~♡ꜝꜞ ❝ 𝓖roupie behaviour ❞ ────── · · Soldier Boy x fem ! reader x Mr. Marathon
a / n : HERE WE GOOOOO
character/s featured. soldier boy .ᐟ mr marathon .ᐟ homelander .ᐟ rating: smut .ᐟ
🏷 ,, ( @7emcel , @nepeta985 )
requesting rules. masterlist.
The mansion loomed against the overcast sky like a monument to faded glory, its marble columns and wrought-iron gates speaking of wealth that had long since stopped trying to impress anyone but itself. You'd seen a thousand places like this over the decades—testaments to the kind of money that came from being a supe in the golden age, before Vought started churning out heroes like they were action figures on an assembly line.
You lingered in the back of the black SUV for a moment longer than necessary, watching through the tinted window as Homelander's cape billowed in the artificial breeze he'd conjured for dramatic effect. Some things never changed. The man couldn't walk through a door without turning it into a production.
Soldier Boy had already climbed out, his boots heavy on the gravel, that familiar swagger in his shoulders that had made him the poster boy for American exceptionalism for nearly four decades. He'd glanced back once, a questioning tilt to his brow, and you'd waved him off with a lazy flick of your fingers.
Give me a minute.
He'd rolled his eyes but continued on, falling into step beside Homelander as they approached the mansion's grand entrance. You could hear the exchange even from here: Homelander's clipped impatience, Soldier Boy's gravelly amusement, and then the door swinging open to reveal the trembling figure of Mr. Marathon himself.
You'd seen his face before. Of course you had. The man was practically a Vought poster child for the new generation of supes. All shiny smiles and earnest enthusiasm. He was handsome in that has-been kind of way that had sold merchandise to teenage girls and lonely housewives, with the kind of boy-next-door charm that made him palatable for daytime television appearances.
But you'd also seen the other side of him. The side that had plastered his bedroom walls with posters of Soldier Boy. The side that had written fan letters so embarrassingly adoring, to both you and certain soldier, that they'd made your cheeks heat when you'd stumbled across them in years ago.
You'd always known, on some level, that you were a fantasy. That was the job, really. To be beautiful, to be unattainable, to be the thing men whispered about in the dark when they were alone with their hands and their thoughts. You'd made peace with it years ago, had even started to enjoy it—the power of it, the way you could make a man's entire world shrink down to just you with nothing more than a glance and a smirk.
It was a power you'd perfected over the decades. A power that had made Soldier Boy, of all people, look at you with something approaching genuine respect.
And it was a power that was about to be very, very thoroughly deployed.
The front door was still slightly ajar when you finally emerged from the car, your heels clicking against the stone pathway in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. Your dress swayed with each step, the slit up the side revealing just enough thigh to make a man's mouth water.
You heard the words before you saw the scene unfold.
"Homelander! Soldier Boy!" Mr. Marathon's voice was pitched high with barely contained excitement, the kind of breathless fawning that you'd heard a thousand times before. "Such an honor! I can't- I mean, I've been a fan of yours for years, Soldier Boy. I literally popped my cherry on your underwear, I can't even-"
You paused just outside the doorway, a smirk curling your lips as you caught the expression on Homelander's face. Disgust, pure and undisguised, the kind of revulsion that came from being confronted with the deeply human messiness of desire. His nostrils actually flared, like he'd smelled something foul.
Soldier Boy, for his part, seemed caught between amusement and annoyance, his jaw working as he processed the confession.
And Mr. Marathon just kept going, his words tumbling out in a rush like he couldn't contain them anymore. "It was the late 90s edition and—" His eyes found you suddenly, widening to comical proportions as his brain short-circuited. "Oh. Oh. Oh my god. You're-"
You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed beneath your breasts, and let the silence hang for a moment. Let him squirm under the weight of your gaze.
"You were my first jerk off-" he blurted out, his cheeks flushing a shade of red that nearly matched your dress. "My first- I mean, the first time I ever- with the magazine, the one from 1993, the-"
"I was your first jerk-off?" you cooed at him, like you might do to a specially dumb and slow puppy, your voice syrupy sweet and dripping with amusement.
His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. A strangled noise escaped his throat.
You pushed off from the doorframe, your heels clicking against the marble floor as you approached him with the slow, predatory grace of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Soldier Boy watched you come, that familiar glint of curiosity in his eyes, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
You didn't stop until you were standing directly in front of Mr. Marathon, close enough to smell the expensive cologne he'd doused himself in, close enough to see the way his pupils had blown wide.
"Mm. Cute."
The words came out soft, almost tender, and you watched him crumble at the sound of them. His knees actually buckled, just slightly, before he caught himself.
Homelander made a sound of pure disgust, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in his skull. "Can we please get on with this? We're not here to indulge in- whatever this is."
He shoved past Mr. Marathon, shouldering the man roughly as he strode into the mansion with all the grace of a spoiled child. "The V1. We're here for the V1. Don't waste my time with your pathetic fanboy nonsense."
Mr. Marathon stumbled, catching himself on the wall, and for a moment he looked almost shell-shocked. Then the spell seemed to break, and he was scrambling after Homelander, his voice pitched high and anxious. "Of course! Right! The V1! I've got it- I mean, not got it, per se, but I know someone who knows where it is, I can-"
Soldier Boy didn't move. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with an expression that was equal parts amused and curious. When Mr. Marathon had finally disappeared down the hall after Homelander, he turned to you fully.
"Didn't know ya liked 'em pathetic, doll."
The words were mocking, but there was genuine curiosity underneath. You'd known him long enough to recognize the difference.
You chuckled, a low, throaty sound that made his eyes darken. You moved closer, your arms coming up to loop around his neck, your body pressing against his in a way that was familiar and intimate. Your lips ghosted over his, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath but not quite touching.
"I like men who cry their way through sex."
He huffed out a laugh against your lips, rolling his eyes with exaggerated annoyance. "'Course you do."
But he was smiling, just a little, and you knew he was already half-hard in his jeans. He'd always been a sucker for your particular brand of depravity. That was what had made the arrangement work for so many years—you were the only woman he'd ever met who could match his appetite without getting caught up in the messy emotions that usually followed.
"Shoulda known. You always were the freakiest bitch I ever met."
His voice was low, amused, mocking in that way that always made heat pool between your thighs. "I thought you had better taste than that."
"Go talk to Malchemical." you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'll be along in a minute."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna play with your little toy, huh?"
"Maybe." You pulled back, giving him a smile that was all teeth. "Don't wait up."
He snorted, shaking his head as he turned to head down the hall. "Try not to break him too badly. We still need him functional."
You watched him go, savoring the way his shoulders moved beneath his jacket, the familiar heat of desire curling low in your belly. Then you turned and followed the direction Mr. Marathon had disappeared, your heels clicking against the marble like a countdown.
It didn't take long to find him.
He'd been left in a hallway somewhere near the back of the mansion, probably sent to retrieve something or other while Homelander brooded and Soldier Boy did his lines. You found him leaning against the wall, his face buried in his hands, the only visible part of him were his ears: and they were the color of a ripe tomato.
Poor thing. He'd been so overwhelmed by the whole encounter that he'd shut down completely.
"How adorable," you murmured, your voice carrying through the empty hallway. "You poor, pathetic little thing."
His head snapped up, eyes wide and glassy, and the look on his face was so utterly wrecked that you felt a surge of dark satisfaction.
"I- I'm sorry," he stammered, pushing off from the wall. "I didn't mean to- it's just- you and Soldier Boy and Homelander, I never thought I'd actually meet you, I've been a fan for so long and-"
You closed the distance between you in three quick steps, and before he could finish his sentence, you had him pinned against the wall.
The sound he made was obscene—a high, desperate whine that went straight to your core. His eyes fluttered shut as you pressed against him, one of his legs bending at the knee and hooking around your waist in a pathetic attempt to pull you closer.
"How cute." you murmured against his lips.
And then you kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It was brutal, messy, the kind of kiss that left nothing to the imagination. Your tongue swept into his mouth, tasting the faint sweetness of the champagne he'd clearly been drinking before your arrival. His lips were soft and pliant against yours, parting eagerly as you devoured him.
He was trembling beneath you, his whole body shaking with the force of his arousal, and you could feel the evidence of his desire pressing hard against your thigh. Your hand found its way into his hair, gripping tight and tilting his head back to expose the column of his throat.
"Pretty," you breathed against his skin. "So pretty for me."
He whined again, his hips bucking forward involuntarily. You could feel the damp spot forming on his pants, the fabric sticky and warm against your leg.
"You're going to be so good for me, aren't you, baby boy?" you cooed, dragging your lips along his jaw. "Going to let me have my way with you?"
"Yes, yesyes please-" he gasped. "Please, mommy, please—"
The title sent a thrill through you. You bit down hard on the junction of his neck and shoulder, just shy of breaking skin, and he choked on a moan, his hips jerking against you.
"That's it," you purred. "Let me hear you, princess. Let me know how much you want it."
He was drooling now, just a little, a thin strand of saliva escaping from the corner of his mouth. You licked it away, savoring the taste of him, and then moved lower to leave a trail of harsh lovebites along his throat.
His leg tightened around your waist, his hands fisting in the fabric of your dress. He was so desperate, so pathetic and needy, and the knowledge that you had reduced him to this—a whimpering mess against a wall—was intoxicating.
"Please," he begged again, his voice cracking. "Please, mommy- mommymommymommyyyy-"
"I know what you need." You sucked another mark into his skin, right over the pulse point, and felt his whole body shudder against you. "You need someone to take care of you, don't you? Someone to tell you what a good boy you are."
"Yes," he moaned, eyes rolling back into his skull. "Yes, yes, please-"
"Lucky for you," you murmured against his throat, "I'm feeling generous today."
Soldier Boy found you like that.
He'd only been gone a few minutes—just long enough to do a few lines and make sure Homelander didn't fry off anyone sat on the pool table. When he'd turned around and found you still absent, he'd known immediately where you'd gone.
The trail of destruction you left in your wake was legendary.
"What the fuck," he drawled from the end of the hall, his voice carrying through the space like a whip crack. "Couldn't even wait five minutes?"
You pulled back from Mr. Marathon's throat, your lips shiny with spit and a thin smear of blood where you'd gotten a bit too enthusiastic. The man beneath you was a wreck: eyes glassy, lips swollen, his whole body trembling with barely contained need.
Soldier Boy's gaze traveled down, cataloging every detail. The lovebites blossoming along Mr. Marathon's neck. The way one of his legs was still hooked around your waist. The obvious tent in his pants that had left a dark, damp spot on the fabric.
"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Soldier Boy's voice was mocking, but there was a familiar heat in his eyes. "Gotta get your hands on every pathetic little fucking bitch you come across."
Mr. Marathon moaned at the degrading term, his hips bucking against you involuntarily. Soldier Boy's expression shifted to something darker, hungrier.
"Should have known you'd have a taste for submissive bitches, sweetheart." He was walking toward you now, his boots heavy on the marble floor. "All that power, all that control.. you just can't resist a man who begs."
You chuckled, dragging your tongue in a slow stripe up the length of Mr. Marathon's throat, from the base to his jaw. He shivered violently, his leg clenching around your waist, a series of pathetic little noises escaping his throat.
"Can you blame me?" you murmured, batting your eyelashes at the older man and feigning innocence, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. "Look at him. So pretty when he falls apart."
Mr. Marathon whimpered, his hands fisting in your dress.
Soldier Boy reached you in four more strides, and then his hand was fisting in the back of your dress, hauling you away from the man you'd been devouring. Mr. Marathon slumped against the wall, his knees giving out, barely managing to stay upright.
"Hands off." Soldier Boy's voice was a growl. "You're not the only one who gets to play."
And then his mouth was on Mr. Marathon's.
It was brutal. It was a kiss that was more about domination than pleasure. Soldier Boy's tongue shoved past the man's lips, taking what he wanted with ruthless efficiency. His hand found its way to Mr. Marathon's throat, squeezing just enough to make him gasp, and then he was biting down on the man's lower lip.
Hard.
A thin trickle of blood welled up, and Mr. Marathon's whole body went rigid, his eyes flying wide. Then he was coming, hard and fast and embarrassingly quick, his hips jerking as he painted the inside of his pants white.
Soldier Boy pulled back, his lips stained red with the man's blood. He looked down at the mess Mr. Marathon had made of himself, then back at you, a slow smirk spreading across his face.
"Mmm." He licked his lips, and Mr. Marathon whimpered at the sight. "Well, I kind of see the appeal here, sweetheart."
The nearest room turned out to be a guest bedroom, all white linens and tasteful decor that was completely at odds with what was about to happen.
Soldier Boy grabbed Mr. Marathon by the front of his shirt and hauled him through the door, shoving him down onto the bed so hard the man bounced. You followed at a more leisurely pace, watching the way Mr. Marathon's chest heaved, the way his eyes tracked you both with desperate, hungry need.
"Strip, bitch." Soldier Boy commanded, and Mr. Marathon scrambled to obey.
His hands were shaking as he tore at his clothes, fumbling with buttons and zippers in his haste to comply. He was naked in under a minute, his cock jutting up against his stomach, still wet with the evidence of his earlier release.
"So eager," you cooed, settling yourself on the edge of the bed. "Good boy."
Mr. Marathon whimpered at the praise.
Soldier Boy shoved him onto his stomach, hard, and Mr. Marathon went willingly, face hitting the mattres with a muffled "umphf-" as his arms folded beneath his head.
It wasn't even a second before reflex kicked in and he pushed his ass up in offering.
"Look at you," Soldier Boy growled, palming himself through his jeans. "Pathetic little bitch, presenting yourself like a dog in heat."
"Please," Mr. Marathon sobbed. "Please, sir, please-"
"You want it?" Soldier Boy fisted a hand in the man's hair, yanking his head back. "You want me to fuck you?"
"Yes-" Mr. Marathon moaned. "Yes, yes, fuck, please, sir. I've wanted—I've wanted you for so long-"
"Bet you have." Soldier Boy released him, and Mr. Marathon collapsed forward again. "All those years jerking off to our pictures, wishing it was us fucking you instead of your hand."
Mr. Marathon's entire body shuddered.
You moved closer, settling yourself at the head of the bed so you could reach Mr. Marathon's face. You cupped his jaw, tilting his head up to meet your eyes, and smiled.
"Let me see you," you murmured. "I want to see your face when he takes you."
His breath caught in his throat.
Soldier Boy had finished undressing, his body as impressive as you remembered: all broad shoulders and narrow hips and that cock that had driven you to madness more times than you could count. He didn't bother with lube or preparation, just spat into his hand and slicked himself up, the sound obscene in the quiet room.
"Gonna fuck you like you deserve," he growled, positioning himself behind Mr. Marathon. "Gonna fuck you like the whore you are."
And then he pushed in.
Mr. Marathon moaned—a high, desperate sound that was half pain and half pleasure. His hands fisted in the sheets, his whole body shaking as Soldier Boy bottomed out in one mean thrust.
"Fuck," Soldier Boy groaned, his head falling back. "Tight little bitch."
He pulled out and thrust back in, hard, the rhythm he set punishing and relentless. Mr. Marathon was crying now, tears streaming down his face, but his hips were pushing back to meet each thrust, desperate for more.
"Look at him." you crooned, stroking Mr. Marathon's tear-streaked cheek. "So pretty when he cries."
Mr. Marathon sobbed, his mouth dropping open in a wordless plea. You leaned forward and kissed him, swallowing his cries as Soldier Boy fucked him harder.
"I've wanted-" he gasped against your lips. "Wanted this for so long, wanted you, wanted him, wanted-"
"Shh," you murmured, kissing the tears from his cheeks. "You have us now, princess. We're going to take such good care of you."
"You don't deserve it, though, have that clear." Soldier Boy growled, his thrusts growing more erratic. "You don't deserve to be touched by me, or her, you pathetic little mutt."
Mr. Marathon moaned, his hips jerking as he came again, his cock painting the sheets beneath him.
Soldier Boy didn't stop. He kept fucking him through the aftershocks, his rhythm never faltering.
"Please-" Mr. Marathon sobbed. "Please, I can't- it's too much—"
"You can take it," you purred, smoothing his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. "You can take it for me, can't you, baby boy?"
He nodded frantically, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Soldier Boy pulled two more orgasms out of him before he came himself. When he was finally satisfied, the man was sobbing and shaking beneath him. Once he pulled out Mr. Marathon collapsed onto the bed, his chest heaving.
"Beautiful.." you murmured, stroking his back. "So beautiful for me."
"Had enough, mutt?" Soldier Boy flopped onto the bed beside them, his chest slick with sweat.
Mr. Marathon whined, already shaking his head. "No- no, nonono, please, I need—"
"What do you need, princess?" you asked, tilting his chin up.
"You," he gasped. "Need you- need to touch you-"
He reached for you, his hands trembling, and you let him pull you into his arms. He buried his face in your chest, nuzzling against the swell of your breasts, and you chuckled softly.
"Hungry, are we?"
He nodded frantically, his mouth finding the curve of your breast through the fabric of your dress. You helped him push the straps down, baring yourself to him, and he moaned as he took your nipple into his mouth.
"Christ," Soldier Boy muttered, watching the scene with narrowed eyes. "Greedy little fucker."
"Can you blame him?" You arched into Mr. Marathon's mouth, loving the way he sucked and bit at your sensitive flesh. "They are quite spectacular."
Ben made a sound of mock disgust, but you could see the hunger in his eyes. "Alright, that's enough of that." He grabbed Mr. Marathon by the hair, pulling him off your chest with a growl. "If you want something in your mouth so badly, you'll get my fingers instead. Those tits are too good for the likes of you."
Mr. Marathon whimpered as Ben scooped up some of the cooling cum that had pooled on his stomach, then shoved two thick fingers into his mouth. The smaller man's eyes fluttered shut, his tongue laving over Ben's fingers with desperate eagerness.
"Look at you," you cooed. "Such a good boy for us."
Soldier Boy pulled his fingers free, and Mr. Marathon whimpered at the loss. Then he was being hauled up, positioned on Soldier Boy's lap, impaled on his cock once more.
"Ride," Soldier Boy commanded. "Ride me like the whore you are."
Mr. Marathon sobbed but obeyed, his hips rolling as he bounced on Soldier Boy's cock. You positioned yourself atop of him, your legs spread wide, and he was almost sort of fainting when you sank down on him.
"Mommy," he gasped, his mouth finding your breast again. "Mommy, please-"
"That's it," you crooned, stroking his hair. "Take what you need, princess."
His hips picked up speed, frantic now, and you could feel him trembling on the edge again. Soldier Boy's hands were on his hips, guiding him, and you could hear the grunts he made as he got closer to his own release.
Sensing this, Soldier Boy reached across your bodies to start playing with your clit, making you clench down on the man sanwiched between you.
"Ah- come for me," you murmured against Mr. Marathon's ear. "Come for me, baby."
He did, moaning your name as he spilled himself inside you. Soldier Boy followed moments later, his grip bruising on Mr. Marathon's hips as he filled him.
You collapsed together in a heap of sweaty limbs and heaving chests. Mr. Marathon was still crying, soft little sobs that he couldn't seem to stop, and you gathered him in your arms.
"Shh," you murmured. "You did so well. So good for us."
"I love you," he sobbed, the words tumbling out unbidden. "I love you both—"
"Oh, sweetheart." You chuckled, pressed a kiss to his forehead. "No, you don't. But that's okay. You don't have to love us to enjoy this."
He whimpered, but he nodded.
Soldier Boy snorted from beside you. "Fucking groupies. They're all the same."
You smiled, stroking Mr. Marathon's hair until his sobs quieted to soft hiccups. His breathing evened out, and you could feel him slipping toward sleep, utterly wrung out.
"Sweet dreams, princess." you murmured.
Soldier Boy watched you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he reached over and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.
"You are one depraved bitch, you know that?"
You smiled at him, slow and predatory. "You love it."
He snorted, but he was smiling too. "Yeah. I do."