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calamity-queen · 5 hours ago

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Earn Your Stars

Summary: Soldier Boy shows you whose boss.

Warnings: SMUT!!, rough play, possessive Ben, Dirty talk, oral (m receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, mild degradation, praise kink, dom/sub, light choking, rough sex, spanking, manhandling, overstimulation, Power play, impact play, spit, pain/pleasure, tears, possessiveness, MINORS DO NOT READ!

WC: 2.3K

Read on ao3!

The bunker smells like blood and gunpowder.

You should be asleep. The mission’s over, your body sore in places you didn’t know you had. But you’re not asleep. Because he’s watching you.

Soldier Boy leans in the doorway of your temporary quarters, arms folded, broad chest rising and falling under that tight black tee. He doesn’t speak. Just looks — slow and heavy — like he’s deciding whether to eat you alive or fuck you through the wall.

Maybe both.

You meet his stare with a raised brow. “You gonna keep watching, or are you planning to say something?”

He smirks, but there’s nothing sweet about it. “You think you earned the right to talk to me like that, sweetheart?”

You swallow, but don’t back down. “I think I saved your ass back there.”

He pushes off the doorframe, steps inside like he owns the room — owns you. “Yeah? You want a medal for that?”

“I’d settle for a ‘thank you.’”

Soldier Boy stops in front of you, towering, heat radiating off his body like a storm. He tilts your chin up with two fingers, gaze narrowing.

“Nah. You want something else.”

You don’t reply. Can’t. His hand slides down your neck, rough calloused fingers skimming over your collarbone until he’s fisting the front of your shirt, yanking you flush against him.

“You walk around here like you’re not begging for it. But I see it. Every time I look at you.”

Your breath hitches. He smiles, wicked and slow.

“So why don’t you quit pretending, and let me give you what you’ve been aching for?”

He doesn’t wait for permission. His mouth crashes against yours — all teeth and heat and tongue, stealing the breath right from your lungs. His grip is firm, unrelenting, like he’s been waiting to ruin you since the moment he laid eyes on you.

And maybe he has.

He walks you backward until your knees hit the mattress. You fall, and he’s on you in an instant — pinning you down, hand between your thighs before you can blink.

“You’re soaked,” he growls, pressing the heel of his palm where you need it most. “You do like being manhandled. Filthy little patriot.”

You moan, arching into him, trying to grind down — but he pulls back.

“Ah ah,” he smirks, licking a stripe up your neck. “You wanna come on my fingers, you ask nicely.”

You grit your teeth. “Please.”

His mouth grazes your jaw. “Say it like you mean it.”

Your pride flares. But your body burns hotter.

“Please,” you whisper, breath ragged. “Make me come. I want your hands on me. I want your cock in me. I want—”

He growls, shoving two fingers deep inside you, the stretch glorious and unforgiving. “That’s more like it.”

He ruins you with his fingers — slow at first, then brutal, curling and pumping until you’re begging, panting, clawing at his shoulders. His other hand pins your hips down when you try to move. “You come when I say you can.”

You’re close. So close.

Then he stops.

“Ben—!”

“On your knees,” he commands, voice rough. “You want your reward? Earn your fucking stars.”

You obey, trembling as you drop in front of him, your eyes locked on his belt.

“That’s my girl.”

You drop to your knees like he told you to — chest rising, thighs tight, heat burning between your legs even after he pulled his fingers out. He’s watching you like a predator. Like a god.

“Go on,” he says, voice dark with amusement. “Show me what that pretty mouth can do.”

Your fingers tremble as you reach for his belt. He doesn’t help. Just stands there, broad and looming, letting you work — like unwrapping something dangerous.

The buckle clinks. The zipper lowers. You free him from his pants, and your breath catches.

He’s big. Thick and heavy, already hard, a drop of precum glistening at the tip. You swallow, heat pooling between your legs again.

“Oh, you like what you see?” he smirks. “Don’t just stare, princess. Be a good little patriot.”

You wrap your hand around the base of his cock and lean in, tongue flicking over the tip. He growls — low and primal — and his hand fists in your hair instantly, tightening just enough to make your scalp sting.

“That’s it,” he grunts. “Open wider. Take it like you want it.”

You do. Inch by inch, your lips stretch around him, cheeks hollowing as you sink down. His hips twitch, and he moans — an honest, filthy sound.

“Fuck. That mouth—”

You bob your head slowly, then faster, saliva dripping down your chin as you stroke the base with your hand. He watches every movement, groaning when you gag just a little, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

He pulls your head back suddenly, his cock glistening with your spit.

“Bed. Now.”

You scramble up and he’s right behind you, grabbing your hips, pushing you onto your stomach. Your ass is bare before you can blink, pants dragged off roughly. You hear the rip of foil — he’s fast, practiced — and then the blunt head of his cock is pressing against your entrance.

“You ready, baby?” he growls against your ear, one big hand gripping the back of your neck. “Because I’m not taking it easy on you.”

You push your hips back. “Do it.”

And he does.

One brutal thrust, and he’s buried to the hilt, stealing the breath from your lungs. The stretch is overwhelming — perfect — and he doesn’t give you time to adjust.

He sets a punishing pace, hips slamming into you with the force of a freight train. You scream into the mattress, but he just groans, fingers bruising into your skin.

“This what you wanted?” he pants. “Getting wrecked by a fucking legend?”

“Yes—!”

He pounds into you harder, sweat dripping down his chest as he leans over you, hand sliding around your throat.

“Heaven has nothing against being wrapped up in your body,” he growls. “Goddamn, you feel like sin. I could die right here.”

You tighten around him at those words, nearly sobbing when his thumb brushes your clit.

“You gonna come?” he whispers, biting your ear. “Soak my cock like a good girl?”

You nod frantically. “Please — I’m so close —”

“Then come.”

And you do — violently, helplessly — clenching around him as pleasure shatters through your body like a white-hot explosion. You feel him follow you seconds later, growling your name like a war cry as he empties himself into the condom, hips twitching.

Silence falls. Heavy breathing. Slick skin. You collapse into the sheets, shaking.

He pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and flops down beside you, dragging you into his arms.

“It’s 3AM,” he mutters against your neck, voice hoarse. “And all I want is you.”

You smile, dazed and spent.

“I’ve got a comfortable bed,” he adds, pulling the blanket over both of you. “And I’m not letting you leave it.”

You're still panting, boneless and dazed against the mattress, skin damp with sweat. But his hand doesn’t leave your waist.

Not even for a second.

“You think we’re done?” he rasps near your ear, voice thick with heat. “Sweetheart, I’ve barely started.”

Before you can respond, he flips you onto your back with one arm like you weigh nothing. His eyes roam your naked body, dark and wild and hungry.

“Look at you,” he growls. “Fucked out, shaking… and you still want more.”

You nod, breathless.

His palm closes around your throat, not tight — not yet — just enough to make you feel the weight of it.

“You gonna be my good little slut again?”

Your thighs twitch. “Yes—please.”

That’s all he needs.

He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head with one hand, the other trailing down your stomach. His fingers swipe through your soaked folds — and he smirks.

“Already this wet again? Damn, baby. You were made for this.”

Without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you, curling them fast and rough, no teasing this time. You cry out, arching against the mattress.

“Keep those legs open,” he warns. “If you close them, I tie them up. Your call.”

You obey. Barely.

He works your cunt hard, fingers pounding into you while he leans in, tongue flicking over one nipple. You’re moaning now — loud, desperate, writhing under him — and he drinks it in like a man starving.

“You want my cock again?” he growls, licking his way up to your throat. “Want me to ruin you?”

“Yes—God, yes—”

He sits back on his heels and fists his cock again — thick, hard, ready to split you open all over. “Get on your knees. Face down, ass up.”

You scramble to obey, and the next thing you feel is the crack of his palm on your ass.

“Good girl,” he purrs, rubbing the sting. “You follow orders real well. You should’ve worn that mouth out on the battlefield too.”

You barely gasp before he drives into you again — harder this time — no gentleness, no slow build. He takes you like he owns your body, and fuck, maybe he does.

The headboard slams the wall. The sounds of skin and breath and filthy moans fill the air.

“You’re mine,” he pants, gripping your hair and yanking your head back. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you cry out, nails digging into the sheets.

His hand slides up to your throat again, squeezing now — tight enough to make your vision blur, just shy of pain.

“You gonna come with my hand around your neck, baby?” he hisses. “Come choking on how good I fuck you?”

You nod frantically — dizzy, desperate, so fucking close — and when his hand slips between your legs to rub your clit again, you lose it.

Your orgasm rips through you like lightning, blinding and brutal. You clench around him, pulsing and crying out as he fucks you through it.

He groans, deep and primal, and follows you over the edge — spilling into the condom with a strangled growl, hips still jerking as he buries himself deep one last time.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Just sweat, breath, and the sound of your racing hearts.

Then he collapses beside you and yanks you back into his arms.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “That’s my girl.”

He kisses your temple, chest still heaving.

“Round three,” he adds, voice wicked and low, “is in ten minutes. Drink some water.”

You’re still shaking, wrecked and used, cradled in the heat of his chest. But Ben doesn’t sleep — not yet.

“Tired already?” he murmurs, knuckles brushing your jaw. “No, no. You’ve got more to give me, sweetheart. You’re not broken yet.”

His fingers wrap around your throat again — not tight, but commanding.

“Time to see how many times I can make you cry for it.”

He moves fast — suddenly pinning you flat on the bed, both wrists caught in one of his massive hands above your head. You barely gasp before he drags you down the mattress, spreading your thighs and locking his hips between them.

You’re sore. Overworked. Sensitive.

And dripping.

“Fuck, look at that mess,” he growls, spreading your folds open with two fingers. “You made such a pretty mess on my cock. But I think you can do better.”

He slides down and licks you — slow and filthy, tongue lapping through your folds like he’s starved. You arch, writhing, too sensitive already. He doesn’t care. His beard scrapes your thighs and his hands keep you pinned as he devours your cunt, moaning low in his throat like he’s enjoying your overstimulation.

You start crying — real tears this time — not from pain, but the unbearable, dizzying pleasure of it.

He pulls back just enough to murmur:

“That’s it, baby. Give me the tears. Let ‘em fall. Let everyone hear how good I fuck you.”

He slaps your inner thigh, then leans in again — rougher this time — alternating between flicking your clit and sucking it into his mouth, fingers pushing deep inside you again.

You come again — hips bucking, throat raw from the scream — and your body tries to curl away, too spent to keep taking it.

He doesn’t let you.

“One more,” he demands, crawling up your body. “You can give me one more.”

He lines himself up again, and you whimper, nails scratching at his forearm.

“Too much—”

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek. “That’s the point.”

Then he slams into you — merciless, brutal — fucking you harder than before, your slick letting him glide in deep and fast. Your body’s past thought now. You’re all nerve endings and cries, eyes rolling back as he ruins you for anything else.

He wraps a hand around your throat and spits into your open mouth.

“Swallow,” he growls. “Be a good girl.”

You do — without thinking — and he groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

He doesn’t stop.

He takes you until your whole body’s shaking, tears wetting your cheeks, your throat raw from moaning. He slaps your ass, your tits, grips your jaw and makes you look at him as he fucks you through another screaming orgasm.

And when he comes this time — snarling your name, hips stuttering — he kisses you like he’s claiming every piece of you.

You don’t remember collapsing. You just wake up to his strong arms pulling you close, a warm towel between your thighs, water bottle pressed to your lips.

“Shhh. You did so good, baby. So fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”

He wipes your tears with callused fingers and kisses your forehead, even as your body trembles.

“That’s my girl,” he adds. “Earned every fuckin’ star tonight.”

\\PLEASE REBLOG!//

#look guys I don’t watch the boys all I know is Jensen ackles is hot #and holy fuck #this is fantastic

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