He died in pain, he died in his stupid super suit, he died as a product, Edgar won, Edgar won, he died alone, no one mourns the wicked, he died weak, he died SCARED, goodness knows the wicked die alone, he died clueless, he die-I’m spiraling.
tags: dubious consent, extremely dubious consent, dom/sub, dom soldier boy, top soldier boy, soldier boy being an asshole, trans male reader, daddy kink, sir kink, creampie, mild painplay, choking, no use of Y/N for reader, implied/referenced sexual assault, implied/referenced abuse, past sexual abuse, past homelander/reader, age gap, slurs (1 use), very slight transphobia, short one shot, not beta read, kissing, rough sex, manhandling, possessive behavior, READER HAS TOP SURGERY SCARS, AFAB TERMS FOR READER'S GENITALIA.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟 ❤︎ ﾟ｡ ❀ ｡ﾟ ❤︎𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟
NSFW UNDER THE CUT
The Tower glittered like a fucking monument to everything Soldier Boy used to own. Neon lights, marble floors, and enough Vought branding to choke a horse. Being 'defrosted' in had been a goddamn trip— Homelander manic grin, the press conferences, the back-slapping from senators who used to piss themselves at the mention of his name. Now he was a national hero again. Father of the year to that laser-eyed freak. Life was...funny that way.
Soldier Boy leaned against the balcony railing of one of the private lounges, shield propped beside him, cigar smoke curling into the night air. Below, the city buzzed like it always had. Nothing ever really changed.
What had changed was the pretty little thing Homelander kept on a short leash.
You.
Homelander's 'sidekick'. His pet. You, the kid— well, not a kid, but young enough to look like one next to Soldier Boy's bulk, stood a respectful distance behind Homelander during every public appearance. Shy, eyes down, voice soft when forced to speak. Clearly uncomfortable in the new thight suit Vought put you in. You moved like someone who expected the floor to drop out from under you at any second.
Soldier Boy had watched you for weeks.
The way you flinched when Homelander's hand landed on your shoulder. The way your breath hitched when those blue eyes pinned you. The way you still said 'Yes, sir' like it was prayer and curse at the same time.
Daddy issues, delicious ones, clearly, he could recognize those a mile away.
Tonight Homelander was occupied, some latenight strategy meeting with Sage or whatever. Soldier Boy had made sure of the fact he was busy tho. A quiet word here, a reminder of family bonding there, all that left you alone in Homelander's suite, waiting like the good little pet you were.
He pushed open the door without knocking.
You startled hard, nearly dropping the tablet in your hands. Wide eyes, pretty mouth parted. "S-Soldier Boy— I didn't— Homelander's not here right now."
"Oh, I know, made sure he wasn't." He said, voice low and rough from decades of smoke and shouting orders. He stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him, the lock engaged with a soft sound that made your shoulders tense. "C'mere, kid."
Kid.
You hesitated, fingers tightening on the tablet. Shy. Coy. That anxious little tremble in your bottom lip.
It made his cock twitch.
"I said come here." His tone dropped into that old command voice, the one that used to make entire squads straighten up.
You obeyed, walking over on unsteady legs. Close enough that he could smell the faint trace of fear-sweat under your cologne. Good boy.
Soldier Boy reached out, big hand cupping your jaw, thumb stroking your ccheek. Almost paternal, almost gentle. "Look at you. All wound up tight. That...son of mine been riding you hard?" He says the word 'son' like he's disgusted by it.
Your breath caughts and you don't answer, but the way your eyes flick away says plenty.
He chuckled, dark and mean. "Figured, pretty thing like you— a tranny playing sidekick to a fucking psycho. Bet he calls you his good girl sometimes just to watch you squirm." His grip tightened just a fraction. "Bet you take it, too, because you're a good little pet, aren't you?"
You don't like this, or the way he talks to you.
But you are a good pet.
A soft, anxious sound escaped your throat, your hands came up, hovering like you wanted to push him away but didn't dare.
"Shh, shh, easy, easy boy." He pulled you closer, chest to chest, his other arm sliding around your waist. "I ain't him, 'm your daddy's father. Got a responsibility to look after...family property, don't I?"
Your face burned. "I'm not— I'm not property." You stammered, petulant, like a child.
"No?" He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. "Then why do you shake like a kicked dog every time he looks at you? Why does your voice go all soft and sweet when you call him 'sir'?"
You whimpered, like you couldn't help it, an actual fucking whimper, and Ben's cock hardened fully in his suit.
He walked you backwards until you hit the wide leather couch. Pushed you down gently—still playing the 'soft daddy' card. "Sit 'n relax, sweetheart. This old man gonna take care of you tonight."
"I shouldn't—" You started, voice cracking. "He'll find out." Even though there's an edge of fear in your voice, there's also...wanting there
"You will, and he won't." He shrugged, getting rid of the top of his suit, revealing the broad, scarred chest. "Because deep down you want someone who knows how to handle a boy like you."
He knelt one knee on the couch beside you, caging you in. Big hands worked at the fastenings of your tactical top, peeling it open slowly. The scars across your chest were smooth under his calloused palms—a few years healed. He rubbed his thumbs over them, almost reverent.
"Pretty work." He murmured. "Bet it still feels good when someone touches 'em like this." He pinched one nipple lightly. You gasped, arching your back and leaning into the touch. "Sensitive, that's good."
"Sir—" The word, reserved for Homelander, slipped out, automatic. Your eyes went wide with panic and something hotter.
"Yeah." He growled, pleased. "That's right. You call me sir, not that fucking clown."
He kissed you then— hard, demanding, tongue pushing past your lips like he owned the mouth he was claiming. You tasted like anxiety and mint gum, he licked deeper, one hand sliding down to palm between your legs, feeling the heat through your pants. The way you rocked into it, just a little, told him everything.
When he pulled back, your lips were swollen and your eyes were glassy, lost, dizzy even.
Poor thing.
"Strip." He ordered. "Show me what that bastard been hiding."
Your hands shook as you obeyed. Boots kicked away. Pants and underwear shoved down. Naked now, cunt all wet and swollen, nips perked up. Shy as hell too, trying to cover yourself with your arms as you squirmed.
Soldier Boy caught your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. "None of that, let me look." His free hand roamed— chest, stomach, down to squeeze your clit, you flinched deliciously.
His thumb started to trace slow, rough circles at your clit. You moaned, hips jerking, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes.
"There it is." He murmured, almost fond. "Cry for me, sweetheart."
Your body obeyed almost on instinct, fat tears starting to spill from your pretty eyes.
He released your wrists only to manhandle you onto all fours on the wide couch, ass up. One big hand pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest down. The other slicked fingers with spit— crude, old-school— before pushing one thick digit into your hole.
You cried out, body clenching and slightly squirming, it hurts, but it doesn't hurt like when John does it, this is a better pain, somehow.
"Tight." He grunted. "Homelander been neglecting this pussy or just using it wrong?" He pumped the finger, adding a second fast. "Doesn't matter. It's mine now."
"Sir, please— slow..." Your voice broke on a sob.
He laughed, low and mocking. "Slow? You think you get slow after weeks of teasing me with those big scared eyes?" He scissored his fingers, stretching you brutally. "Nah, you're gonna take what I give you and thank me for it."
By the time he had three fingers in, you were shaking, face buried in the couch cushion, crying quietly, pussy all leaky and achy.
Perfect.
Soldier Boy pulled his fingers free, shoved his pants down just enough to free his thick, heavy cock, he slapped it against your ass once, twice, then lined up.
"Deep breath, kiddo."
He pushed in—relentless, one long thrust that buried half his cock inside your heat. You wailed, tears streaming, body trying to pull away and he gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and forced the rest in.
"Fuck, that's good, a tight little cunt. Good boy—taking daddy's cock so well."
The title makes you whimper, lost and dizzy.
He started moving. Rough, deep strokes that punched the air out of you, the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. Every thrust made you sob louder, pleasure and pain mixing until you couldn't tell which was which.
"P-please, sir, daddy, fuck— too much..."
"Bullshit." He reached around, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts. "You're dripping, loving getting fucked by a real man."
He grabbed your throat from behind— mild pressure, just enough to make your head spin and your hole clench. Possessive. Mean.
You liked it.
"Say it. Say you're mine now."
You whined, feeling too much things at all once. “I—I’m yours, daddy, please—”
"Louder."He choked you a little harder, making it difficult to breathe, hips snapping faster. "Tell me whose cock is ruining this boypussy."
"Yours!" You said frantically. "I'm yours, daddy."
The word hit him like a drug. He snarled, letting go of your throat to grip your hips again, pounding you mercilessly. The couch creaked and your tears soaked the cushion. Your felt your climax coming closer, and finally came all over the leather couch, just the softest, wettest boy.
He didn't stop, of course he didn't. "Daddy, daddy— too much, 's too much, please." You whined, trying to squirm away, but Ben chased his own orgasm with brutal thrusts, growling praise and degradation in equal measure.
"Good little pet. Crying so pretty on my dick, bet Homelander never made you come like this." No, he never did. "Bet he just uses you and leaves you wet and shaking and wanting, that's over."
He buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, flooding your insides. Hot pulses that made you whimper and clench around him.
For a long minute the only sounds were your ragged sobs and his heavy breathing.
Soldier Boy pulled out slowly, watching his come drip down your thighs, a smile on his lips. He turned you over onto your back, almost gentle again and wiped your tears with his thumb.
"Look at you. All fucked out and pretty." He stroked your chest, thumbing the scars. "Good boy, such a good boy for daddy."
You curled into him despite everything, shaking, seeking comfort from the same hands that had wrecked you, the gesture all animal and grateful.
He held you there, big arms wrapped around your smaller frame, murmuring low praises while his come leaked out of you.
Somewhere in the Tower, Homelander was still in his meeting, oblivious for now. Soldier Boy smiled against your hair.
Jackie Taylor did the thing that every teenager wants to do at least once — die after a petty argument so that everyone will feel fucking guilty for the rest of their lives
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