#Soldier Boy Smut

[bruisedfig]

fauxcest w/ ben plsplspls i need that man to call me kid n be a little mean about it but also fuck my brains out while i call him daddy or mayhaps even dad 🙏

mhm you and me both tbh !!!!! first time writing and posting this sorta thing soooo anyway here we go 18+ ofc <3

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“nuh uh, kid,” ben chuckles, his grip on your hips forcing you back onto his cock. he’s deep inside you, his girth practically splitting you open in a way that has your head spinning. “dad’s not done with you, baby. no running away. you wanted this, teasing me like that.”

he forces your hips back to meet his, your ass meeting his soaked pelvis, his balls slapping against your swollen clit at every rough stroke. your pussy aches and your clit throbs from the assault he’s laid on you with his mouth, hands, and now cock. you’re weak, jelly in his hands—there’s no point even fighting back anymore, you know you won’t win against his strength. he’s too determined to wreck you, to fuck you into a sobbing little mess.

“fuckin’ so tight. still squeezin’ ‘round daddy’s cock, huh? you just want me to stuff you again. greedy fuckin’ thing.”

ben laughs, and it’s loud, reverberating around the room, hitting the walls with his regular cocksure attitude and arrogance woven into the mocking sound. you whine and grip at the bedsheets, needing to find solace somewhere.

“yeah? uh uh uh, is that all you got f’me, kiddo? should be fuckin’ thanking daddy for his cock. no one else fucks your pretty pussy like i do,” ben muses cruelly, still ramming his member between your folds and up into your fucking lungs.

the noises from your cunt are obscene—so sticky, so slick. ben fucking loves it. you’re drooling onto the sheets, whimpering beneath him like a dumbed down little girl, just taking what her daddy’s giving her.

(part two?)

[pr4ktical]

i'm your man!

soldier boy afab!reader

warnings: nsfw!! porn with a LITTLE LITTLE plot, chair sex, hair pulling, dirty talk, reader is soldier boy's assistant, rough

synopsis: being ben's newly hired assistant is an interesting gig. one day, he needed help with something. you obviously help, but little did you know it was for something...less professional than you thought. (also for the sake of the story just act like he lives in vought tower😓)

author notes: yay guys its time for pr4ktical's yearly post!! all jokes but, again, i've lost my spark for writing in the past few months and i've been trying to get back into it. this might be one of my weaker works, but i promise i'll try to get better again! thank you again yawlllll!!! also.. this may or may not have been inspired after the movie ‘secretary’..

Your thighs tremble as Ben fucked you like his life depended on it. His hands settled on your hips, gripping them as hard as he could. Your hands on his broad shoulders, biting your lips till they were bloody, trying to keep quiet. He would see your bloody lips, pulling them into a sloppy kiss as his cock touched your cervix.

Dazed, your mind wanders, not knowing how to feel about this situation. After all, he was technically your boss.

It all started a few months ago, just with a simple job listing.

You didn’t expect to get the job.

When you clicked that apply button on that strange, nearly blank listing, you were half-delirious with fatigue and frustration. That night, and the nights before, you were searching endlessly for a job. You’d been fresh out of college, and needed a job and quick.

You’d spent hours on job websites, looking and applying, just to get no call backs. You’d been met with a listing that was pretty much blank, all but an email, an address, and just a job name. “Personal Assistant - Manhattan, New York - Private Client.” You can still imagine in your head. There was no company, no description, no nothing. It could’ve been a scam, or even a setup for something darker.

You didn’t care either way, as you were pretty much out of options. Broke, exhausted, and clawing at anything that might help you at all.

So when your phone rang the next morning, No Caller ID, you answered.

“You’re hired. Be here by noon.”

And now here you were, with the world famous Soldier Boy. His dick snug up in your heat. You sat in his room in the Vought Tower, on a chair near his bed. You'd been his assistant for little over a year now. He’d called you in his room, quoting he “had an issue” with something. You didn't think much of it, and left your room quickly to help him with this little issue. But little did you know, his problem was…a less professional one.

You were just.. perfect. So perfect. Your skin, soft and warm on his shoulders, little crescent moon shapes molded into his skin from you digging your nails into him. You suddenly feel his hands move from your hips, dragging up to the back of your neck. His fingers lace through your hair, before quickly yanking you down so that his lips are practically kissing the top of your ear. “You’re such a fucking mess, aren’t you?” He sneered, other hand giving your ass a quick smack.

He rolled his hips up into yours, slotting himself even deeper than before. “So ready to help me whenever I need, hm?” He murmured into your ear, snapping his hips again. You whimper from each sudden movement, nodding your head slowly.

With his hand still laced between your hair, he quickly forces you to stare into his eyes. You meet his gaze, his pupils were blown out with lust, making his green irises just a little skinny ring around his them.

He reaches his other hand up, cupping your jaw as he slowly starts to move his hips. You feel his calloused finger run along your lips. “Such a good little assistant.” He drawls, he slots his finger in your mouth, leading you to start sucking on it. You stare at him, swirling your tongue around his thumb. You open your mouth, closing your eyes and licking his finger from the base to the tip, acting as if it were his cock. He groans beneath you, picking up the pace and slamming his cock into you with a much quicker pace.

The room is quickly filled with the sound of your two bodies meeting again, and again, obscene, and raw. You whimper, nodding over and over again, like you’re trying to keep up with his thrusts. Your thighs ache from the trembling. “Just keep making those pretty noises for me.” He murmured huskily, staring at where his cock was disappearing, then appearing again inside you. You whimpered softly, body quivering under his violent thrusts.

Ben groaned lowly, his hands sliding down to beneath your thighs. He lifted you up, just enough so his tip was barely inside you. Before you could think, he slammed you down onto his length. He grit his teeth, and panted heavily. You could feel the bruise starting to form from his grip. “I-oh god..” You breathed out, hands trailing up his neck to grip his hair. “S..so close.”

He gripped your chin again, staring at you before slapping your cheek. “Hold it. Don’t fucking come until I say.” He gritted out, releasing the grip he had on your chin, before throwing his head back in pleasure. You whimpered, torn between obeying him, and the tight coil about to burst inside of you. He kept his thrusts steady now, hips driving into you with timed precision, watching you fall apart inch by inch.

Your hips followed his, chasing the high. He could feel you tightening around him, your muscles started to tense up. He fucked you quicker now, and reached his hand low, circling your sensitive patch of nerves. “Fucking go, cum for me, baby.” He groaned. Not a second later, you shattered. Eyes wide, mouth open, eyebrows knitted, a moan caught in your throat as your body tensed around him. Wave after wave crashing through you.

He guided you through it, holding you, grounding you, until he followed suit. With a quick snap of his hips, he buried himself in you, growling your name like a promise. Warm, thick ropes of his cum cover your gummy walls. He eventually slowed down, riding out his orgasm, before coming to a stop. You could feel a puddle of both your releases flood out right where your bodies met.

Silence wafted over you two. Just the sound of panting was present. Your head fell against his shoulder, hands sliding down his neck. While his hands were possessively spread along your back and waist. He turned his head slowly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You knew this was it. You’d become his.

...

creds to @cafekitsune for the dividers!! :333

[castielsonlyangel]

ᯓ★ˎˊ ‘pretty little thing’

Soldier Boy x fem!reader

content: smut - p in v, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), name calling, degradation kink, corruption kink (kinda???), riding

pairing: Soldier Boy x inexperienced!fem!reader

summary: ben shows you the right way to have sex and to pleasure a man

word count: 601

The tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Ben’s thick cock hit the back of your throat over and over again.

The sound of you gagging around him made him groan and deliver a rough tug to your hair. “I told you to be good, didn’t I?” Ben growled, voice gruff and dripping with lust.

You looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, glistening as the tears began to drip down your cheeks. Ben pulled you off of him with a wet ’pop’, releasing his hold on your hair before pulling you off of your knees to stand between his spread knees.

“Take them off.” He demanded, placing a hand on your hips. “Now.” He snapped when you simply stood there, looking at him with an innocent look in your eyes.

You quickly began to pull your shorts down your legs, Ben watching with a smug smirk. When you tossed your shorts to the side, Ben brought a finger to where you had soaked through your panties, your sensitive clit throbbing beneath it.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked. Such a slut, getting so wet over sucking my dick.” He chuckled darkly, large fingers rubbing you roughly through the cloth.

A whine left your lips when he pulled you closer to him, dragging you onto his lap to straddle his hips. Before you even had a chance to steady yourself, he was lowering you onto his leaking cock. You gasped at the feeling of him splitting you open, the burn of you stretching around his thick size was overwhelming.

You dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving little red marks as he gripped your hips tightly, groaning into your ear as he bottomed out. “Squeezin’ me so tightly, I don’t know if I can pull out even if I wanted to. Pulling me so deep.”

His head lowered to suck marks onto your neck, his stubble scratching against them when he moved on to the next. You were practically jelly in his hands, a broken string of moans and whines escaping you every time he snapped his hips up to meet yours.

“Beg for it, baby. Beg for me to cum inside your tight little cunt.” Ben demanded, kissing sloppily at the purple marks he’d left littered all over your collarbone.

“Please, Ben- ‘M gonna cum- I- I need you inside-“ You pleaded as your head dropped down to his shoulder, growing weaker and more desperate by the second.

Your brain felt fuzzy and your insides felt like they were gone to mush as Ben kept pounding up into you, hitting the spongy spot deep inside of you that only he could ever reach. His hands gripped your ass tightly as he rutted up to meet you one last time before spilling his hot load inside of you.

You bit down on his shoulder lightly as you felt his sticky release leaking out of you and onto your thighs. You clenched around him with a weak moan, squeezing every last drop out of his throbbing length.

“Keep every last drop my cum inside of you, baby. Want you to feel it dripping out of you for days.” Ben spoke with a smug tone, looking down at the mess between the two of you proudly. “Such a pretty little thing on my cock.”

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a/n: i hope this is okay and accurate enough to soldier boys character, and i hope this is approved by the soldier boy girlies 🤞 love you all, if you guys like this i’ll write more for him. not proofread!!

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[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 19

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language & smut (the honeymoon phase lol), back in the present, SB being his charming self and every (bad) thing that comes with it, mentions of PTSD, angst, fluff, humor

Word Count: 11.1k

Posted on Patreon July 7, 2025

A/N: Another Fourth of July – let's see if this one goes over better 😜🎆

✨ Chapter title inspired by Jaws (1975)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 19: You’re Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

If Ben’s life had one overarching theme, it’d be waking up without you. 

This morning was no different, although Ben was sure it should’ve been. Still, you weren’t there. But he didn’t panic, even when his sense of touch didn’t feel you next to him, under him, or around him. His other four senses, though, already clocked everything else in the house before he even opened his eyes. 

The smell of bacon, butter, and toast hit him first, your scent lacing through all of it like a fucking drug. There was the sound of dishes clattering, a pan sizzling, coffee percolating, and your hum of a melody. 

Ben blinked his eyes against the sun streaming in from the skylight above him and smiled. He actually fucking smiled. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he did that first thing in the morning. 

Ben inhaled deeply. Your scent had seeped into the sheets, warm and sweet and still clinging to his skin. His sixth sense twitched, too. 

He stretched, spine popping, cock already half-hard under the covers just from the fucking memory of you alone – that one wasn’t entirely new. He ran a hand through his hair and shoved yesterday’s jeans over his hips. Couldn’t find his shirt, but he had a feeling he knew where it went.

His hunger then kicked in – the good kind. The one that had nothing to do with breakfast and everything to do with your bare legs, the heat between them, and how long he’d been starving for another taste of you. 

He padded down the stairs and followed the smell like a bloodhound with a hard-on. What his green eyes found made his pulse spike.

Fuckin’ Christ…

Legs bare, hair wild, your frame drowning in his wrinkled dress shirt. You were facing the stove, back turned to him, hips swaying as you moved and stirred scrambled eggs in a skillet. There was something propped on the counter beside you – Florence’s old cookbook, open and weighted down with a salt shaker.

Ben leaned against the doorway and just watched, arms crossed and smirk tugging at his lips. He let his gaze drag up your thighs, let it linger on the hem of his shirt hitting just below the curve of your ass – not a damn thing underneath it. 

He could tell by the way the fabric rode up every time you bent over a little to flip a strip of bacon, showing just enough skin – a flicker of what was fucking his. Easy access. Tease. 

No apron. No shame. No fuckin’ clue he was behind you yet. 

Ben stared like you were a goddamn miracle in his kitchen and let the hunger build – still not the one someone fed with eggs, but the kind one satiated by shoving someone over a counter and wrecking them.  

God, he wanted to take a fuckin’ bite. 

“Well, ain’t this a fuckin’ sight,” he finally drawled with a lazy smirk. 

You jumped a little at the sound of his voice but didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. You already knew that sonofabitch look was on his freckle-sprinkled face, so you only pointed the spatula at him over your shoulder like a weapon. 

“Don’t,” you warned, voice flat. 

Ben cocked a brow, but the smirk didn’t vanish. “Don’t, what? Haven’t even said good mornin’.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Don’t want you to ruin this by saying anything that makes me regret this,” you muttered and flipped a pancake. 

“And what exactly is this?” 

“My one domestic impulse,” you replied. “I woke up hungry… and possessed.”

“By what? Florence’s ghost?” Ben teased and stalked a little closer to you, floorboards creaking under his feet. 

“Maybe,” you grumbled. “God knows I’m already playing into every goddamn 1950s stereotype right now. I’m currently failing women everywhere and betraying my gender, so don’t you dare say anything male and smug about me being a good little housewife or some other bullshit. I will shove that spatula up your ass and drown you in maple syrup if you do.”

Ben barked a loud laugh and stepped up behind you, pressing the length of his body against your back, hands curling around your waist. “Sweetheart, you think I want you makin’ breakfast?” he rasped close to your ear and bit into your shoulder, making you arch into him on reflex. “‘M surprised. You forgot our old mornin’ routine?”

“Florence made us breakfast–”

“And I made you come.” He smirked against your skin, all heat and intent. “Every mornin’. Woke you up slow with a hard-on and made sure you couldn’t think straight till at least noon.”

You scoffed. “Oh, so that’s what this is about. You’re mad I didn’t climb on your dick first thing.”

Ben gave a half-shrug, half-smirk. “Little disappointed, yeah.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the stove. “Well, tough luck, Romeo. I was starving. Figured I needed my strength if you planned on wearing me out again.”

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna need more than bacon for that,” he said and kissed your jaw, sensual and warm. “And here I thought you were tryin’ to bring tradition back.”

You snorted. “God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He grinned, hand wandering under your shirt and splaying over your stomach. You shivered in his hold. “You remember that? You whimperin’ under me. Couldn’t even get your feet on the floor before I was inside you. Slid right in, too. Didn’t even let you wake fully. Ended with me not givin’ a fuck if I ever ate again. And you sure as hell could barely walk to the piano by the time I was done.”

“Jesus fuck,” you huffed and gave a shaky laugh. “You’re so goddamn full of yourself.”

“Yeah?” Ben smirked, hands drifting lower, voice dipping into that gravel-lined timbre he knew made your thighs clench. “You’re ‘bout to me full of me too, baby.” 

You tried to elbow him, but he caught your wrist and spun you around – not rough, just quick. His hand slid to your lower back, guiding you against him.

And fuck, the little glare in your eyes – he could’ve devoured you right there on the countertop.

Ben claimed your lips – rough, open-mouthed, and filthy like he was making up for eighty years of craving. Tongue swept deep, stealing your breath, your balance. No warm-up this time, no soft lead-in. He took your mouth like it was owed to him. 

You responded fast – teeth, tongue, fingers fisting the back of his hair. You tasted like sleep and coffee and something wild. You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it greedily. The pan sizzled behind you. You didn’t care. Neither did he. Breakfast could fucking burn. 

He pushed you back against the kitchen island with a growl, hand sliding under the shirt – his fucking shirt – gripping your hip like it anchored him to the present. 

“I was making breakfast,” you muttered against his lips with a teasing smile, breath already catching as he pressed closer, grinding into you so you could feel exactly how turned on he was.

“Uh-huh.” His hand moved between your thighs, thick fingers brushing through your folds. “Bare and drippin’.”

“You’re not gonna get pancakes if you keep talking like that,” you quipped.

He smirked – smug, cocky, and a little dangerous. “Who says I’m gonna let you finish makin’ ‘em?”

“Ben–” 

“No more talkin’.”

He spun you around and had you bent over the counter so fast your breath hitched. Your palms slapped against the top, cheek pressing into the cool marble. One strong hand fisted your hair, the other on your lower back, holding you down, fingers spreading wide over your spine.

“Think I forgot?” His teeth grazed your ear, then your pulse point. “How tight this cunt gets when I don’t go slow?” 

He hiked the hem of the shirt up an inch, just enough to glimpse the swell of your ass. He smoothed a callous hand over the curve while he used the other to shove his jeans down, cock already thick and hard, vein bulging as he stroked himself and leaned a little closer.

“Y’know, you cookin’ is, hands down, the hottest thing I’ve seen, sweetheart,” Ben murmured and smirked devilishly against your ear. 

“God, please shut up,” you snorted, giggled, and squirmed in his grip as his beard tickled your neck. “I already feel like I’m ruining my feminist brand here.”

“I mean it.” Ben grinned now and lined himself up, dragging the head of his cock through your slick heat. “Lookin’ all domestic. Slingin’ eggs like a housewife. Got me feelin’ like I need to mow the lawn and buy you ridiculously expensive jewelry.”

His tip caught at your entrance, knee pushing your legs wider, hand on your hip pulling you closer, the other sneaking to the front and groping your breast. 

“I swear to fucking God–”

You didn’t get much further than that. Your sentence was cut off by a strangled gasp when he pushed in without ceremony and buried himself to the hilt in your warm and tight pussy. He groaned deep in his chest, and you moaned something filthy – might’ve been his name, might’ve been a curse. 

And you fucking broke.

Thighs shaking, body trembling, cunt pulsing. One thrust was all it fucking took. Was a new record. 

“Did you just fuckin’ come?” He couldn’t have hidden the smugness in his voice even if he’d wanted to try. 

You didn’t say anything, just whimpered under him, but he could see the little bite of your lower lip, as if that was supposed to cover the guilt. It didn’t.

“Little embarrassin’ for you, ain’t it?” he taunted.

“God–… fuck,” you groaned through clenched teeth. “Can you please just fuck me before I start fighting centuries of institutionalized gender roles here?” 

Ben chuckled against your neck, still feeling you throb around him. “You make this a habit and I might start thinkin’ you’re sweet.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Florence would be proud of you.”

You huffed a laugh. “She’d be worried I was brainwashed by your cock.”

“Ain’t wrong.” Ben smirked broad and proud and so fucking smug. 

“You’re such a caveman.”

Ben kissed your neck, scraping his beard along your skin, tongue dragging over your pulse point. “And you fuckin’ love it.” 

Then he grabbed your hip with one hand, your shoulder with the other, and fucked – unforgiving, unapologetic, possessive. He thrust into you so hard it had you moaning, braced on your forearms, knuckles white, the edge of the counter bruising your ribs. 

He didn’t let up. Took what he’d been craving for years. Took what was fucking his.  

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he growled, snapping his hips against your ass with zero mercy, savoring the wet, perfect slide of your cunt around him. “Tight little thing – always liked it rough.”

You whined and pressed back against him.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he hissed into your ear. “Ever wonder what those cunts at that Women’s March would say if they saw you bent over and takin’ my cock like a champ?”

“F-fuck, Ben–” 

“That it? You wanna get fucked dumb first thing in the mornin’?” he snarled. “That what you want, sweetheart?” 

You couldn’t answer. But you didn’t need to. He fucking felt it – the way you clenched harder, the way you pushed back into every thrust like your body was begging to be ruined. 

He reached down, thumb sliding between your legs, rubbing hard circles on your clit while he drove in deeper. You screamed his name – head back, body arching. Each thrust shoved you forward on the counter, your moans turning into sobs between clenched teeth. You reached for purchase and found none. 

Just you. Your body. Your cunt strangling him with every inch, milking him, claiming him back just as much as he was taking. You shattered with a strangled cry, convulsing around him, the sound punched from your lungs. Your orgasm hit so fast and hard your knees buckled. 

Ben fuckin’ lost it.

A few more thrusts and he came with a brutal growl, spilling deep, pressed flush to your back as he filled you, his cock twitching with every pulse. You slumped forward, wrung out and panting. Then he leaned down and bit your shoulder. Gentle. Reverent. Possessive. 

Tasted like salt and metal and goddamn victory.

Neither of you moved for a long while then. Just heaving. Drenched. Locked together in sweat and need and release. 

“Next time,” he panted, “wake me up like that.”

You wheezed out a laugh. “I can’t with you today. You’re even worse after sex. How’s that possible?”

He chuckled against your shoulder blade and playfully tapped your ass. “Breakfast’s gonna burn, sweetheart.”

You sent him a puckish smirk over your shoulder. “Good thing I paused the stove.”

God, this was fucking weird. 

You thought it every single time you stole a glance at him, just casually shoving eggs into his mouth or chewing on a strip of bacon. He sat shirtless at the oakwood table across from you – broad, smug, and glowing with the aftermath of countertop carnality. Hair still tousled, scruff at full lethal potency, fork shoveling bite after bite like he’d just won a world war and this was his goddamn reward. 

And you? You were trying not to fucking stare – stare at a 104-year-old guy, your goddamn boyfriend, whose cum was still leaking out of you and sticking to your thighs. He’d ordered you to sit in it, and you hadn’t argued. 

What the fuck was wrong with you? 

The whole scene was infuriatingly domestic, otherwise. Warm wood floors under your feet. Morning sun filtering through the windows. Fresh coffee, shared silence, the memory of your body underneath his still clinging to your skin. 

You’d cooked for him.

And it wasn’t just food. It wasn’t just breakfast. It was a gesture – something vulnerable. And you hated that. 

You’d never played house with anyone before. You’d sworn you never would. Because women were always expected to give, and men were always taught to take, and history drilled into you exactly how that story ended. With sacrifice. With silence. With you holding an empty plate and a fake smile while a man ate the fucking rest.

But then there was Ben. He looked relaxed. Settled, even. Like he belonged here. Like you belonged here, too – and that was maybe the most terrifying part.

So, you tried to act normal – except there wasn’t anything normal about last night or this morning. There was nothing normal about waking up in a house that hadn’t existed for you yesterday. Nothing normal about making breakfast with bruises on your hips, your thighs, your neck – reminders of the new strength in him, the want in him, the way he said your name like it was a secret he was desperate to keep.

And there was definitely nothing normal about the fact that he was still inside you in half your dreams and every goddamn thought since sunrise. 

You took a slow sip of coffee. Burned your tongue. Fucking deserved it. Women were crying everywhere. 

Another glimpse at him took note of the differences once again. This version of him wasn’t just broader – it was rougher. There was history carved into him now – blood and war and pain beneath the skin – and he wore it like armor. He was more feral around the edges, like someone who’d lived too long with no one to touch and too much rage to hold. A wolf who’d waited decades for the scent of something sweet. And when he finally caught it? 

He didn’t ask. He goddamn devoured – no fear, only hunger.

And God help you, you liked the fucking taste of it. 

Your eyes drifted – back to the veins in his forearms, the flex of muscle when he reached for his mug, the smug curve of his lips when he caught you staring and raised an eyebrow. 

“Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?” Ben asked smugly like nothing in the world was ever easier than being a menace in a sunlit kitchen. He wore his bedhead and bruises like they were fucking medals. 

“I’m trying to calculate the exact second I lost control of my dignity,” you replied without looking up and ruminated in your toast like it held the answer to quantum string theory.

“Last night,” he said, mouth full. “On the dresser.”

You narrowed your eyes to a glare. “I will hit you with a frying pan.” 

Ben laughed under his breath. “You say that like you weren’t practically humpin’ me by the time I had your shorts halfway down.” 

You blushed – actually blushed, which only pissed you off more. You refused to let this asshole win.  

“Then again,” he added with a cocky tilt of his head, “you did try to take me down first. Real fuckin’ cute how hard you fought.” 

You tried to ignore the way your legs still trembled a little under the table. Tried not to obsess over how sore you were or how deeply satisfied – in the feral, boneless, muscle-aching kind of way. And your brain didn’t want to linger too long on how good he smelled or how warm his skin had been against yours all night.

“I know that look,” he said with too much smug casualness.

You arched an eyebrow. “What look?”

“The one that says you realized I’m better now than I was back then.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to.” He smirked wide and lazy and triumphant, then took a huge and puffed up bite of pancake. “Felt your nails, sweetheart.”

You really should’ve hated him. You still didn’t. But you definitely hated yourself a little. 

But God, you liked the fucking weight of him now – the roughness, the power, the way he handled you like you were the only fucking thing that mattered. 

And yet, he was still him. Still Ben. 

You could still hear the soft accent curling around the edges of his words, still see the boy in his father’s study, all swagger and smirk and heart. Still the man who pulled you into his arms during nightmares. The one who whispered “marry me” against your lips like he meant it. The one who gave you cake on your birthday because he thought you deserved to be celebrated. 

You tried not to look at him like you loved him and failed miserably.

“Sweetheart, I’m warnin’ you,” Ben muttered and haphazardly pointed his fork at you. “If you keep starin’ and thinkin’ filthy things about me, I’m gonna have to do somethin’ about that again.”

You bit your lips hard and shook your head. “Nope. Not what I’m doing.”

Ben’s lips twitched with amusement. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“You have syrup on your face.”

“Yeah? Wanna lick it off?”

Help.

Someone had to rescue you from this obvious hostage situation. Probably onset Stockholm Syndrome with a mix of Stepford Wives. 

Ben’s grin only widened before his phone buzzed on the table. He grabbed it and squinted at the screen like he needed glasses to read it. You tilted your head slightly, watching him. 

Fucking weird. 

Seeing him with a phone from this century? Still strange, even though you and Hughie had taught him how to use it. 

Ben put it back down with a groan and grabbed his fork. “Fuckin’ Barbie again.”

Your eyes widened. “Shit! I forgot. She wanted to stop by yesterday and check on me.”

“Probably why she called me a million times,” Ben said casually, shoveling more eggs into his mouth. Didn’t matter if it was food or sex – the man was insatiable.

“And you didn’t pick up?” You threw him a scolding look. 

He blinked at you, then shrugged. “I sent a text. Said you were fine.”

“That it?”

“And that you were with me,” he added and turned back to his breakfast. 

“I’m sure that comforted her greatly,” you muttered under your breath. “Pick. Up.”

Ben rolled his eyes so hard they almost left orbit, tossed his fork onto the plate, and grabbed his phone, holding it to his ear while glaring at you the whole time. 

“What?!” he snapped at Annie with zero patience.

“You’re a child,” you mouthed.

Ben grimaced but otherwise ignored you. “She’s not fuckin’ tied up in a closet or stuffed into a duffel bag, so you can stop callin’.”

You kicked his leg under the table. It stubbed your toes a little, but it was worth it. 

He pulled the phone slightly away from his ear with a scowl, and you could hear Annie’s voice immediately – shrill and worried. Then he wordlessly passed the phone to you and almost dropped it into your orange juice. 

You caught it and held it to your ear, wincing as you got up from your chair and wandered a little further into the kitchen. 

“Hi,” you said as lightly and nonchalant as possible. 

“You ghosted me for twenty-four hours!” came Annie’s upset voice.

“To be fair, I still don’t have a phone and suffer from partial memory loss,” you retorted innocently and refrained from sharing that you’d had six orgasms since you’d last seen her and made a guy breakfast. 

Annie sighed on the other end. “Where even are you? Are you okay?”

“I–, uh, yeah. I’m fine. I’m alright. Great. Swell.” Overcompensating. “We–, uhm, we drove to Jersey. It was a family-memory thing. Just had to, uh, check a few… things.”

His dick. No! You were in so much fucking trouble. 

“And you were with him… with… Soldier Boy… this whole time?” You could hear the wariness and slight judgment in Annie’s voice. Maybe even disbelief.

You couldn’t really blame her. Again, you were still hating yourself a little for this one, too.

“Uh, yeah, uh-huh, Be–… Soldier Boy was with me,” you replied and nodded, even though Annie couldn’t see you. But your eyes found Ben’s over your shoulder. 

He sat in his chair, bow legs spread wide, posture faux-relaxed as he watched you with something twitching on his lips that told you he could hear your conversation with Annie perfectly fine, even from a few feet away.

You swallowed and broke his gaze. 

“Are you fucking him?”

“What? No! Mm-mm.” You shook your head vigorously and bit your tongue. You lied a lot better in 1942. “It’s complicated. We’re just… hanging out. He’s helping me with some stuff.”

Yes, with sex, your brain provided unhelpfully. Your heart was even worse, though. It told you it was more than that. 

“Okay…” There was a long pause – like Annie had to digest a few things. “So you guys are not, you know, together-together?”

“Uh, no. Nope,” you said and caught a glimpse of Ben over your shoulder. His lips were pursed, and he was poking the insides of his cheeks so hard you were worried he’d break through the skin with his tongue. He clearly didn’t like that answer. 

Of course he didn’t. He probably wanted you to scream your lungs out from a rooftop and tell the whole world how you loved him for giving you multiple orgasms with his huge fucking dick. 

“When are you coming back?” Annie asked and drew your attention back to her. “I wanted to give you a heads-up. Butcher’s been looking for you. Says he wants to talk. He’s been trying to rope Hughie into it, too. Probably MM.”

Your brow furrowed. “Into what?” 

“You know Butcher. I think you can guess. Probably some insane plan again to finally get rid of Soldier Boy,” Annie replied, mostly annoyed with Butcher’s antics.

Annie didn’t really hate Soldier Boy – not enough to want him dead, at least. She mostly looked at him like she looked at The Deep – a lot of disgust, a little pity, and a sprinkle of ‘please don’t make me look at your goddamn face for too long.’

And yeah, you knew you couldn’t trust Butcher. You’ve seen him pull too much shit over the year and could name at least eight instances where he’d plotted to get rid of Soldier Boy, too. 

And you had Ben’s back each time – despite him not knowing about it. Despite him being a huge, colossal fucking pain in your ass. 

“Well, uhm…” You paused and shared a quick glance with Ben, then bit your bottom lip. “We’re still at a motel in Jersey. Have to check out a few more things. Maybe even drive up to Canada and my old place. Might be a few more days.”

“Okay, uhm, check in with me every once a while, so I know you’re alive, alright? If you go missing again, I’m calling the whole team next time,” Annie said.

“Noted. I will, alright? I’ll call you later when I have a phone,” you said and hung up. 

You padded back to the table, sat down, and slid the phone over to him with an almost inaudible “thanks.” But Ben only stared at you with that tensely knitted brow of his again, clearly waiting for something.

“What?” you prompted. “You obviously could hear everything. No need for me to fill you in.”

He stayed quiet for a beat, then cocked his eyebrow. “Soldier Boy?”

You shrugged defensively. “What? I thought it’d go over better with the peanut gallery than me suddenly using your first name.”

“And the not-together bullshit?” His voice dropped a little rougher, a little darker. 

“Same reason,” you replied and watched him bite the inside of his cheek almost bloody. “C’mon, you can’t be mad about that. I obviously lied. Badly. Pretty sure even Annie clocked that.”

“You said it’s complicated.”

“It is complicated,” you countered. “You can’t deny that it is.”

Ben gave a shrug of his broad shoulders and looked at you. “You love me, right? What’s so fuckin’ complicated about that?”

You didn’t reply, just let out a soft breath of frustration. But damn him. 

He rolled his eyes slightly and huffed a “fine.” 

You knew it wasn’t. 

Ben then tapped his fingers against the table, lifted his coffee, sipped, and swallowed before his eyes met yours again. “We need to talk about Butcher.”

You tensed on instinct alone. “What about him? I’m sure you heard Annie tell me he’s looking for me.”

“We need to fuckin’ deal with that,” Ben said sternly, already falling back into planning battles and defeating enemies. 

“She said he just wants to talk,” you reiterated and tried to reason with him. 

But Ben didn’t always see reason – not when paranoia and PTSD were kicking in. Because this version of him carried that weight and reminded you to tread carefully. 

And maybe he’d earned the right to expect people to cross him because that’s what happened in the past – abandonment. 

By his parents. By you. By Vought. By his team. By the public. By his country. 

“Nothing to worry about as of now,” you assured him with a soft smile. 

“He wants to talk you into betraying me. You’re just fuckin’ fine with stabbin’ me in the back?” he snapped. 

“Do you see me doing any stabbing behind you now, Caesar?” you retorted and folded your arms over your chest.

“He’s the asshole who wants to manipulate you into killing me,” Ben gritted.

“And you’re the asshole who wants to manipulate me into killing him,” you retorted bluntly. 

Ben bit his tongue for a moment before he spoke again. “He’s a threat.”

“Wow, that sounds oddly familiar,” you deadpanned. “Where have I ever heard that one before? Oh, yeah – Edgar. You said the same thing last night.”

“Yeah, and I stuck to your fuckin’ rule, did I not?” he huffed. “Or am I currently bustin’ a nut inside you?” 

You sighed a little. Maybe you’d set your expectations too high. You probably should lower the bar. 

“Look, like I told you last night, this is fuckin’ different, alright?” Ben argued like he actually believed in what he was selling. 

Weirdly, you believed him, too. 

Not in the things he was saying. But you believed that he believed. Believed truly, honestly, and foolishly. 

That cracked something open for you – not in your heart but in your brain. 

Your features and stance softened then, and you rose from your seat and rounded the table to Ben, sliding gracefully into his lap, arms draping around his shoulders. 

He had that look of bewilderment on his freckled face again that made you want to choke your giggles. But you stayed soft and serious and sure, brushed a few rogue strands of hair away from his forehead, and cupped his scruffy jaw. 

“Ben, listen to me,” you said gently and got a little lost in the shining green sea of his eyes. “They can’t hurt us, okay? No one can.”

“But–”

“Just–… look outside,” you told him and motioned your chin toward the window. 

The wrinkles on his brow deepened. He stared at you for a moment longer, shoulders tense and eyes hard, before he followed your gaze outside.

“See those birds?” you asked.

He nodded slowly. “You froze ‘em. So?”

“You hear anything?” 

Ben was quiet then and lifted his head slightly, ears perking. But there was nothing. No birdsong, no cars, no people, no clocks ticking, not even a breeze in the wind. There wasn’t a sound, except for your breaths and heartbeats in the room. 

It was either serene or eerie. You weren’t sure which way Ben leaned toward yet. 

“I can’t hear anything,” he replied and looked at you, green eyes flickering back and forth between wonder, disbelief, and fear.

“That’s because I paused it,” you said. 

“The birds?”

You shook your head. “No, everything. The whole world… Even the sun.”

Ben’s eyes widened for a flash of a second, but he recovered well and quickly. “Everything?”

“Yeah, everything,” you confirmed with a nod, your palms soothingly rubbing the tension in his shoulders. 

“How?”

You took a deep breath in and out. “I don’t know exactly. Something happened when I came back… when I was inside that wormhole. It’s like–… it was all just… there. The dam broke, you know?”

Ben shook his head and let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Not really. Might have to elaborate on that one, sweetheart. Maybe don’t go for the most complicated words of the English language again.”

Your lips broke into a smile. “You ever done mushrooms?”

Ben barked a small laugh. “So it was trippy,” he concluded. 

“Very trippy,” you confirmed. “I can feel it now, you know? Better than ever… Time. It’s like I can see the fabric and pull each thread. It’s everywhere.”

Ben licked his lips but didn’t say anything – just watched you with a gleam in his eyes you couldn’t decipher. 

“But my point is, if someone wants to go after us, I’ll see them coming, okay? And I can stop them before they can even make a move. I got this, alright? You can let go. Stop worrying,” you told him reassuringly and hoped it was enough to calm the storm in his mind. 

He nodded slowly as the words sunk in, truly tuning in to the strange silence around him – the lack of danger. 

“Okay,” he accepted quietly then. 

You tentatively stroked his cheeks and placed a featherlight kiss on his lips. “I love you, okay?”

His face twitched as he found your eyes. Somehow you saw more pain than relief in them – and a hint of surprise. “You sure?”

You gave him a soft smile. “Very sure. Wouldn’t still be here and let you do all the things you did to me if I wasn’t.”

He snorted a little, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Kinda figured. Was like that the first time ‘round.”

“From here on out, it’s you and me against the world, okay?” you told him. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you again. I’m gonna watch your six forever, baby. I promise.”

And you meant it with your whole heart.

Ben didn’t reply. Not really. Not with words, anyways. But he did pull you into a searing kiss that made your toes curl and the hair on your skin salute. 

“So?” you prompted playfully, nuzzling his nose with yours. “What do you wanna do with your freedom now? Go back to the city?”

Ben’s lips drew a smirk, his hands gliding lower on your waist till they palmed your ass. “Fuck no.” He grinned dangerously and leaned closer to your ear, dropping his voice to a gravelly whisper. “I’m gonna fuck you on every surface of this house, starting with the dining table.”

With that, he hoisted you up on the table so fast you squeaked when your back hit the wooden surface with a clattering thud. But you giggled nonetheless and dragged him on top of you, legs and arms already winding around him and caging him in. 

“Don’t worry,” he said with a boyish smirk and a mischievous wink. “I picked a sturdy one.”

You stayed in that house for a little over two weeks and did exactly that – till Fourth of July, that was. 

“What the hell was that?” 

“Twenty-five... twenty-six feet... three tons of him.” 

“You’re gonna need a bigger boat, right?”

You woke to the blue flashes of the TV screen as Jaws ran across it and to the faint image of Saturn in Pisces through the skylight as it climbed higher in the night sky. The spot next to you was empty, however. Just a crumpled blanket and a dented pillow. 

You sat up slightly on your forearms and groaned, grabbing your new phone from the nightstand and glancing at the clock – July 4, 2:37 AM. 

Your weary eyes then caught a warm flicker of a candle out on the balcony through the sheer curtains and soon spotted the familiar, broad silhouette of the man who usually slept next to you. 

Like a moth to a flame, you were drawn to him and followed the light outside. You found him sitting in his usual seat by the small table in a black tee and a pair of boxers, half-smoked cigar and half-drunk bourbon in his hands, dark green eyes fixed on the chaotic world beyond the balcony railing. 

You brushed his shoulder with your hand on purpose to draw his attention to you before settling into his lap, bare legs dangling sideways over his muscular thighs. His arms wrapped around your frame wordlessly before you stole his cigar and took a drag, trying not to cough it all out the second the smoke hit your lungs.  

“Since when are you smokin’ cigars, sweetheart?” Ben asked with soft crinkles around his eyes that showed his amusement. 

“Since you’re not smoking cigarettes anymore that I can steal,” you quipped with a little grin and handed it back to him. 

Your fingers carded through his hair then, nails massaging his scalp. He groaned a little and tipped his head back, shoulders relaxing slightly under your touch. 

“Can’t sleep?” you asked, although you knew the answer. He’d been weirdly quiet and focused for the last few days leading up to today – more brooding, as you came to realize.  

You weren’t that surprised by it. Today wasn’t just America’s most patriotic holiday, but also the day the two of you were supposed to return to city, although Ben had joked that the two of you could stay here for the next fifty years and forget that the world was still spinning outside those four walls. 

Maybe it hadn’t been as much of a joke.

You had to go back to New York eventually, though, and face the music. Ben hadn’t had anything on his itinerary for the past two weeks, but he was supposed to give a speech at Vought’s Star-Spangled Super Salute on Liberty Island – the company’s annual Fourth of July event. And the two of you agreed to keep up appearances with Edgar and not make him suspicious that you finished the loop. 

After all, Ben wasn’t wrong when he said that Stan Edgar couldn’t be trusted. You agreed with the message, you just didn’t agree with Ben’s solution. But you were smart enough to know that completing the loop meant that Edgar lost his leverage and probably knew Ben didn’t have reason to keep him alive any longer. 

Moreover, you were aware that you’d been a threat to Edgar before, that Ben wasn’t Vought’s favorite person by a long shot, and that the two of you together posed a threat to the company Edgar surely wanted to smother. 

Puck and Soldier Boy were Stan Edgar’s bête noir. 

But it wasn’t just leaving the honeymoon bubble and facing reality that made today such a fraught and convoluted mess. It was also the day you’d disappeared from his life eighty-one years ago.  

You felt the depth of the wound in the way he held you a little tighter that night. 

Ben shook his head at your question but stayed otherwise silent. He wouldn’t admit that he was worried – not out loud and not in those words at least. 

“It’s gonna be fine, alright?” you assured him nevertheless. “We’ll stick to the plan and keep our heads low.”

The two of you had decided to keep a low profile and play it cool. Give no one a reason to suspect anything. Give no one a reason to fear. 

Although, by now, you were pretty sure Annie and Kimiko knew what was truly going on here, and with them, the rest of the team probably did, too. 

You’d met with a concerned Annie and Hughie a week ago in Philly after the former insisted she had to see you in person and ensure you were alright. Ben hadn’t liked it but stayed behind after some convincing. 

However, Hughie in particular had carried the undertone of “Are you sure he’s a good guy?” throughout the conversation, and you knew Butcher must’ve gotten to him. 

You could tell even Annie was concerned in the way she phrased her sentences more carefully around you now and posed questions that were aimed to make you spill more information. You never did, though. Plus, there were the looks she threw your way that were supposed to make you blink twice if you were a hostage. 

They didn’t understand because they didn’t understand him. To be fair, though, Ben didn’t make it easy on anyone to be understood, including you. 

“You nervous about going back and giving a speech?” You knew it was a stupid question. Even if he was, he wouldn’t admit it. But you could still tell that he was. 

“No,” he said and kept his gaze focused on the tree line beyond the neighbor’s house. He forced a smile – that crooked, cocky one he flashed to cameras. “Who doesn’t love a speech on America’s day of independence?”

A year ago, that sentence wouldn’t have raised a single eyebrow of yours. You would’ve brushed it off with an eye roll and chalked it up to attitude. But it was more than that now, wasn’t it? 

You could read between the lines now. See through the bravado. 

“You’re not like him, Ben,” you said softly. “You’re not doing it because you want the peasants to kiss your feet. You’re not doing it for power or fame.”

“Not what you said two weeks ago,” he murmured, more bitter than the cigar and bourbon combined. 

“Yeah, and I was wrong,” you admitted. “I know you don’t want this. I know you want out. I can see it now, okay? And I hate that you hate it so much.”

“I wanna fuckin’ burn it all down,” he said after a beat and nursed his drink, his grip tightening both on the tumbler and you. 

It was probably the most honest thing he’d told you so far. Old Ben would’ve said something like that. 

“I know,” you replied, head bobbing. 

“They need to pay for what they fuckin’ did.”

“They will.” 

Your fingers gently brushed up and down his neck and played with a few strands of hair there. Your other hand drifted to his chest and kept watch over his heart. 

“You’re warmer than usual,” you noted and kissed his temple. “You’re not gonna explode instead of the fireworks tonight, right?”

Ben shook his head with a faint smile. “Wasn’t on Vought’s event schedule for today,” he joked and took another drag from his cigar.  

“We’ll figure it out, alright?” you reassured him and looked into his eyes intently. “We’re getting out and leaving it all behind. You and me.”

He nodded, but you weren’t sure he believed you enough to quiet his mind. You’d already told him to play Edgar till you’d find a more permanent solution and not to worry about Butcher because the asshole had karmic cancer anyways and was leaking brain fluids. That was a problem that would soon solve itself. 

But still, Ben was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Wanna go back to bed?” you asked gently and trailed your lips down his neck. His scent, his taste, his warmth – you’d begun to relish in it every time it was close. 

“Not yet,” he replied, but his voice was less grim and broody than it’d been before. 

You felt the shift in the way the absentminded brushes of his fingers on your bare thigh suddenly gained more intention. 

You nudged his ear with the tip of your nose and a puckish smile. “Need a distraction?”

His gaze finally lifted to you, the familiar smirk curling on his lips. But there was something underneath the smugness this time – warmth, security, maybe even a little heart. 

“You volunteerin’?” He grinned up at you under the pretense that the weight on his shoulders didn’t exist for a moment.

You bit your lip in an attempt to tame your own grin. “Yeah, I’ll be your tribute.” 

Ben’s brow quirked a little in the way it always did when he didn’t entirely understand you. “You’re still fuckin’ weird in the 21st century.”

You snorted a giggle and shifted in his lap till you straddled his thighs and faced him fully, arms locking around his shoulders. You rocked your hips slightly and smirked. “And you’re still fucking hard for it,” you teased seductively, your hand slipping between your bodies and into his boxer shorts. 

“Jesus,” he hissed as your hand wrapped around his thick length. 

He adjusted the both of you in the seat a little, took one last drag of his cigar before placing it down on the ashtray, and kissed you so hard it blew smoke into your lungs.   

You slipped from his lap onto your knees in front of him with a mischievous grin and hooked your thumbs into the waistband, Ben helping you discard of them in one swift and eager motion. 

He stroked himself, smirking down at you all lazy charm and cocky attitude but with gratitude underneath it all. Your lips sealed around his swollen, red-angry, and leaking tip, and he let you take over with a deep and satisfied hum, sinking back into his chair. 

“Ah, fuck,” he groaned, hand smoothing over your head, fingers tangling in your hair. 

And for a little while, Ben didn’t have to think about all the things that could possibly tear you away from him again. 

The sky over Liberty Island was a haze of smoke, drone lights, and artificial patriotism. 

Fireworks had already started popping in tight, well-rehearsed intervals – not spontaneous bursts of celebration, but carefully-timed pyrotechnics programmed to sync with the Vought orchestral remix of God Bless America. 

Much like Richard Brooks once, Vought had spared no expense to show their love for their country. Giant inflatable eagles flanked the stage like parade balloons on steroids, while colossal screens on either side played a looping montage of Soldier Boy in slow motion: catching a missile, throwing a tank, saluting a little girl in a hospital gown. 

All of it fake. Polished. Market-tested. 

The crowd stretched all the way down the lawn – thousands of them packed in tight beneath the enormous red-white-and-blue LED screens, sweating in their Vought-issued “Liberty Salute 2023” t-shirts, waving glowsticks and foam fingers. 

Every five seconds, someone shouted “WE LOVE YOU, SOLDIER BOY!” into the air like they expected him to hear it. You spotted at least a dozen people cosplaying him: knockoff shields, emerald-green spandex stretched over beer guts, a few fake beards glued on crooked.

You stood just offstage, a laminated PA badge around your neck, your palms slick against the chilled plastic of the water bottle you were pretending to hold for him. You watched the chaos unfold like you were stuck inside the world’s most aggressive fireworks display and couldn’t find the exit. 

Ashley was next to you, arms crossed so tight her ribs must’ve been creaking. She cursed under her breath with every word Soldier Boy missed on the teleprompter as soon as he took the stage. 

And center stage, at a podium decked in chrome and propaganda, stood Ben. 

Ben in his full Soldier Boy getup – sleek green tactical suit with the armored shoulders, the scarlet leather gloves that looked like they’d been dyed with blood, the heavy boots that stomped like thunder every time he shifted his weight.

But still, underneath all the bravado, was your Ben.

You could tell in the way his hands gripped the edges of the podium. White-knuckled. Too tight. His eyes flicked up toward the Statue of Liberty towering behind him, then quickly back down, like he couldn’t bear to hold her gaze. 

“Good evening, America,” he began with the fakest smile you’d ever seen him carry. “It’s the Fourth of July, the best day in our beautiful country, and I’m honored – yeah, honored –to be here with all of you... celebrating freedom, unity, and, uh... diversity.” His brow furrowed slightly before you heard him mutter a “Jesus, fine, let’s go with that.” 

Ashley was pacing like a wind-up toy about to snap a spring. Her phone was clutched in one hand, half a Xanax in the other. Her expression was somewhere between nausea and spiritual despair. 

“Ashley, relax,” you said, though you didn’t mean it. 

“You don’t fucking get it, okay? You’re just his errand girl, but my job’s actually important,” she snapped. “My head’s on the fucking line here. I approved this speech,” she whined in her usual brand of hysterical and bitchy upset. “I read every goddamn word. I signed off on the soundbites. What the fuck is he doing?”

Needless to say, your sympathy for her dwindled quickly afterward. 

Generally, you felt more at ease today than you thought you would. There was a subtle difference between being his assistant and playing his assistant. Now, you were enjoying watching the show just as much as Ben was enjoying giving it. 

Maybe he was a better actor than you ever thought he was, after all. 

Ben leaned more into the mic for the next segment, green eyes flicking between teleprompter and crowd. “We’ve come a long way since 1776. We’ve fought tyranny. We’ve stood up to dictators. We’ve expanded what liberty means to include every kind ofAmerican.” He paused for a moment before the cocky grin spread on his lips like an infectious disease. “Even the ones that dye their hair green and yell at me on the Internet.”

The crowd laughed, you stifled a snort, and Ashley was chewing her hair. 

“Did he just fucking ad-lib that?” she muttered, gripping her temples. “Tell me he ad-libbed that!”

“Didn’t see it on the prompter,” you said wryly and held in your laugh. 

“Now look, I’m an old-school guy,” Ben continued, still not reading his actual speech. “I believe in hard work, punching Nazis, and barbecuing with a beer in your hand.”

You realized then why he did what he did – going off-script was his little act of rebellion he’d perfected over the decades. His middle finger to the system he was trapped in. 

Ashley swallowed her Xanax raw without a sip of water. And hell, Puck was going to cheer for that. 

“He skipped three fucking bullet points.” Ashley looked close to puking into her purse and losing hair again. “That was the goddamn inclusion section! We had a Latina astronaut shoutout! This is a disaster!”

You didn’t look at her. You were too busy studying the man behind the mask. Because that’s all it was now – a mask. 

One he had to wear again. 

You’d seen him without it – seen the raw, trembling thing underneath the swagger and bravado. You remembered the way his voice cracked when he told you about his father’s speeches. How every Fourth of July back on the Main Line was a nightmare parade of martinis and medals, of steel tycoons in tailored suits clapping Richard Brooks on the back while Ben wilted at his side like a son-shaped afterthought, choking on expectations he could never meet and looking like he wanted to set the whole place on fire. 

Now he was the one giving the speech – and the fire was inside of him.

“I went to a Pride parade last month,” Ben said next, still ignoring the endlessly scrolling teleprompter. “Didn’t know what to expect. Thought it was gonna be... you know... a lot of assless chaps. And hey, it was. But you know what else I saw? Families. Veterans. People waving flags. That’s America, too.”

He looked off-stage and found your eyes, then sent you a wink that oddly made your heart flutter – just like that speech turned oddly heartfelt.

You remembered a different Fourth of July speech not too long ago. For you, two weeks ago. For Ben, a lifetime ago.

Richard Brooks, booming from the steps of the family estate in 1942, flanked by congressmen and generals, red-faced with bourbon and fury. He bellowed about strength and obedience and America’s divine right.

You’d seen Ben then in 1942. The real him. Not the poster boy. Not the shield. And seeing him now – lit up in red, white, and lies – was like watching a ghost wear his skin.

Maybe this was his penance for all the things he’d done.

On stage, you watched his throat shift as he swallowed – a little too hard. You saw the twitch of his jaw when the crowd started chanting again, when the fireworks behind the stage began launching into the sky with violent shrieks and booming light. 

Red. White. Blue. 

Boom. Boom. Boom. 

You wondered if he was thinking of his father. You wondered if he could hear Richard’s voice in his head. You wondered if he was thinking of you.  

“Get ready to pull the goddamn stream if he says anything about Vietnam, women, or the inflation again,” Ashley muttered furiously into her headset. “I’m not fucking kidding, Carl!” 

“Deep breaths,” you murmured, still not looking at her.

“Hell, last week I was at a climate rally. Some teenager handed me a metal straw and told me I was ‘complicit in eco-fascism.’ So now I carry this damn thing everywhere,” Ben told the crowd and pulled out a bent metal straw from his pocket. You could tell the grin on his face was real this time. “I’m still not even sure if it’s a weapon or a pipe.” 

Ashley visibly twitched. “He wasn’t supposed to say fascist. He wasn’t supposed to say fascist!” 

You glanced back toward the crowd. They didn’t seem to care. If anything, they were loving it – eating it up like cotton candy and cheap beer. Every time Ben paused for effect, the roar surged louder. 

You hated this stage. You hated this crowd. And you hated the way Vought kept trying to mold him back into the very thing that broke him. 

Ashley was two seconds away from eating her clipboard whole. “He skipped the fucking bullet point about Vought Solar! Do you know how much money they dumped into this? Oh my God, what is he even talking about now?” 

“Probably how much he hates this,” you muttered under your breath. 

Ashley didn’t hear you. She was too busy pacing – or trying to – in five-inch heels and a panic spiral. That’s when the unmistakable voice of a man with too much self-confidence and not nearly enough brain cells broke through the backstage chatter.

The Deep came slinking up behind Ashley, practically sweating Axe body spray. “Yo, Ashley! Uh, question – do you know if the dolphin mascot is supposed to be, like, dancing during the drone finale or just waving the flag thing?”

Ashley didn’t even look at him. “Deep, if you ask me that again, I’m launching you with the fucking drones. Ask someone from Events. I’m literally putting out a fire right now–”

The Deep stopped listening the second his eyes landed on you. You felt the moment it happened and steeled yourself. 

“Hey,” The Deep said, turning toward you with a smirk that probably worked on interns. “You’re new.” 

You didn’t respond. Just kept your eyes on Ben and your arms crossed. 

“I mean, not new-new,” he said, stepping closer. His tone slid into something he probably thought was suave. “You’re Soldier Boy’s… PA, right? I remember you from last year.” 

“Uh-huh.” And you surely remembered him from Annie’s stories, even though you never had that truly thrilling pleasure of meeting him before.

“Heard you were a supe too, yeah?” He leaned in like he was letting you in on a secret. “Don’t worry, I get it. You’re doing your time. We all start somewhere.”

You ignored him again and hoped he’d go away soon before you introduced him to a dinosaur.

But Deep only jerked a thumb toward the stage, oblivious to the power next to him. “So, Soldier Boy, right? Total nightmare. No offense, but if I had to be around that guy 24/7, I’d throw myself into a tuna net.” He chuckled at his own joke even when you didn’t. “Must be crazy trying to keep that guy on a leash. You know, I’ve got a place in Montauk – real private. Hot tub. Strong jets. If you ever wanna unwind…”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Do you workshop these in front of a fish tank?” 

The Deep blinked. “Whoa… Okay. You don’t have to be hostile. I was just trying to be nice. I’m just saying, if you’re stuck dealing with Soldier Boy, I totally get it. That guy’s, like, a relic. Homelander was insane, sure. Total psycho. But he needed me. He respected me, you know? Well, used me, but at least I had a seat at the table. Now I’m background noise to a walking antique with rage issues.” 

That’s when Annie appeared beside you like a blonde avenging angel, arms crossed, watching The Deep like she was deciding whether to publicly roast him or just physically throw him into the river. 

“Wow,” Annie said with a tilt of her head. “Didn’t realize you were still allowed near people unsupervised.” 

The Deep blinked, then laughed awkwardly. “Okay, ouch. Was just making conversation.”

“Go talk to the fucking fish. She’s not interested,” Annie retorted. 

He frowned. “Hey, it’s a rare connection. Most people don’t understand how emotionally intelligent marine life–”

You cut him off. “Dude, the last time I saw a fish with emotional intelligence, it flopped into a boat to fucking avoid you.”

“You guys are mean,” Deep whined. “Women are so fucking aggressive these days.” 

You stepped forward, arms folded. “Please. Like you’re actually interested in women, Sea Creep. You once told an octopus your safe word. That’s not a fun fact. That’s a fucking cry for help.” 

His face turned red. “You know, you two are really judgmental.”

Ashley, still glued to her phone screen in crisis modus, waved a dismissive hand. “Deep, go play fetch with a jellyfish.”

Annie laughed so hard she had to lean on your shoulder. The Deep muttered something about being “underappreciated” and slunk off, practically dragging his pride behind him like seaweed stuck to a sandal. 

But Annie zeroed in you the second he was gone. You had managed to dodge her this entire event up until that point. 

“Okay, what is going on with you?” she prompted unceremoniously. “And don’t play dumb again. Two weeks ago, you vanished off the face of the Earth and went completely MIA. And now you’re… glowing, glued to Soldier Boy’s six like it’s your job again, and looking at him like that? You gonna tell me what’s going on?” 

You offered her a casual shrug of your shoulders. “Just picking up old habits.” 

But Annie wasn’t buying it. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?” 

Ashley, who’d been pacing just behind you, froze mid-step. “I’m sorry – what?!” The redhead snapped, eyes bulging. “You’re fucking Soldier Boy?!”

You winced. So much for keeping a low profile. But you did hold up your hands. “No comment.” 

“No comment?! No comment is basically a yes!” She pointed a trembling finger at you. “Don’t be fucking cute. You might as well hand TMZ a loaded gun.” 

“Easy, Ashley,” you said dryly. “You’re gonna stroke out.”

“He cannot be in a relationship. Not right now. Not with his assistant,” Ashley spiraled further. “Do you know how that looks? I just got him through a GQ spread without him threatening the photographer!” 

“And what if it is true?” you asked, tilting your head with a puckish smile creeping across your face. “Isn’t Vought all about love these days?”

Ashley whimpered. “You’re supposed to be his assistant. You can’t just–… sexually fraternize with Vought property!” 

“Who gives a shit?” Your brow pinched. “He’s not a fucking fax machine.” 

And Ashley was only fully spiraling now, probably soon in need of a cardiologist. “Do you have any idea–… If this gets out – oh my God! Do you know how many lawsuits this opens us up to? What’s the age difference again?! Actually don’t tell me – legally, I don’t want to know.”

You tuned her out after that, your eyes drifting to the man you loved on stage. 

“Point is,” Ben said into the mic and to a crowd of people, “Vought and I – yeah, Vought – are committed to making this country better. Not just stronger. Better. We’ve made mistakes… Big ones. And after what happened with... you-know-who–” He made an eye laser motion and gave a shrug that sent Ashley screaming. “We’re not gonna let that happen again. No more Gods on pedestals. No more unchecked power. From now on, it’s accountability, compassion, and good ol’ fashioned ass-kicking where it counts.” 

Annie watched you for a second too long and exhaled a deep sigh. “Look, here’s what I think: he treated you like fucking shit for months. He humiliated you every chance he got. I saw the way he looked at you – like you were less than nothing.” 

You took a breath, slow and even. “It’s complicated.” 

Annie arched an eyebrow like you’d grown a second head. “Complicated? This doesn’t make sense. You hated him only two weeks ago. You flinched every time he walked into a room.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?” Annie looked at you like she was begging you to explain it. She couldn’t reconcile who you were now with the woman who used to vent in her kitchen about how badly she wanted to toss Soldier Boy into another century. 

“I got to know him,” you said softly. “The real him.”

Her eyes narrowed at you. “You think you’re gonna fix him?” 

“No.” You gave a tired smile and shook your head. “I think he doesn’t need fixing. He needs time. Patience. Someone who doesn’t flinch when he gets it wrong. Someone who sees the good – even when he doesn’t believe it’s there.”  

“I’m not saying this as a supe or a brand,” Annie said, her eyes still shimmering with disbelief and judgment. “I’m saying it as your friend. He’s not a good person. You know that, right?” 

Your jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not asking you or anyone else to forgive him. But we’ve all done shit and made mistakes, you and me included. Why doesn’t he get a fucking chance to make up for it? God knows all the shit we’ve forgiven Butcher. How many supes did your boyfriend kill, huh?” 

Annie looked at you for a long time, emotions flickering behind her eyes: anger, confusion, maybe even fear for you. 

“I don’t get it,” she finally said. “I really don’t.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” you only scoffed in response, your eyes swerving back to the stage and the man you loved as the American flag unfurled behind him. 

“So this Fourth of July, whether you’re eating ribs, waving a flag, or chaining yourself to an oil pipeline,” Ben told the audience, “raise a glass to freedom. Because it’s messy. It’s complicated. And it’s worth fighting for.” He saluted and started walking off the stage. “Happy birthday, America. Try not to blow your damn hands off.”    

“Do not salute,” Ashley gritted through clenched teeth in a furious whisper. “Don’t you dare salute after that.”

But Ben’s eyes found you, strolling past a row of Vought execs with a smile plastered onto his face like a fresh coat of paint on an old, cracking wall. It turned a little more genuine, the longer his gaze stayed on you. 

All you saw was Ben, though. Tired. Angry. Yours. 

Ashley was still muttering about the press cycle and damage control, but you didn’t hear her. Because surrounded by flags and fanfare and lies, you were already counting down the minutes until you were alone again – just the two of you, back in the quiet of your house in Philly. No cameras. No shield. No more pretending.

Just Ben and you. 

However, before he could reach you, The Deep intercepted him, which was probably a mistake on the latter’s part. The men were close enough for you to hear them and Deep’s pathetic attempt at crawling into the new alpha dog’s asshole. 

“Great job out there, sir,” Kevin said, snapping into a half-ass salute. “Real patriotic stuff. Totally raw, man. You said the quiet part out loud, you know? We need more of that. Crowd loved it. Total chills, bro. I felt it in my balls.” 

Ben gave him the briefest glance and kept walking.

“Hey, listen, I was thinking maybe we talk about me tagging along again?” Deep continued, unbothered and desperate for attention. “I mean, Homelander’s gone, and I know you need a reliable partner. I’m aquatic. You’re–, uh, not. It’s a good dynamic. People love a fish-and-grunt combo. Plus, your assistant’s kind of a bitch. But like, so hot. Makes you wonder what else she can do with that mouth, you know?”

Ben stopped in his tracks, head turning, slow and dangerous. “The fuck you just say?” 

The Deep paled. “N-nothing, sir. Just–… you know how it is. That bitch probably just needs a guy who can handle her. But she’s your assistant, right? Figured maybe you could order her to stop by my room later – if you’re cool with that, you know?”

Ben didn’t say anything, but you could tell by his tightly locked jaw that he surely wanted to punch through the guy’s gills. And in that loaded silence, you strode forward with fire in your chest, anger in your throat, and suddenly done with all of it. 

Ashley started to shriek. “Wait–don’t–… Don’t you dare!”

But you fisted the emerald green fabric of his suit, pulled him to you, and crashed your lips against his so hard it stole his breath away – wild, bold, untamed. You wanted the world to fucking see and didn’t care what it had to say about it. 

Ben froze for only the shortest second. Then he kissed you back – rougher, possessive, protective. His arm slid around your waist instinctively, grounding you in that raw, unpolished gravity that only he fucking had – that only you knew how to handle. 

And you kissed him hard, fierce, and final.

You ignored Ashley’s gasping “fuck me,” Annie’s stone-cold glare, and Deep’s muttered “shit.” The kiss was a statement. A full-volume announcement that shattered whatever illusion the three of them had been clinging to. The world was still spinning all the same. It didn’t matter. 

When you pulled back, your foreheads touched, Ben stroking the apple of your flushed cheek with his knuckles.

“Oh shit,” Deep mumbled, meeting Ben’s stern eyes. “I didn’t–… I mean, I wouldn’t have said–… Fuck.” 

You shrugged and smiled sweetly, but you were sure Ben didn’t miss the puckish twinkle in your eyes. “Sorry, dude. I don’t fuck guys with an IQ lower than the Hudson’s water temperature.”

The Deep’s mouth opened to argue, but a flicker toward Soldier Boy with his arm slung around you probably told him not to. 

Ben then finally turned to look at him fully, nothing but calm danger in his voice. “Get the fuck outta my face, Fishstick.” 

Deep scrambled back like he’d been slapped and fled the scene. Ashley looked like she was about to faint and kept muttering numbers under her breath like she was trying to defuse a bomb. 

And Annie? Annie looked at you like she didn’t know who you were anymore and walked away, shaking her head. Admittedly, that stung. 

Ben drew your attention back to him by hooking his fingers under your chin and lifting your gaze. He kissed your lips – soft, slow, grounding. 

Then a smile formed on his mouth. “What happened to staying my dirty little secret, hm?” he teased. 

You shrugged innocently, chewing your bottom lip. "I liked your speech."

Ben chuckled, deep and warm, and raised an eyebrow. "You liked my speech, huh?"

"It had some heart at certain parts," you replied. Your arms curled tighter around his neck, pressing your forehead to his. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Ben’s smile widened and softened at once, tucking your hair behind your ear before he leaned closer to it and rasped devilishly, "Almost forgot about that side of you. Fuckin' hot. Makes me want to shove you into the next room and fuck you so loud Ashley tears all her hair out again."

In response, you stretched on tiptoes and claimed his lips, giggling into the kiss.

“Well, well…”

You both jolted at the sharp, familiar voice behind you and spun. Ben's fingers interlaced with yours and squeezed on instinct.

“Seems like you’ve finally made progress, Soldier Boy.” Stan Edgar smiled – cold, cunning, and calculated. “Congratulations. Let’s talk somewhere more private, shall we?”

And suddenly, you remembered the reason why Puck was supposed to stay locked in the trunk and not kick you out of the driver’s seat. 

▶�� Chapter 20: What We've Got Here Is Failure to Communicate – AUGUST 11

Did you enjoy yet another Fourth of July bash? Did we love their little honeymoon phase? (It's not entirely over yet.) How did you like Soldier Boy's freestyled speech and Ashley's nervous breakdowns? Somehow I loved writing that part 😂🐠🎆

I'm already cracking my knuckles for next week, guys. We're slowly leaving Fluffytown again and crawling back toward Angst City. But no worries – them against the world still holds 😉

PS: I'm still catching up with comments & reblogs, but I'll get to every single one of 'em 🩵

Coming Up:

“You don’t act like a supe,” Edgar continued. “You don’t argue like one. You dress like a professor, and you think like one. I know you never wanted the spotlight. That’s exactly why people will trust you. They’ve seen the godlike. The narcissists. The tyrants. Now they need to see the human again.” 

You huffed a bitter laugh. “You tried to kill me.” 

“I tried to control what I didn’t understand,” Edgar corrected. “It was a mistake. A stupid one. Vought did what Vought always does: reduce risk, eliminate variables. I won't defend it. But I will say this – I am the only person in this company who knows what you are and hasn’t turned it into a weapons project.” 

“Yet.” Ben’s jaw twitched. “You came damn close.” 

“And yet, here you both are. Alive. Whole. Together,” Edgar said, setting his drink down and folding his hands calmly in front of him. “I’m here to make a new offer – one that reflects your… current status.” 

Your gaze briefly flicked to Ben’s before you narrowed your eyes at Edgar. “You mean now that your blackmail’s expired.” 

He gave you a smile. “Let’s call it… updated leverage.”

“You don’t have any goddamn leverage,” Ben muttered, teeth gritted, and exhaled through his nose. “We already had a fuckin’ deal. She stayed close. You stayed breathin’. Done.”

“You two can kill me and burn Vought to the ground, sure. The whole system even, considering both your abilities,” Edgar replied, infuriatingly calm. “But do you really think it ends with me? Someone else will try to control you. Another executive. Another supe. Another foreign government. You become someone’s experiment. Someone’s nuclear deterrent. It never ends. I can offer you both what you want most – peace of mind.” 

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[fxckingjo]

ℌ𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔱 𝔪𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔱 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔞 𝔨𝔦𝔰𝔰

Soldier Boy/reader. Payback era. Title from ‘Ultraviolence’ by Lana Del Rey. Established FWB relationship. Unprotected PiV sex. Be safe or be sorry 🤪!

His ultraviolence is what draws you in.

You want Ben to ruin you with it. The blood staining his hands tastes like copper, lust, and holy oil. You don’t care that he’s a hell you can’t escape from. You don’t care that he kisses you a little too hard, leaves bruises that don’t go away, makes you cry when he gags you on his thick, hard cock. You like the way it hurts because he doesn’t pretend. He doesn’t lie. He just… takes.

And you give.

You’re in some back alley in the city, a hellish door to purgatory where a bunch of Italian drug movers were in a turf war with the Irish mob. You and Ben handled it.

Which means exactly what it sounds like.

Eight dead. Two in the wind. You’ll track them later.

Payback can wait for the mission report. You’re busy.

Busy means your back against the wall, Ben’s boots in a pool of blood and bullet casings as he drives you into the bricks. His hips snap wickedly into yours, and you’d moan, but his teeth are holding your lip hostage as he pounds into you. There’s dirt and grime and blood all over both of you, but you don’t care. All you care about is the pressure of his cock shoved so deep in you you’re seeing god fracturing behind your eyelids. You hope the saints aren’t watching.

Each grind of his hips works your clit through your panties, shoved aside just enough to fit inside you. You’re so close, and he’s bruising your cervix, and you feel like you’re about to explode.

And then you cum. He tightens his hand around your chin hard, and if you weren’t pumped full of compound V, your skull might explode from his grip. But it feels so good. You like that it hurts. Your spine is electrified with pleasure, your toes curl in your boots, and you cum hard enough to make the sky flicker with lightning. Your weather powers sure come in handy for ambiance’s sake.

Ben follows right behind you, slamming a palm against the wall as he pistons into you one final time before he paints your walls white and finds that one spot that makes your eyes roll back. He fucks his cum back inside of you, bringing you to another soft, slow orgasm.

To his credit, he might fuck you violently and selfishly, but he makes you finish at least twice every time. It probably gets him off. He never does anything without himself as an ulterior motive.

He pulls out of you, and you feel his release dripping against the canvas of your panties as he sets you down, pulling his suit pants up and belting them. You pull your skirt down—most of the time your costume feels ridiculous, but when it comes to access, you’ll happily credit Vought for innovation—and fluff out your hair.

He chuckles. “Think the city will sue for their wall?”

You look up, chuckling. He cracked the bricks when he came hard and threw his powerful palm down on them.

“We have insurance,” you reply.

His green eyes are wicked. “For what it’s worth, doll face, the Countess doesn’t fuck half as good as you do.”

You pretend it doesn’t hurt a little, knowing you’re a secret while his fake media girlfriend gets all the credit. All of his public affection.

But you’ll take pieces of him where you can get them.

“You’ve got bruises on your chin, babydoll,” he adds.

“You always leave your mark, Soldier Boy.”

One day, when you’re brave, you’ll maybe even call him Ben. One day. If this ever becomes anything more than a violent release.

But Soldier Boy doesn’t do love. He only does hurt.

But it hurts so good.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

no saints in safehouses

content warning/s & word count: 18+!!!, first and foremost—ben is his own warning here because jesus christ, language and swearing, misogyny, violence, threats, spitting, smut (kissing, biting, oral/cunnilingus, throat-fucking, fingering, unprotected p in v, threat of p in a, spanking, overstim, coming on face, ben being mean, reader has an implied breeding kink), manhandling, degradation, gentle humiliation, mocking, i believe that's it. 6.4k

The safehouse door slammed shut behind you with a rusted metal groan, the sound sharp and final—like a lid sealing on a coffin.

You dropped your bag at the threshold without looking back. Your shoulder was bleeding again—torn wide when the mission started unravelling, torn wider when he got involved. You hadn’t even wrapped it. Couldn’t stand the thought of asking him for help. Would rather bleed out on the floor than let him touch you.

The air in the safehouse was sour. Sweat, smoke, old rot behind the walls. A single naked bulb dangled from the ceiling, flickering every few seconds like it couldn’t decide whether to expose or protect.

Behind you: boots. Slow. Heavy. Cocky.

You heard him exhale like he was bored. Like this whole thing—the mission, the mess, you—was just another inconvenience.

“Y’know…” he drawled, voice low and lazy, like he was savouring the words before spitting them into your spine, “He’s not wrong.”

You didn’t turn around.

“Butcher,” he added, in case you needed clarity. “You heard him. Said we’re a liability. Said we fucked it.”

You still didn’t move. The pain in your shoulder pulsed in time with your heartbeat. You could feel him behind you—close enough that your skin prickled.

“What was it he said again? Somethin’ like—‘get the fuck back to base before you fuck everything else up, yeah?’” He snorted. “Fuckin’ poetry.”

You turned slowly. Deliberate. Controlled. Like you hadn’t been burning the entire way back.

Ben leaned against the table like he owned it. Like he owned everything. His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled, streaks of blood dried on his forearms. A cut split the corner of his mouth, barely crusted over. He looked like hell. He looked smug as sin.

“This your way of apologising?” You asked flatly.

He grinned.

“For what? Havin’ to drag your sorry ass out of the crossfire?” He tipped his chin toward you, voice soft and sharp. “You’re the one who decided to break off formation, sweetheart. You’re the one who thought she knew better. As usual.”

“You were supposed to be on my six.”

“I was,” he said, with a smirk that could rot teeth. “But your head’s so far up your own ass, you probably couldn’t see straight.”

You took a step forward.

“Don’t fucking talk to me.”

“Why not?” He tilted his head, mock-confused. “Scared I’ll say somethin’ you don’t wanna hear?” He clicked his tongue. “Or scared I’ll say somethin’ you do?”

He pushed off the table and started toward you, boots deliberate, like he was giving you time to flinch.

You didn’t.

“Touch me and I’ll gut you.”

He laughed. Full-bellied. Loud in the cramped space.

“Jesus Christ. Every time. You get that little snarl in your voice and think it makes you dangerous. But sweetheart—” He closed the distance, close enough to smell the blood drying on his skin. “—you don’t scare me. You get me hot.”

You flinched before you could stop yourself. And he noticed.

“That’s right,” he said, voice dipped low like a secret, like a threat. “Say my name like it don’t hurt you to come out that pretty, wet little mouth.”

“I’d rather chew glass.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’d still fuck you with blood on your teeth.”

Your hand twitched toward your blade.

He saw it. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“What are you gonna do?” He asked, voice husky with mock concern. “Stab me?”

He leaned in. “C’mon, baby. Don’t tease. You and I both know you ain't gonna do shit.”

You shoved him.

It was instinctive, desperate, not meant to land so much as buy space—but he didn’t budge. Didn’t stumble. He just looked down at the spot where your hands had hit his chest. Then up.

Then smiled.

“There she is,” he murmured. “My little junkyard dog. All bark. No bite.”

You punched him. Hard. Right across the face.

His head jerked sideways with the impact. And for a moment—blessed silence.

Then he licked the blood from his lip and grinned.

“That all you got?”

You went for him again. This time he blocked it. Then the other.

You were shaking. Breathing too fast. You didn’t care. Your shoulder screamed, your vision burned—but you kept swinging. He caught your wrist. Twisted. Pressed you back against the table.

His face hovered over yours, grinning like a devil that just found a loophole.

“Always a mean little bitch under all that scowling,” he rasped, his breath hot against your cheek. “Now what? You gonna hit me again…”

His other hand slid across your hip, slow, possessive.

“…or you gonna fuckin’ kiss me?”

You shoved him—hard.

This time, Ben moved. His ass slammed against the table’s edge with a thud, the sound loud in the breathless space between you. The legs screeched against the concrete floor, the flickering bulb above swaying ever so slightly from the shift.

He didn’t look angry. He looked delighted.

That fucking smirk twisted across his split lip like sin incarnate. His eyes tracked your movements lazily, like he was watching a predictable game play out exactly as he'd imagined.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you snapped, voice low, warning-laced, vibrating with the kind of rage that tasted like blood at the back of your throat.

He tilted his head. “Ohhh,” he said slowly, savouring the shape of the sound like a fine cigar. “Feisty now, huh?”

Your chest heaved. Your shoulder throbbed. The sleeve of your jacket was soaked through, blood soaking the fabric where the wound still wept. You didn’t care. Not now. Not when he stood there like every word that had ever left your mouth was just foreplay.

“You are a walking piece of shit, Hargrove,” you hissed, each syllable laced with months of bitter frustration. “Every time you open your mouth, it’s like someone scraped the bottom of a fucking urinal and taught it to speak.”

He barked out a laugh, loud and cruel, cutting across your words like a blade. “C’mon, sweetheart. You can do better than that.”

You didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

“You’re a liability. A danger to your own team. You’re not a soldier—you’re a relic. Washed-up and bitter and desperate for someone to look at you like you’re still relevant—”

“There she goes,” he said, louder now, over you. His tone dripped with amusement, his grin all teeth. “God, you run that mouth like it’s gonna win you a medal.”

“Shut the fuck up and let me finish!”

“Why?” He shrugged. “You only like hearin’ yourself talk?”

Your vision blurred, fury red-hot behind your eyes. You didn’t even realise how close you’d stepped until you felt his breath ghosting across your lips.

“You think this is funny?” You hissed. “You ruin everything you touch. Every mission, every team—you tank it. Because you can’t handle anyone not looking at you like you’re a fucking god.”

He didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked pleased. “And yet you keep comin’ back,” he murmured. “Can’t help yourself. Bet you lie awake wonderin’ if I’m thinkin’ about you. Wantin’ me to.”

You scoffed, but his grin widened.

“Hate to break it to you, honey, but you ain't special. You're just easy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Nah. I'm honest.” He stepped in close, voice dropping to a murmur. “Y’know what your real problem is? You don’t know your fuckin’ place.”

You blinked. Something in your spine stiffened. That sick-slick tension tightened between your ribs.

“Back in my day,” he continued, slow and deliberate, “girls like you weren’t out in the field. You were fuckin’ dinner entertainment. Something soft to come home to. Not stompin’ around, actin’ like your tits and your tantrums count as tactical advantage.”

Your nails bit into your palms. He kept going.

“You wanna play soldier so bad, but you can’t even keep your emotions in check. Bleedin’ all over the floor and yellin’ like a brat who didn’t get her way.”

“I am ten times the asset you’ll ever be—” you began, but he cut you off again.

“Sweetheart, the only asset you got is between your fuckin’ legs.”

Silence fell. Ugly. Hot.

Then you spit.

Right into his face.

It landed just beneath his eye, slid slow and gleaming down his cheek to where his jaw tensed. He didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t blink.

Then, fast as a whipcrack, he lunged.

His hand snapped up and clamped around your jaw with bruising force, fingers digging into the soft parts of your cheeks, thumb pressing into the hinge like he was daring it to break. He squeezed hard enough to make your lips part, to force your chin upward until your eyes had nowhere to go but him.

You jerked, tried to wrench away, but he held you firm. Unyielding.

“Don’t waste your fuckin’ spit like that,” he growled.

His breath was hot. His face inches from yours, that cut on his lip glistening red and wet.

“You got no idea how many men would’ve dropped you where you stand for that.”

He paused, then smiled. A slow, filthy thing.

“But not me.” His voice rasped low, reverent in the worst way. “Nah. I like you like this. All mouth and no plan. Lookin’ at me like you wanna kill me and come on my cock at the same time.”

You tried to speak, and he tightened his grip. The ache bloomed instantly, your jaw locked in place.

“Don’t. Speak.”

His eyes roamed over your face, dark and gleaming with something feral.

“You’re not gonna say anything I haven’t already jerked off to.”

Your jaw ached in his grip, cheeks squeezed between his calloused fingers, lips parted just enough for breath to pass—but nothing else. He held you there like a fucking trophy, his thumb rough against your skin, his smirk rotting through your bloodstream like venom.

You could hear yourself breathing. Could hear him breathing. Close and sharp and slow. Measured, like he was savouring the scent of your unraveling.

You hated the silence. Because in the silence—you felt it.

The throb. Low and dark, blooming in your gut like a bruise. Not from rage. Not from shame.

From want.

And it hit you like a slap.

No.

No, no, no.

Your pulse pounded hard against your ribs. Your body buzzed like it had just realised what kind of man had you pinned. What kind of voice was in your ear. What kind of fingers were on your jaw.

And that—that’s what made your stomach twist. Because somewhere in the middle of all the hate and heat and violence—

You were getting wet.

You scowled. Tried to pull back. But Ben’s grip didn’t loosen. Instead, his smile stretched into something even worse.

“Ohhh,” he crooned, soft and vicious, “there it is.”

You froze. Heart lurching.

“That little squirm,” he said. “Took you a minute, huh? Thought you were gonna keep up the act a little longer.”

You growled in your throat, furious, but he just kept going.

“Should’ve known. All that righteous little rage—” he leaned in, voice dipping like a secret, “—was just your pussy tryin’ to negotiate terms.”

You twisted in his grip, but he followed you like a shadow.

“Bet you’re soaked. Hatin’ every second of it. Poor thing.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” you hissed.

He ignored it.

“What is it?” He murmured. “The voice? The muscles? Or is it the fact I treat you like a fuckin’ dumb little girl who doesn’t belong on the field?”

You spat again—but this time, you missed. It hit his collarbone, slid down his bare chest where his shirt wasn't fully done up.

He chuckled darkly.

“Temper, temper.”

Then you bit him. Hard.

Your teeth sank into the curve where his shoulder met his neck, the tang of his sweat hitting your tongue like copper and salt. You heard him grunt—deep and involuntary—but he didn’t pull away. If anything, his hand tightened on your jaw, holding you there like he wanted the pain.

You pulled back and glared up at him, lips slick with spit and rage.

“You are not fucking me,” you snapped.

Ben didn’t blink.

“No?” He said, voice sharp with laughter, laced with something darker beneath it.

Then his hand dropped low, low enough to brush between your legs, just for a second, just enough for him to feel the heat there.

His eyes lit up.

“Well I ain’t fuckin’ the hole in your shoulder, sweetheart.”

You slapped him.

The sound snapped through the room like the crack of a whip. His face turned with the force of it—but his smile stayed. Wider now. Red glistened on his lip where your palm had split it further, curling into the corner of his mouth like a badge of honour.

And still—he laughed. Low and steady, like he was enjoying this more than anything that had come before.

“Still got fight,” he rasped. “God, I fuckin’ love that.”

He stepped forward again, forcing you back until your spine met the rough cinderblock wall. His body caged yours, broad and radiating heat, his breath ragged but measured like he was controlling it just to make a point.

His hand landed on your hip. Possessive. Heavy.

“You’re burnin’ up,” he murmured. “Tryna hide it, but you’re meltin’ for it. I can feel it. You’re pulsin’.”

You sneered. “You’re hallucinating.”

He laughed again, but there was a tension coiled beneath it now. Something tight and hungry and climbing.

His fingers dragged slowly up your thigh, the heat of them searing through the fabric. He didn’t go high enough to touch anything worth touching—but close. So close. Just enough to make your skin buzz and crawl.

“You always get this hot when you’re mad, or is it just for me?”

You turned your face away.

That smug fucking tone. That condescension. That voice.

Your body hated you for it. You hated you for it.

He leaned in until his mouth grazed the edge of your jaw, his lips brushing skin with infuriating softness. His stubble scraped, and your breath hitched—just once.

He heard it.

“C’mon,” he said, softer now. Dangerous. “Stop fightin’ it, baby.”

You clenched your teeth.

“I’m not—” you started, but he cut you off with a groan that was almost frustrated.

“Jesus. You are the most stubborn little fuckin’ thing I’ve ever met.” His palm pressed flat against your stomach now, not moving higher, not yet. “I’m right here. You know it. I feel you, sweetheart.”

He pressed his hips against yours.

You felt it—his arousal, straining against his pants, heavy and hot and very, very there.

And still—your jaw locked.

He chuckled again, but this time it was quieter. Rougher. His lips ghosted over your ear.

“You ain’t gotta beg,” he murmured. “Don’t gotta say please.”

He nipped your earlobe, and you flinched.

“But fuck,” he breathed, “I want you to. Just once. Just a fuckin’ whimper of it.”

His other hand came up and gripped the back of your neck, dragging your head back against the wall, making you look at him.

“Just gimme somethin’,” he growled. “Let me have it.”

You stared up at him, eyes defiant, chest heaving, lips trembling with a fury you couldn’t name. His pupils were blown, jaw tight, sweat beading at his temple.

“You want me to say it?” You whispered.

He nodded, once. Jaw ticking.

You leaned forward, lips almost brushing his.

“No.”

His eyes flared. Just for a moment. Then his forehead hit the wall beside your head with a hollow thunk.

“Fuckin’ tease,” he growled, nearly breathless. “Goddamn little—”

You kissed him.

Or maybe he kissed you. It didn’t matter. Because suddenly—there were no more words. Only teeth. Tongue. Pressure. Only hands everywhere, dragging, grabbing, bruising. Only the sound of your breath punched out of your lungs as he pinned you harder, like he wanted to break something open just to see what spilled out.

And still—you didn’t beg. Not once.

His mouth was on yours, hot and hungry and entirely too satisfied with itself. He kissed like he fought—with dominance, with grit, with absolutely no care for anyone’s breath but his own. Your teeth clashed, tongues fighting for control, every gasp turning into another insult.

“I fuckin’ knew you wanted it,” he muttered against your lips, breath ragged, voice ruined. “God, you’re such a fuckin’ prick tease sometimes.”

You bit his bottom lip, hard enough to make him grunt. “Shut the fuck up,” you panted, fingers already yanking at his half-undone shirt.

He growled—deep and primal—grabbing the hem of your top and pulling it over your head like it’d personally offended him. You barely had time to toss it aside before his hands were on your tits, greedy and rough and everywhere.

Between kisses, between moans, between muttered curses, you were tearing at his belt, yanking and fumbling, both of you shaking with urgency.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he hissed, snapping the leather free. “Gonna ruin you.”

“You already have,” you spat.

His grin split wider. “Aww, baby. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Then he went for your pants.

And froze.

You were kicking off your boots, halfway done when he huffed—truly, violently irritated.

“Fuck this shit,” he barked.

Before you could speak, his arms wrapped around your waist and he spun you—fast, like the air was thick with smoke and he didn’t have time to be gentle.

You barely got your hands out to brace yourself before your hips hit the edge of the table and you were slammed down onto your front.

“Hargrove—” you started.

He didn’t listen.

Didn’t care.

His hand wrapped around your waistband and in one brutal, fluid motion, he ripped your pants and underwear clean down the back of your legs, the fabric tearing with a shriek and hitting the floor like surrender.

“Are you fucking serious?! I liked those pants!”

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, just enough to tilt your head back.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth.”

Then he dropped to his knees.

You barely had time to process the shift before his hands gripped your ass and spread you, and his whole face pressed in like he was trying to suffocate between your thighs.

And then—his mouth.

“Oh fuck—”

The first lick was devastating. Broad and slow, from your clit to your dripping entrance, and then back again, like he was learning you.

Then came the second—filthier. Sloppier. Louder.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, voice muffled in your cunt. “You taste like a fuckin’ war crime.”

You choked on a laugh and a moan at once, half turning to glare over your shoulder.

“Don’t flatter yourself—”

But he growled—deep—and sucked your clit into his mouth like he was punishing it. You almost collapsed.

“Shut up,” he muttered against you. “Just fuckin’ take it.”

Then he really started working.

Tongue pressed flat, then curling. Lapping and sucking and moaning like he’d gone feral. One hand keeping you spread, the other sliding down your thigh, gripping tight enough to bruise.

“You hear that?” He said, pulling back just long enough to spit onto your pussy and spread it with two fingers. “That squelch? That’s you, baby. Drippin’ all over my fuckin’ face.”

His mouth dove back in, and this time, he added teeth.

You cried out. His name. A curse. Maybe both.

He laughed into you. “That’s right. Fuckin’ mess. And you act like you’re not into it.”

You tried to push up, to speak, but he slapped your ass—hard—and buried his tongue deep again, humming like it was the best goddamn meal he’d ever had.

“Keep that mouth shut and let me eat, sweetheart,” he growled, voice wrecked. “You’re so fuckin’ wet I could drown in it.”

And he wanted to. You could feel it—in the way he moved. Desperate. Devoted. Obscene.

You were moaning. Panting. Swearing. But even now—still, now—you were running your fucking mouth.

His tongue had been buried in you for what felt like hours. Alternating between lapping, sucking, biting—his face drenched, his groans constant, hands gripping your thighs like a lifeline.

And you? You were taking it. You were suffering for it. But not quietly.

“You sound like a dog,” you hissed, voice breathless, broken, but still smug. “Fucking mutt. Bet you’d hump my leg if I let you.”

He growled into your cunt. You gasped. But the grin was still there, stretching across your face like sin.

“You’re pathetic, Hargrove,” you whispered. “Fucking starving like you haven’t had pussy in—”

His voice rumbled, low and sharp: “Shut your mouth.”

But you didn’t. Couldn’t.

“Can’t get enough, huh? Pathetic little—”

“I swear to God, sweetheart—” His breath was ragged, trembling with something dangerous. “I will fuck that pretty throat if you don’t stop talkin’.”

You arched your back and laughed, breathless and triumphant.

“Aww,” you taunted, “Did I bruise your ego?”

That was it.

He moved. In a blur of strength and heat and fury, he grabbed your waist and lifted you clean off the floor. You yelped, legs kicking reflexively as your spine hit the table, your head dangling off the far side.

The world flipped upside down.

“Hargrove—what the fu—”

Your words were cut off by the weight of him—thick and hot and full, his cock driving into your mouth so deep your vision sparked.

Your throat convulsed.

He hissed through clenched teeth, head thrown back, arms braced over the table as he held you there.

“Fuck—told you.” His voice cracked, breath rattling through the growl. “I fuckin’ warned you,” he groaned, thrusting slowly, deeply, into your throat while your eyes watered and your fingernails dug into the edges of the table.

“Run that fuckin’ mouth one more time,” he panted, his hips grinding deeper with every word, “and I’ll use it just like this every goddamn time.”

He wasn’t pulling back.

Just shallow rocks of his hips, grinding against the back of your throat while he looked down at your body bent over the table like a goddamn feast.

And then?

His fingers slid between your legs again. Without warning. Two of them. Deep.

You choked—hard—around him as his fingers curled exactly where they needed to, dragging slick out of you like he wanted to make it messier.

Your whole body spasmed.

“You feel that?” He rasped, breath shuddering. “Goddamn. You’re squeezin’ my fingers like a fuckin’ vice.”

He groaned again—shaky, hot, fucked-out.

“Jesus, baby… and you were talkin’ like you didn’t want this.”

His free hand cradled your throat now—thumb pressed against the bulge of his cock visible in your neck, feeling himself inside you.

His eyes rolled back.

“Christ, your fuckin’ throat was made for me.”

You tried to move. Couldn’t.

Every breath you dragged in was him. Every sound was slick and gasped and obscene—the wet noise of his fingers plunging into your soaked cunt, the slap of his hips against your lips, the throb of your core twitching around his hand.

He laughed again—wrecked, barely holding on.

And you were still fighting it. Still glaring through tear-lined lashes, still gagging and clawing and refusing to break.

But he was gonna make you, even if he had to keep you full at both ends to do it.

He was fucking your throat like it was the last thing on Earth that could save him.

Every roll of his hips was deeper. Slower. Less angry and more delirious, like he’d tipped over into something hot and helpless and consuming.

His fingers were still inside you, working in tandem with his cock down your throat—crooking and twisting like he was testing reactions, mapping you from the inside out. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could barely think.

And he loved it.

You could hear it in the way he was groaning now—drawn-out, fucked-up sounds, torn from deep in his chest. He wasn’t even taunting anymore. He was worshipping.

“Jesus,” he gasped, looking down at you with wild, half-lidded eyes, sweat dripping from his temple. “This mouth. This fuckin’ mouth, sweetheart—"

He thrust again, slow and deep, hips stuttering at the feel of you twitching around him.

“I love it when you spit at me,” he groaned, voice cracking into a soft laugh. “I love it when you snarl like a rabid little fuckin’ animal—”

You gagged around him, throat clenched so tight he moaned.

“God, yeah. When you run that mouth like a spoiled little brat—when you hate me so fuckin’ loud—”

He curled his fingers inside you, deep and slick, pressing down on your front wall—that spongey, gummy, wreck-you spot—like he was playing a damn instrument.

“—and then suck me down like you don’t even need to breathe anymore—fuck—”

Your vision blurred. Everything started spinning. You tapped his thigh once. Twice. Desperate.

His hips froze. His cock still buried in your throat.

“Oh—fuck,” he gasped, already pulling out. “Shit. Sorry, sweetheart—got lost in the fuckin’ moment there.”

He was laughing. A breathless, ragged sound, part apology, part thrill. His eyes were wild with it. Face flushed. Hands shaking.

You gagged as air rushed back into your lungs, coughing, drool trailing down your chin, your mouth gaping as you tried to drag yourself upright.

“Jesus,” you rasped, blinking tears from your lashes. “You’re fucking insane.”

His fingers left you with a wet pull that made you flinch—and he watched it. Watched how your thighs twitched when you were empty again.

He was circling the table now, still breathless, his cock glistening, soaked in spit and flushed angry red.

“Damn right I am,” he said hoarsely, eyes raking down your wrecked body.

Then he gripped your hips and dragged you down the table, rough and fluid, until your ass met the edge and your legs dropped open—slack, shivering.

“C’mon.” His voice was low now. Different. Almost soft. “Lean up. Wanna see those fuckin’ eyes.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, still gasping, still shaking. But you looked. You watched.

You watched him line up—the head of his cock rubbing through your soaked folds, catching against your clit, then sliding down to your entrance where you were aching to be filled.

He exhaled shakily, mouth falling open.

“God,” he muttered, like a man on the brink. “Look at you.”

One hand on your thigh. The other gripping himself, twitching at the base. He nudged forward again, teasing—not to torture, but because he was savouring.

You locked eyes. He was gone.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he whispered.

Then he pushed in like he had all the time in the world.

No rush. No brutality.

Just that slow, devastating stretch as his cock split you open—inch by aching inch—like he’d been waiting for this, like he’d earned it. His mouth dropped open when he bottomed out, a filthy groan catching low in his throat.

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. “You’re so fuckin’ tight. Squeezin’ me like you were made for this.”

Your body arched, mouth falling open in a wordless moan as the table beneath your back creaked. You couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think. All you could feel was the weight of him—deep, thick, pulsing inside you—and the heat blooming out from where your bodies met.

And then he started to move.

Slow. Deep. Dragging his cock almost all the way out, then pressing it back in until your walls clenched and fluttered helplessly.

Your head lolled back. Your eyes rolled.

He slapped your thigh—hard.

“Uh-uh.” His voice was tight. Stern. “Eyes on me.”

You blinked, dazed.

He was braced over you, one hand on your thigh, the other fisted beside your hip. His hips rolled forward again—slower this time, deliberate. You moaned. Your eyelids fluttered.

Another sharp slap to your thigh.

“Look. At. Me.” he growled.

You dragged your gaze back to him, jaw slack, lips parted.

“Goddamn,” he rasped, staring down at you like you were an open flame. “Look at that face. Look at what I fuckin’ do to you.”

He rocked in again, groaning as your body clenched around him.

“I love this part,” he muttered. “When you’re still tryin’ to hold it together. Still actin’ like you’re not fallin’ apart.”

You whimpered, and his mouth curled.

“You like this, don’t you?” He crooned, voice thick with filth. “Being pinned open like this. Full. Spread. Watched.”

Your head tipped back again on instinct, eyes slipping shut—

And his hand snapped up, grabbing your jaw.

“No.”

He held your face, fingers digging into your cheeks, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You don’t get to look away,” he said, voice sharp with heat. “Not when I’m inside you like this. Not when I’m this deep.”

He thrust again, deeper this time—grinding the base of his cock against you so perfectly you cried out.

“That’s it.” He grinned, breath catching. “I wanna see you break.”

Your hands scrambled at the table, nails dragging across the wood. Your thighs were shaking. Every time he bottomed out, your hips jerked, your breath hitched, your chest arched—and he watched. Every. Fucking. Time.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes again,” he warned, still holding your face. “I want to watch what I do to you. Every twitch. Every moan. Every little shiver.”

Your body pulsed around him like it was listening.

And that made him feral.

“Jesus, sweetheart—this pussy,” he groaned, slowing his thrusts again, dragging them out to pure torture. “Grippin’ me like it knows. Like it wants to be ruined.”

Your eyes fluttered again.

He tutted.

“Aw, baby. You tryna be good?” His cock slid deeper. “You wanna be good for me?”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. He let your jaw go—just long enough to slap your thigh one more time.

“Christ,” he groaned, hands gripping your thighs like restraints. “Still this fuckin’ tight…”

You felt it every time he bottomed out—hips flush to yours, cock buried so deep you could barely breathe. Your mouth opened on a moan that never quite found its voice, your head tipping back on the table, fingers trembling where they gripped the edge.

His hands moved—one sliding up to press flat against your belly, the other settling on your jaw, thumb grazing your lips like he didn’t know what part of you he wanted to control more.

“Pussy like this should come with a fuckin’ warning,” he muttered, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You feel that? How tight you’re squeezin’ me? It’s fucking perfect.”

You moaned, head tipping back more.

He slapped your thigh. Again. Sharper.

“Nuh-uh. Eyes. On. Me.”

Your gaze dragged back up to meet his—blurry, glassy, wrecked.

He looked devastated. Sweat on his chest. Jaw tight. His green eyes burning down at you like he’d die if you looked away again.

“You keep doin’ that, I’m gonna lose it,” he whispered. “I’m already hangin’ by a fuckin’ thread.”

Your walls clenched around him at the admission. He hissed.

“You like that, don’t you? Bein’ the one who makes me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

His thrusts got deeper, harder. Still slow, still controlled—but barely.

“God, I really do love this fuckin’ mouth,” he panted, staring at your lips now.

You whimpered. Shuddered. Your whole body was tensing.

He could feel it. His fingers reached down, thumb finding your clit, circling in tight, merciless pressure.

“You close?” He asked, voice gone rough and mean.

You nodded, whimpering, trying to say yes. But your throat couldn’t form it.

He stilled.

You cried out, grinding your hips, chasing the friction—anything—but he held you.

“Nope,” he rasped. “You wanna come? You ask.”

Your eyes flared. Fury and arousal crashing like thunder.

He grinned.

“What’s wrong?” He cooed. “Too proud to beg? Thought you were a tough girl.”

You clenched your teeth, panting.

“I can do this all night, sweetheart,” he said, hips grinding deep and slow again, teasing that spot that made your legs twitch. “I’ll keep you right here until you sob for it.”

He pulled back, just enough to make you feel empty. Then slid back in, eyes glued to your face.

“You gonna say it?” He whispered. “Gonna ask me?”

Still, you didn’t. But your eyes were glassy. Your hips were shaking. Your voice was gone.

And then, you said it. Soft. Broken.

“…Ben.”

His name. Your voice.

Everything stopped.

His hands shook. His breath hitched. His head dropped forward with a gasp.

“Oh, fuck…”

He looked at you like he didn’t know what to do with that sound.

“You’ve never…” he whispered. “You’ve never called me that.”

You said it again, even softer.

“Ben…”

And he shattered.

“Fuck, come.” His voice cracked. “Please. Now.”

His thumb pressed down. His hips snapped forward. Your body broke. And the moment it hit the air—

He snapped.

“Fuck—yes, yes, come, come for me—”

His voice fractured around it—command and awe bleeding together like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His thumb kept circling your clit, relentless. His cock buried deep. And your body shuddered beneath him.

You came hard. Again. Back arching, mouth open, eyes rolling.

And still— He didn’t stop.

Not even for a second.

He was still fucking you. Driving into your wrecked cunt like he’d been given permission to devour.

You whimpered. Eyes fluttering.

“Ben—”

“Oh, we’re not done,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Not even close, sweetheart.”

He kissed you. Open-mouthed and filthy. His lips found your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—like he couldn’t decide what part of you to ruin next. His hips never slowed. Each thrust was harder now. Rougher. Every wet slap of his body against yours made you twitch.

You couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think. And your body—shaking, overstimulated—begged for mercy you refused to ask for.

Your head tipped back again.

Eyes closed.

Your fatal mistake.

He froze. Just for a second. Then he snapped his hips. Hard. Brutal.

You cried out.

His hand cracked across your thigh. Again.

“Eyes,” he snarled. “The fuck did I say?”

You tried. Blinked. Dragged yourself back to him.

His eyes were wild. Hair damp with sweat. Jaw tight. His cock pulsing deep inside you.

“You look at me when I fuck you.”

He slowed. Just a little. Then slammed into you again, harder than before—making the table creak and your legs twitch.

“Can’t believe you dared to close your fuckin’ eyes again after I warned you.”

“Ben—fuck, I—”

He spit the next words like a threat:

“You do that one more time, and I swear to God, sweetheart— I’ll flip you over, fuck your ass deep, and I won’t let you look at me.”

Your whole body spasmed.

His voice dropped, feral.

“Sound good to you?” He growled. “Want me there next? So every fuckin’ inch of you is mine? So you remember who fuckin’ owns this body?”

You choked on a moan.

He grabbed your face again, forcing your gaze back to his.

“That’s right. Keep those pretty little eyes where they belong.”

He thrust again—hard, fast, filthy. You sobbed. Clenched. He groaned like he was dying. Your thighs were soaked. Your vision blurred. And he was still going. Still holding you wide open.

Still not coming. Because he wanted you broken first.

He was fucking you like he was trying to carve a god out of your body. Relentless. Precise. The kind of rhythm that wasn’t chaos—it was control. Hard-earned. Hard-kept. Just barely contained.

Your thighs were soaked. His cock was dripping. You could feel your own come sliding down the insides of your legs from the last orgasm, and still—he hadn’t let up.

Then—

His pace broke.

He pulled back, hips stuttering as he groaned, “Fuck, I’m close. Fuck—where d’you want it?”

His voice was wrecked. Ragged. Wild. “Your tits? Your stomach? Wanna see it drip off your ass? What, baby—what do you want?”

Your answer was a sob. One word.

“Inside.”

And he stopped cold.

You didn’t even feel his cock anymore—just the sudden absence as he yanked back like you’d burned him.

His hand flew to the base of his cock, fisting it tight to hold himself back.

“Jesus fuck, sweetheart—”

He was breathing hard. Panicked. Laughing like it hurt.

“You can’t—you can’t say shit like that,” he gasped, squeezing himself as precum smeared over his knuckles. “You gotta give a guy warning before you pull that fucking move.”

You whimpered. Barely coherent. “Please…”

He laughed. Laughed like he was losing his mind.

“Oh, no. No, no, no—” he choked, circling around the table like he had to walk it off or he’d blow right then and there.

He looked feral. Cheeks flushed, sweat gleaming on his chest, cock throbbing in his fist.

“Inside?” He echoed, voice hoarse. “Jesus, you really are a little fuckin’ menace.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, mouth open, wrecked in every possible way.

“The last thing either of us needs,” he panted, “is me fuckin’ a baby into you.”

You shivered. Moaned. He grinned wider.

“Can you imagine?” He groaned, twisting his fist at the tip. “Half me and half you? That kid would be fucked. Wouldn’t even make it past the first trimester before startin’ bar fights in the womb.”

He shook his head, still circling, the slap of his fist on his cock echoing through the room.

“Hot in theory, sweetheart. In practice? Not so fuckin’ much.”

He came to a stop at the head of the table. Looked down at you—body blown open, thighs twitching, chest flushed, mouth wet and waiting.

“Back,” he said, pressing a hand to your shoulder. “Down. Now.”

You obeyed. Laid back across the table, head tilted slightly, breathing shallow.

He gripped his cock tighter, leaning over you with that wild grin stretched across his face, his other hand toying with your nipples, rolling and pinching until you gasped.

“Gonna make such a mess of this face,” he whispered.

Your legs spread wider.

He grinned. “That’s my girl.”

Then his hand hovered over your lips.

“Open wide,” he said, voice low.

You did.

He spit. Heavy. Wet. Right into your mouth.

“For earlier, you little fucker,” he muttered, eyes glittering.

You moaned around it. Swallowed. Smiled.

He groaned. “Jesus Christ, you liked that.”

Then—he slapped your cheek, light, teasing. The kind of touch that said mine.

“Here it fuckin’ comes, baby,” he panted, jerking faster now. “Open wider. C’mon.”

You looked up at him. Eyes glossy. Lips parted.

He groaned loud. “Good girl.”

And then—

He came. Hot. Thick. Everywhere. Over your tongue, your chin, your cheeks, your fucking soul. And when he was done, he stumbled. Laughed. Ran a hand through his hair and looked down at you like you’d just ruined him.

Because you had.

author notes: boy, oh boy... i went hard on this one. i need to get fucked like this at the moment, i genuinely believe it would get me out of my own fucking head for five goddamn minutes and then i can just get back on with my life. but alas, i hate all men, and will not go near one, even if it means the dicking of my life. i love ben like this. fucking nasty asshat but so obviously reverent over reader. we live to see it. i also haven't fully proofread this because i'm just delirious from last night, and let's be real, the past few weeks lol. my life is going down the fucking toilet. let me know what y'alls think, please. i need some fucking praise right now. and that isn't even a hint, it's an outright request. all the damn love.

soldier boy/ben taglist: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @tinas111 @angelicjackles @lunaleah. @mostlymarvelgirl @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @ohgodimgoungtodie @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @kaz-2y5-spn @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @ladykitana90 @deangirlsstuff67 @adoredawn @sunnyfuffly @deansbbyx <3

everything taglist: @bejeweledinterludes @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @blossomingorchids @tinas111 @lunaleah @drakulana @sacr1ficialang3l @mostlymarvelgirl @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @deangirlsstuff67 @ambiguous-avery @deansbeer @angrydragon90 <3

[borderlineex]

₊˚⊹౨ west side ৎ₊˚⊹

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ soldier boy x fem!reader

⤷ 𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽… soldier boy fucks you while telling you how much he wants to wife you up

⤷ 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈/𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓈... strong language, porn with no plot, p in v, oral(fem receiving), mentions of marriage, age gap (ben is in his 40s), perv!ben, 18+ content

⤷ 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉... 967

a/n: for 250 followers i’ll be making a series of smut fanfics based off the ariana grande album positions (i love it sm its overhated) i’m trying to get my fics to be longer so i hppe you guys like reading themm ! <33

shut up, 34+35, motive, just like magic, off the table, six thirty, safety net, my hair, nasty, west side, love language, positions, obvious, pov

"you gonna sit there and pretend you don’t know what you do to me?" ben’s voice was rough, the kind of deep that vibrated through your ribs as he crowded you against the wall. his breath was hot on your throat, the scent of leather and gunmetal still clinging to him from training.

you swallowed, fingers twisting in his shirt. "i don’t—"

"bullshit." his hand slid up your thigh, grip possessive. "makin’ me lose my goddamn mind every time you bite your lip like that. like you ain’t tryin’ to wreck me." his other hand palmed your ass, pulling you flush against the hard line of his cock straining against his pants.

you whimpered, arching into him. "maybe i am."

he groaned, grinding against you. "fuck, baby. gonna make me put a ring on you before i even fuck you right. that what you want? me claimin’ you while i ruin you?" his teeth grazed your neck, stubble scraping your skin. "say it."

"yes," you gasped.

"good girl." his hand found your waistband. "now let’s see if you can take what’s yours."

"that’s it—spread for me," ben growled, yanking your pants down your hips, fingers already slipping beneath the damp fabric of your panties. his thumb pressed hard against your clit, making you jerk against his hand. "fuck, you’re already soaked. this what you been thinkin’ about while i was gone?"

you nodded, breath hitching as he hooked two fingers inside you, curling them just right. "ben—"

"nah, don’t hide it." he bit your earlobe, his other hand dragging your shirt up, calloused palm rough against your ribs. "let me hear how bad you want it." you moaned, loud and shameless, as his fingers fucked into you faster. his cock strained against his fly, the thick outline unmistakable.

"gonna make you scream my name," he promised, dragging his lips down your throat. "then i’m gonna bend you over and show you why you’re never gonna need anyone else." his breath was ragged against your skin. "gonna wife you so damn good you’ll forget your own name."

you clenched around his fingers, whining as he added a third. "please—" "beggin’ already?" he smirked, twisting his wrist. "good. means i’m doin’ my job right."

ben’s fingers dragged out of you, glistening, before he brought them to his mouth with a filthy smirk. “tastes like mine already.” he unbuckled his belt with one hand, the leather snapping free as he crowded you back against the wall. “but I’m gonna make damn sure.”

you gasped as ben shoved his cock against your bare cunt, the thick head smearing precum over your clit. "look at you," he snarled, gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, "drippin' for me like some fuckin' slut who don't know her own name." his tip caught your entrance, teasing. "you wanna be my good girl? take this cock like you mean it?"

you whimpered, grinding down, but he jerked you back. "nah—say it." his voice was rough, wrecked. "tell me who owns this pussy." "you," you choked out. "always you." "fuck yeah." he slammed inside with one brutal thrust, your back hitting the wall as he filled you to the hilt.

your scream tore through the room, his hand clamping over your mouth. "louder," he demanded, pounding into you, each snap of his hips hitting deeper. "let 'em all hear who you belong to."

your nails dug into his shoulders, his sweat-slick skin under your fingers as he fucked you raw. "gonna cum inside," he growled, mouth hot on your neck. "mark you up so good no one forgets." his thrusts turned erratic, his cock pulsing as he spilled deep, your own climax ripping through you as he murmured against your ear—"mine."

his grip tightened on your hips, keeping you pinned as his cock twitched inside you, still buried deep. "that's it, take it all," he groaned, grinding his hips to milk every last drop. "gonna fill you up like this every damn night when you're my wife—make sure you never forget who owns this sweet cunt."

his grip stayed tight on your hips as he shuddered, cock still buried deep inside you—pulsing, spilling, claiming. his blown-out pupils locked onto yours, all dark heat and something dangerously close to worship.

"fuck," he rasped, voice wrecked, grinding his hips to milk himself dry. "look at you. takin’ everything i give you like you were made for it."

a rough hand cradled your jaw, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. "gonna marry you so damn hard," he muttered, dazed, lips brushing yours. "put a ring on you, yeah, but fuck—" his hips jerked, pushing his spend deeper. "this pussy’s my real wedding band. feel that? my cum sealing you up, makin’ sure every part of you knows who you belong to."

you whimpered, oversensitive, but he caught your wrist and pressed your palm flat over his pounding heart. "don’t pull away. wanna see it in your eyes when you come again." his fingers circled your clit, relentless.

"wanna watch my wife—fuck, my wife—shake apart on my fingers ‘fore i stuff her full of me all over again."

you arched, gasping as pleasure spiked, but he just looked at you—like he was memorizing the way you fell apart for him. "say it," he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "tell me you’re mine. not just tonight. always." "yours," you choked out, nails biting into his shoulders as another orgasm tore through you. "always—"

ben kissed you slow and deep, swallowing your moans, his cock already hardening against your thigh. "good girl," he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. "now let’s practice the wedding night ‘til you forget your own goddamn name." his laugh was low, rough with want.

"s’only right—gotta make sure my future wife can’t walk straight at the altar."

[ml080504]

THEY COULD DO THAT TO ME ANY DAY AND I WOULD EVEN PAY THEM

[bowxs]

i need you to write the soldier boy x model reader🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

"ben! eyes up here" you snapped, watched at ben practically tore his gaze from off of your chest and back up to your eyes, a almost hesitant look on his face

"doll i dunnno- isnt it a bit.. showy for a solo shoot?" he asked, tugging at the side of your tiny bikini top, trying to cover a bit more of your boob with the fabric

being one of the most popular centerfold models came with its perks. one of which was men doing anything for you, including the all-mighty soldier boy. it was almost like you had him on a leash with the way he listened to everything you said

you and ben didnt get along at first. he had tried treating you how he normally treats girls- like garbage. he spoke to you like you were already in love with him, cause thats what he was used to. but you wouldnt do it

you raised a brow down at him- like he had the audacity to even question what you were wearing. you didnt need to say anything before ben was shaking his head, already ready to apologize

"no- no your right baby, you look perfect." you nodded in approval, turning to face yourself in the dressing room mirror to give a onceover of the tiny bikini you were set to shoot in

ben wasnt the biggest fan of when you did solo shoots- it made him jealous. he knew that he was always the first candidate for couples shoots, but those were a rare occurance. despite his inner turmoil about you being solo most of the time, he bought every single one of your magazines because who- in bens position- wouldnt?

he always came with you to all of your shoots, because he knew it would always end with him fucking you in the dressing room after you were done.

hed bend you over your make up vanity, watching every single face you make as he reminded you who you truly belonged to. or some days when you truly flustered him, hed let you ride him on the guest couch in the room- the one you had brought in for this exact purpose

hed leave hickeys on the back of your neck and right along your bikini line if you had another shoot son after so you wouldnt have to worry about covering them up.

the second you guy got home for good and he knew you wouldnt have to worry about marks? hed leave handprints on your ass, your thighs, whever he wanted. cause they were one of the few things only he could see.

[bruisedfig]

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ — thinking about SOLDIER BOY helping soothe your post-sex soreness .ᐟ

loosely based on / set after this lil drabble

warnings: smut, fingering, fauxcest, daddy kink, use of ‘dad’ and ‘daddy’, use of other petnames, somno(?), age gap, est. relationship (daddy!soldier boy x fem!reader) 18+

wc: 2.1k ⋮ read at your own discretion

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

your cunt ached like it had been ripped in half, sore from how merciless ben had been when impaling you with his cock, spearing you open like he’d die without your warmth wrapped around him. your clit throbbed—not in the pleasant way—and you were sure your cervix was bruised.

you were pressed against ben’s firm chest, his meaty arms wrapped around you, circling your body like a cocoon. you could smell his musk through his shirt; it was smokey and deep, mixed with a smidge of sweat—a masculine scent that made your stomach churn with delight, something familiar and comforting.

ben’s snores were loud as they bounced around the walls in your bedroom, deep gruff noises that came right from the bottom of his lungs. the sight of ben in your room was still bizarre—america’s big burly ex-golden boy, tucked away under your sheets in your girly little bedroom, filled with books and candles and too many things with frills and sparkles. it was almost humorous the way he stood out amongst your things.

yet, somehow, he fit in perfectly.

you didn’t quite understand how you and ben had come about, but for some reason, you worked. you made sense. you sought comfort, and he gave it—no questions asked. you fall over and scrape your knee? ben’s there patching you up, drying your tears. ben has an episode, just staring off into space as he relives the horrors of his time held captive in russia? you’re there, slotted into his lap, letting him breathe you in until his heartrate slows back down and the life reenters his eyes.

yin and yang—a soft little thing to his hardened self.

you could hear the slow breaths exhaling from ben’s lungs as you cuddled into his side. he was deep asleep, dozing carelessly as you twitched against him.

the ache between your legs was growing stronger, a painful dull sensation throbbing inside you. you whimpered, trying to squeeze your eyes shut, like that would make the pain go away.

you felt ben shift.

“mmm, baby?”

his voice was low and gravelly, riddled with sleepiness; a pleasant sound that would otherwise have you smiling if the aching between your legs wasn’t continuously nagging at you.

“you’re awake. why’re you awake?” ben muttered again, this time pulling you back to meet his gaze. your eyes blinked, and he let out a drowsy sigh, taking in the state of you. “up past your bedtime, babydoll. you’re meant to be sleeping.”

ben’s hazy green eyes continued to dart around your face, lingering on your creased brows and trembling pouted lips. his face softened. “what’s wrong?” 

a whimper escaped you, and you shook your head. “hurts…” you managed to squeak out.

his brows shot up slowly, the drowsiness starting to vacate his features as he studied you, mild concern growing on his face instead. “what hurts, baby?”

“inside.”

ben blinked, staying quiet for a moment before murmuring softly. “inside? you mean your pussy, baby? your pussy hurts?”

you nodded.

“oh, sweetheart,” ben sighed, slipping his hands under your arms and pulling you up against him more. he sat up against the plethora of pillows adorning your headboard and tucked your head into his neck, stroking your hair in a way that seemed unusually soft coming from him. “m’sorry, baby. i didn’t mean to hurt you, you know that.”

quiet little noises made their way up your throat and into his neck. “i know…”

“yeah? course you do. you’re my smart girl, huh?” ben agreed, his voice verging on mocking. he pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline, letting his thick fingers tangle in your locks. “s’it just your pussy, or your tummy too?”

“just my…” you trailed off. your voice was meek, filled with embarrassment and shame, as if you’d done something wrong.

ben caught on quick.

“just your pretty pussy? that’s okay, honey,” he said softly. “m’sorry i hurt you, kiddo. should’ve been more careful with my special girl, yeah? you’re just a little thing, all fragile and delicate. i forget you’re breakable, baby. you aren’t like me.”

ben felt you nod into his neck, and his heartbeat slowed right down. there you were. even in pain, you were nothing short of a sweetheart—his good little girl, so agreeable, so sweet, just submitting to his words in exchange for his comfort and care. he couldn’t help but grin.

“silly daddy, huh? i was bad to you… took you too rough, didn’t i? fucked that tight little cunt too hard?” he muttered, letting his words soak into the air. he felt you lapping them up, letting them absorb into your tired brain, just the way he intended them to. “maybe i should say sorry to her. make her see how bad i feel for bein’ mean. do you think she’d like that, sweetheart? dad telling your pussy he’s sorry?”

your insides clenched. you knew anything ben was planning to do was going to end in tears and even more overstimulation, but at the same time, you felt your head spinning and your cunt preemptively spewing out slick in preparation.

ben tugged your head back, gripping the hair at your nape to make you meet his eyes. “words, bub.”

his hand darted down past the waistband of your sleep shorts, forcing its way into your underwear as he waited for you to respond. you winced as his fingers found your bud.

ben chuckled, “oh, so we’re just noises right now? not using your big girl words f’me?”

he rubbed slowly at your clit, setting alight the nerves that sent waves of pleasure up your spine. ben watched your face change; what was once scrunched up in agony had now softened into parted lips and hazy eyes.

“yeah, that’s it. daddy’s making it all feel better, huh? could’ve just said you wanted dad, angel. if only you used your brain, you dopey little thing.”

he huffed in delight when a whimper fell from your lips. he circled your nerves, feeling your thighs clamp tight around his hand and your cunt muscles pushing back against the light friction he was creating under his fingertips.

“mhm, can feel her waking up, baby. can y’feel your pretty pussy sayin’ hi to dad?” he chuckled, all breathy and mocking.

your hips began to roll themselves against his hand, searching for pleasure in the quiet moment between the two of you. his fingers slipped up and down your slick folds, giving you exactly what your body was asking for.

a quiet moan ripped its way out of your mouth, the sound kissing ben’s neck and bouncing up into his ear. he smiled at that. “uh huh, there you are. feeling better already, aren’t ya, kiddo?”

the nod you gave him was involuntary; your body moving on its own again.

“still hurts?” he asked, his tone still soft but now laced with a speck of sincerity—something rare for ben in moments of intimacy.

your throat bobbed as you swallowed down another moan, and you nodded. “mhm, a little… more my insides, though.”

“yeah, babydoll? inside your pretty cunt? maybe daddy should have a feel around?”

ben grinned at the muffled whine you let out into his neck, the sound pathetic and unsure. he slipped his hand further down between your legs, the pads of his fingers finding your slick opening.

you tensed—your body warning you—as you felt him brush past the sensitive nerves that circle your entrance.

ben chuckled. “c’mon, baby. daddy knows what he’s doing here. s’not his first rodeo.”

the stretch of his two middle fingers was unimaginably good, but you were still indescribably tender. your walls fluttered around them, delivering small kisses to his slick-covered skin.

“see? she’s awake. she’s fine, angel. she’s givin’ dad a squeeze too. welcoming me home.”

ben stroked along your walls, the contact forcing your hips to jerk forward and a whine to shoot out of your lungs.

“daddy–” you cried out into his neck.

his fingers scooped deeper into you, curling up into that sweet spot that was still oh-so-sensitive.

“you’re alright, sweetheart. daddy’s got it. m’gonna make the pain go away. just relax, kid.”

the pressure was overwhelming—sore, but so so so satisfying, like pressing into a bruise. your muscles spasmed, and your legs clamped tight around his hand again.

“i said relax.”

ben’s other hand tugged your thighs back open, and he resumed his ministrations inside your cunt, brushing his fingers against your gooey walls.

you squeaked. and whined. and groaned.

but that didn’t stop ben. he could see the pain mixing around with the pleasure on your face. what a sweet little doll. his good girl.

“takin’ it so good, baby. feels good, doesn’t it? better than the ache daddy left in here, huh? he’s sorry about that, honey, he really is,” he cooed into your ear, then placed a kiss on your forehead.

your orgasm was forceful, ripping out of your cunt with determination that left you utterly breathless in his arms. ben’s motions inside you didn’t cease until you finished squirming in his lap—gushing and covering his fingers with your release, gasping into his neck like your breath was being held hostage in your lungs.

“ohhhh, that’s it, babygirl. i knew exactly what this lil’ pussy needed, didn’t i?” he huffed out a rough laugh into your hair and kissed your head again. he kept up his strokes along your sticky walls, slowing them down until his fingers laid dormant inside you.

the throbbing returned as he stilled, the feeling spreading through your overworked core muscles. they squeezed tightly around his fingers, and you groaned quietly.

“such a good girl f’me,” ben murmured. “think daddy can put you back to bed now?”

you shook your head into his neck quickly, letting out a quiet noise. “no… please. i need–”

“no? oh, so we’re being greedy tonight? already fucked you stupid before, doll, and now you want another orgasm?” ben mused. “you’re a greedy girl.”

“please,” was all you could muster up. “still hurts.”

“mhm, sure it does, puppy. but i guess i owe you for hurting your pretty insides, huh?”

ben curled his fingers back up into that spongey spot, starting up his motions inside you once more. a wave of pleasure crashed over you again, wringing out the aching sensation and now replacing it with a warmth in your core.

your hips rolled against his fingers, helping them press harder into your gspot, forcing electrical currents to shoot up your nerves and explode like fireworks in your brain. the pain simmered out once more as ben began pulling another orgasm from you.

your soft delicate noises in his neck had him grinning from ear to ear. you were maddening, just a silly little girl in his arms, wailing softly at his thick fingers digging into you and dulling away the ache that his monster cock had brutally drilled into you.

“mmm, baby. you’re so soft f’me, aren’t you? m’so proud of you, takin’ all of this so well,” he stated in a gentle whisper.

ben was being unusually soft. the combination of his quiet murmurings and free hand rubbing along your spine had you lulled into a fuzzy headspace.

“i could eat you up, darlin’, i really could. you’re my good girl.” he felt you nod into his neck in agreement with his words, and he huffed, amused, “yeah, you are.”

ben continued stuffing your pretty cunt with his fingers, now focused on brushing your clit with the heel of his palm too. good submissive girls get extra special care, or at least ben thought so.

within a few minutes he’d pulled another orgasm from you, smirking to himself triumphantly as you twitched in his arms, breathlessly whining at the feeling between your legs.

“uh huh, that was a good one, wasn’t it?” ben hummed. “why don’t you just close your eyes, pumpkin? dad’s got you. you just try to sleep, alright? daddy’s not going anywhere.”

your eyes fluttering closed was instantaneous. ben loved it—how quick you were to always follow his orders, whether you wanted to or not.

“atta girl,” he cooed. he placed another gentle kiss on your forehead and whispered into your hairline, “i got ya, baby. just keep your eyes shut.”

ben’s fingers dug into you at a steady pace, keeping up a constant stream of pleasure inside your core. his other hand continued to rub up and down your back, holding you tight against his torso, soothing you while you tried to relax.

a few minutes passed, and ben could already feel your body weight pressing into him, accompanied by your slow deep breaths against his neck; you were already falling asleep.

ben hummed in amusement—you were his sweet dozey little thing. he didn’t let his fingering falter for a moment, but instead continued the curling motions as he felt you finally melt into him fully. he smiled to himself, resting his lips against your head. “that’s my good girl. you’re so fuckin’ sweet… and too fuckin’ good f’me.”

fig yaps: *gulps nervously* was this too much?? LMFAOOO idc daddy soldier is so fun to write bye this is for the daddy issues girlies and if it ain’t you i don’t wanna hear it 🤚🏼 <3

⟡ taglist: @abellmunsonmovie @cryingdew @floralscented @deansbeer @honeyyxxbee @ilovedilfs-4-ever @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @beausling @sturnspup @bluemerakis @luvmes-things @n-o-p-e-never @dubina-dawkins @fawncried @jasvtsc @starzify @bejeweledinterludes @sbwifey @nymphet-quenn @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @minettacreekk @sapphic-destiel @tinas111 @skutykocur @completedust @clitsout4clark @diner-girl @littlejoels @tortureddarkstar @angelically-yours @pieandflannel @angelicjackles @cherrygirl444 @confuzzled-waffle @spookyysinsanity @ccupidzbvnni @euphoriabyjk2 @jackles010378 @cupidzbunny @slayjjuni @lanasgirlfr @celebrinigf @briisbananass @hueswithblues @siddyyyyyyyy @manicjk @ackl3z @defnot-svnshine @sunnyteume @shannonxg

join my taglist here! or message me to be removed! <3

[deansbeer]

presenting ╱ mess made for me.

featuring ദ soldier boy ⨯ fem!reader.

RATED R. minors look away.

caution ! smut porn with no plot. dom!ben. spanking. rough sex. manhandling. overstimulation. dirty talk. ben's obsessed. light degradation. praising kink. peepaw takes control. possessiveness.

notepad ! this is not proofread … so i'm gonna post and dip <3 it feels like centuries ago since i wrote for the handsome old feller :') bc he is. idc tho i love me a man decades older than me. a true fact. anyways. gniteee i'm soooo sleepy <3 ilysm muaaah !

he leans back against the headboard, legs spread wide, arms behind his head like he's got all the time in the world. the cocky smirk on his face only grows when you straddle him, your thighs already trembling from how many times he's made you come tonight.

"c'mon, sweetheart," he drawls, green eyes glinting under the low light. "show me how much you fuckin' missed me."

you grip his broad shoulders for leverage and start to ride him, slow at first, the thick stretch of him making you whimper every time you sink down. he's big — bigger than anyone you've ever had — and he knows it, the bastard. knows exactly how good he stuffs you full, how you can barely take him without working yourself open first.

you move, hips rolling sloppily, and he watches you like a man starved, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. the sound of your slick, the wet little plop every time you drop down onto his cock, fills the room, obscene and raw.

"fuck," he growls, one hand sliding down to grip your ass, giving it a sharp slap that makes you jolt and clench around him. "you hear that, doll? hear how fuckin' wet you are for me?"

you whimper, nodding, trying to keep up the pace, but your thighs are shaking, muscles burning with exhaustion. you're so tired, so wrecked, but you don't want to stop — not when he's looking at you like that, like you're the only thing in the goddamn world that matters.

"s'tired," you breathe, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

he chuckles low, the sound rumbling through his chest. without warning, he grabs your hips in his big hands and starts bouncing you on his cock himself, using your body like it's nothing, like you weigh less than air.

"poor baby," he says mockingly, voice thick with lust. "thought you could tap out on me? nah. you wanted this — now you’re fuckin' takin' it."

you moan, high and broken, nails digging into his shoulders as he moves you up and down, up and down, the slick sounds getting louder, wetter, filthier. every time you drop, you make that little plop noise he's addicted to, and every time, he groans like he's hearing it for the first time.

"that’s it," he grunts. "fuckin' music to my ears."

his hands leave bruises on your hips, holding you tight, forcing you to take every thick inch of him. he doesn't slow down, doesn't let you catch your breath, just uses you until you're nothing but a crying, whimpering mess on his cock.

"look at you," he growls, tilting his hips up to fuck into you harder, deeper. "bouncin’ on my cock like a good little slut. you love this shit, don't you?"

you nod frantically, tears pricking at your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. your whole body's tingling, every nerve ending lit up like fireworks.

"say it," he demands, giving your ass another hard slap that makes you cry out. "say who fuckin' owns you."

"you," you gasp, voice cracking. "you do, ben—"

"damn right," he snarls, slamming you down harder, groaning when your pussy clenches around him like a vice. "my good fuckin' girl."

your orgasm hits you like a freight train, your body locking up, mouth falling open in a silent scream. he feels it, feels the way you clamp down on him, and it pushes him right over the edge too. he curses under his breath, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, filling you up so deep it’s almost too much.

for a moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the faint, wet noises of your bodies still tangled together. his hands soften against your skin, rubbing slow circles into your hips like he’s grounding you, pulling you back from the edge.

you slump against him, boneless and fucked-out, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest.

your body's buzzing, twitching little aftershocks still running up your spine as you lay slumped on his chest, too wrecked to move. you're half convinced you might just sleep there, with him still inside you, but ben's already muttering under his breath, shifting you gently off him.

"jesus fuckin' christ," he grumbles, sitting up, reaching for a rag from the nightstand without even bothering to pull his boxers back on. "can't even take a good dicking without tappin' out like a rookie."

you whine weakly in protest, but he just huffs a laugh, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your back like you're weightless. you can feel his spend dripping out of you, hot and messy against your thighs, and it makes the back of your neck flush.

"look at this shit," he says, wiping at the mess between your legs with rough but careful hands. "fucked you so full you’re leaking all over the goddamn bed."

he's not even mad — not really. you can hear the smugness dripping from every word, can feel it in the way his fingers linger a little too long, wiping you up slow, almost lazy, like he's savoring it.

"told you to stretch," he mutters, tossing the dirty rag onto the floor and grabbing another. "but nooo, you wanted to be a big girl."

you glare at him half-heartedly through your haze, and he smirks, leaning down to kiss your forehead like it'll erase the absolute filth coming out of his mouth.

"don’t gimme that look," he says. "you loved every second."

he's not wrong. you did. you still do, even as he manhandles you like you're made of paper, even as he wipes you clean with way too much attitude.

"next time," he says, tossing the second rag aside and pulling the covers over you like it's a peace offering, "you're gonna be beggin’ me to take it easy."

you snort, voice rough. "no 'm not."

he grins, all teeth, sliding into bed next to you and dragging you against his chest again, like he needs you there, needs to feel your skin on his.

"we'll see, sweetheart," he murmurs against your hair, voice already gone thick with sleep. "we'll fuckin’ see."

and you know he's right.

[thesilmarillionblog]

COME CLOSER

Summary: Reader asks her friend, Soldier Boy to take her virginity.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: +18! (MINORS DNI), virgin reader!, smut, language, rough Soldier Boy, beard kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, friends with benefits

Word Count: 4052

A/N: English is not my first language.

You grabbed the gun from Ben's suit and placed it in your bag without even waiting for a response since you knew he wouldn't refuse you. “May I take this?” you said. “Just for safety issues.”

Ben joined the team to kill Homelander months ago, and because you two have been on missions together for so long, you two have kind of gotten to know one another. He frequently teased you, and most of the time he really got on your nerves. Another thing Butcher's wanted from you regarding Ben was to make sure you kept an eye on him while he was high or furious. 

He sighed, “You are already in safe hands,” and then gave you a little push toward the car, where Butcher and the other members of the team were waiting. “You know that you are something different. Trying to protect yourself with a firearm in spite of the fact that you already have three supes with you, me included, who are the strongest and greatest.” 

“After the job is completed, even the biggest dicks become smaller. I wonder if your gigantic ego will ever be smaller one day, Ben.”

“Not mine,” he winked at you in between his laughter before the two of you entered the car. “How on earth does a naive virgin speak like that? I must discipline your dirty mouth at some point.” 

He pushed until you reached the other side of the seat, and you muttered, “Shut up.” Your face flushed. “You leave no space for me.”

“Do I look like your personal driver?” Butcher growled at Hughie to come in too, questioned in a disapproving tone. Then Butcher turned back to Hughie, who was sitting in the passenger seat, and said, “Where the fuck is your girlfriend?”

“She arrived earlier with the others. They were driven there by Frenchie already.”

“Will you shut up and drive?” Ben messed with your hair for a while while ignoring what you said that he was going to ruin it, saying to Butcher in an irritated manner. 

“Good boy gone bad, huh?” Ben ignored you and filled the entire seat between your complaints. Butcher murmured, “Let's fucking have some fun there since we may not be finding any free time soon, Navy girlies.” 

Luckily, Butcher managed to locate a club devoid of supes, but it was still massive and insane, complete with loud music. Hughie's gaze found Annie right away, and Butcher followed after him while he winked at the girl who was staring at him with a chuckle. 

You gave Ben a drink and complained, “Do I have to babysit you?” Even though all of the girls were capturing his attention, he was undoubtedly hearing what you were saying. 

He patted your head and said, "Babysit me?" with a look of astonishment. "Sweetheart, it's me who has been watching you for several months. After all, it's easy for you to get into trouble." 

"Me?" As he messed with your hair, you giggled and attempted to push his hands away. "You're always on the verge of being furious for no reason at all, and I have to keep your ego boosted when you are about to lose it." 

"Or maybe I act it this way to get you even more anxious; what do you think? Your human face looks so funny when you're trying to calm me," he smirked and remarked with arrogance. 

Punching him in the chest, you said, "You're impossible," although your wrist ached. You sighed in agony, "Fuck, Ben," and made sure everything was okay by looking at your hand. Thankfully, there were no physical wounds. 

"Why the fuck have you tried to punch me now? Haven't you still learned I'm built to last?" he complained, gently massaging your hands. 

You muttered, "You're so annoying," while he sighed and released your hands. "I can't imagine why almost nobody likes you." 

"All you do this evening is talk rudely with that lovely mouth of yours and spit poison. Also, you are to blame. How many times do I have to tell you not to try to punch me? Wish to adopt a tough-ass persona? You're just a little sensitive, soft doll," he continued to tease, causing you to flush with rage. 

"Remember the day I gave myself a Temp-V injection? When I really punched you, you seemed rather surprised, and I'm sure it hurt." 

“I didn't think being a temporary Supe could happen, and that was a while ago.” Ben continued to smirk and replied, “Keep that in mind. I was merely trying to comprehend the change in your scent when you unexpectedly struck me and pushed me against the wall. You know, I should have been doing that. Of course, I'm not referring to the punching; rather, I'm speaking to the second one, but more gently.”

Ben flirted with you, giving you a tiny pinch on the chin and a wink. He was perhaps the most flirtatious man ever, but the reason he acted this way was that you told him you were a virgin, and even when he understood you were becoming too shy and a little anxious, he continued to tease you verbally. You didn't feel uncomfortable about it, though. 

“Whatever.” You rushed to end it, fearing he would start talking even more profanely. You tried to silence him by putting your palm over his mouth. “When are you going to shave this beard? It's really lengthy.”

He murmured, “I thought you liked it longer and thicker,” as he combed his facial hair. 

This time, instead of being annoyed, you giggled. “You're impossible.” 

You said, “I'm going to check on Annie and others,” feeling a little guilty for something you didn't even understand when you saw him searching for women who fit his tastes. “So that you can have your fun.”

Ben, who had just bought a drink for himself, approached a redhead who had been staring at him passionately ever since he entered the bar. You led the way to join Annie and the rest of the team, but you were carrying a heavy weight that you couldn't quite explain. You did your best to ignore the stupid ache in your heart and laugh out loud at Butcher's half-made-up stories. It was a rare, heartfelt moment of calm after months, shared by all of you as you briefly watched the redhead woman take Ben's head and lead him to the second floor.

Ben's social batteries ran out after a few hours, and when he got into a fight with Butcher, you volunteered to take him home in your car because you were starting to have headaches too. Annie and Kimiko were dancing in the center; it appeared like they were just getting started. Either their heightened enthusiasm was to blame, or you simply didn't feel like having fun at that particular time. Ben was the source of your annoyance because he preferred to spend his time in the club having fun with other women and left you kind of alone.

You just said, “I will drive Ben back; just stop arguing for once,” and snatched Butcher's keys. “I assume everyone will be arriving home late. It appears that Kimiko and Annie won't be calling it a night anytime soon.” After observing them for some time, they realized you were right. Kimiko was high as fuck.

Ben didn't have a shower in his own room, so he quickly took one in yours once you drove home. Surprisingly, he hasn't complained to Butcher about it in any manner, and you've allowed him to use yours anytime he needs to, even if he occasionally takes a shower a bit too frequently, leading you to believe that he does it on purpose to irritate and enrage you so that you two can argue. But no matter what, his unique word choice never failed to make you chuckle.

As he was taking care of himself in the bathroom, you considered something you had long since ignored: your virginity. You could never go one step beyond, not even if you were in your mid-20s. You just didn't want it to be just one fleeting, pointless act, and you didn't feel anything at all. Perhaps you were a shamefully traditional person who was eagerly awaiting the realization of your real fate.

Ben used to make jokes about your virginity, which you didn't mind, but tonight it kind of got under your skin and made you feel uneasy, like there was something wrong with you. It just didn't seem right at all to be a virgin in your mid-twenties. 

“You appear to be lost in thoughts. What's consuming your mind so much?” Ben queried. 

His long beard and damp hair were pouring over the floor as he emerged from the bathroom, his thick, muscular belly wrapped in a towel. Your eyebrows are raised between your sighs. Though you always knew he was extremely attractive, he seemed even more so at this moment. 

Ben glanced at your short dress too, seeing that you were staring at him as your lips parted slightly in a hint of yearning. He smirked, conceited, seeing your legs pushed together. 

“I think I can make a guess.” He walked over to sit on the bed next to you and mumbled. 

You hesitantly said, “I was thinking something,” not quite sure what to say exactly. 

“About?”

You abruptly asked, trying not to flush too much as you moved the bed and fully turned your body to face him. “Would you take my virginity?” 

Ben exclaimed, “What?” with his lips parted in wonder as he tried to understand what you meant and raised an eyebrow. 

“You already heard me.” 

Ben laughed and ignored your request, saying, “Are you drunk or do you need to jerk off? You're going to be a good nun when you grow up.”

“I'm serious here,” you said, blushing red from embarrassment and rage at the fact that the fact that he didn't take you seriously at all.

Ben's mocking expression changed to one of confusion as he realized you were serious. “I thought you were waiting for the love of your life or something. Why did you change your mind all of a sudden?”

“I wasn't waiting for someone,” you denied right away. “I decided being like this bothers me, and I want to change it.”

You continued, “We have known each other for months, and I think we kind of formed a good friendship during this time,” before he said anything, you added, “It must be okay to ask your friend for help, and it's better than to be with a total stranger, right?”

“I'm not the right person to share something like that.” Ben said in a serious tone, “I don't know why you made this decision so quickly, but you'll regret it tomorrow, I promise. If you are horny, I can give fingerfuck you, though.” It was clear that he was not hearing you clearly. 

“It's not really that significant, is it? I didn't wait for someone right away, as I had said. If I knew I would regret saying it, I wouldn't have said it in the first place. What's the purpose of friends?”

Hesitantly, you reached out to touch his damp arms to gauge his reaction while also conveying your concern. You felt your small confidence begin to fade as you noticed he was staring at you with the same expression, so you brought your hands back to yourself. “Well, of course I won't try to convince you to take my virginity if you don't want to get into such an intimate interaction with me,” you said, trying not to seem offended or disappointed. “It's a different issue.”

Your heart raced under your thin dress as you anxiously awaited his response. 

“I would fuck you with pleasure; it's not that I don't want it,” he added, examining your bare legs and breasts as they rose and fell in time with your heavy breaths. He whispered, placing his rough palms on your chin. “But I can't promise it won't hurt, and I don't want it to be just a one-time thing.”

You muttered, “I know it's going to hurt,” and at last he relaxed and seemed to agree. 

He smirked and continued, “I'll fuck your cunt whenever I want,” staring right into your eyes and making you tremble at the sensation. “You'll spread your legs for me and beg me to fuck you.”

“It's better,” you said as his hand lowered to your throat, causing you to become even more thrilled. You chuckled awkwardly and murmured, “Practice makes perfect, right?”

Your lips parted in ecstasy as his thumb massaged your hardened nipple, and he gently pinched it between his fingers through your dress. He didn't even slightly break eye contact with you, as if he wanted to watch every move you made. 

Ben mumbled, “I wonder if you're dripping under there already,” as he climbed on top of you. Feeling uncertain about what action to take, you placed your quivering hands on his large chest. 

His palm stroked your pussy through your underpants, and you clenched around nothing, murmuring, “I feel like it.” You were already embarrassingly drenched; you knew that. 

“Ben,” you murmured quickly, and his hand instantly froze there. He stared at you, confused, not knowing if you wanted to stop or not. You grabbed his wrist and stopped him just as he was about to return his hand to himself. “Can you do the entire job for tonight” you said in a hesitant manner. “I have absolutely no idea what to do.”

Ben surprised you with a kiss on the forehead and said, “Of course I'll do the entire job. You just lay down and relax. I'm going to take care of you well, okay?”

You nodded quickly, trusting that Ben knew what to do when he started to rub your pussy through your underwear again. Your hips rose higher to meet his movements as he played with your clit with a gentle thumb. “Let's get rid of your dress, huh?” he said, helping you to remove it from your body. You were lying under him naked, except for your underwear.

You wanted to hide your body with your hands because you felt a little shy, but you forced yourself to look at him with courage because you wanted this to be good. Even if he was already erect under the towel, he ignored his own needs to give you the pleasure you needed first.

Then he pinched your nipples once more and added, “You have such lovely tits.” Before you could respond, he put his warm lips on one of your tits and started sucking, giving you very light bites. You were a little scared that he could harm you because you had a big power imbalance since he was a supe, but you chose to put your trust in him because you knew he had experience having intercourse with normal people just like you.

As he continued licking both of your nipples, you placed your hands behind his hair and pulled. You pushed his head to your tit as you raised your hip to match his movement, but you moaned loudly when he ripped off your panties and inserted one of his meaty fingers inside of you slowly, even though you were trying really hard not to scream. It was difficult to take even one finger, so tears welled up in your eyes, but you didn't want to ruin the moment.

Groaning, “Fuck, you are tighter than I expected,” he lifted his head.

When he noticed your pained expression, he began to gently massage your clit with his thumb once again. Thankfully, this helped you feel better, and after a while, you began to slowly tighten around his finger.

He asked in a rough voice, “Do you like me fingering you?” and continued to push his finger in and out. “Your pussy is so adorable and swollen. You so desperately need me to fuck you raw.”

He commanded, “Tell me it's just for me,” tensing up his motions as you continued to tighten around his finger.

You said, “Just for you,” and he attempted to press another finger, but you were simply too tense to take it. You said, “Ben, be slow,” in a panic.

“In order for you to take me easier, we need to properly prepare your little pussy. Now spread your legs and don't cover that adorable cunt,” he gave another command. It was then that you realized you were attempting to press your legs together.

You spread your legs so he could see you as per the directions he gave. You let out a loud cry of pleasure and agony as he carefully inserted another finger. Ben swallowed your groans and stretched you with two fingers, his warm lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss.

You were moaning inside his mouth while his tongue and fingers dominated you. Ben felt your wetness on his fingers, your hips rising to match his rhythm, and he felt like he might come without even touching himself.

With a harsh voice, he commanded, “Cum on my fingers,” and proceeded to fuck you while your walls tensed up. With a loud moan and his name between your lips, you nailed his biceps while he watched you orgasm under his touch. “Good girl. You are so easy to make cum. Fuck, you're a needy one.”

You continued orgasming and wetting them while Ben held your fingers within. Even though your pussy felt extremely sensitive, he continued to finger you without giving you a minute's break after your climax had passed.

“Ben, it feels sensitive.”

“Fucking take it,” he growled. “You'll come as much as I want you to.”

You muttered, “I don't think I can,” as your legs continued to shake uncontrollably.

“You can and you will,” Ben responded, and he proceeded to fuck you even more forcefully than before.

The bedroom was filled with obscene noises, and your eyes welled up with tears of pleasure.

“Cum to me,” he commanded again, and you instantly clenched around his fingers. Putting your hands over his head, you kissed him, pressing your lips to his in an attempt to stop your moans.

As you orgasmed, you sensed him grinning slightly against your lips throughout the kiss. He whispered, “You're so fucking tight, you're almost going to lock me inside your pussy,” as you calmed down after your climax subsided. “I guess you're ready now.”

Your eyes widened with fear and dread as he removed the towel from his belly and threw it to the ground, revealing his firm cock. Ben began to give himself brief strokes while spreading your legs apart. Aware of your discomfort, he smiled slightly at you. “I'll do my best to be gentle. You're enough soaked already.”

You nodded to him, waiting tensely as you watched him pump himself between his rough hands. You tensed up abruptly as the tip of his cock touched your entrance, and he took himself in hand after giving it enough strokes.

He said, “Relax,” and kept pushing the tip inside. “Fuck, take it already.”

You attempted to let him in, your legs trembling with desire and dread, but you couldn't stop clenching.

You whimpered, your eyes welling with tears, as he thrust his cock inside with a forceful move. You also pulled his hair around his neck. Your hips were being held in place by his hands, preventing you from moving them. You were certain that it would bruise badly.

You cried out in fear, “Ben,” as he persisted in pushing. Tears fell from the corner of your eyes onto the covers when you were nailing his arms.

He groaned, “Calm down,” and gave you some time to relax. “It's just the head.”

“Sorry,” you said, ashamed that you weren't able to bear pain and adding unnecessary difficulty to the procedure.

His eyes widened at the sight of your face, and he planted a gentle kiss on your forehead. He whispered, “Hey, it's okay. You take me so good, so warm,” in between kisses and proceeded to place his cock inside of you once more. You knew it was a major step for you when you felt like he broke your hymen. This time, his hands gently remained on your hips as he sensed a change in your feelings.

Thank goodness, you relaxed between his kisses and compliments, and your wetness allowed him to enter at last. Ben gave you time to get used to his size after his cock completely filled your insides.

After planting another hard kiss on your lips, he asked, “Are you okay now?” and stroked your cheeks. 

You responded, “I'm okay,” as the agony lessened and you began to get pleasure from his cock pulsing inside of you. 

Ben put his hands on the sheets, and as he started to move slowly inside of you, you locked your legs around his hip. 

He groaned, “You're so tight around me,” as he began to move faster. “I should have fucked you sooner.”

He gave you quick kisses, and his bushy beard tickled your chin as he began to fuck you quickly and roughly. “I'll turn this little cunt addicted to my cock.”

As you continued to moan beneath him, he gave another order: “Tell me you want me to fuck you hard.”

You murmured, “Please,” and he slowed down. 

Ben wrapped his hand around your neck and said, “Beg me properly,” but he wasn't using force against you. 

You sighed, “Fuck me hard, please, Ben.” You moaned as you saw his mucsles stretching as he continued to penetrate you quickly and roughly. Your hands nailed his chest and broad abdomen. 

He put your legs on his shoulders and stated, “I'm going to fuck you every day; make you my little cumslut. Do you enjoy having your friend fuck you? Does this turn you on?”

When he kept talking filth, you couldn’t stop clenching around his cock.

He moaned, “Fuck,” in between hard strokes. “Look at this pussy clench. You really get turned on by it.”

Ben intensified his movements as your legs trembled with pleasure around his hips, and you felt your climax strike with a loud moan and a cunning sneer on his face. You tried biting your lip to muffle the moans, but it was difficult as Ben fucked you raw, on top of you, dominating your whole body. 

He whispered, “I'm going to fuck your face another time,” and put his thumb inside your mouth. “Suck it. Prove to me how much you crave my cock inside your mouth.”

You groaned in displeasure as he slowed. Ben strictly said, “Suck it, show me how badly you want my cock inside your mouth, and I'll fuck you as you need,” when you lifted your hips to get him to return to his previous rhythm. 

With the expectation that he would like it, you put your lips around his thumb and started to lick it with your tongue. 

He mumbled, “Fuck yes, gonna cum inside that mouth,” and started fucking you quickly and roughly once more. 

He muttered, “Almost there,” and continued to fuck you while staring at your bouncing tits. 

His hardness continued to throb inside of you as you tightened around him one more time and orgasmed. He moaned and spilled inside of you, filling you with his thick and warm ropes. 

Ben continued to fill your pussy as your climax subsided. You felt incredibly satisfied because you felt so full of his seed. 

When he was finished, he carefully pulled out his cock, exposing the blood at the tip. Ben gave you a long, hard kiss on the lips when he noticed you were staring at it. 

You offered him a tiny smile as he whispered, “Come closer,” and he embraced you with his large arms. “Are you alright?” 

You continued to stroke his beard while responding, “Yes.” Actually, you've never felt better.

You can check my MASTERLIST for more.

[wchswift]

── ❝ tied him down to my queen bed ❞

pairing! soldier boy x fem!reader

summary! you want to spice up things, so you tie up soldier boy. (Inspired by "Freak" by Doja Cat.)

contents! no plot just porn, established relationship, rough sex, power play, light bondage, kinda sub/dom!soldier boy, degradation, edging/denial, overstimulation, names (sweetheart, doll, brat & bitch), dirty talk, praise & degradation kink, teasing, oral/face sitting (f & m receiving), and probably more; very intense and filthy sexual content so mdni 𖤐 18+ !!

word count! 1.4k

You decided that tonight you wanted to try something different with Ben.

He immediately gave you that sly, bitchy smile of his, not even questioning it. The freak that he is.

But tonight, you wanted to match his freak, do some bad things to him. Spice up his life a little. And that's why you had the big, admired Supe tied down on your queen bed.

The sheets are silk beneath your thighs, black as sin, clinging to your skin like smoke. Soldier Boy is stretched out on his back, arms pulled taut above his head, thick rope biting into his wrists. His chest rises and falls, sweat-slick and heaving, muscles flexing as he tests the restraints. But you tied them well. You made sure of it.

"Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart," he growls, voice deep, ragged. His biceps strain, veins popping, but he’s not getting out of this. "You really think this’ll hold me?"

You hum, trailing your fingers down his chest, nails just sharp enough to sting. "That’s the fun part, isn’t it?"

His jaw tightens, that sharp, stubborn line of his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. You can feel the heat of him, the way his body radiates it, coiled and waiting, just on the edge. His cock is thick and heavy against his stomach, twitching every time your touch ghosts over him without giving him what he wants.

"You really want to tease me, huh? Do you think this will make me love or hate you?" he mutters, his smirk sharp. "Gotta say, doll, if it's the second option, doin’ a damn good job."

You grin, dragging your mouth down his torso, kissing over the old battle wounds. He’s all hard planes and rough edges, but here, tied up beneath you, he’s yours to unravel.

"That so?" you murmur against his skin, breath hot. Your nails scrape down his abs, slow, intentional. He shudders.

His hands twitch in the bindings, but he can’t move. Can’t touch you.

"Goddamn tease," he rasps, his hips jerking when you shift lower, your breath feather-light where he wants it most.

You let the silence stretch, your tongue flicking out, just barely tracing the thick vein running along his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, muscles locking up like steel cables.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he hisses, tugging at the restraints again, but they hold. He’s at your mercy. "Quit playin’."

You tilt your head, lashes low, fingers ghosting up his thighs. "Make me. Oops, that's right, you can't."

The growl that rumbles from his chest is deep, primal. His arms flex, a warning, but he’s stuck right where you want him. Helpless. Desperate.

You take your time, dragging your tongue along the length of him, savoring the way he twitches, curses, his head falling back against the pillow. His hands clench into fists above him, but he can’t do a damn thing about it.

His breathing is rough, labored, the heat rolling off him like a furnace.

"Jesus fuckin’ Christ, woman," he groans, his voice almost breaking when you hollow your cheeks around him, sinking down slowly.

His control is slipping. His cock throbs in your mouth, his hips trying to jerk up, but you press a firm hand against his stomach, holding him down.

"Shit—doll—"

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, lips wet, mouth curved in a wicked little smile. His chest heaves, green eyes burning.

"You’re playin’ a dangerous game," he growls.

"Am I?" your voice drips with sarcasm, you clearly enjoying it too much.

His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, his cock twitching in your grip, veins bulging along his forearms as he fights against the ropes. You’ve got him right where you want him—strung tight, wrecked, teetering on the edge.

And you’re not done yet.

You make the Soldier Boy come apart while you watch it—feel it, in the way his body strains, muscles trembling, sweat rolling down his abs in thin rivulets. His cock is thick, swollen, slick with your spit, twitching against your palm as you stroke him slowly. Agonizing.

You think you've never seen him like this and you even dare to say that maybe he's never been like this.

"You fuckin' brat," he growls, voice wrecked, thick with something dark and desperate. "Untie me, and I swear to God, I'm gonna—"

You pull off him with a filthy pop, licking your lips as you meet his furious, lust-drunk gaze. His wrists are raw where he's tugged at the restraints, his knuckles flexing like he wants to wrap them around your throat and fuck you breathless.

"You’ll what?" You drag your nails down his thighs, pressing just hard enough to sting. "Hurt me?" Your smirk is lazy, teasing. "Wouldn't be the first time."

His chest rises sharply, those thick arms flexing again. "You're fuckin' evil."

You hum in agreement, shifting up his body, dragging your soaked core over the length of him. His whole body jerks at the friction, teeth clenching so tight you think they might crack.

"So goddamn tease," he spits, his voice a guttural rasp. "Bet that little cunt’s already dripping, huh? So fuckin’ greedy."

You rock against him again, slow, deliberately cruel, letting the slick slide off your folds coat every thick inch of his cock. He twitches, the head of it catching against your clit just right, making your breath hitch.

"You wanna find out?" you murmur, rolling your hips again.

His arms yank hard at the ropes. You know he wants to grab you, to flip you over and fuck you so deep you forget your own name, but he can't. You’ve made sure of it.

His nostrils flare, those sharp green eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching the way you drag yourself over him, the way your slick glistens on his skin.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" His head falls back against the pillows, his hips jerking up like he’s lost control of his own body. "You’re killin’ me."

You smirk, sliding up his torso until you’re straddling his chest, your dripping cunt hovering just above his face. His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring as he takes in the scent of you, the heat of you.

"That’s the idea," you purr.

His tongue darts out, hungry, desperate, but you stay just out of reach.

"Goddamn it," he snarls, frustration burning in his eyes. "Sit that pretty little pussy on my fuckin' face before I break these goddamn ropes and do it myself."

Your core clenches at the raw heat in his voice, at the way his fingers are flexing like he’s imagining them buried deep inside you.

"Beg me," you whisper.

His head jerks up, eyes flashing, like he might snap, but then—then his lips curl into something wicked, something sharp.

"Fucking. Please." It’s a growl, low and menacing, but there’s desperation beneath it, an ache he can’t hide.

And that's what you were waiting for.

You sink down onto his mouth, and Soldier Boy groans like a man starved. His tongue drags through your folds, hot and slick, before wrapping around your clit and sucking hard.

"Fuck," you gasp, fingers tangling in his thick hair, holding him in place—not that he needs it. He’s already devouring you, licking into you like he needs it to breathe. "Such a good boy."

His beard scrapes against your thighs, the rough burn mixing with the wet heat of his mouth, sending shivers up your spine. His tongue flicks, curls, fucks into you, and you grind against him, chasing the friction, riding his face like you own it.

His moans are guttural, vibrating against your clit, and you swear you see stars. You feel his hips jerking beneath you, his cock throbbing, untouched, desperate, leaking all over his stomach.

"Shit—" Your breath hitches, body trembling, that coil tightening, tightening, ready to snap.

And then—you pull back.

His head jerks up, lips slick with your arousal, panting like a rabid fucking animal.

"You fuckin' bitch," he growls, yanking at the ropes so hard you almost hear the fibers snap.

You grin, sliding back down his body, pressing your soaked heat against the aching length of his cock. He curses under his breath, head falling back, body tense as a bowstring.

"You gonna behave?" you murmur, dragging your nails over his chest.

His jaw clenches, muscles flexing.

And then—then, in a voice rough and wrecked and furious—

"Fuck no."

And that’s when the ropes snap.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

⛥ main masterlist.

lina's notes: yeah... I'm so not normal about him. I think this might be the dirtiest thing I've ever written?? idk but I actually felt embarrassed posting this lol I'm not confident at all. But yes I'm definitely a sub! soldier boy defender!!

This idea happened because after rewatching the boys I saw an edit of Soldier Boy with this song and wow I already knew what I had to write. I don't see him being written like this much so I decided to give it a voice lol. Despite everything and me being very insecure, I hope it met you guys expectations and that it messed with you in the best way yk... and that you genuinely enjoyed it!!

tags: @blossomingorchids @rositaslabyrinth @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bluemerakis @h8aaz @figthoughts @jasvtsc @maddie0101 @bejeweledinterludes @starzify @gibson-g1rl @losers-clvb (let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)

purple divider made by @elleisdesigning <3

[sturnspup]

❝ 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 .ᐟ ❞

SUMMARY .ᐟ . . . soldier boy absolutely ruining you simply bc he can!! but also because he loves you :3

WARNINGS .ᐟ . . . f!reader . piv unprotected . drooling . slight dacryphilia . choking . slapping . rough sex . degrading + praise . swearing bc duh obviously what . overstimulation + mention of past orgasms . name calling (whore, slut, crybaby, bitch) + petnames (baby, sweetheart, honey) . probably some other stuff that i forgot so lmk ab those please !

GABS YAPS .ᐟ . . . i'm working on the first 'chapter' for sweetgirl!reader + my reader for soldier boy, which this isn't a part of btw!! so please bare with me as i work on that stuff lol. but i do have more standalone smut ideas so look out for those! likes, comments, + reblogs are very appreciated!!

"ugh- mmn- fuck!" you groaned as drool dribbled down your chin. ben rammed into you relentlessly, both hands on your ass, grabbing and pulling you back into him. he smacked the soft jiggling flesh until all was left were red handprints.

"yeah, you like that, huh? my pretty little slut." he teased. he reached a hand over to your mouth, letting out a primal groan at the touch of your wet face. "fuck. you're a drooling mess, aren't you, you fuckin' whore." he slapped you, gaining a whine full of pain and pleasure.

his cum-coated cock hit into your sweet, spongy spot once again. you screamed out multiple profanities as your orgasm slowly began to climb up again. he slipped in and out of you with ease due to the pure slick from your cunt.

he pistoned into you at an unruly pace, abusing your insides as they wrapped around him snugly, practically morphing into the perfect shape for only his dick. your hands frantically gripped into the sheets as your eyes rolled back, mouth agape with pornagraphic mewls, moans, and whines spewing out freely.

ben's hand striked your face once more before wrapping tightly around your throat. you whimpered at the pain before biting your lip, letting go as he had slapped you again. "don't. i wanna hear you scream while i ruin your tight little pussy." he demanded, earning a whine and nod in return.

he tighted his grip on your throat, "words, baby. now." he ordered. "ngh- yes- yes, sir- hah- oh, fuck, ben! yes, yes!" you managed to scream out as his hips quickened, his balls slapping against your swollen clit, making the sensitive pearl send your nerves into overdrive.

you were absolutely ruined; your makeup was smudged, hair messy, drool and tears covered your face, ass so red and bruised you knew you won't be able to sit properly— let alone walk after this, hickeys littered your body from your neck to your thighs, there was no way to cover them. but it's all worth it for this, for him.

ben's hands spread your ass open, drilling even further into your cunt. the sound of wet skin slamming together filled the room amongst the mixed noises from you both. you had came for what felt like the millionth time that night, the creamy ring at his base becoming whiter. he groaned before pulling out completely, making you whine at the loss of him.

he lifted you up and slid under you, making you straddle him. he slipped his cock back inside you and gave your ass a motivational smack after bottoming out. your legs shook profusely as you began to move up, mewls spewing from your mouth.

the overstimulation was beginning to get at you. "please," you sobbed as tears flowed down your face, "god, ben, please!" you begged. you didn't know if you were begging for more or for it to stop, all you knew was that he got off on your absolutely wrecked state.

the sight of your visible crying made him twitch inside you. "fuckin' crybaby." he spat, "gonna sob and whine all over my cock? that's fuckin' pathetic. take my dick like the good little bitch you are." he said before grabbing your hips and bucking his own into you, roughly.

"fuck!" you cried as you fell to his chest, your hands holding his broad shoulders. "c'mon, sweetheart, you can take it. yeah, yeah that's it, baby. take my fucking cock. oh fuck." he moaned as you slowly moved your hips to try and match his fast pace.

his fingers dug into your flesh as your final orgasm rained down onto him. you wept and moaned due to the overstimulation. ben's hips began to stutter as he got closer, his speed completely faltering as he came. the mixed cum spilled out from you, covering where the two of you were connected.

he rubbed his calloused fingers over the soft, sweaty skin of your back, soothing your shaking form. "did so good f'me, honey. so fucking good." he sighed blissfully before lifting you head and kissing your wet, panting mouth.

tags: @soldiersgirl @j2archives @sunsbaby @bejeweledinterludes @starzify @immodestly-marina @legalmente-loca @dulcescorderitas @ultravi0lence14 @cowboysandcigarettes @angelicjackles @mystic-writings @deansbeer @sunsettsam @vmiina @bluemerakis @figthoughts @k-slla

[soldiersgirl]

— 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 .ᐟ

summary — life had always been cruel to ben; littered with betrayals, heartbreak, guts & glory. somehow, despite it all, the one thing he thought he had lost and could never experience, turned out to be his saving grace. (inspired by this post)

cw — fem!reader x girl dad!soldier boy, 18+ (hints of sex, wrap it before u tap it) established relationship (married). soft ben, fluff, angst, kissing, daddy kink (kinda), smoking, mentions of daddy and mommy, mentions of ben's trauma and war, mentions of drug use.

word count — 2,138 words

ben couldn't count on one hand the amount of trials and tribulations he had been subjected to over his long, arduous existence, but he needed the other one to hold and keep himself anchored to you.

it had all started out innocently. much like the other members of the boys, you were indifferent to ben. but soon enough, you discovered that you two couldn't stand each other, let alone be in the same room without going at it and screaming about "the importance of having a moral backbone" while he told you to go "shove your fuckin' modern values!" in return. but as time does with most things, it eats away at anger and suddenly, after a long day at the office and going over missions, you would retreat to the roof together and share a cigarette between the two of you. words were rarely spoken, but you grew to understand each other just a little bit more with each inhale and exhale of your shared vice.

his complexity perplexed you and you found yourself wishing to understand the man under the armour. how ben had become soldier boy and lost himself along the way.

during one particular cold night, up on the flatiron building roof, he laid it all out to you. he had told hughie and butcher a few bits, here and there, but you got the full picture. all you did was nod in return, not offering any comments like others did. ben couldn't read you and it freaked him the fuck out. he had quite the knack for getting under people's skin and staying there, gnawing on their insecurities and break them down. but when you comfortingly laid your hand on his and he didn't flinch, he knew there was something about you that he possibly wouldn't find again.

within a few tough and challenging months, for both of you and the boys as a team, you and ben had turned to finding comfort in one another. each night, either at his place or yours, you would intertwine your limbs and entangle your tongues with no care for the world around you. he would get lost in your gentle mewls, your soft pleading as he would pound into you and fulfil all your dirtiest fantasies, without a second thought.

you managed to keep your... situation quiet for a while from the others, knowing that no one would approve of it; why complicate things when everything is a already a nightmare with vought and homelander? but when the boys abruptly came back from a mission and walked in on ben taking you from behind on your own desk; you knew you couldn't keep it under wraps anymore. hell broke loose. insults were hurled. computers were thrown, mainly by ben, and you were both told that it wouldn't last long. but you managed to prove them wrong; much to your own surprise.

loving ben wasn't a walk in the park. nothing about ben was ever easy. but when your fingers interlocked and he bared his soul to you, all his worst nights were worth it. the nights filled with long discussions, ingrained toxic reflexes, harsh empty words.

"you need to cut off the fucking pills, ben! i swear to god, i'm gonna flush them down the fuckin' toilet!" you yelled as you held the baggie over the toilet, shaking them, daring him to come closer.

"you're batshit! actually, insane! i should've listened to butcher when he said i shouldn't get involved with someone like you!" he pointed his finger accusingly, a deep scowl on his face.

always turned into...

"i'll never find someone like you." ben sighed as he cradled you close, your heartbeats in sync and your breaths shallow after you furiously apologise to each other. you peer up at him and caress his exhausted face, loving how he leans in and seeks your touch.

"i love you." you stated. his eyes flew open, revealing his moss-green irises as they softened at the sight of you. he exhaled as if the weight of the world fell off his shoulders and his usual scowl turned into a wide, toothy smile as he rested his forehead against yours.

"i love you too, sweetheart." he kissed the tip of your nose and nestled himself deeper into you. he loved you like he did everything else; fiercely and loudly and he was sure he could never love someone like he did you. until he met her.

for weeks and weeks, this was the moment it had all been leading up to this. the final showdown between ben and homelander. you had felt incredibly nauseous for weeks, watching ben the boys strategise and devise their attack plans. it must the anxiety, the fear of the great unknown beyond their fight. until you couldn't deny it anymore. three pregnancy tests stared back at you, the severity of the situation seeped into your bones and overtaking your senses.

you stepped out and admired ben's broad back as he pulled on his suit, buckled his knee pads and gave his shield the once over before sliding it onto his back.

"are you gonna stand there all day or am i a lucky enough of a bastard to get a kiss from my girlfriend?" he hummed before turning around and giving you that infamous smirk. his smile faltered immediately as he noticed your frail composure and the look of absolute fear etched on your face. "baby. don't be nervous about the fight, come on. don't you trust your old man?" he chuckles before dragging you in and kissing the top of your head as a gesture of reassurance. "i got the boys with me, don't i darling? they've got my back."

they definitely didn't have his back.

"when's your daddy coming, sweetheart?" the kindergarten teacher perched next to the pigtailed girl with those captivating green eyes that everyone couldn't help but compliment.

"sweetheart?" the girl giggled as she eyed the playground, waiting for her dad to appear at any moment, like mum had promised he would today. "that's mommy's name, daddy says so all the time. i'm athena!!" she flashed her toothless grin and giggled even louder.

"ah, yes. sorry, athena. i got confused!" the teacher shook her head and feigned confusion, returning the young girl's smile. as if on cue, the intimidating father figure entered the classroom and the young girl wasted no time sprinting and latching onto his leg as he lets out a low chuckle. he picks her up effortlessly and rests her on his hip as he looks apologetically at the teacher.

"i'm sorry, ma'am." his gruff voice filled the classroom which is usually filled with high-pitched laughs and soft tones. "i got.. held up at work." athena pats her father's stubbled cheeks and let out a shriek of laughter as his free hand pokes at her stomach, his eyes fully on her with a smile to match.

"mr. anderson, it was really no issue. i love spending time with athena, don't worry about it."

"ben. ben is fine." he corrects. "alright. well, say goodbye to miss smith, athena. time to go home to mommy." athena waves wildly as ben offers miss smith a curt nod before leaving the colourful classroom. miss smith couldn't help but laugh to herself; somehow the toughest man became the softest father.

the fight had taken a turn for the worst. everyone had turned on each other. chaos ensued and ben was left with no option to erupt and unleash himself on everyone. luckily, with shaking hands and a trembling voice, you had called grace mallory and begged for her help. for her to make you and ben disappear so you could start again, give him what he always yearned for a loving family. that's how you ended up in south philadelphia, ben's home state. despite his denial to face and confront his past, he knew it was something he needed to be able to become the father he wanted. the father he knew he could be. it wasn't hard to do a better job than his own father, but once he regained consciousness after the fight and you shared the news you were too scared to share before, suddenly... all of ben's betrayals, heartaches and suffering became obsolete. all that mattered was you... and her.

ben wasn't made to work under normal conditions, being in an office and stuck at a desk felt like a punishment. like a wild animal trapped in a cage. he wanted the normal life he knew he could've had if he never had become soldier boy, but no matter what, ben was a weapon before he was a man. while you and athena settled into a comfortable daily life, ben was sent on solitary missions by mallory and the CIA. it was the least he could do after the fuckfest that went down in nicaragua all those years ago, mallory had explained. it was the only way the CIA would agree to help him and his family, so he begrudgingly accepted.

you pulled a pink pyjama top over athena's wriggling form before pulling her in and giving her rushed kisses all over her soft face.

"mammaaaa!" she yelled in defiance as her giggles grew louder and pushed away at your quick, planted kisses. you pulled back, gave her a large smile and brushed her wet hair carefully after her nightly shower.

"mummy couldn't help herself. you're too cute, 'thena." you laughed in return before braiding her hair and tucking her into bed, surrounded by her army of stuffed teddy bears. the soft glow of her sunset lamp cast a warm, orange hue over her cherub face as you gazed into those eyes that you could get lost in.

"can you tell me about where i got my name again, mamma?" athena whispers into her hands, knowing it was already past her bedtime. you open your mouth to tell her no, but a gruff voice from behind interrupts you.

"daddy can do it." ben had been leaning against his daughter's door frame with folded arms and admiring the sight of the two of you, not fully believing how lucky he had gotten. he saunters in, gives you a big kiss on your lips (followed with an "eeew..." by athena) before he sits down carefully on her heart-filled bed covers and holds her tiny hand in his.

"when daddy used to be a soldier, many many years ago before he met you, daddy was in many wars. he worked hard to protect his country and he was always protected by athena. athena helped daddy when he needed to be brave and clever to get the bad people to go back home. like those fuc-." you let out a small cough. he pauses and his eyes flicker to you, as you offer him a warm smile; encouraging him to continue. you let your hand run up and down his back, relaxing him. "fudging commies." he continues. "athena was zeus' favourite daughter, like you are mine." he continues and kisses her small knuckles. "she was the wisest, bravest olympian god and she cared for people, like daddy, when daddy needed it most."

all soldiers need a war, but not the way that ben needed his little athena.

ben's smooth voice had lulled athena into a slumber, her eyes lidded and her lips in a natural pout as her head hung. ben tucked her in tightly and placed a brief kiss on her forehead as you turned off the lights.

"daddy loves both of his girls." he whispers into her hair before quietly leaving her room and joining you in the hallway.

"oh, daddy loves his girls, huh?" you wink and stretch your arms up around his neck. his hands fall naturally into place, on your hips, as you sway slightly together with identical smirks on your faces.

"if you're not careful, sweetheart, daddy will have to teach you a lesson." he gives your ass a light slap.

"how could i say no to you, daddy?" you hum as you bite your bottom lip.

"you're so fuckin' dirty. bet you've been thinking about me all day, haven't you?" he chuckles as you lead him into your joint bedroom, swiftly closing the door behind you and connecting your lips in a frenzied kiss. "daddy will take care of you, sweetheart. lay back and show daddy how much you missed him." ben mutters against your slick lips before throwing you onto your bed and climbing on top of you, his hands gliding across your form and grabbing you with a sense of urgency that you never got tired of.

after all this time, you were still into him, who you watched finally find himself amongst the chaos of his life.

a/n: in my mind, months pass between the boys finding ben and the showdown between him and homelander, rather than only a few days, so that's where this takes place. also couldn't resist writing a girldad! ben as jensen is just the best father ever <3 and still into you is my favourite lovesong ever. hope u enjoyed!

-`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei (comment or inbox me to be added)

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Wearing His Clothes

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

AN: I haven't done one of these in a while! This one was requested by the lovely @luci-in-trenchcoats. 💜

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff, spiciness/implied smut

Headcanon: How Dean, Beau, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to you (getting caught) wearing his clothes.

Dean Winchester

Ugh, what a cocky SOB. 😆 (And yet, not the cockiest of them all.)

You've been doing it for weeks now, without comment from him.

But every time he sees you in one of his undershirts, getting ready for bed, it's always accompanied by a little once-over. A curve of his lips. A smirk, if you will.

He likes the look of you.

He likes that you're his.

And he likes the fact that you feel comfortable enough to steal his clothes.

He also likes welcoming you into bed next to him, with a hand running up your back, or venturing under whatever undershirt you've decided to slip on to feel the warmth of your skin.

"'S this mine?" he asks. You give him a quirking smile.

"You know it is," you say, with playful challenge.

Dean accepts that with a hum and leans in for a kiss as payment.

Sometimes that one stolen kiss leads to another, simmering with heat. And he’ll take great pleasure in taking back his shirt, casting it to the floor and rolling you underneath him on the bed.

But it doesn't stop at his undershirts. You steal his plaid ones if you want something to comfortably drown in when you're doing research, or just lounging in the bunker. The material is soft from several hundred washes. (The red and black one is one of your favorites.)

Rare though it is for him to wear hoodies, it's rarer still, because Dean can never even find one in his side of the dresser.

That's because you're keeping it hostage on your side, buried under your lingerie. (Even if he tried to find the hoodie, odds are he’ll get distracted.)

It gets to the point where he can hardly find anything of his.

His brows furrow as he rucks through his drawers for something clean to wear, while clad in only his most threadbare sweatpants.

"Damn it, woman. Where are my shirts?" he grouses.

You bite your lip and pretend to keep reading your book. You're already safe in bed, covered up to your chest by the blankets.

"I don't know. Have you done your laundry?" you ask, smiling to yourself. Dean catches you, with a suspicious brow raise.

He climbs into bed and snatches the covers away from you. You yelp at the suddenness and try to grab at them, but it's too late.

He discovers that you're wearing one of his newer shirts, which he had to buy to replace the ones he just can't seem to find.

"Are you kidding me? This is Theft in the First goddamn Degree!" he exclaims, even though he's close to laughing at the way you're already giggling. He manages to pin you underneath him on the bed, and he has half a mind to take this shirt back as well, by whatever means necessary.

And yes, tickling is one of those means.

"Sweetheart, for the love of God. Why do you keep taking my shit?" he asks, in a way that's half-serious in his frustration, but also half-teasing.

You shrug shamelessly, still smiling. You run your hands up his bare arms and shoulders, and back down his chest.

"I don't know. It's comfortable," you say. But your eyes lower as your face begins to warm with a blush. "Makes me feel safe...like you're always with me."

At that, the tension in Dean's shoulders eases. His smile can't help but soften around the edges as he looks down on you, now with fondness. After a while, he lets out a deep sigh.

"All right," he says.

You grin, because you know he's given up. You lean up for a kiss that successfully distracts him.

Dean still gets annoyed sometimes when he can't find a specific item of clothing in his drawer, but now, all he has to do is go over to your side of the dresser.

There he knows he'll eventually find what he's looking for.

Beau Arlen

Heh, in this episode of “Whose Hat is it Anyway”...

Beau's wardrobe reminds you of a cowboy in modern times.

Lots of browns and beiges, lots of slacks and buttoned-down shirts tucked in with an army of belts to choose from (even though the man only owns a few pairs of boots). Not to mention a slew of jackets that often pull the look together.

But being that he's new to Montana (specifically, Montana winters), you like to buy him sweaters. Cable-knits and soft ones in earth tones that you think bring out his eyes.

Beau accepts whatever you get him and graciously wears them. He trusts your judgment on what looks good on him, and he appreciates the way you think of him.

It's just one of those ways, however small, that you show that you care and that you're looking out for him.

One night while he's working late, however, you find yourself trying to reorganize the closet. The man is "organized chaos" at best, and you find one of his sweaters on the floor. It's a nice burgundy one that you bought him recently.

Ooh, so soft, you think, while feeling the fabric between your fingers.

You don't know what possesses you, but you decide to slip out of your pajamas and try it on yourself.

SO damn soft, you realize, as you practically drown in the sweater. It hangs about to mid-thigh.

Then you see one of his beige Stetsons hanging on the wall. A sneaking smile curves your lips, before you slip on his hat.

To complete the ensemble, you dig into the recesses of your closet and find a pair of your old cowboy boots. You go out into the bedroom and check yourself out in the mirror with a growing smirk.

"Hey there, darlin'," you try to impersonate your boyfriend's subtle Texan twang, and even his mannerisms by winking at yourself, tipping the hat forward.

You giggle at your own silliness in this moment, but alone in your own house, who freakin' cares? You should feel free to dance naked through the whole damn place if you feel like it.

So you spin on your heel and do a little twirl in your boots.

"Who's the sheriff now, huh?" You mime a pair of guns with your hands and shoot at your reflection. "Psh, psh!"

But that's when you catch sight of one Beau Arlen, leaning against the bedroom doorway with his arms crossed. An amused grin is plastered to his face.

You freeze in shock, still with your "gun hands" held up.

"Oh, don't stop the show on my account," Beau says slyly. He gestures at you. "Please, continue."

Your hot blush spreads from your cheeks and quickly begins to travel down your neck. "Uh...I was just...you know, cleaning the closet. You're very messy, you know!"

Beau snorts and draws closer. Those green eyes of his take in the full sight of you, down your bare thighs and cowboy boots, and back up to your embarrassed face. You bite your bottom lip on reflex.

"You know, I like what you got goin' on here," he says, waving a hand down your form. "But it's just...it's missing something."

He takes his badge with the gold star off his belt and pins it to your sweater.

"There you go. Perfect fit," he says, even as his hand slides up the slope of your back. You find yourself pulled further into his orbit as you try (and fail) to stamp down a smile.

"You're late, you know," you remind him. Beau bows his head and presses a kiss into your neck. You feel his smirk there.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff. Gonna arrest me, or let me off with a warning?" he teases. His other hand comes up to adjust the hat on your head. You smirk and cling to his arms over his dark brown jacket. It's one of his nicer ones.

"I think I can let you off," you play along. You lean up to skim your lips across his cheek, and closer to his ear. "But only for good behavior."

He has to chuckle then. "I can accept those terms..."

Beau's hands slip under your stolen sweater and begin to slide it up your body, inch by inch.

"Though I'm gonna need you to keep the boots on," he says lowly, just before he claims you with a searing kiss.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, here we go. 😅

As with most things, it's a point of pride for Ben.

He'd prefer you be too fucked out to move, let alone put on clothes after he's finished with you.

On the rare occasion that your body doesn't feel too much like warm molasses after a few hot rounds with your boyfriend, you like to at least grab one of his discarded shirts to cover yourself.

If he still has energy, he'll take that as a challenge. He'll try to slip his hands underneath whatever shirt you've found and divest you of it, so he can start devouring you again.

However. Ben does like seeing you in his clothes, in a possessive, claiming way.

There are days when you just want to be swallowed up in one of his large, comfortable shirts as you lounge about the house.

Ben sometimes watches you putter around, cleaning, working, cooking, reading, or watching TV in nothing but his clothes. He wonders if you're even wearing panties. You could be bare faced with a severe case of bed head, but his eyes will still occasionally follow you.

His expression doesn't reveal too much, but he likes it. (And because you know him, you know it too.)

Maybe he'll catch you as you pass by, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. You startle with a yelp, but then you grab onto his arms and smile.

"Can I help you, sir?" you tease.

"Think you can just walk by me, looking sexy as fuck?" he remarks. He steals a slow, thorough kiss. You cup his face and bring him back in for more, tenderly stroking his cheek.

"You know why I like wearing your stuff?" you ask. Your smile hints at teasing.

Ben arches a brow. "Why?"

"Because it keeps you looking," you reply. And you reach a hand around to slap his ass, for good measure.

Then you saunter away from him to get back to what you were doing.

Or at least, you try to.

Ben grabs your hand and pulls you back towards him, back into the cage of his arms, where he falls back into the trap you've so often laid. And he finishes what you started.

AN: Well, then. 😂 I hope you guys enjoy this! Who had your favorite reaction: Dean, Beau, or Ben? 😘

Dean Winchester Imagines

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