gasped. “Fuck—‘m close. You want it, baby?” His hand slid to your hip, patting once. “One tap for yes. Two for no. You want me to come in that pretty mouth?”
You didn’t hesitate. You smacked his hip once—hard.
Ben groaned, deep and wrecked. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he growled.
Both hands cradled your jaw now, holding you steady, gentle but firm, like he was grounding himself with you as much as the other way around. You stayed exactly where he wanted you—wrecked and ruined and his. The burn behind you, the stretch below, the weight in your mouth—it all blurred together into one searing, perfect moment.
And then Ben’s hips jerked. His breath hitched. His hands tightened. And as he came, you swallowed it down.
Butcher was groaning now, close behind you, his grip bruising at your hips as he snapped into you one last time and stilled—buried deep with a rough, shuddering exhale.
“Fuuuckin’ hell,” he rasped, voice frayed and low. “Tightest little cunt I ever—fuck.”
He pulled out with a wet drag, and your body collapsed forward in its absence, boneless and trembling. Before you could so much as breathe, you felt the sudden heat of him spill across your ass, the hot, sticky pulse of his release painting your skin.
A second passed. Then two. And then his palm landed gently against your backside in a quiet, grounding tap.
“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Took it all.”
Ben was already reaching for you. His hands—still strong but softer now—slid beneath your arms and dragged you up the length of his body, tucking you against his chest like he was winding down from a high he hadn’t fully come down from yet. You collapsed into him, breath ragged, face flushed, skin glazed in sweat and spit and cum and praise.
“C’mere,” he murmured, voice low and slow, the smugness melted down to something thick and heavy with heat. He pressed a kiss to your hair. “No more tonight. You’re done, baby. We’re gonna sleep now.”
You could barely nod. Your cheek found the damp curve of his collarbone, and the scent of him—smoke, sweat, and sex—wrapped around you like a blanket. His hands stroked down your spine, long and lazy. Possessive.
Butcher exhaled behind you, loud and satisfied.
“Gonna hit the shower, mate,” he said, voice still rough. You heard the rustle of fabric, the creak of the floorboards. Then: “You did real good tonight, love. Real good.”
The door opened. Then closed. And then there was silence. Only Ben’s breath. The heavy thrum of his heart against your ear. The lull of his fingers in your hair, slow and unhurried now, like he had all the time in the world to soothe you back down to earth.
You blinked—once. Twice. Your lashes fluttered shut. And with your body aching, your skin still flushed and marked and leaking, you let yourself sink into him completely.
Owned. Exhausted. Safe.
Sleep found you before you could name the feeling in your chest. But it felt a lot like belonging.
When you woke, it was slow, as if surfacing from amber. Limbs heavy. Head warm. Your cheek stuck to the pillow, soft and damp with sweat. The room held its quiet like a cathedral, golden light spilling through the crack in the curtain like something sacred. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, and the sheets still smelled like him—tobacco, sweat, and salt, sex woven into the cotton like thread. The warmth hadn’t faded from the mattress yet, and the air still carried the ghost of laughter, of low voices, of praise said against your skin like prayer.
But you were alone.
There was no weight behind you. No rough fingers trailing your spine. No distant rustle of Butcher pacing in the other room. No presence at all. Only the hush.
It should’ve frightened you.
Instead, it made something inside your chest bloom. Tentative. Delicate. You sat up slowly, Ben’s hoodie slipping down one bare shoulder, your thighs aching with phantom pressure, a sweetness still curled deep inside your muscles from the night before. You reached for the crumpled piece of paper on the stool beside the bed, breath catching at the sight of handwriting—scrawled, sharp, unmistakably his.
Emergency. Had shit to do. Butcher’s with me. Stay in the room.Back soon, baby.Don’t open the fucking door for anyone.—B
No lock on the door. No cuffs. No restraints.
And for the first time since that first long night, when Ben had dragged you into the warehouse with hands like iron and Butcher had closed the door behind you with that wicked little smirk—you were unsupervised.
They had left you in Ben’s bed. Still marked. Still swollen and sore and humming with what they’d done to you.
But free.
And it didn’t feel like a mistake.
Your fingers trembled as they brushed the edge of the note again. Something hollow twisted in your belly, but it wasn’t fear. Not anymore. It was… reverence. Wonder. You rose on shaky legs, standing barefoot on the cool concrete floor. You could feel the bruises—along your hips, across your throat, between your thighs—and you wore them like a second skin.
They trusted you. That meant something. That meant everything.
You walked to the door. Not to open it. Just to look. The handle gleamed dully in the golden light. You rested your palm against the wood. Pressed your forehead there.
I thought I was their prisoner.
And maybe you had been. At first. But last night had rewritten everything. The way they touched you, the way they spoke to you. The way Butcher had called you good girl like it meant something deep and bone-heavy. The way Ben had kissed your jaw with shaking hands. The way they’d stayed—one at your throat, the other at your hips—until you couldn’t tell where they ended and you began.
You were theirs. But more than that—you were kept. Protected. Possessed. And somewhere deep in that sun-drenched ache, you began to believe they were yours, too.
And then—
The world ended.
The first slam was distant. Muffled. Like a warehouse door blown open at the hinges. You flinched. A hollow clang echoed a heartbeat later. Then another. Closer this time. Then closer again.
Boom.Boom.Boom.
Boots thundered across metal grates. Voices rose, sharp and clipped. Orders. Screamed names. The sound of battering rams splitting doors. Glass breaking. Furniture splintering.
Someone was inside.
Panic rose like bile. Your whole body locked up, breath freezing in your lungs. You looked around wildly, searching—anywhere, anywhere—for somewhere to hide. But there was nothing. No closet. No crawlspace. No hidden door. Only the bed. The dresser. The stool where Ben’s note sat. You grabbed it without thinking.
The floor shook with footsteps. Your hands went cold.
And then the door burst inward. Splinters flew. Wood cracked like bone. You screamed—raw, instinctive, a high, choked sound that echoed against the walls. They flooded the room in black—masks, gear, rifles raised. Stark white emblems caught the light and burned into your vision: Vought. Tactical Unit. No warning. No mercy. Just the command, barked through static:
“Target acquired.”
You backed away, stumbling, barefoot and shaking. But there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The bed was behind you. The wall. You were cornered.
And they came for you like wolves.
Hands seized your arms, your shoulders, your waist. You kicked. Bit. Thrashed like something feral. One of them cursed as your elbow cracked into his jaw. Another grunted when your nails caught his throat. You screamed their names—Ben, Butcher, Ben—until your voice tore. But they didn’t come.
“Get off me! Don’t touch me—don’t touch me—BEN—!”
“Sedate her,” a voice snapped. Low. Unbothered. Cold as stone. “Stan Edgar wants her alive.”
You felt the prick. A sting at the side of your neck. Then fire. Then ice. Your body seized once. Twice. And then started to fold.
The fight drained out of you in a breath. Your limbs stopped answering. The men holding you adjusted their grip as your weight slumped forward. You could barely keep your eyes open. The ceiling rippled. The room swayed. Your voice broke down to nothing.
They’re going to think I ran.
That thought broke something inside you. You whimpered. Soft. Childlike. The last sound you made before your lips stopped working. Ben’s hoodie still clung to your frame.
And then everything went dark.
The world returned in stages.
Not gently—not like waking from a dream with sunlight on your face. No. This was different. This was hollow.
It began with the sensation of pressure—your own body, heavy and still, limbs splayed over an unfamiliar surface. The smell was sharp, sterile, a chemical kind of clean that clung to the inside of your nose. Then came the sound—or rather, the absence of it. No low hum of traffic. No distant clatter of pipes or the echo of footsteps across concrete or hiss of the radiator. Just silence. Absolute. Smothering. As if the world itself was holding its breath.
Your eyes cracked open to a ceiling so white it burned. Not eggshell or cream—but true, clinical white. The kind of white that doesn’t belong to anything living. The kind that swallows shadows whole.
You sat up slowly. Your muscles ached. Your vision blurred. You blinked hard and tried to orient yourself—only to find that the room around you had no corners. Every edge was padded, seamless, like something designed not to be escaped from but endured. The walls pressed in like a lung, soundless and unmoving. A single camera blinked red from high above the door, nestled into the panelling like an unblinking eye.
Your heart started to race.
This wasn’t Ben’s bed. This wasn’t the warehouse. Butcher was not here.
You were alone.
And then—it hit you.
Like a tidal wave cresting too fast to duck under, the memories slammed into you all at once. The sliver of dawn light through the curtains. The note—his handwriting jagged, rushed, still stained with the grease of his fingerprints.
The softest command.
And then—doors slamming. Voices. Boots. Hands on your arms, your legs. “Target acquired.” You had screamed. Bit. Kicked. The sting of a needle. The world tilting sideways into black.
“No,” you whispered now, hands curling into fists in your lap. “No—no—no—”
You stood on trembling legs, the thin fabric of the medical gown whispering against your skin as you staggered toward the door. It was flush with the wall, only visible by the faint outline of its frame and a silver panel to the side. You pounded your fists against it—hard, frantic, wild.
“LET ME OUT—BEN—BUTCHER—PLEASE—I DIDN’T LEAVE—I DIDN’T LEAVE—!”
The silence didn’t break. It shattered. A siren exploded overhead, high and sharp, a shriek of feedback that sliced through your eardrums like glass. You screamed and dropped instantly, clutching your head, nails clawing against your scalp as you curled in on yourself. The floor wasn’t soft. The padding gave a little, but not enough. You felt the slam of your knees. The pounding of your skull. The taste of blood on your tongue as your teeth bit into it.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the noise stopped.
Silence fell again—but not the same kind as before. This one buzzed. It waited. It watched.
And then the door slid open.
They stood like shadows against the blinding hallway light—two silhouettes carved from order and menace. Victoria entered first, her figure slim, her blazer crisp, her heels clicking with calculated softness. Her eyes were gentle. But it was the kind of gentleness you might use with a rabid dog—cautious. Cold beneath the surface.
Stan Edgar followed. Immaculate. Detached. His hands were folded behind his back, shoulders relaxed, like this was just another Tuesday.
You backed up without thinking, breath coming fast, ribs straining against your lungs.
“Where are they,” you hissed. “Where the fuck are they—”
Victoria lifted her hands in that infuriatingly calm way of hers. “You're safe now,” she said. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
Your head jerked in disbelief. “Safe? You don’t know a fucking thing about me. Where’s Ben? Where’s Butcher?”
“They’re gone,” she said gently.
“They didn’t fucking go anywhere,” you snapped. “You took me.”
Stan stepped forward.
“You’ve been the victim of a kidnapping,” he said, voice even and low, every syllable carved with professional finality. “Held in a warehouse by two of Vought’s most wanted fugitives—William Butcher and Soldier Boy. You were found restrained, drugged, and in the company of armed criminals.”
Your hands trembled.
“That’s not—” your voice broke. “That’s not what happened. I wasn’t—they didn’t—”
“You were scheduled to meet Sage, A-Train, and The Deep,” he continued, eyes narrowing slightly. “You told them you had intel on The Boys. Do you remember that?”
“I was bluffing,” you spat. “Sage was blackmailing me. I didn’t have anything—”
Stan blinked once. No reaction. No shift in tone.
“So you admit you had contact with Sage.”
You froze.
He smiled—barely. “Good. That’s a start.”
“I didn’t betray them—” you whispered.
Victoria tilted her head. “We’re not saying you did. You’re obviously not thinking clearly. You’ve been through a lot. You're confused.”
“I’m not confused.”
“You think you love them.”
“I do—”
“That’s trauma talking.”
“It’s not.”
Victoria’s voice softened even more. “Sweetheart, they kidnapped you. They used you. You’re not the first. Ben is—he’s unstable. And Butcher? He’s a war criminal. You don’t need them. You need help.”
You laughed. It was high and unhinged and wet with rage.
“I don’t need help,” you whispered. “I need them. You don’t get it. You don’t know a single fucking thing—”
Victoria’s shoulders squared slightly.
“I really don’t want to hurt you,” she said. “But I will pop your fucking skull if you keep talking like that.”
And just like that—you broke. Not loudly. Not with screaming or violence. Not like when they took you. You folded. Your legs gave, and you sank to the floor like something wilted. Your arms wrapped tight around yourself, your cheek pressed to the cold padded wall. Your eyes didn’t close. They stared through them. Through her. Through Stan. Through the fucking fluorescent light humming overhead.
Their voices began to muffle—slow and low and distant, like you were underwater. Like they were in a room far away. It didn’t matter anymore. They could say whatever they wanted. They could call it trauma. They could call it brainwashing. They could call it a syndrome.
But they were wrong.
You didn’t have Stockholm syndrome.
You had devotion. You had a collar of trust and filth and ownership wrapped tight around your throat and you wore it like a wedding ring. You had Ben’s hoodie somewhere back in that warehouse, still damp with your sweat. You had Butcher’s voice in your bones. You had their hands in your memories, on your skin, under your skin.
You weren’t their prisoner. You were theirs. And they were yours.
And when they came back for you—because they would—the whole world would pay for what it just did to you.
author note/s: and y'all know the drill. gimme your thoughts and feelings, please!!!
anyways... not much to say after this. the next instalment will be the last one... i know, i'm sad about it too. but if y'all like me doing dark stuff, i'm happy to do it more often hehehe. i feel like i write grittier, darker stuff anyway, so... going darker is so much fun. i love making myself uncomfy when i write things.
all the love!!!!
─ summary ⋆˙⟡ every friday, you and Ben indulge in movie night at your house. you’re taken aback when he admits to never having seen a Barbie movie, causing you to expose him to his first one.
─ warnings ⋆˙⟡ afab reader, established relationship, use of a pet name (no spoilers btw!)
─ word count ⋆˙⟡ 450+
─ author’s note: ⋆˙⟡ hiihii! this is a bit of a random plot, but it came to mind and i couldn’t resist writing it. i freaking love the boys and am also loving season 5 so far, so here’s a short (but hopefully enjoyable) fic in honor of the show being back! thank you so much to all of you for reading, i promise to be more consistent 💜
“Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve never seen a Barbie movie before?” You asked your boyfriend, Ben, who sat next to you with a confused look.
“No. Don’t see why it’s such a big deal anyway,” he responded. Every Friday night, you and Ben tried—despite your conflicting schedules—to have movie night. The two of you took turns choosing the films you’d watch, most of his choices being action, but you never considered that Ben hadn’t seen a lot of the movies that were fundamental to your upbringing. It sounded silly, but Barbie was one of them. She taught you that it was possible to be anything and throughout your childhood, you consumed any type of Barbie media that you could get your hands on.
“Uhm, it’s a huge deal! We’re watching one right now.” You go to the search bar and start to type, a groan emitting from the man beside you.
“Isn’t this for little kids? There’s no way we’re wasting this week’s movie night on this.” You ignored his complaints, scanning through the list of movies that showed up on the tv. After careful consideration, your eyes land on Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper and you click the play button with a smile.
“Trust me, you’re going to enjoy this more than you think,” you tell him, snuggling into his chest.
When you’re about fifteen minutes into the movie, you realize how quiet Ben’s been. You assume he’s fallen asleep but you sit up when he chuckles at a joke made in the movie. “No way, did you just laugh?”
He shakes his head, reverting his face back to a neutral one. “No. I chuckled because this is ridiculous.”
You nod in amusement, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. “Uh huh, sure…”
When a joke is made once again, you feel the vibration from Ben chuckling against your back. He tries his best to suppress it, but you can tell that a part of him is slightly enjoying this. “Don’t even try to deny it this time! There’s no way you aren’t having a teensy bit of fun!” When you turn to look at him, his smile remains.
“Alright, doll, alright. This is somewhat entertaining. Happy now?” You smile back at him and place a kiss on his lips.
“Yes, very happy,” you admit in an upbeat tone. Ben playfully rolls his eyes and looks back at the movie, prompting you to do the same. As you settle back into your position against his chest, he wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your forehead, the hairs of his beard leaving you with a small, tickled sensation.
pairing; soldier boy x wife!reader word count; 0.6k (•˕ •マ
summary; this isn't what ben meant when he said he likes a face full of fur.
tags/warnings; fluffy fluff, language, established relationship (married), mom!reader, dad!ben, silly shenanigans, mild season five spoilers (if u know u know :p)
✮.ᐟ notes; back with more domestic fluff <3 just a silly little drabble :) once again in the same universe as holly jolly headache and repose, but can be read as a standalone ⋆˙⟡
ben masterlist ᝰ. main masterlist
This isn't what Ben expected to come home to.
After a long day at work surrounded by a bunch of annoying fiddledicks, away from his girls, all he wanted was to come home and relax with the only people he cares about.
It's kind of hard to do when there's a little ball of fluff chasing his two year old around the house.
She's squealing in excitement, running around the recliner as fast as her little legs take her, only brightening at the sight of her dad in the doorway, "dada look!"
He glances up to meet your sheepish gaze, then goes to scoop up his baby. There's a tiny meow at his feet seconds later, the furry feline wondering where her new friend went. You come closer to scoop the little furball into your own arms, standing right in front of them.
Your baby girl points at her from his hold, "banana!"
His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you smile softly at his expression. "This sweet little gal found us at the park today, was very interested in Maggie's banana."
"She knows it's a cat, right?"
You roll your eyes playfully, "It's what she decided to call her."
"You're saying that like we're keeping it." He retorts and your face falls, as does Mags'. She doesn't fully understand, but she can sense his tone isn't as happy as her and her mama's.
"no banana?" She looks up at him, eyes unfairly wide and pleading.
Some might say he'd gone soft, to which he'd then punch them for saying it. But they wouldn't be completely wrong.
It's how he ends up waking up the next morning to a cat curled up against his face.
The fluff tickles his nose, and his grumbling wakes you up from beside him. You take in the sight and start laughing sleepily as Banana darts from her place on his pillow at all the commotion, probably heading back to wherever she wandered in from (your door stays open).
He watches you in amusement, barely annoyed anymore. "What's so damn funny?"
He pulls you in closer, pecking your cheek softly once, twice, a third time as you calm down.
"Wellll didn't you once say what's the point if you're not gonna get a fat face full of fur?" You're barley able to get it out before dissolving into another fit of tired giggles and he smiles at the sight.
"Oh you think you're funny?"
"Hilarious actually."
"That's not the type of pussy I was talking about."
You want to come back with another smart remark but the way he says it has you laughing harder despite your lingering fatigue.
You lay in bed for just a little bit longer, laughing and talking and not talking, before getting up to check on Maggie and get ready for the day.
Ben catches you leaned against the doorway of her room after he's out of the bathroom, staring into it fondly. He walks up next to you to see what all the fuss is about.
The kitten lays next to your daughter in the crib, curled up to her side. One of her small hands rests gently atop the soft fur. They look adorable, even he has to admit (not out loud).
"Are we really naming the damn thing Banana? It's a fucking cat."
"I mean she does respond to it, and it's not so bad. We'll see if Maggie changes her mind, hm?" You melt into his side as he brings his arm around you.
"You're ridiculous."
"Yeah but you love me anyway."
His responding kiss tells you all you need to know. Of course I do.
ben masterlist ᝰ. main masterlist
✮.ᐟ end notes; something about a big strong man with a cat will soften me up every time idk <3
cw : smut, dad’s best friend mark, age gap 20s and 40s, hurt / comfort ish, usage of honey, sweetheart, fingering, praise
wc : 1065
You wake up, the dark curtains giving the bedroom an orange hue, and you reach for Mark, but your arm lands flat on the cold mattress. You furrow your eyebrows, quietly groaning as you rub your eyes. You know he automatically wakes up around 6, or earlier, every morning even if he doesn’t have to go to work. You remember him saying he’d be picking up some of your stuff, even though the memories from last night are still blurred. With a stretch of your legs, you sit up and walk to the bathroom, and a few minutes later you make your way to the kitchen, looking for something to eat. You open the fridge, grab a gallon of milk, take a whiff, “thank god,” you mumble, and grab some cereal he bought just for you.
You look at the clock above the kitchen door, 7:30am, and you can’t help but wonder why Mark isn’t back yet. You finish washing your bowl and decide to make your way into the living room, turning on the so you have something to do, since you brought nothing but your phone when you came over last night. The door opens soon after, you look up and see Mark holding two of your duffel bags, it doesn’t take long for him to spot you. He sets the bags on the couch, “you up early,” he comments, you nod, turning the tv off. “Got some of your stuff, I didn’t know what..” his voice trails off, unsure. You smile at him, “you were kind enough to go all the way there for me,” you say quietly, scared to ask what your father said about you.
“He’ll get over it,” he reassures, but you just tilt your head to the side, knowing there’s more. “He’s pissed but he’ll get over it, I made sure of that, he won’t treat you like that again,” he adds, you know he’s telling the truth. Mark takes a seat next to you on the couch when he notices you are already overthinking, his hand squeezes your knee. “There’s not a thing you have to worry about as long as I’m here,” he pulls you into a hug, a hand behind your head, holding you close, and you just melt into the embrace.
He hears you sniffling, trying to hide the fact that you’re crying, so he pulls you onto his lap, cupping your cheeks, both thumbs wiping your tears away. “You’re not forced to see him if you don’t want to,” he keeps his voice quiet, knowing these words are already scary enough for you, “I know you want it to work but all he does is make you sad,” he says with a kiss on your forehead, and you just sob into his shoulder. “I know honey, I know,” he says, rubbing your back, rocking you slightly to calm you down. “What a dick,” he mutters, picking you up with ease and carrying you upstairs, he sets you on the bed, joining you so you can cuddle up into his arms.
“There you go,” he says, rubbing your back. You look up at him, eyes puffy, “Mark,” you murmur, and he can feel your voice shifting, so he looks at you. “Can you help me feel better?” you ask, “what do you want me to do?” he asks in return, and you sniffle again, now looking at his lips, “I just need to feel better.”
“Do you want to feel better, or do you want me to make you feel good so you can forget?” he asks, voice dropping, his hand squeezing your waist. “Both,” you say. He kisses you gently, not wanting to overwhelm you, his hand supports the back of your neck, playing with your hair.
You hold onto Mark’s shirt as if he’s going to slip away, and you deepen the kiss, he takes your hands, gently rolling you so you’re on your back, hands above your head as he teasingly slows the movement of his lips. Before you whine or complain, his free hand moves down, slipping under the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers tracing your lace covered slit, “let me take care of you, let yourself relax just once,” you nod and let out a quiet moan. He pushes your panties aside, teasing your entrance with just the tip of his finger, kissing your shoulder, “doing such a great job sweetheart.”
He fingers you slowly, adding a second finger, coaxing soft moans out of your throat, the pace of his digits quickens, curling them to reach a spot that makes your stomach clench. “you’re gonna be trouble,” he murmurs, pumping his fingers in deliberate thrusts, dragging wet sounds from between your thighs.
Mark’s free hand finds its way behind your neck, pulling you in for a kiss so you can moan into his mouth. He tugs on your lip when he feels your walls clenching around him, he adds a third finger, swallowing your gasp with another kiss, “you take me so well honey,” he praises, voice sugar soft, like he’s worshipping you. His hand fists in your hair, this time to pull your head back just enough to look at your face scrunching up in pleasure, lips parted, whines coming out of your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“Tell me how it feels,” he murmurs into your ear, curling his fingers just to prove a point, “Good, so good, I’m ah- I’m close,” you whine out, he doesn’t even let you finish talking, he speeds up, thumb roughly circling around your clit to push you over the edge faster as he gives your shoulder a bite. “Mark-“ you sob out, your hand wrapping around his wrist for stability as you cum, “let me feel it, yeah that’s it,” Mark praises, helping you ride out your orgasm, fingers slowing down as he places a few soft kisses up your neck before pulling his fingers away, he holds them up to your lips, but when you part them, he moves his hand to his own mouth, licking them clean instead, “you know I’m a selfish bastard,” he says with a grin, humming, “sweet just like the rest of you,” he muses, kissing your forehead. “Go back to bed, I’m here,” he murmurs, laying down so you can snuggle into his chest, feeling safer than ever.
soldier boy loves reverse cowgirl. it's so obvious now that we've seen what we've seen (aka just fucking lying there). he gets the perfect fucking view and you get to just ride him.
he gets to just lie there against the pillows like a fucking king, arms crossed behind his head and just take it. he loves watching your cunt stretch open around his cock as you sink down onto him, groaning low in his throat when your walls cling to him on the upstroke, eyes glued on your pussy lips parting around him.
“fuck baby. best fuckin’ view in the whole house. whole world.” he murmurs, voice thick, “wish you could see how your pretty little pussy’s clinging onto me.”
when you start moving, rolling your hips, grinding down onto him his lips twitch with satisfaction, watching the way you ass bounces as it slaps against his pelvis.
oh, and then there’s the mirror at the foot of the bed.
the perfect view of your tits bouncing, your parted lips, glassy eyes. tongue wetting your lower lip as your fingers find your clit.
when you finally teach him how to use a phone he started filming it without shame - the view too perfect to waste. the camera catches every jiggle and bounce, every flutter of your glistening cunt around him.
he aims the camera over your shoulder at the mirror, “smile doll.” he teases, and you do - throwing in a little wave for good measure. he angles the camera lower again, but his eyes stay on your reflection in the mirror; spitting on his thumb and pressing it against your asshole, pushing inside slowly just to watch your mouth drop into a little surprised ‘o’.
“that’s my perfect girl… keep ridin’. put on a fuckin’ show for me.”
warnings: ben’s one of those abusive doms, watersports/piss kink (reader drinks his pee), fauxcest (dad/daughter). otherwise no p in v smut sorry folks
note: i wanted to fit smut but i just think that this was enough. lets all drink his pee right now! wait who said that idk must’ve been the wind lol haha
wc: 1.4k
Bad habits die hard or whatever they say.
You had many, many bad habits. Way too many for a woman in her late twenties. There were no excuses, and it wasn’t like you had any kind of mental health issues that would cause you to be like that. You were born this way. (Queue Lady Gaga.)
It was a recurring thing in your many, many relationships that you just.. god, you just never listened. Never. It was stupid, it was arrogant, and it was annoying. Among other shit you liked to pull, it was at the top of the list for reasons people broke up with you. You hadn’t changed one bit. Even now it shows.
Your jaw was slack with focus, brows furrowed as you painted your toe nails like you were some girl in a teenage coming of age chick-flick.
Ben had been going on and on and on about something you didn’t care about. Whenever he spoke it was usually something stupid and old-timey you didn’t care for regardless, so you’d learned to tune it out anyway. His voice was almost always loud and domineering, so it was impossible to fully ignore it, but you did your best.
Something something beer.. something something you keep drinking all his good whiskey.. something something. Yeah, for sure.
“Hey. Hey!”
“Ow, what the fuck?!”
You squealed and perked up immediately, nail polish smudging all over your toe from the sheer force of him hitting the back of your head.
That’s what you get for not paying attention.
“Hell’s wrong with you?!”
Ben gripped the back of your neck through your hair, strands tangling in his grip as he tilted your head up. “Were you even listening?? Tell me one thing I just told your stupid ass. One.” You pursed your lips, face still scrunched in irritation. “Fucking women. Ditzy little shit, aren’t you.”
You huffed and barely turned your head. “Okay then tell me! You’ve got my attention now, asshole. Ruined my fucking nails.” He scoffed. “Your nails? I pay for you to get them done, without daddy’s money you’d look like a damn crack whore.” You just rolled your eyes and grumbled under your breath when he let you go.
“You’ve been drinking all my fucking liquor.”
“Yeah.”
You went back to fixing your nails with him towering over you like a statue.
“‘Yeah’? That’s all you have to say?”
A snort left you, amused as ever from his irritation. “Yeah. You can buy more, can’t you? Daddy’s money?” You wiped a cotton ball on your skin, removing the dark green nail polish that’d been strewn from Ben’s brute force earlier. It was a small bit of homage to him, really. Never got your nails painted any other colors except green, cream, and red. “Watch that fucking mouth. I’ll slap the smartness right out of you, you know I will.”
Turning your head up at him, you gave a meek smile. “No you won’t. It’s not even that serious. Y’know, if I was you, I’d use my money and buy a lock for the liquor case. Something strong and permanent—“
Your face was stinging.
Bad.
Really, really bad.
It felt like someone took a frying pan to your face.
You were practically shocked into silence, eyes wide and lip wobbly as you whipped your head to look at him. “Y-You.. you! What the fuck’s wrong with you?!” His hand grabbed at your face, squishing your cheeks together and silencing you entirely. You were kind of giving pufferfish.
“I told you to stop with the smart shit, didn’t I?” He snarled. “Was trying to be nice and give you a warning but you’re fucking mental and half deaf.”
You whined and clawed at his hand, pushing away the nail polish that sat on the footrest you’d been using as a pedicure station. He didn’t let up, just pulled you up off the couch in an uncomfortable position. If it didn’t hurt so bad (and if you weren’t so scared) you would’ve started hitting him or screaming at him, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to. That slap had mellowed you out entirely.
“Y’gonna behave now?” Ben forced your head up to look at him. You nodded quietly. “Words. You’re not mute like that asian chick Butcher hangs around. Speak.” You frowned and pursed your lips, trying to stop them from wobbling. “I-I’m gonna behave.” He pat your cheek aggressively as if you were a dog and he was trying to get something out of your mouth. “Yeah? Better mean that shit.”
He pulled himself off of you, sending you stumbling for balance with a deep frown of embarrassment on your features. That made him smile. Any form of your displeasure made him smile, actually. From messing with your hair after you did it to face fucking you 10 minutes before you had to go out with friends. Nothing was off the table.
He let you sink back onto the couch with this defeated look on your face. You weren’t even looking at him. Not even going back to your nail polish, not even moving. He liked you best like this. Sometimes you just needed a push in the right direction. But don’t worry, dad’s always here to help.
“Y’know, I never wanna hit my baby.” He purred, sitting on the footrest in front of you. He was mocking you by shrinking himself down to your level. You didn’t look at him then either. “God. Can’t believe you’re fucking pouting now. Where’s all your attitude from before? Daddy smacked it all out of you? What do I do so wrong to get a senseless whore for a daughter? Can you tell me that?”
You shook your head, biting your bottom lip. He pat your thigh, squeezing and rubbing his hand all the way up until it was at your crotch line.
“So how’re you gonna make it up to me?” He pinched at your skin to get a reaction, which was fulfilled immediately. “Tell me. How’s dad’s stupid, useless, money hungry whore going to make it up to him for being such a brat?” A soft whine left your lips as you looked up to him. You could only shrug and shake your head like an idiot.
“Should dad pick?”
With your hands tightening on your lap, you nodded. You knew he was going to just choose something himself regardless. It was a fight you were destined to lose. Ben smiled and raised a hand, which you squeezed your eyes shut at.
“Christ on a cross, m’not gonna hit you. Already hit you once. Dad’s gonna give you something better.”
That something better wasn’t actually much better.
You were on your knees for him now, looking up at him with your mouth wide open—expectant, waiting—for him to give you it. Oh, we all know what it is.
Ben’s gently stroking his cock in front of you, legs spread and knees slightly bent to get a good shot. He’s all hard and dripping precum from his stimulation. “Ready? Say, ‘yes, daddy, I’m ready’.”
You swallowed a nervous wad of saliva, voice a little shaky and nervous. “Y-Yes, yes daddy. I’m ready. Please give it to me.” You repeated sweetly, perching yourself up for him. With those magic words, he let out a relieved groan as a jet stream of warm, beer-yellow piss came out of him. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to drink as much as you could without it spilling all over your shirt. It wasn’t working.
“Open your eyes. Look at me.” He beckoned. When you did, you stared up at him with this nervous glint in your eyes. He was totally opposite.
He looked so.. relieved. Calm. Like he was at a spa getting a massage or something, not stroking away into your mouth.
“Almost done, just keep fucking drinking. Doing so good for dad.” He praised lightly. True to his word, after a few more forced squirts onto your face he was finished.
You coughed once you swallowed the last bit, an uncomfortable, bitter taste in your mouth. Your stomach was aching with a dull fullness from how much you drank. Horrible feeling, really. You hacked mucus from your throat and coughed lightly. “Ugh.”
His hand reached for your head, gently petting you and nudging your face closer to his cock. It was softening up some, and you reluctantly gave his pelvis a few affectionate kisses for good measure. Showing your gratitude.
“I’m sorry, dad. Promise I’ll be good.” You murmured softly, tilting your head up to look at him wearily. Ben could only smile at that.
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