-finally made the mast list (peep the soldier boy border i made) KEEP IN MIND THESE ARE NOT PARTS IN ORDER BUT DIFFERNT STORIES WITH THE SAME DYNAMIC -IVE LISTED ORDERS ON EACH SPECIFIC POST ON WHAT TO READ FOR WHAT, ALL POSTS START WITH THE ORIGINAL THOUGH.
also here’s more on the dynamic
-Canary cry user! (sonic scream) Ben refers to reader as his little bird/birdie.
-Canary is users supe name! -not super relevant but it's for symbolism!!!!! (canaries are trapped songbirds so it's like user being trapped in Vought (and Ben's cause he's no saint to her) cage, trapped.)
WHERE IT ALL BEGAN
LOYALTY
REUNION
ONLY GOOD THING
PRETTY LIFE
MODEL SWEETHEART
I WANT BEFORE AGAIN -new
- more coming soon as always!
there’s more soldier boy work on my page unrelated to this, i’m in the midst of making a mast list for my entire acc bare with my. meh i’ll put a soldier boy drabbles here below
when is the next lapdog part coming outtt??? i’m going feral i need more 🙏
I’m well aware i’ve been neglecting yall😔 im just so behind on actual shit it’s hell meh almost done for the year and were definitely aiming for a very active tumblr summer🩶
hard odds to beat (when you're on all fours!) pt. i | dean winchester/reader
summary; you're not sure how your hook-ups with your dad's best friend, dean, started. nor, how they will end. but as your lovesick fantasises start to rot and tear in your mind, the end seems closer in sight that you'd liked it to be. 4.5k words.
content; smut + angst. vaginal sex. older!dean/younger!reader (idk later seasons!dean + young reader, but obvs LEGAL). innocence + corruption/praise kink. perv!dean. unrequited feelings. dad's best friend!dean. use of petnames ("sweetheart"/"kid"). mild fauxcest. slight manipulation. open ending.
any notes? dbf!dean is getting to me.. oooh the voices in my head ooooh.. anyway. angsty smut here we are. and title from 'crush' by ethel cain. also, this is part one of two. got way too into this au, lol.
you’re not really sure how it all began. or, worse yet, how it will all end.
but you’re sure that, whatever this is, it might as well be the death of you.
“you always gotta be such a fuckin’ tease, sweetheart?” he groans against your jaw, his stubble scratching you. you’re about to give him some snarky reply, but his hand on your wet cunt suddenly disappears, and you whimper. “if you won’t play nice, i won’t either.”
..and the death of you being none other than one dean winchester. a man who talked his way into your father’s life, and then sweet-talked his way into yours. oh, and your bed. and underwear. and literally anything and everything of you that he can get his hands on.
so, it had been a surprise to come home from college, a fresh graduate, to find some random man living in your house. well, it may not be your house, but it also isn’t his. and his strange, coming-and-going persona was just off-putting (but not for long– of course), and you did all in your power to ignore him.
again, not for long– of course.
a military man, or so your father said, but it hadn’t taken you long to realise what dean really was; a hunter. and even though you know of no one who’s served, you know that they don’t turn up at your front door in the early hours of the morning, “sweetheart,” dripping from a bloody mouth, and an even bloodier body.
and it’d all begun that night. you haven’t known peace since.
“want me to fuck you, is that want you want? want me to get rid of that ache between your thighs ‘cause you can’t? c’mon, tell me, kid.” dean encourages you, hand now back between your thighs. his fingers rub slow, agonising circles on your clit– meanwhile, your unresponsive, sans for a few moans here and there, some pawing at his bicep. “not gonna do anythin’ ‘til you use your big girl words..”
if anyone else spoke to you this way, you’d probably throw up. most definitely. but not with dean– never with dean. his words batter around in your brain like rocks that cut into the soft earth, carving out a path for his depraved intentions for you. and you drink it all up, never minding how the sweeter they get, the more bitter they taste.
poison can only kill those who notice it.
“please..” you plea. however, you never finish the ask– mainly because dean’s now pressing two fingers into your wet cunt, collecting your arousal as he works them in and out– for what should you ask for? him to get down on one knee, ask you to marry him? see if he wants to all the things you want to do, but haven’t had the chance to? what do you want? “please–”
there’s a lot that won’t come of this– when it inevitably ends. he was your dad’s friend first; your secret lover next. and you’d much rather it be you that also has him last, in any way you can.
but you can’t ask for anything. not anything you really want. so, you focus on getting your brains fucked out. it’ll do for now.
“i just need you,” you admit, albeit pathetically, with your voice all quiet and soft and needy. your cunt clenches around him as he pushes in a third finger. “i need you to fuck me.”
“yeah, ‘s that what you want?” his voice drops to a volume that almost matches yours, his tone mimicking your vulnerability. “want me to fuck you, fill your pretty cunt with cum ‘til you can’t hold anymore? y’want me to have you on all fours, ignorin’ all your whimperin’ and cryin’?” and then, like it’s an afterthought, he asks, “want me to make you all happy inside ‘cause no other guy can?”
each question is like pestilence to you; infecting and corrupting, getting stuck in every fold of your brain until you swear that it’s chanting dean dean dean over and over at you. everything is simply about him. you wouldn’t have it any other way.
you nod eagerly. to all of his questions.
and then, all you can do right now is press your sticky thighs together, absentmindedly grind on your bedsheets now and again, as he takes his sweet, agonising time to get undressed. whatever. it gives you a (bleak) moment to think– if your brain can still do that, at this point.
he hadn’t come to you as he usually does. bloody, usually in search of a quick “fix”– which, instead of getting stitched-up or having some injury or another attended to, it’s him, balls-deep in your cunt– and eager enough to sleep in your bed like its his own. like your husband and wife.
no, tonight, he’d arrived long before that. long before the early hours of morning light; it was a family barbeque, with the invitation extended to him as well because his brother was with “the wife” (this much you know to be true; dean showed you photos, once, when you got confident enough to ask about him, and not the ‘dean’ that your dad thinks is real). he’d overstayed his welcome, your mom claiming in her worried tone that he was too drunk to drive back, and that’d it be much safer is he stayed in the guest room. neither of you had complaints. after that, all it took was for your parents to head to bed, and you waiting in yours. waiting, for the man borne of gunpowder and other dastardly things, to stalk into your room and savage you.
the rest is history.
then, as if he can tell that you’re far away in some mundane memory, dean’s hands are dragging you by the hips closer to him, your body trapped under his. he’s so warm– so.. real– and you swear you’re getting dizzy off of him, drinking in his presence like you’re a dog parched.
you’ve never needed anything, or anyone, more. you merely whine and whimper, buck your hips into dean’s as he slowly pulls your panties down your body with a single finger. your cunt clenches around nothing as cool air hits your sweat-slicked body. dean seems to revel in this, smirking wickedly as you blindly grab at his hand, meanwhile you grow more antsy because he keeps pulling away when you grow more desperate.
“this isn’t fair,” you pout. he merely laughs at your behaviour, mimicking your pleading face. it’s embarrassing, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to be a big girl. “dean, you’re being so mean to me–”
“yeah? i’m the mean one? like you weren’t out there today, sweetheart, beggin’ with me those wet eyes and makin’ me so fuckin’ hard that i just wanted to punish you right there and then.” his tone matches his words. unforgiving and relentless. a consequence for your behaviour; a repercussion for your teasing. “all in front of your old man as well. not as innocent as you fuckin’ make yourself, are you? guess i’m gonna have to fuck some sense into you..”
you almost cum right then and there. almost. seriously– the way dean talks to you, reduces to you to nothing more than something for him to fuck and fill, ruins you more than it should. the thought of him taking out all his anger on you– this unspoken, pent-up rage that he could put to better use, but decides that you are the one who should suffer from it– practically soaks the sheets under you, to the point where your already-warm cheeks grow hotter.
but it also makes you remember how easy it is for him to leave you.
before you can have that devastating toll of reality come crashing down on you, dean’s fingers are back inside of you, stretching you out so he can bury his fat cock into you. you’re whimpering once more in an instant. begging for him to thrust himself into you; babbling for him to put a baby into you. anything and everything that will get him to love you. and maybe to make him stay.
“i’ll be good for you,” you hastily tell him; you know that he’ll understand it as you being good enough for him to fuck, and not that it’s your (last) pathetic plea to keep him as yours. forever. even though dean doesn’t belong to you. “i’ll be so good for you– just– can you–”
you end up cutting yourself off, and it’s only because dean’s pulling his fingers from your cunt, grabbing your jaw with his clean hand and forcing you to meet his eyes. and, sure, you’ve stared into his eyes many times before, but tonight, it’s different. not different in that good way, either– the kind that makes you all giddy inside because all it’ll take is you making some seemingly innocent comment (one loaded with innuendos, that your parents miraculously don’t pick up on) for him to be pounding into you hours later.
tonight, they’re darker. it’d be easy to blame it on the dimness of the room, but your curtains are wide open– the moonlight bathes him in bright light, and you can see everything as he towers over you. they’re unsettling, and unkind, and they’re just so.. angry. it doesn’t feel like dean. the one you know.
the one you’ve created.
silently, eagerly, you take his fingers into your mouth. the same fingers that were in your cunt just mere minutes ago; you’re good at ignoring this little tidbit, and even more so good at taking his fingers like the good girl you are. you keep waiting for him to say it– letting him shove them so far down your throat that your eyes water and you gag slightly– but he never does. never gives you the praise you crave. like you might die, if you don’t get those two syllables that remind you how important you are.
“yeah, just like that,” dean hums, his blunt nails scraping the back of your throat. this makes you gag once more, choking on not only saliva, but your own arousal. your vision blurs a little as a you try to keep your eyes on him– maybe bat your lashes now and again whilst you clean him up– but it gets to a point where that dreaded pit in your stomach blooms into something that threatens to swallow you whole like a black hole, and you have to stare at his jaw instead. “y’good at listenin’ to me, aren’t you? always wantin’ to do the best f’me..”
you garble something incoherent, then start gasping for air– he’s finally pulled his fingers from your mouth, all wet and slick, and then casually drags them across your heaving chest to dry them off.
and before you can adjust to being able to breathe properly again, he’s pushing your legs apart even more. positioning his fat cock at your cunt; one hand holding it, and the other on your waist, like he’s ready to hold you down in case you try to writhe away (because, well, that did happen once– the first time he fucked you). you have to grip the sheets to stop yourself from bucking your hips forward, forcing your hole to take all of him before you’ve adjusted. because you can’t stop yourself; you need that mind-numbing sensation of dean fucking you raw before you lose it for good.
but you can’t deny the searing ache you get as the tip pushes into you, making your back arch off of the sweaty sheets and into his body. biting your bottom lip to stop your protest that claws up your throat and waits on your tongue when he shoves you back down onto the bed in response. “not yet, kid.” he keeps only the tip in you. “gotta be nice and still f’me ‘cause we can’t have you gettin’ hurt, can we?”
you nod dumbly. “no.”
“hey– ‘no’ what?”
“no–” and when you hesitate, he shoves more of his cock into you. your cunt willingly tightens around him, making him groan. “dad.”
“there we fuckin’ go.”
and with that, he buries himself to the hilt inside of you. the suddenness of it is enough to make you cry out loudly, your hands flying from the sheets to his bare shoulders. your face burns from shame of how loud you’re being– and yet, he just laughs softly, tutting at your inability to not alert everyone in the house of what’s going on.
he’s now got one hand on your waist and the other on the pillow next to your head– every now and then, as you painfully attempt to adjust to him– his thumb trapping loose strands of your hair under it as he waits. but no matter how close he is to you, it’s never enough. he could cut you open, carve out your insides and live in you, and yet, it still wouldn’t be enough.
it’s never fucking enough.
you shift backwards a little, like a dog that’s been kicked, but you don’t go far– not with how tight dean’s hand holds you in place. “where you tryin’ to run off to, huh? thought you needed dad to take care of your problem,” he mutters as he pokes and prods at your swollen clit. “guessin’ she needs some extra attention from me; been neglectin’ her f’too long..” his voice is all tight and restrained. you can tell that he’s resisting hard to fight the itch that must be scratched; to satiate that carnal desire that keeps him feeding on your sensuality. and yet, all you can do avert your gaze from him.
he doesn’t seem to pick up on your sudden remorse. well– maybe he does, but dean winchester is not synonymous with “feelings”.
instead, he immediately gets to rutting into your cunt, breathing hard against your mouth with each pump. the taste of blood and war-torn violence hasn’t been lost on you– even if this isn’t the typical manner in why he fucks you like a starevd animal. and within seconds you’re basically crying from the overwhelming adrenaline of a stuffed hole and the sickening urge for him to be close.. in more ways than one.
“finally got you to pipe down, didn’t i?” he asks, each word enunciated by a thrust into you. he pulls away from your mouth and presses his forehead to your collarbone. you can feel his sweat pass from him to you, tainting you with the anger that blooms throughout his body. “got– fuck– more ways than one of shuttin’ you up. maybe we should try ‘em out?”
if violence can be passed via osmosis, you might just be the first victim.
you’re whining (even with dean’s hand now over your mouth) and thrashing, basically deaf to any and all words that fall from his mouth and bury deep into your brain. they find their way into the grey matter, corrupt something docile and baby pink, morph into an ugly grey; dead and meaningless. all the while, he still slam into each time he pulls back. the air around you becomes permeating with the animalistic scent of sex and bodily fluids, the squelching noises of your drooling cunt making it worse tenfold.
the sound of skin against skin sings as dean’s pelvis meets your ass, along with his hand on the pillow now tugs harshly on your hair. and all he has to do to, in order for you to sing his praises, is bury his cock deep inside of you, tease and taunt you like he’s trying to dumb you down and make you forget about any sense of humanity you once had. and it works.
“fuckin’ wanted this all along, didn’t you? just– just couldn’t ask me f’it, though, could you?” it’s always the rhetoricals that get you; make your brain all fuzzy, and make him laugh at you because you must be so fucking stupid to him. always. and then, like he remembers that he needs to reward you for being such a good girl for him, “god– never fuckin’ leavin’ you again, sweetheart. never gonna find anyone else like you, am i?”
you can feel the sheets beneath you grow sticker with each thrust, his cock basically being sucked into you with little to no resistant– thanks to how wet you are– as tears freefall down your face and your babbling gets reduced to nothing worthy of substance. your hands tighten around one another, slipping here and there from how sweaty they are, as you keep dean as close to you as you possibly can.
“never– never!” you reply, shaking your head eagerly as you agree to.. whatever dean asked. you didn’t pick up on it– not when he’s balls-deep in your drooling hole, his body hanging over you like he wants to keep you trapped there for life. your abdomen tightens and seizes in that way it does when you’re close to orgasm, and you bury your face in your chest as it comes closer and closer.
one of his hands crawls up your spine, fingers brushing the skin– and ends up harshly yanking on your hair, pulling your head back. “hey, hey– ‘m not havin’ my girl shy away from me,” he spits at you, ignoring how apologies bleed from your mouth like they’re nothing. “you’ve been wantin’ me all night, haven’t you? and i don’t plan on lettin’ you go that easily, kid.”
it almost scares you how easily he can say these things to you. not worry about the repercussions, like how his words fester in your brain. how you manage to fool yourself into meaning any of it. how you stay stuck under him– his thumb, his touch, his everything– trailing after him like a lost puppy and craving his attention. and all the while, as you ruminate on a life that will never happen, he still fucks himself into your gaping cunt, pushing himself deeper and deeper.
your throat clenches in rhythm with your hole. your heartbeat pulses in time with your clit. your body is so suddenly attentive to every little thing that it physically hurts. all you can focus on is no longer the sex, but that aching void of want; that feral desire to be wanted threatening to consume you whole.
it’s enough to snap you out of the delusional nightmare you walk in.
the way you breathe out dean’s name, in that aching and restless way of yours, borders on something a lot like panic. it probably is panic, and for a second or so, he doesn’t pick up on it; bottoms out in you with each thrust, his fat cock scraping your walls every time he pushes in or pulls back. you’ve stopped making your pathetic noises entirely, as your emotional state takes centre stage, and all you want is out.
“dean–” you start, but find a small wince slipping out. “dean, please–”
“what, not good enough f’you?” it’s clear that he thinks you’re simply begging for more, to which he gives you; his mouth on your throat and as he sinks his teeth in, his hand on your waist digging into your flesh and opening up a cut he gave you a couple of weeks back. you can feel the blood begin to ooze out as you try and fight against his pumping, which starts to lose rhythm. “c’mon, y’know i gotta do the best for my girl–”
“please, stop–”
and, thankfully, this gets across to him.
he stops moving inside of you almost at once, pulling his face away from your throat. through blurred vision, his concerned eyes sear into you, trying to work out why you’re suddenly acting like this. but you can’t bring yourself to look at him; just stare at his throat. it’s easier like this.
“hey, hey, hey,” dean reassures you, hand letting go of your hair and now stroking your face. you’re not sure where the one he was scratching you with just a minute has gone, but you can still feel the blood. the heavy, iron scent that permeates the air. you want to choke. “what’s goin’ on, sweetheart? c’mon, y’know you have to talk to me about these things.”
“i can’t do it,” is all you give him.
there’s a beat.
he frowns lightly, and even in the low light, he’s never looked prettier. it makes you sick to think about how much you love him. “what d’you mean? what– what does that mean?”
“i can’t do it– this. it’s just– fuck–” you press your hand to your mouth a second, waiting for your brain to organise its thoughts and get them out in a correct, big girl manner. you’re not going to make a fool of yourself now. “you say all this shit to me, about how i’m the best and you’ll never leave me, but you never mean any of it, do you? just come and fuck me when you please, because nobody else will? is that what it is?”
it’s mean of you, and you know it. you’ve always been someone sweet, someone who can soften sharpened edges; like dean’s. and this is anything but.
he’d never made you any promises– not real ones, anyway. so what this is, is you letting you invented fantasies and perverted dreams of him get the better of you. that you’re so desperate for something with him– this man, a hunter, who’d rather be with you in glimpses and fleeting moments; times when he only needs you because he needs you– that you’re willing to turn everything around that he’s ever said, and aim it back at him like a nuclear weapon.
and, after a beat, he snaps.
“what did you think this was?” there’s no anger to it, nor pessimism or irritation. if anything, it’s passive. like you’ve been the one in control this entire time. he pulls his dick from you entirely, and you grimace slightly at the feeling of warm cum seeping out. “‘cause, kid– from where i’m standin’, this was just a simple fuck here and there. nothin’ else.”
nothing else.
it’s been apparent from the start that this relationship would be a problem– if lonesome feelings grew, twisted and turned, and buried themselves into the dirt deeper. feelings that should’ve been a thing, and yet, they are.
and it was stupid of you to be hanging around a man twenty or so years your senior; a man who fights and kills for a living, with no promise he’ll return home alive. a man who doesn’t deserve– want or need, more like– an angel like you.
“so, why would you tell me all those things? why?” your voice strained as you attempt to ignore the ache in your throat. you’re not going to cry. no. those tears, ones that prick at the corners of your eyes and threaten to make an appearance in your vulnerable, stupid state. but you won’t allow them to fall; you will save these for the private affair in which you mourn the loss of dean’s warmth. and dean in general. “why would you tell me how much you love me when you fuck me, just to not have it mean anything? why would you do that to me, dean?”
he’s more controlled with his feelings than you are. then again, did he ever have any feelings towards you at all? “why would you think that, sweetheart? i– look, the last thing that i wanna do is play around with your feelings, and i thought i was pretty fuckin’ clear from the start what this was.”
you merely stare at him, wondering where this “clear from the start,” bullshit he sprouts is. wonder why he suddenly backtracks all the compliments, the sly innuendos, the praise– oh, the fucking praise– that you spent night after night replaying in your head, rutting into your sheets because you needed him so badly. only for it all to be a lie.
hell, he could’ve created an nda for you, written out a contract that told you that you must never, never, let your heart get so involved. and yet, your own silly fantasies would still get the better of you.
“kid, this was never goin’ to be somethin’ serious. you’re a good girl an’ all, but..”
and you know the truth. the problem lies with you, and dean, and everything else about this arrangement. because you know how it ends; either you drink the poison and accept that you’re nothing more to him than a “simple fuck,” or you keep letting him smash your heart to bits and pieces.
nothing meant anything, ever.
“then get the fuck out of here,” you demand. and when dean doesn’t move, just stares down at you with those exhausted eyes and a solemnly pleading expression, you snap, “go! now! get the fuck out of here!”
your voice cracks, much like your heart, as you lash out at the man that you thought you could love forever. it was silly, delusional, to think like that.
dean slowly backs away from you, and off of the bed. it’s not that usual slowness– the one he weaponises against you before he ruts into your dripping cunt and buries his cum there. rather, it’s like he’s hesitant to leave you, in case you act impulsively in his absence. because your delusional fantasies have all crashed down on you, burying you alive, and leaving you is going to hurt him as much as it hurts you.
it’s like he’s scared.
“if that’s what you really want, kid.. then, fine.” he’s dressing now, not paying you any attention. just focuses on himself, gathering his underwear and sticky jeans– your arousal is staining the crotch area, and something you can’t satisfy anymore aches deep within you– and you wrap your arms around your legs, hugging your knees.
the silence ensnares you in its teeth, holding you there as you’re forced to watch dean leave your room as silently as he entered. like he was never there. and you’re only spat out by the silence when you’re well and truly alone. thrusted into the cold, wet sheets of a memory already long forgotten.
as soon as he’s gone, you curl in on yourself, body wracked with sobs. you feel stupid– not only for believing in something could come of a silly, puppy-love affair, but also letting him go. ruining something so beautiful. because you had wanted something more. something concrete and everlasting; that defined the love you had for a man twenty years older than you and a penchant for promising you his death before his love.
so. you don’t remember how this began, but now? now, you know how it ends.
with your heart ripped from your fucking chest by one dean winchester.
I hate my bf and miss my ex. (please don’t judge me im trying over here) anyways so i wrote this based on my feelings while listening to: iloveitiloveitiloveit by bella kay (go listen to it!!!!) im using this as an outlet for my actual feelings bc i don’t have the balls to act on it. tbh just ignore this, hope you guys enjoy the writing. I’ve got more soldier boy content cooking along with some bruce wayne content. enjoy
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader!
warnings: angst i guess, thoughts of cheating, getting the ick, push and pull dynamic, wrong relationship, whatever else. this isn’t too in character for dean i just needed to take my feelings out. Toxic relationship ig, mention of touching and oral sex.
hope y'all like this but honestly i had to write it cause ya girl has been spiralling. (not proof read im so sorry)
With Dean you never knew what you were but you always knew what you weren’t. No boyfriend girlfriend crap, sometimes you were friends, sometimes you didn't even talk for months on end, sometimes you were fuck buddies.
Honestly you would’ve loved to be boyfriend girlfriend, would’ve been fuck buddies all the time really…but Dean held the reigns.
He would decide when he wanted to pick up your calls, and decided when he’d leave you unanswered for weeks on end. Why? Because he knew after a couple years of playing this game and breaking your heart more times than necessary you’d always be on the other line, waiting. Picking up his call when he wanted you. When he didn't though? When he’d go on hunts and soak in self pity? When he’d scare himself at the thought of feeling something real? He knew you’d be waiting patiently on the other line either way. He knew your stomach would flutter whenever his name appeared on your screen out of nowhere. He knew you were always an option for him.
An option, never the choice though.
You’d made peace with it, living off scraps. Better to get a taste of him then to starve.
You were in deep, you knew that, the type of feelings that stain instead of washing away.
So how could you be stupid enough to try take control when he was the only one cold enough to handle the reigns?
You’d met a guy, a nice one even. It was during a period of silence between you and dean. Last time you spoke was you trying desperately to keep the period of you too talking alive. He was purposely letting it die after you hooked up about twice in three weeks (that doesn’t include the demeaning photos you brought yourself to send him over the phone whenever he asked).
It’s like he had a sixth sense. The second you started talking to someone else, feeling something for someone else, he was calling your phone.
It wasn’t nice, it wasn’t an apology for how he’d practically ghosted you last time, it was straight to what he always wanted.
typical.
For the first time in years you hesitated. You said there was someone else who deserved a girl who wouldn’t talk to an “ex” behind his back.
Dean convinced you one round over the phone would do you good, give you closure.
It just left you guilty.
But guilty or not you moved on, made things official with the new guy. You were happy sure, but Dean just had to end things with words that played in your head time after time, kiss after kiss on lips that weren’t his.
“Ill be waiting for the breakup”
You’d convinced yourself that you were the one who rejected him, in truth you just buried your feelings down again.
You managed to get him out of your head for the first two months (barely). Things were good, technically at least.
You’d fallen victim to temptation. It started by scrolling through old texts, old photos. Then you’d start to imagine it was his dick you were sucking. Your imagination wasn’t vivid enough, every time you saw your own boyfriend naked you wanted to vomit.
It wasn’t supposed to be him.
Wasn’t supposed to be his bed, his arms around you, his body against yours.
It was meant to be Dean’s.
You put up with it, spent every second convincing yourself you loved the new guy, he was safe, he was boring.
But for every second convincing yourself you had feelings for someone who you could never feel sparks with? You spent minutes re-living your blaze with Dean.
You were about half a joint and a couple shots in when nostalgia wasn’t enough. You’d replayed every interaction you and Dean had ever had in your head a billion times. You needed fresh content.
You were just a couple minutes from relapsing back into him.
You sent him a message.
“Hi”
It was pathetic how excited you felt when he answered —more excited than your actual boyfriend ever made you feel.
How worked up you got when he told you he knew you couldn’t stay away.
How he knew he touched you better.
How he knew how much you craved him even when he treated you like shit.
He was a cocky piece of shit, you ate it up like a dog eating scraps off the floor.
The texts kept you alive in what was turning into a mind numbing relationship. Dean knew that. He wore you down, your morals at least —everything else he did worked you up.
You kept trying to justify yourself. With Dean you didn’t have the pressure of making someone happy. Sure you were being used with Dean but in truth you liked that, meant you had a purpose.
He didn’t lie to you, he was unashamed as always, he knew he was a jerk —but hey, at least he’s being earnest.
Hiii can you please write something either with malchemical x reader x solider boy with the lap dog plot? Or if you don’t wanna do that maybe something to do with reader getting jealous/upset about homelander calling solider boy dad, firecracker maybe flirting with him and/or him helping homelander in the new ep? Sorry if these are terrible lol lyyy
Soldier Boy x Lapdog Sidekick - I Want Before Again
I LOVE THE MALCHEMICAL IDEA AND WILL DEF BE WRITING THAT BUT FOR NOW IM DOING THE SECOND OPTIONNNN! Something about canary finding it absolutely amazing at how disgusted Ben gets when Homelander calls him dad knowing damn well he gets off on her calling him that. And the firecracker jealousy? oh yummy. also ily i love how your mind works.
Also guys i have my first exam on tuesday im feeling kinda anxious and writing helped major so ty all sm for the support and patience cause my life has been really messy recently…if yall wanna just talk about how you like it and all that in my inbox youre very welcome to.
- masterlist here for soldier boy x lapdog series!
for this piece obv start with where it all began and then id say this is a follow up to reunion (which is set in season three.) except this part is set more in season five.
THIS IS LIKE A FOLLOW UP PART 2 TO: LOYALTY!
y'all know the drill: -Canary cry user! (sonic scream) Ben refers to reader as his little bird/ birdie.
Same usual warnings as on other posts.
-Canary is users supe name! -not super relevant but it's for symbolism!!! (canaries are trapped songbirds so it's like user being trapped in Vought (and Ben's cause he's no saint to her) cage, trapped.)
Summary: Canary isn’t adjusting as well as expected and is starting to get jealous at all the new characters in Ben’s life. Turns out all she needed was some good time with her dad.
Loyalty consumed your entire life, there was never any to spare. You weren’t loyal to a team, not to anyone, anyone but Ben. He wasn’t a person to you, he was an all consuming factor of your life that outshined any fleeting thought that focused on anything but him. The Seven? Bullshit you were forced into which never managed to fill the hole that paved its way into your heart after Ben was taken away by the Russians. Payback? A bunch of ungrateful rejects who were lucky enough to even exist in the same space as him. That’s where your loyalties lied. They belonged to him. Your life before Ben? Didn’t exist. He was all consuming, a man you’d laid your soul out for on a silver platter.
When the Boys turned on Soldier Boy you stuck by his side. Ben was right to be mean, all that hate for Homelander just to flip the second some kid called Ryan got involved? The fight was brutal thought there was something healing about fighting solely by Bens side again. When Maeve pushed him out of the building taking herself out with him you felt the pain of payback taking Ben away from you all over again. You lunged for the opening of broken glass but with your emotions taking place of your survival you’d turned your back on the enemy. Next thing you felt was being slammed against the ground blacking out with the taste of metal making itself back at home on your tongue.
Gagged again, muzzled like a beast, cries of terror for Ben now muzzled like you were some miss behaving dog.
———————————————————————————————————
Time skip all that to Ben being awaken by Homelander. The only reason he went after Butcher (and almost died from a supe killing virus he was failed to be warned about) was because it was part of a negotiation. He went to mess with the boys, Homelander gets you back for him. A simple deal.
You’d be captured for a year, by the time Homelander delivered you unchained and breathing to Ben you’d thrown a well deserved punch to the god-calling blonde before heading right back where you belonged, by Bens side.
He was pardoned by the government and you were right there next to him smiling as he got his medal just like back in the day. The media went crazy comparing the modern day celebration to you two back in the day when you were just his sidekick.
As eternally grateful you were to be back with Ben, you weren’t a fan of working on the seven again. You made it extremely clear you were only there because Soldier Boy was. Wherever Ben was, your loyalty could be found alongside him.
…and just because Ben was hanging around Vought, doesn’t mean you or him hated anyone there any less.
————————————————-————————
Every time Homelander called Soldier Boy “dad” the only one who looked more disgusted than Ben was you. It genuinely ircked with a type of spite you’ve never really felt before. You’d started barging into both of their little talks just to hug and cling to Ben with a pouty “dadddd” just to to annoy the leader of the Seven. Ben ate it up, he thought your little need for attention was adorable. He’d pick you up with one arm kiss the top of your head addressing each whine of yours with a “yeah yeah, kiddo.” He’d sometimes call you “little one” or “his birdie” along with kiddo just to really rub it in to Homelander. God he couldn’t stand that fuck.
The whole scene made Homelander’s eye twitch in the way you could see he’d be spiralling about it later.
————————————————-————————
An unexpected threat was definitely Firecracker. God to you she was nothing but some biblical whore. So desperate towards your dad as if she was all superior; it reminded you of Crimson. You and Crimson always detested each other, she never loved ben, but she got to be the one in public with him, taking the spotlight with a PR based relationship creating a faux image of lovers while you were stuck being seen as some kid. So to see another red head all over ben? Some modern patriotic version of what crimson had been? Hearing them flirt made your blood boil. You grew to despise the ginger more each day, always somehow popping around whenever she’d talk to or interview him, Ben found it cute, but one of the major differences from back then and now is that you were a bigger, no longer just some kid. Plus everyone was so terrified of homelander they all knew better than to go by any first impressions of Ben and yours dynamic.
Truth was things had been so good with Ben because you two were always wrapped up in a reunion…now that the honeymoon period wore off and Ben was too busy to keep you in line you started acting out. Turns out after all you’d been through, you weren’t adjusting as well as expected. It frustrated Ben.
“You aren’t a real kid no more, can’t be acting so whiney.” he’d tell you; it made you realise you couldn’t get away with all the things you used to as when you were younger, made you wonder if he still liked you grown up —not that you’d done much of it: growing.
Things were spiralling and he’d been more neglectful than he realised.
———————————————————————————————————
One night you were waiting at Ben’s quarters, laying in a slip for Soldier Boy to come back for the night, he was probably held up at the Seven’s tower’s bar drinking enough manhattans to give a lesser man liver damage. Either way, he was late and you were getting angsty. Sitting in the middle of the grand bed, back against the headboard, arms folded over your chest pouting at the door.
By the time he actually showed up you’d fallen asleep, waking up solely to the feeling of his weight dipping the mattress of the bed.
“Dad?” you murmured eyes opening to him already shushing you.
“just go back to sleep birdie.”
He smelled wrong.
“You were late.” you replied with ignoring his shushing to sit up and scowl at him to which he simply said “just go to sleep.” You were getting frustrated.
“where were you?”
He rolled his eyes leaning back against the headboard. it only made you repeat the question.
“It’s the ginger bitch isn’t it-“ oh you were pissed.
“Kid.”
his glare was enough to silence you, a pout forming on your face as you looked away. It was a look Ben knew. Sure you’re jealous fits were kinda cute (and mildly annoying) but looking at you know he can tell all of this is coming from a place of bad-adjustment. He realised his poor birdie just needed some support.
“Kid.” he repeated, this time softer; less like Soldier Boy and more like Ben. he slowly grasped a hand around your chin bringing your face towards his direction so he can get a good look at you. His thumb moved up to rest on your bottom lip before it can start to tremble as he leaned forward to kiss your forehead and let your eyes flutter shut before they could start to fill with tears. Slowly but steady he lifted you up shifting you to sit in his lap as he laid back against the head board. One hand moved to the back of your head, slowly combing through your hair as he cradled you against the crook of his neck, the other large hand rubbed slow circles on your back. It was nice, so nice, the kind of nice that made you want to cry simply because you knew you were safe enough to without judgement.
You sniffled bitting your lip hard to stop any other noises from coming out to which he simply murmured “s’okay, you can let it out birdie. not gonna hold it against ya’” his voice was gruff, deep, but undeniably genuine and exactly what you needed to hear.
it all just came crashing down.
hiccups, sobs, insults.
“i hate it here-“
“why do you spend so much time with the ginger? is it cause she looks like crimson?”
“you miss crimson? you like fire cracker?”
“am i not enough cause im not small no more?”
“you still love me?”
“I hate this- stupid fuckers in capes talking shit.”
you had a lot to get off your chest, crying like a kid.
“i hate the deep. hes so weird. why is he so weird?” you sobbed because yes, frustration built that high.
“I just want before again. You and me, no one else.”
Ben held you through it letting you get every sob and hiccup out as he reminded you “s’okay, daddy’s gotcha. your dads here for ya. i know birdie i know” he waited till you tired yourself out to finally answer you properly. His hand dipped under your shirt to rub your back without any layers of fabric in between.
“I miss before too kiddo, but things changed we can’t help it. Only thing that hasn’t changed is that your still my kid, no one’s gotta come between that, no one can. we’ll figure this out you know we will. Just take it easy babygirl.” he told you kissing the top of your head and slowly peeling you off his chest so he can get a better look at you. Ben wasn’t the best with being sensitive, but with you he always came through: “love you so much yeah? you’re lucky you know that? having a daddy like me that takes care of you? no need for tears anymore kay?” he said kissing the corner of your mouth to which you shifted and chased his lips against your own.
You wanted to forget about your breakdown and shifted in his lap already chasing for something more than just words of comfort.
He grinned pulling you off his lips and letting you kiss down his neck. “switch up so fast” he tutted, teasing, smug.
“cmon let’s keep you crying with something better eh?”
HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS SORRY FOR THE DELAY. My exams are done on the 29th so hopefully lots of writing after that! also ty for all the patience with everything and all the love in my inbox.
sorry this isn’t proofread yet but im on it
@mirwors gave me the idea that maybe i start a taglist? anyone wanna be on that?
also i’m getting through my inbox i love all the asks🩶🩶🩶
wordcount: 622
summary: Ben was always around, even back then. Your tiny hands and selfless love entranced him from the start, molding the hardened veteran into a softer version of himself. Now, you’re back home and the feelings you once had for each other start shifting.
warnings: (dead dove-ish?) dbf!soldier boy, fem!reader, soldierboy x reader, age gap, normal au (veteran soldier boy), reader implied to have hair long enough to braid– think that’s all
(A/N) this is sorta short cause it's more like an introduction for the series.... it'll progress depending on how y'all like it, let me know pls!!🙂↕️
Ben used to braid your hair with hands that were shaped from violence. Years of serving the country, fighting in the frontlines and bleeding for his beliefs and yet he always braided your hair.
The braids always came out different.
Crooked things hanging over your shoulders while you sat crossed-legged between his knees on the living room floor, bossing him around with all the authority a five-year-old could muster.
“You gotta split it n’ three pieces”
He’d sigh, more than used to your sass before replying a grumbled: “I know how braids work, kid”
Your dad would watch from the kitchen, laughing at the other man’s grumbling under his breath, cigarette tucked behind one ear and giant fingers fumbling helplessly with pink hair ties.
Looking back, it should’ve been ridiculous. A retired marine– military veteran– letting a sticky little girl press glittery stickers all over his skin while cartoons played in the background. (Some ‘stupid bullshit’ with talking animals and dumb songs about friendship) But Ben never complained– every time he stepped into the house, you’d run over and place a brush into his lap before he could even take his jacket off. And every time, with the patience of a man diffusing a bomb, he’d sigh and say: “C’mere then”
That was a long time ago though, you’d grown up since then– went to college. It’d been almost three years since y’all had last seen each other. Sure, he’d call in and check on you from time to time, but it wasn’t the same thing.
Now, it was summer break and you decided to head back home. When you called your dad to ask if it was okay with him, he’d happily agreed ‘glad to have his little girl back’ but he let you know Ben had been staying with him.
“Just for a lil’ while–” He’d said over the phone. “ –He needed somewhere quiet n’ I appreciate the company since you left”
You didn’t think much of it, Ben practically lived with y’all back then anyways. But then, you walked into the house, bags digging into your shoulders and found him sprawled across the couch like no time had passed at all. Beer bottle balanced on his stomach, boots on the coffee table, shirt stretched across his broad chest. Older. Rougher somehow– like life had sanded him down into an even sharper version of himself.
Your father looked up first, a proud grin spreading on his face as he walked over to pull you into a crushing bear-hug. “There she is” He hummed against your head, pressing a kiss there for good measure before pulling back. When he pulled back, Ben was already standing behind him– up and ready to greet you before your father even stepped back.
“Would you look at that” Ben drawled, that same gruff, amused tilt to his voice that apparently not even time could take away. “All grown up now, kid” He added, reaching up to brush a piece of hair away from your face– innocent enough– if not for the way his eyes lingered on your braids like they meant something to him. “Started a trend now, did I?” The man teases, flicking one of the braids off your shoulder and looking down at you with those sharp, green eyes.
“Guess I just got used to ‘em” You reply, chuckling softly in an attempt to brush off the weird, tingly feeling his gaze made bubble inside your chest.
If your dad noticed the slightly different tension in the air, he acted oblivious, glancing between the two of you with a satisfied smile– happy to have his best friend and daughter back under his roof. “C’mon” He interrupts, clamping a gentle hand over your shoulder. “Let’s get those bags to your room”
HEY GUYS SO I FINALLY FINISHED THE BOYS AND NOW JUST FINISHED SOBBING. did anyone else think of me when hughie said the word Canary in his speech towards butcher? my eyes literally fell out of my head i was like OMG (not that it’s in relation to me just rlly funny coincidence) anyways finale was amazing wish we got a glimpse of soldier boy but honestly im happy with the end. more work out tonight or tmr!
i’m just so amazed that both the word “lapdog” and “canary” were used in the finale!!!!
more on the soldier boy x lapdog series! i now actually have a masterlist for this series! for this specific piece i recommend reading -where it all started, and -reunion for this specific piece but yall know the drill! also yes my last piece: -the only good thing is similar-ish themes bc yall asked and hopefully i delivered🩶🩶🩶
Hey guys i know I haven’t been active but honestly my ex started borderline harrasing me (like gtfo) BUT IM SINGLE AND FREE AND HAPPY SO HERE WE GO!
y’all know the drill: -Canary cry user! (sonic scream) Ben refers to reader as his little bird/birdie.
-Canary is users supe name! -not super relevant but it's for symbolism!!!!! (canaries are trapped songbirds so it's like user being trapped in Vought (and Ben's cause he's no saint to her) cage, trapped.)
-Warnings: inappropriate relationships, romanticised, dependency, control, age gap, faux familial dynamics, praise, use of dad/ daddy, sex, breeding. doggy, mating press, mention of blowjob (M receiving), Ben/Soldier boy is honestly warning enough. might be more don't cancel me.
Waiting in Safe houses and Motels were far from the luxury Ben deserved.
Hughie and Butcher were taking forever to find mindstorms location, you’d offered to help but the only thing Ben was more eager for than killing the rest of payback? You.
You shouldn’t be anywhere but where you belong: at his feet. obviously.
He’d gotten upset at another dead end from the boys, another whine and bitch about Homelander. Ben didnt give a fuck honestly. He’d heard enough. You could taste the metal in the air when he got mad, spiked levels of radiation melting on your tongue. That was Hughie’s cue to leave. Your cue to help Soldier Boy out.
You were sitting on the ground between his legs in nothing but an old t shirt watching TV mindlessly as he pet your head, thick fingers combing through your hair.
You’d just blew him a couple minutes ago. The metallic taste of his previous outrage overruled by his own personal savoury taste.
Whatever show was on went on comercial break, the advert capturing your attention. It was one of those starlighter baby ones, it wasn’t her branding that made you interested but instead the family shown. A man, women, and baby. The carrier being moved sweetly around in a scene nothing short of domestic.
It looked like the scenes you’d create between Barbie dolls as a kid while playing house.
A part of you craved it.
To carry his children.
You had a maternal part of you which had never been set free through fighting and voughts management. Ben always soared that part of you to life. You were desperate to have him father your kids.
You knew he’d be a great dad, —at least through your eyes— he was already a father figure in some twisted way towards you. Youd cried in his arms when you were little, snuggle up to him during bedtime, called him dad and daddy more times you could count. Fuck did it make you near feral, pathetic.
Your hands curled to fist as your head tilted back to look up at him, tugging loosely at his leg to grab his attention. Eyes wide and pleading.
He took a hit of the joint he was smoking green eyes meeting yours through the smoke he blew out. “What?” His voice was gruff but not unkind, you knew him well enough to take it that he was listening.
“I want one” your voice was whiney, not in an obvious way, but instead in an underlying pleading way.
“What?” He repeated now looking at the stroller on TV. “Birdie your too big to be pushed around like that” he said half joking because he didnt really get what you were getting at.
“Not that…” you said nudging your head in the direction of the TV again.
This time he got it.
“A baby?”
You just nodded taking his then silence as a green light to continue.
”you’d be such a good daddy. I’m tired Benny I been fighting too long. You been fighting too long. I wanna have one, want you to give me one.”
He actually paused for a bit, not because he was opposed to the idea but because of how certain you were. He loved it.
“Yeah? You want me to fill you up, kiddo? Give ya’ my babies?”
You nearly whimpered, climbing from between his legs to up into his lap.
”please dad i wanna see you father our kids…want you to breed me.”
Ben was more than convinced. “Fucking knew i raised ya right. how i proper bitch should be.”
Next thing you know you’re whining for your dad with your face smushed into pillows as he rut hard into you from behind. He was so obsessed there were times where he didnt even pull out between thrusts, just grinding hard inside you as if he couldn’t bare the thought of anything else.
You were drooling when he locked you in a mating press. “Dad agh- mgh.” You couldn’t form a sentence and he loved it.
“S’okay baby, daddy’s gonna fill you up real good. Plug you when im done so nothing falls out, gonna get you nice and pregnant, nice and round with me. Gonna give ya a little kid huh, kiddo?” He grinned at the thought his cock twitching when you nodded practically yearning at the thought of raising his kids.
He didnt stop all night, didnt pull out when you slept; as if cockwarming you could help get you pregnant. He made you stay ass up when you woke up “letting gravity do its work” as he put it.
Dad was determined to get more kids with his favourite little birdie girl.
Whoever asked for this i love you and hope I fed you well. Proofreading rn! (it’s pretty much proofread)
Also guys please take notice like i loved how in season three when Ben is talking to Hughie and gets all frustrated you hear the cackling of the radiation measure machine, (idk what it’s called). i love the concept of Ben becoming more radioactive when he gets angry as if he’s about to blow! cool fact i hope yall appreciate:>
more on the soldier boy x lapdog series! —masterlist. (read where it all began first if you haven’t alr!)
Hopefully i’m back and consistent!
y'all know the drill: -Canary cry user! (sonic scream) Ben refers to reader as his little bird/ birdie.
-Canary is users supe name! -not super relevant but it's for symbolism!!! (canaries are trapped songbirds so it's like user being trapped in Vought (and Ben's cause he's no saint to her) cage, trapped.)
-
Ben hated that he missed you. He’d spent so much time shaping you into a person, to watch you grow under his wing only to miss god knows how long of your life stuck frozen in Russia.
When He got you back you acted like nothing changes, discarding the years of your life without him. He knew it didn’t work out. With the knockout you were there was no way Vought wouldn’t use you.
Forever young and fresh as a result to the compound pumping through your veins, americas sweetheart, you were too perfect. It would bring a lesser man to his knees when you looked at them through pretty lashes. Long and coated in mascara (sponsored by vought probably).
But you wouldn’t acknowledge it.If Ben wasn’t there to live throughout with you then it was to no importance for you. All that mattered was your time with him in your mind. No regard for photos that went viral before the internet was barley a thing.
Something Ben could appreciate, the internet. Porn, music, anything he could think of and more….more being all your archives. Hed went to Hughie —a twink— for aid. Nearly killed him as the boy practically babied him on how to use a computer. Ben didn’t follow through though.
He got distracted.
He found all of it: adverts, interviews, holiday specials, photoshoots.
JackPot.
There were photos of you on some vought sponsored vehicle. Bent over the car in a bikini top and shorts.
Football promotions of you standing in nothing but an oversized jersey, heels. Your hair in two braids as you bit your lip looking up at the camera, eyeblack smeared across your cheeks like you could sell out stadiums.
There was a perfume add, you lay scandalous laying in a field barley covered by flowers.
The leather of his suit crinkled as a bulge grew in his pants. A throb for each new photo of you.
Jean adds….Jean adds with other men.
See the thing about Ben is he knows he’s number one. He’s not a jealous man cause he knows theres nothing better. But seeing another mans hand comfortably in the back pocket of low-waist jeans, a camo whale tale barley peaking out above your hips? He felt jealousy. Not because another man was touching you, but instead because he hadn’t been around to see it happen. Wasn’t around to pose beside you, wasn’t around to watch the world lose their minds over the bombshell he’d created. It was a bitter feeling, sent through hell while the world saw his sweet birdie spreading her wings for the first time.
Fuck.
His favourite of the bunch? A photo dated to a couple years after on the date of his supposed “death” by nuclear disaster. You were sitting on the ground, obviously naked by the lack of straps or sleeves on your shoulders covered by his very own shield. Sitting behind it as some sort of cover to your beautiful body. The world might’ve forgotten him at the introduction of homelander but they knew Canary through Soldier Boy. You never once tried to get out of that shadow, you embraced it. Bathing in his legacy. God was it a sight. To him? You were honouring him. Naked and pretty yet tasteful while covered only by what was once his?
It was a homage.
If he wasn’t immortal, he’d say he could die happy knowing this is how you’d present his memoir. Beautiful.
He didnt even wait to go find you. He was so disgustingly turned on his hand slide down so he could palm himself through his suit.
Click after click. Photo after photo. The theme set as him? He’d never seen something so perfect.
You had his helmet on in one of them, laughing while in a matching set, green to match his suit.
Instinctively he added more pressure to his groin.
A clip of you saying you missed him and then kissing the camera; a perfect view of cleavage as you bent down to do so?
Fuck.
Add after add? Photo after photo.
He kept digging.
He found interviews from back then, the two of you. Ones he didnt even know existed.
Papparazi of little you running to him for hugs after press runs?
He found a darker part too. The sick part of him loved it. Papparazi had documented your life after he was gone? Photos of you drugged up and crying tears he knew in his heart were for him? Seeing you so sexy? Such a wreck? Lost for years without him on rooftop parties vought tried to bury? He loved it because he knew he could fix it, he did fix it the second he returned. His poor little girl was so lost without him she couldn’t keep her life in check-
He jizzed his pants.
He couldn’t help it. The image of you crying lost without him? It had his hips jerking into his own hand, his tip chafing against briefs eager to be free.
He didnt even bother to go clean himself off first before heading to find you.
He got a view the cameras would never.
His pretty bird open for his eyes only.
He moulded every piece of you before the world even got a glimpse of what they thought was all of you.
You were magnificent.
OKAY HOPE THIS WAS WORTH THE WAIT. i’m proofreading it after it’s posted just cause ik i needed to give yall something ive been way too inactive.
@sb-bitch @billieisblue hope i delivered good enough.
Ah I've been obsessed with lapdog since I first read it. I would love to read a chapter where soldier boy is going through all the media canary had been in while he was locked up. Any ads they did especially with other me (like overly sexual perfume ads) or modeling they did ect. Just to see how he would react
This may or may not have revived my motivation to write🙂↕️ i’m making my way through my inbox🩶🩶🩶
wordcount: 2137
summary: In a world where heroes are made and not born– Some end up on front pages while others are kept hidden behind locked doors. This chapter, Payback finally meets the new girl they'll be adding onto their group in hope she’ll better the odds regarding the upcoming war.
warnings: the boys typical themes/vocabulary/jokes, misogyny, cursing, violence, drugs, talk of war, fem!reader, payback era, set before the war but around that time, Harley Quinn inspired reader– original idea by @thefl3shm4id3n
Frederick fuckin’ Vought.
Who the Hell allowed that nazi dickwad to test his stupid fucking serums on people? Better question than that– who the Hell let him inject anyone who walked through his door? His poor judgement (or lack of it thereof), leads to sickos like you getting shot up and pumped full of that toxic blue shit.
Sure, compound V was amazing– greatest thing to ever happen to this godforsaken country– but that doesn’t mean it didn’t have its downside too.
When it started back in Germany– it was more of a trial and error type of thing rather than a full blown experiment. It wasn’t until the product was finally somewhat of a success that Vought-American appeared and took it into the United States. Liberty was the first ‘official’ supe– at least that’s what they showed to the public. Of course they weren’t gonna show all the failed attempts, deaths nor the people that got injured for life– those were weak anyways.
There are two types of Vought-made superheroes. The babyfaces– clean, nice, polite, prettied up for the public and made into American idols. But there were also the heels– those who were off the rails, unfiltered or whose powers were too… inappropriate for publicity.
For example, Soldier Boy was America’s favorite fucking poster boy– even though the moment cameras stopped rolling he was the biggest heel of them all. For some reason, the masses ate it up– the pretty boy persona, all american man with a charming smile and made for war. It was perfect. So perfect, that they actually made him the frontman of his own personal little freakshow, Payback. A group of supes made exclusively for the public– photoshoots, interviews, meet & greets, movies… Anything that would make even more money for the suits in charge.
On the other hand, they had a more ‘special’ place for the misfit failed attempts at heroes. There were many locations, of course, but the main one was what the public knew as Sage Grove Wellness Center. This place, was allegedly a psychiatric hospital for civillians– behind locked doors it was a whole different deal.
You know those comics with the dude that dresses up as a bat? Arkham Asylum for the criminally insane or whatever they called it? That’s the closest thing to Sage Grove you’ll get. The patients there were either completely batshit, their powers manifested wrong or simply had the misfortune of not wanting to comply with Frederick Vought’s rules.
Soldier Boy couldn't care less about the pathetic turds they had locked up in there– they could rot for all he cared. Well, that’s until he’s specifically asked to visit one of said ‘pathetic turds’.
To say he was offended was an understatement. He is the Soldier Boy for God’s sake– since when does America’s hero have to go on some shitty road trip to babysit some looney chick? Despite his huffing and scoffing– pouting like an overgrown child– he wasn’t about to dismiss a direct order, therefore he finds himself on the back of a van, his team surrounding him while they debrief their mission. Sure, he should probably pay attention (or at least pretend to be doing so), though he prefers to remain focused on the joint between his fingers– they had a four hour drive up to Pennsylvania, poor guy deserves some drugs to ease his suffering.
“Excuse me, can someone explain again why our whole team has to travel to some psychiatric ward just to meet some girl?” Crimson Countess asks with an air of utter arrogance as if this was somehow below her ‘high status’ or whatever.
The rest of the team– who were too busy doing their own thing– turn around to face her, all except Ben who’s still smoking without a care in the world.
“Something about chemistry or whatever, no?” One of the twins, Tessa, speaks up. “Yeah, like to see how we feel ‘bout her joining us– if we see it as an option or whatever” Tommy, her twin, adds.
“As if they’d wait for our opinion to decide something” Mindstorm huffs, clearly not excited about this whole ordeal.
Soldier Boy sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before grunting a “Will y’all just shut the fuck up?” the joint still trapped between his lips even while talking. The team falls silent at his warning– none of them willing to test his patience– the rest of the ride to Pennsylvania falling awkwardly quiet.
By the time the van finally pulls into Sage Grove, all the supes quickly hop off– eager to escape the tension brewing inside the vehicle.
“Soldier Boy!” One of the robed men that worked at the facility stepped out, eagerly reaching out to shake his hand. (Bit starstruck but hey, Soldier Boy lived for people fawning over him…) “We are thrilled to have Payback at our institution, it’s an honor, truly” Ben forces a PR worthy smile, shaking the man’s hand, trying his best not to let out some snarky comment about how they had no other option. The man– some Dr. Gunderson– kept rambling while leading the supes down the hallways, mainly bragging about discoveries and whatnot. “Security has been doubled, of course” At that comment, Ben’s head snaps towards the man, a displeased scowl obvious on his face.
“Think we can’t fuckin’ handle some unmedicated knockoffs?” The doctor visibly pales, quickly scurrying to correct his words and settle down the supe’s bruised ego. “What? No! No– Of course not” Dr. Gunderson squeaks out, raising his hands in defensive surrender. “It’s merely to avoid troubling you and your team sir, Soldier Boy, sir” The hero seems to be satisfied with that answer, simply scoffing under his breath and starting to walk once more.
They eventually reach a locked steel door at the furthest end of the building. Unlike the other rooms, the door had no little slat for the inmate to communicate– it was fully closed off, reinforced even.
“What’s with the silent treatment?” Gunpowder chimes in from his spot behind Soldier Boy, having to get up on his tip toes to glance over the man.
“Well some patients is better to have them… ponder their own thoughts” The doctor explains vaguely, nodding towards the guards to open the door. “That way we avoid them influencing the more weak minded patients”
Crimson, once more, scoffs– full of herself and dismissive as she speaks up. “So she has some sort of vocal induced power?” At her comment, the masked guards can’t help but huff, amused at her ignorance. “Not quite” The doctor hums simply, leading into the room.
The place was painfully dull– void of any stimulation. It appeared to be an emptied out prison hallway, all cells unoccupied. Instead of its usual setup, there was a bigger cell-like cage in the middle. And there you were, swinging without a care in the world, back towards the door. Your clothes seemed to have been ripped to shreds in order to build yourself some sort of hammock-swing on which you were sitting right now, the only clothes on your body being some barely there panties and a Sage Grove tank top.
“Jesus Christ–” Dr. Gunderson quickly turns around to apologize to Payback. “I thought we talked about these… extra curricular activities” He says, walking closer to the cage, though still holding a safe distance.
“Aww c’mon– lighten up Doc” You hum dismissively, back still towards them as you hop off the swing, bare feet thumping onto the ground. “Y’all got me locked n’ here all day all alone, least a girl can do s’ have some fun” Sure, the complaints were fair and logical– it was the way you expressed them– almost like it was funny to you, that made them sound somewhat insincere. “Besides, ain’t like I needta cause a good impression on nobody” You add simply, waving him off over your shoulder. The doctor clears his throat, pointedly attempting to get you to turn around– which you do– a wide grin spreading on your face. “Well would’ya look at that, I finally got myself some company” You cheer, padding to the edge of the cell, wrapping your hands around the bars to press your face closer– trying to get a good look at the new faces.
“This has to be a fuckin’ joke” Ben huffs under his breath, voice thick with disbelief.
“Well actually patient 33 is a highly ranke–” The doctors explanation is cut short by your voice. “Now that ain’t real nice now, is it?” You protest, voice sarcastic but with a pout that made it seem almost believable.
“Sweetheart I ain’t here lookin’ to be nice, m’ here to get some fuckin’ weapon to add to my team like I was promised” Ben replies, taking a step closer to your cage– clearly not intimidated by the various warnings not to.
“A weapon?” You drawl, amused and saccharine sweet as you glance over at Dr. Gunderson, “Thought ya said I wasn’t allowed to leave ‘is cell anymore? Much less to kill n’ whatnot– the whole… what was it again?”
“The human rights decree?” Gunderson replies.
“That’s it!” You nod eagerly, nodding in appreciation at his contribution. “That n’ somethin’ bout that Freddie guy not likin’ me”
Crimson Countess glances over at the doctor, disbelief and entitlement etched across her botox-filled features. “Is she referring to Mr. Vought?”
“Why doesn’t Ginger ask me directly?” You chirp in– doing like her and looking at another person when asking it, your gaze landing upon Black Noir, who you hadn’t noticed until now. “Ooh that guy’s mysterious– what’s with the mask, you real ugly or what?” His shoulders tense up at that, hand instinctively reaching for his gun.
“I would not recommend that mister Noir, sir” One of the guards says, speaking with respect but clearly speaking from personal knowledge. The rest of the team turn around to glare at the guard– not used to being told ‘no’ –much less by some lowly prison guard.
“You’ll have to excuse him” the doctor quickly intercepts to damage control, “what my subordinate meant was that it wouldn’t precisely work on her”
Ben glares at him, skepticism etched into his every feature as he perks up. “The Hell s’ that supposed to mean?” He steps closer to the doctor, chest broad and hands hooked into his belt. “Noir ain’t no Soldier Boy but he’s still a good enough shot, he’d have her on the floor n’ seconds”
While the men– and a bitter Countess– have their little showoff, Mindstorm is busy trying to breach your mind. Once your eyes finally meet his, he’s able to take a dive into your thoughts. Unlike his usual victims– you don’t drop to the ground screaming in pain (that’s normal enough, plenty of supes could hold under his power’s strain) –what was weird is that you actually seemed completely unbothered, smiling at him. He gets flashes of your memories– bloody and violent– some of the brief life you’d had before the V compound, most of the battlefield and testing. He couldn’t quite spot any image that showed him your powers, instead, he’s cut off by a loudly thought ‘hiya’ –cheery, your voice without any doubt. “She’s dosed with V1?” Mindstorm interrupts their conversation, finally tearing his gaze from yours to look at the doctor.
“James Bond lookin’ guy went into my head” You chime in, chuckling softly at the name you’ve given the slicked back hair guy. “Bet he found real pretty things”
“Yes,” Gunderson nods sternly, “she is one of the few adults to survive the original compound V1 trials, therefore the more reinforced lockdown” That seems to at least amuse Soldier Boy, probably because of the same drug cursing through his own veins– given the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, which he quickly schools back to his smug expression. “Patient 33 was blessed with supernatural abilities such as enhanced stamina, senses and most notably the aspect of her stubborn refusal towards death”
“Now that just ain’t true” you hum from your spot inside the cage, arms crossed over the bars to hug them to your chest, cheeks pressed to the cold metal. “Y’all just haven’t found a way to kill me yet– though I gots ta give it to ya– y’all tried real hard”
“Well gold fuckin’ star to them” Soldier Boy huffs dismissively, rolling his eyes at the whole absurdity of the situation. He takes slow, measured steps closer to your cage– almost like a predator, assessing the new hunter in their ecosystem –stopping just out of your reach. “So that’s what all the big talk s’bout, huh?” Ben’s gloved hand tentatively reaches out, tilting your chin up to look at him, your grin sweet as ever. “Doll can’t be killed”
fyi it might be absolute shit cause i didnt reread it n kinda just spewed it all out but i really wanna get started on this series n starting is always awkard💔
hey guys i know ive been inactive but tbh my boyfriend (now ex) was treating me like such dogshit lately and i finally broke up with him and he’s been pretty much harassing me trying to get me to take him back. anyways…
