bnanamlkluvr

[bnanamlkluvr]

dry humping dean winchester n he's gripping your hips, trying to slow you down because "savor the moment, sweetheart." usually you're not so needy but you woke up craving him. as soon as your eyes opened, you were rolling on top of him grinding down on his thigh, mewls spilling from your mouth. but when he pulls you forward, your core no longer positioned over his thigh and now directly on his halfie, you feel animalistic.

[bnanamlkluvr]

𖤐 no escape (demon!dean x fem!reader)

𖤐 summary: when dean turns into a demon, the bunker becomes a hunting ground. sam isn’t the only one running, you’re caught in the middle, forced to confront the monster your best friend has become… and the feelings you’ve both been running from.

𖤐 warnings: gore, sexual tension, demon!dean, choking, reader almost dies, anxiety, brief pain, guilt, this fic is pretty emotional, somewhat dark?

𖤐 word count: 4.5k

Your breath came in short, panicked gasps as you pressed yourself against the cold metal shelving in the bunker’s storage room. The flickering light overhead buzzed, casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist, just like the thing hunting you.

But it wasn’t just a thing, you reminded yourself. It was Dean. But that wasn’t really true, was it? Not anymore.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” his voice drawled from somewhere in the hallway, thick with amusement. “You really think you can hide from me?”

Your fingers clenched around the blade in your grip. It was barely steady. You hated that. You’d hunted monsters before, fought things way worse than this—but this wasn’t some random creature. This was him. Dean, your best friend, the man you’d spent years shoving your feelings down for. The man who always had your back. The man who wasn’t supposed to be the one you feared.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to shake off the memory of Sam’s warning before everything went to hell: Stay out of sight. If he finds you, run.

“Not very fair, is it?” Dean’s voice was closer now. A little too close. “Me, having all the fun while you’re stuck hiding like a scared little girl.”

The sudden clank of a pipe hitting the ground made you jump. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“You know, Y/N, I always thought you had more fight in you.” His tone shifted, something darker slipping in. “Or maybe you’re just waiting for me to find you.”

You took a slow, careful breath. He was toying with you. Drawing this out because he could. Because he enjoyed it. And despite the terror curling in your stomach, you couldn’t ignore the way his voice—smooth, teasing, wrong—sent a shiver down your spine.

This wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t.

—but it was.

You peeked around the corner just as he stepped into view, and your stomach twisted. His green eyes, once full of warmth and mischief, were now black pools of endless night. His mouth curled into a smirk when he spotted you.

“There you are.”

You bolted.

The bunker’s halls blurred past as you ran, adrenaline burning through your veins. You could hear his footsteps behind you, casual, unhurried. He knew you weren’t getting away.

You rounded a corner, aiming for the weapons room—maybe you could grab something, salt rounds, anything—when a strong hand wrapped around your arm and yanked you back.

You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the wall. Dean caged you in, one hand braced beside your head, the other curling around your wrist. He was too close, heat radiating off him in waves. His breath ghosted across your face, and you swallowed hard.

“Running?” he murmured, tilting his head. “That’s cute.”

You glared up at him, ignoring the way your pulse betrayed you. “Let me go, Dean.”

He chuckled, dark and low. “See, that’s the problem. I don’t really feel like it.” His grip tightened slightly. “You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart. Hurts my feelings.”

“Yeah? Guess you should’ve thought about that before you went full psycho.”

Dean grinned, but there was nothing soft about it. “You always were a mouthy little thing.” His eyes flickered over your face, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. “Gotta admit, though… I missed you.”

Your stomach twisted. “You don’t miss anything, Dean. You’re not you.”

He hummed, considering that. “I don’t know. Feels like me. Feels better than me.” His fingers lifted to brush a strand of hair from your face, and you flinched. His smirk widened. “Still the same guy underneath it all, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh, but I am. And you wanna know the real kicker?” He leaned in, lips a whisper away from your ear. “I remember everything. Every little moment. Every time I caught you staring when you thought I wouldn’t notice. Every time you got jealous over some girl at a bar.” He pulled back just enough to lock his gaze with yours. “Every time I wanted to kiss you but didn’t.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He smirked. “That’s right, sweetheart. It wasn’t just you.”

Your body betrayed you, a shudder rolling through you despite every instinct screaming to fight. Because it was him. The same Dean who had driven you crazy for years, the same Dean you’d secretly wanted for just as long. But now, he was something else entirely.

And that terrified you. “You’re lying,” you whispered.

Dean exhaled a quiet laugh. “Am I?”

His fingers skimmed down your arm, slow, deliberate. You hated how your skin burned where he touched. How your body still knew him, still wanted him, even when you knew he wasn’t the same.

His head tilted, studying you. “Y’know, if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll let you keep running.”

You clenched your jaw. “Go to hell.”

His smirk widened. “Been there, sweetheart. Wasn’t all that fun.”

Then, without warning, he let go. You stumbled forward slightly, eyes snapping up to his.

“Run,” he murmured, voice full of amusement.

You hesitated, pulse hammering.

“C’mon, Y/N. Make this fun for me.”

Your fists clenched, anger flaring through the fear. You wanted to wipe that smug look off his face, wanted to scream at him for twisting everything between you into some kind of sick game. But you knew better.

So you ran.

And behind you, Dean just laughed.

Your legs burned as you sprinted down the bunker hallway, lungs straining for air. Every muscle in your body screamed at you to keep moving, keep running, but it was useless.

The hallways twisted like a labyrinth, but you knew them like the back of your hand—better than that. You and Sam had spent hours mapping every inch of this place, making sure you had an escape plan for anything. Except for this. Except for him.

You rounded a corner too fast, nearly slipping—And slammed right into a broad chest. A hand clamped over your mouth before you could scream. “Shh! It’s me,” Sam whispered, his grip firm but careful.

You exhaled sharply as he let you go. His eyes were wild, his hair damp with sweat. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head. “No. He’s coming.”

Sam swallowed hard, gripping the demon blade tight. “I know. We have to keep moving.”

A slow, mocking clap echoed through the hallway. You and Sam froze.

“Oh, look at you two,” Dean’s voice drawled, smooth and lazy, like this was fun for him. “Working together. Just like old times.”

Your blood ran cold.

Dean stepped into view, and the sight of him made your stomach twist. His green eyes, the ones that had always been so full of warmth, were black as the void. His lips curled into a smirk, dimples flashing like this was some big joke. Except it wasn’t. Not to you. Not to Sam.

Dean twirled the First Blade between his fingers like it was weightless. “Y’know, this is kind of sweet,” he mused. “The two people I loved most, standing side by side.” His smirk sharpened. “Too bad I have to kill you both.”

You barely had time to react before he moved. One second he was ten feet away. The next—Sam shoved you aside just as Dean lunged. The brothers collided in a blur of movement, Sam’s blade flashing, Dean’s grin widening. You scrambled to your feet, heart hammering as they fought, the sound of metal clashing against metal echoing through the hallway.

But Sam wasn’t winning. Dean was only toying with him. You knew Dean’s fighting style better than anyone. He always fought with purpose—every move calculated, every strike meant to end things fast. But this? This was different. Dean was dragging this out, laughing between attacks, dodging at the last second just to piss Sam off. He was enjoying this.

Sam swung the demon blade at Dean’s ribs, but Dean caught his wrist mid-strike and slammed him into the wall. Sam grunted in pain, dropping the knife.

“Sam!” You surged forward, but Dean turned his head, giving you a look.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tsked, holding up the First Blade. “I’ll get to you in a minute, sweetheart.” He pressed the Blade against Sam’s throat. And for the first time since this started—Dean stopped smiling. Something dark flickered behind his eyes. “You always wanted to save me,” he murmured. “And look where it got you.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Dean—”

“That’s not my name anymore.” The words were low. Dangerous. Your stomach twisted. Dean pressed the Blade harder, just enough to break skin. Blood beaded along the edge.

“No,” you choked out, stepping forward. “Please.”

Dean’s jaw tensed. His grip twitched. For a split second, you thought he was going to do it. Kill the person he loved most in the world. Kill his brother. And then—He turned his head, locking eyes with you.

“…You’re crying,” he murmured, almost fascinated.

You hadn’t even realized it. Tears streaked your face, your whole body trembling. Not from fear. Not from anger. From him. From watching him like this.

Dean tilted his head, studying you. Something in his expression shifted—just slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. And then, slowly, he smiled. “Oh, sweetheart.” He sighed dramatically, stepping away from Sam like he was bored now. “If you wanted my attention that bad, all you had to do was ask.”

You stiffened as he took a step toward you. Then another. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. “Stay away from me, Dean.”

His grin widened. “Make me.”

He lunged. You barely had time to react before he slammed you against the opposite wall, knocking the air from your lungs. His hand wrapped around your throat—not cutting off air, just holding you there, keeping you still. Keeping you his.

Your breath hitched as his body pressed against yours, his strength caging you in. His free hand trailed up your arm, his fingers grazing your pulse.

“God, you’re shaking,” he murmured. “I love it.”

“Dean,” you whispered.

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something almost human, but as quickly as it came, it soon disappeared. His smirk returned.

“You know what I think?” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear. “I think you like this.”

Your whole body stiffened. “I hate you.”

Dean chuckled. “Mmm. Keep telling yourself that.”

His grip tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he could. That he had all the power here. Sam groaned from the floor, struggling to move. Dean ignored him. His black eyes locked onto yours. “I could kill you,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Right here. Right now.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs and Dean smirked. “But where’s the fun in that?” Then, before you could react—before you could even breathe—he moved.

Pain exploded through your ribs as Dean slammed you back against the wall, his grip tightening around your throat. You choked out a strangled gasp, fingers clawing at his wrist, but he was too strong, too cold—too gone.

“Let—go—” Your voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.

Dean only chuckled, tilting his head as he watched you struggle. “You know,” he mused, almost thoughtful, “I always wondered what you’d look like under me. Writhing. Squirming.” His grip flexed, just enough to send a sharp spike of fear down your spine. “Begging.”

Your nails dug into his wrist, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even feel it. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give me something. A scream, a sob—anything.”

Your vision blurred at the edges, black creeping in. Your pulse pounded in your ears, and you couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t—

A low, broken gasp forced its way from your lips.

And Dean—Dean shivered. “Fuck,” he exhaled, voice rough with something dark. “That’s it. That’s it.”

You hated him. You hated him so much it burned. But your body was weak. And he knew it.

His grip tightened—And then, just as the darkness nearly swallowed you whole.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice rang out, sharp and furious, and then—CRACK.

Dean jerked as something slammed into his head—a crowbar, swung with everything Sam had left. His grip loosened, just enough for you to suck in a ragged breath, just enough for Sam to shove him away from you. Dean stumbled, blinking, his cocky smirk faltering for the first time.

Sam grabbed your arm, pulling you up. “You okay?”

You coughed, nodding weakly, your throat throbbing.

Dean’s smirk returned, but this time, there was blood in his grin. He ran his tongue over his teeth, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Atta boy, Sammy,” he drawled. “I was wondering when you’d finally get back in the game.”

Sam positioned himself in front of you, demon blade in hand. His chest rose and fell in quick, angry breaths. “We’re not gonna let you win, Dean.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Win? Win?” His smirk sharpened. “Sammy, this is me winning.”

Then he lunged. You barely had time to react before Dean tackled Sam, sending them both crashing into the wall. The knife skidded across the floor, out of reach. You scrambled for it, but before you could move, Dean punched Sam across the face, the sickening crack of bone echoing through the hallway. Sam grunted, his head snapping to the side. Dean grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close. “Y’know, little brother, I gotta say…” His fingers dug into Sam’s shirt. “I always knew you’d be the one to break first.”

And then he threw him. Sam hit the opposite wall with a thud, sliding to the floor with a pained groan. Your stomach dropped. Dean turned to you and this time, his smile was gone. He stalked forward, his black eyes locked onto yours, the First Blade tight in his grip.

“No more games,” he murmured.

You grabbed the demon blade and lunged but Dean quickly caught your wrist mid-swing and twisted. A sharp cry tore from your throat as pain shot up your arm. The knife slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor.

Dean laughed. “Nice try,” he cooed. Then his grip shifted—from your wrist to your hair—before yanking you forward, dragging you against him. You gasped, your hands flying to his chest, trying to push him back. He didn’t budge.

“God, you’re stubborn,” he murmured, his nose brushing your cheek. “That’s what I always liked about you.” You trembled, anger and fear battling inside you.“You’re a monster,” you spat.

Dean grinned. “And yet…” His hand slid down to your waist, grip firm, possessive. “You still can’t look away.”

Your stomach twisted. You hated that he was right.

Dean tilted his head, his lips barely inches from yours. His grip tightened. Your breath hitched as his fingers dug into your waist, his body pressing against yours, keeping you trapped. His black eyes were locked onto yours, filled with something dark, something hungry.

“You’re shaking again,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your cheek. “God, I love that.” His grip tightened further, and before you could react, before you could even think, he moved. A sharp, searing pain tore through your stomach. Your lips parted in a silent gasp.

Dean exhaled softly, like he’d just taken his first real breath in years. His forehead rested against yours, his smirk softening into something almost… tender. “There we go,” he whispered. “Took you long enough.”

You blinked, struggling to focus, your hands clutching at his shoulders—at him—as warmth bloomed beneath your ribs.

Dean pulled back just slightly, his gaze flickering down. The First Blade was buried deep in your stomach and it was still in his hand. Your fingers trembled as you curled them around his wrist. “D-Dean—”

But a sudden gust of wind roared through the bunker.

Dean’s smirk vanished.

Bright, blinding light filled the room, illuminating the darkened bunker like lightning striking at midnight. A deep, commanding voice echoed through the space.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Dean was suddenly yanked away from you, violently thrown back by an unseen force. He crashed into the wall with a grunt, the First Blade slipping from his grasp as invisible restraints pinned him in place. The moment his body left yours, your knees buckled. A strong pair of hands caught you before you hit the floor. “Y/N, I’ve got you.”

You could barely lift your head, your vision swimming, but you knew that voice anywhere. “Cas—” you rasped, your fingers clutching weakly at his coat.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured, easing you down carefully. His blue eyes flickered over your wound, his jaw tightening. “I need to heal you.”

“No,” you croaked, shaking your head. “Not yet. Get—get Dean first.”

Castiel hesitated, his gaze darting to where Dean was still struggling against the angel’s hold. Dean snarled, his black eyes burning with rage. “Let me go, you feathery son of a bitch!”

Sam didn’t waste a second. He grabbed the syringe from his jacket and slammed it into Dean’s neck. Dean jerked, eyes going wide, his entire body going rigid as the purified blood surged through his veins. His breath hitched, a choked noise leaving his lips. His body trembled violently, black veins creeping along his skin.

Sam stepped back, watching him carefully, his own chest heaving. “Come on, Dean,” he muttered under his breath. “Come back.”

Dean gritted his teeth, a strangled growl ripping from his throat. His body convulsed, his hands clenching into fists, and for a moment, you thought…

But then his entire body shuddered and the black bled from his eyes. Dean’s head snapped up, his gaze wild—his green eyes wide and panicked as he gasped for air, as if breaking the surface after drowning in darkness. Then his gaze locked onto you and every single ounce of breath in his lungs vanished.

“Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, almost broken. His expression crumpled the second he saw you slumped in against the wall, blood soaking through your shirt, your body trembling from the pain.

Dean’s entire world stopped. “No.” His voice was barely a whisper, barely even a sound. “No, no, no—” Dean collapsed forward, catching himself just in time to crawl toward you. His hands shook as he reached out, as if afraid to touch you, as if afraid you’d break. His fingers hovered over your wound, barely brushing your skin. “Oh, God,” he rasped. “Oh, God—I—I did this.”

His breath hitched, his whole body trembling. His hands curled into fists, his knuckles white.

“Dean—” you tried to say his name, but your voice was too weak.

He wasn’t even listening. “I hurt you,” he choked out. “I—I almost—” His jaw clenched, his eyes shining. “I almost killed you.” His hands finally landed on you, gripping your arms, his thumbs stroking your skin like he was trying to keep you here, keep you real.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so—so sorry.”

You managed a weak, shaky breath. “Dean, it wasn’t you—”

“Yes, it was.” His voice cracked. His forehead dropped to yours, his fingers tightening their hold. “It was me, sweetheart.” His breath was warm against your cheek, his whole body trembling. “And I can’t take it back.”

You swallowed, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion threatened to pull you under.

Dean’s grip tightened in you, worry wracking his body.“Cas!” His voice was raw, desperate. “Fix her!”

Castiel placed a firm hand on your shoulder, his other hovering over your wound. A soft, golden glow emitted from his palm. Your body jolted as warmth flooded through you, the searing pain easing just slightly.

Dean’s eyes never left your face but as seconds passed your eyes remained shut. You weren’t moving. You weren’t even stirring. The color in your face was too pale, and your body was too still. His grip on you tightened. “Cas.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried every ounce of fear that was ripping through his chest. His throat was tight, his hands shaking as they brushed over your cheek. “Why isn’t she waking up?”

Castiel remained quiet for a moment, his gaze steady as he observed you.

“Cas,” Dean snapped this time, his panic rising. “She should be awake—why the hell isn’t she waking up?”

Castiel sighed, his expression unreadable but calm. “Dean, her body needs time to heal.”

Dean shook his head, jaw clenching. “No—no, you fixed her. I saw you. She should—she should be okay.” His fingers brushed against your forehead, then your wrist, searching for anything—any twitch, any sign of you coming back to him.

“She is okay,” Castiel reassured. “But she went through immense trauma. Her body is simply resting. She will wake up.”

Dean let out a sharp exhale, but his panic didn��t ease. His hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking your skin as he muttered, “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re stronger than this. You’re—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in his throat down.

Sam stepped forward cautiously. “Dean—”

“Don’t,” Dean cut him off, his voice raw. “Just… don’t.”

He bent down, pressing his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a shuddering breath. “Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Don’t do this to me.”

Sam and Castiel shared a look but said nothing. They knew there was nothing they could say. Dean stayed there, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. His fingers curled into your shirt, his breath uneven as he muttered apologies over and over again. “I swear,” he whispered against your skin, “when you wake up, I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything.”

Two Days Later

The bunker was quiet. Too quiet. Dean sat slumped in a chair beside your bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him. His head was bowed, his shoulders tense, and his face was drawn with exhaustion and guilt. He hadn’t left your side since Castiel healed you. Two days.

Two days of watching you sleep, of waiting, of replaying every horrific thing he’d done under the demon’s control. The image of you bleeding out in his arms was seared into his brain. The memory of your broken voice saying his name in a weak, rasped breath haunted him like a goddamn ghost. And the worst part? He did it. Demon or not, it had still been him.

Dean let out a slow exhale, dragging a rough hand down his face. His jaw clenched as he stared at the floor, unable to look at you, unable to face what he’d done. He’d almost lost you. He should have lost you.

If it weren’t for Cas, you’d be—Dean swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. The chair creaked as he leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. His fingers curled into his hair, his chest tightening.

And then—A soft sound. A quiet, barely-there groan. Dean’s head snapped up, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes darted to you, heart slamming against his ribs.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets. Then, with a slow, exhausted inhale, your eyes fluttered open. For a second, you just stared at the ceiling, dazed and unfocused. But then—your gaze shifted, landing on him.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. “Sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

You blinked sluggishly, your lips parting as if trying to form words. Your brows pinched together slightly before your gaze finally sharpened on him. “…Dean?”The sound of your voice—soft, fragile, but alive—hit him harder than a damn bullet to the chest.

Dean let out a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the mattress like he needed to ground himself. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he rasped. “I’m here.”

You swallowed thickly, your throat dry, and tried to shift, only to wince at the dull ache in your stomach.

Dean was instantly on his feet, leaning over you, his hands hovering—like he wanted to help but didn’t know if he should. “Easy,” he murmured. “Don’t push yourself.”

You blinked up at him, confusion flickering across your face as you took in his disheveled appearance—dark circles under his eyes, unshaven stubble, the way his shoulders were practically hunched under invisible weight. “…How long?” you croaked.

Dean let out a small breath of relief—because you were talking—before sinking back into the chair. “Two days.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Damn.”

That almost made him smile. Almost. But then, reality crashed back down, and the guilt returned with full force. Dean swallowed and glanced away, his jaw tight.

Your gaze softened as you studied him. Even without him saying a word, you could see it. The self-hatred. The way he was drowning in it. “Dean,” you whispered.

His throat bobbed as he clenched his fists. “I almost killed you.” His voice was rough, raw. “You shouldn’t even be—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Cas saved you, but it doesn’t change what I—”

“Dean.” Your voice was a little stronger this time, but still soft.

His green eyes flicked up to yours, filled with nothing but pain. You swallowed, forcing down the lump in your throat. “It wasn’t you.”

Dean let out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s what they all say.” His fingers curled into his jeans, his whole body wound tight. “That it wasn’t me, that it was the demon, but I remember it. Every damn second of it.” His voice cracked as his gaze locked onto yours.

You felt your heart ache at his words. Dean exhaled sharply, running a rough hand over his face. “I hurt people. I hurt you.” His voice lowered to a whisper, like he hated even saying it. “And I don’t know how to come back from that.”

You took a slow breath, gathering what little strength you had, and reached out, resting your hand over his.

Dean froze. His eyes darted to where your fingers curled over his own, then back to your face, his breath hitching slightly. “You already came back,” you murmured.

Dean swallowed hard, his thumb twitching under your touch. Dean stared at you, like he didn’t understand how you could even look at him, let alone forgive him. For a moment, the room was silent. But then Dean turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with yours, gripping your hand like it was the only thing keeping him here. His gaze softened, raw with emotion.

“I almost lost you.” He murmured.

“You didn’t,” you whispered back.

Dean took a slow breath, staring at you like he wanted to memorize every detail of your face. Then, after a long pause—“I love you.” The words were so quiet, you almost thought you imagined them. But the way Dean’s grip tightened on your hand, the way his eyes stayed locked on yours, made it real. Your breath caught in your throat.

Dean exhaled, a small, almost broken smile tugging at his lips. “I do,” he whispered. “I don’t know why the hell it took me so long to say it, but… I do.” His thumb brushed against your skin, gentle, reverent. “And I swear to God, sweetheart, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”

Tears burned the back of your eyes, your throat tightening. You gave him a soft smile, squeezing his hand. “Dean Winchester,” you murmured. “You are a damn idiot. I love you too. ”

A surprised chuckle left him, the first real smile cracking through his grief. And then, with what little strength you had, you tugged his hand toward you. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss. And for the first time in days—He finally breathed again.

author’s note:

I finally posted it! This fic has been sitting in my drafts for over 2 weeks. I feel like I’ve posted so much this week already. I hope it doesn’t bother anyone 😅 I’m also thinking about writing for soldier boy soon. (Even though I haven’t watched the show yet but I plan on watching it this weekend!)

Anyways, I was going to continue the story with some smut at the very end but decided not to. Ending on a softer note is not usually my forte but we’re trying something new! Lmfao

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear

If you would like to be tagged in all dean fics please lmk! drop a comment and I will add you to the list! ☻

my works

[bnanamlkluvr]

✮⋆˙ soaked & sinful,

summary. dean winchester is washing baby and well... you're enjoying the show

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 491

Dean Winchester, all damp skin and rolled-up sleeves, is standing in the middle of the bunker garage, washing the Impala like he’s the star of a rock ‘n’ roll music video.

And you? Well, you’re the audience.

He has no idea you’re watching at first. Not when he grabs the hose and sprays down the sleek black body of his baby, the water catching the light just right, dripping over the curves. He’s focused, determined, completely in his element—his hands gliding over the soapy sponge, scrubbing the hood with slow, circular motions.

You bite your lip, arms crossed as you lean against the doorway, head tilted. Lord, have mercy.

Dean, oblivious to his own effect, is humming along to the classic rock blasting from the radio—something deep, gritty, the kind of song that makes your stomach flip when paired with a scene like this.

His t-shirt is damp with sweat, clinging to his shoulders, and—God help you—there’s a single drop of water trailing down his forearm, catching in the bend of his elbow before dripping lower.

You watch it like it personally offends you.

Then, as if summoned by your sinful thoughts, Dean turns.

The moment his gaze locks onto you, a smirk tugs at your lips.

“Enjoying the show?” he drawls, arching a brow.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” you tease, pushing off the wall and sauntering closer. “I feel like I just walked into a Whitesnake video.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head, but the way his gaze flickers over you—curious, playful—tells you he’s intrigued.

So you push your luck.

Stepping up beside him, you trail a finger through the foam clinging to the Impala’s hood, then press it against his forearm, dragging it slowly over his skin.

Dean stiffens, inhaling sharply.

Your grin widens.

“You missed a spot,” you murmur.

His eyes darken. Just a little.

You can feel the shift, the way the air gets heavier, charged.

Dean sets the sponge down and reaches for the hose again, gaze locked on yours. “That right?”

You nod, all innocence.

And then—

Water. Cold, merciless, soaking water.

You shriek, jumping back as Dean sprays you without hesitation, laughter rumbling from his chest.

“Dean!” you yell, hands flying up as you try (and fail) to block the stream.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” he taunts, eyes twinkling. “You wanna play? Let’s play.”

And suddenly, you’re in a full-blown water fight with a six-foot-tall, smug-as-hell hunter who has no problem using his size and reach to his advantage.

You’re drenched, breathless, laughing so hard your stomach aches.

Dean, still smirking, finally lowers the hose, his own shirt completely soaked, clinging in all the right places.

He looks good. Too good.

And when he steps forward, backing you up against the Impala, his hands braced on either side of you, you realize—

Maybe teasing him wasn’t your brightest idea.

Because the way he’s looking at you now?

You’re about to be in real trouble.

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[bnanamlkluvr]

Saw this one tumblr post about a soulmate AU where people age until they reach 18 and then stop aging until they meet their soulmate so they can grow old together🥺

I wanted to ask how your take on this idea would be with your favorite spn character

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ til i saw you,

summary. you stop aging at 18, until you reunite with your happily ever after.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. fluff ; soulmate au

wordcount. 1080

notes / warnings. very brief mention of sex / this idea is honestly too cute!

You stop aging at eighteen.

Everyone does.

It’s the first thing they teach you in school, right after the alphabet. Right after how to count to ten.

"You will age until your eighteenth birthday," the teacher says, "and then you’ll stay that way until your soulmate touches you. That’s when time will start again. For both of you."

You remember wondering what that touch would feel like. Would it burn? Would it glow? Would the world shift on its axis?

But that was... a long time ago. And you're still here. Still eighteen. Still waiting. Twenty-seven birthdays later.

You wake up on the same mattress in the same little apartment you’ve been calling home for a decade now. Skin smooth, eyes clear, a body that never aches. On paper, you're one of the lucky ones. Immortality is soft on your bones. But it’s hard on your heart.

There’s only so long you can pretend you’re just a late bloomer. People stop asking after a while. They start to look. Whisper. Wonder. You lie. A lot. About your age, about where you’re from, about why you never seem to change.

And maybe the worst part—maybe the cruelest—is how easy it is to fall in love with the wrong people along the way. You’ve done it. Twice. Maybe three times, if you're being honest. But no matter how close they get, no matter how much you want it to happen, nothing changes.

No touch restarts your clock.

Until him.

It’s late when he walks into the gas station. Midnight and humming, the fluorescent lights above your head buzz like insects. You’re chewing gum and half-asleep behind the register when he strolls in, tall and broad and all leather jacket and swagger. He has a look in his eyes that says he’s seen too much and still hasn’t stopped looking.

You barely glance up when he drops a handful of items on the counter: beef jerky, a bottle of whisky, pie.

“Quiet night?” he says, voice deep and rasped, like he’s been singing with gravel in his throat.

You nod. Then look up.

And something... shifts.

It's not a sound, not a spark, not the glowing halo you used to imagine when you were little. It's a feeling. A pull. Your chest tightens like someone’s wrapping a thread around your ribs and tugging—just once. Gently. But enough to make your breath hitch.

He notices. Freezes.

The pie falls from his hand, lands with a soft thud against the counter. You both stare at each other like someone just flipped the universe upside down.

“You feel that?” he asks. And it’s not a line. It’s not casual. His voice is rougher now. Almost afraid.

You nod. Whisper, “Yeah.”

He lifts a hand slowly. Gives you time to step back, to say no, to deny it. But you don’t.

When his fingers touch yours, it’s instantaneous.

Like heat waking in your veins. Like time exhaling. Your heart stutters and then races, faster than it’s beat in years. You feel your skin come alive—blood rushing, lungs expanding, every cell remembering how to move.

And from the way he sways, the way his eyes widen and mouth parts, you know he’s feeling it too.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “I thought—I thought I’d die before this ever happened.”

Your lips curve. “You’re old, then?”

He barks out a laugh. “Let’s just say I’ve been eighteen long enough to miss rotary phones.”

You grin. “I’ve never used one.”

He leans closer. “Wanna come with me?”

You blink. “Where?”

“Anywhere.” A pause. “Everywhere.”

That’s how it begins.

A duffel bag. A backseat. The open road. Dean Winchester drives like it’s a religion and swears like it’s punctuation. He flirts without meaning to, laughs like he’s been starved for it, and kisses you like the world might end at any second.

The first time he makes you come, it’s in a motel room somewhere outside of Denver.

You’re both breathless from running—something about vampires, or maybe ghosts; you didn’t ask, too drunk on adrenaline and the way he’d looked at you in the dark. Like you were already his.

He kisses you soft at first, like he’s afraid he might break you. But his hands are anything but shy. They trail up your thighs, parting them like he already knows what’s underneath. When he finally pushes inside you, it feels like you’ve waited centuries for this exact kind of stretch, that kind of fullness, the kind of groan he makes when you clench around him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps into your neck, voice hot and hungry. “You feel like heaven.”

You arch under him. “Then don’t stop.”

He doesn’t.

Being with Dean is nothing like you imagined.

He’s not soft. Not exactly. But he’s gentle in the ways that matter. He makes coffee in the mornings, leaves the radio on your favorite station, kisses the inside of your wrist like a promise. He reads you bedtime stories in Latin just to make you laugh. He teaches you how to shoot a gun and then buys you a strawberry milkshake after because he says it’s “important to balance the badass with the cute.”

And maybe it’s not perfect. You still fight. He still shuts down sometimes, still carries the weight of the world in the slope of his shoulders. But now, when he breaks, you’re there to hold him. And when you tremble, he’s already pulling you into his chest, pressing kisses into your hair, reminding you that he’s not going anywhere.

Not now. Not ever.

Months pass. Then years. You both start to age.

Little things at first. A crinkle at the edge of his eyes when he smiles. The slight ache in your hips when you ride him too long.

But it’s beautiful, this slow unraveling. This proof that it’s real. That you found each other. That time is moving again—together.

He touches the first silver strand in your hair like it’s a miracle.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he says, voice thick with feeling.

You cup his cheek. “What? The wrinkles?”

He grins. “No. You.”

And maybe you’ll never know why it took so long. Why fate made you wait. But when he holds you at night, when his breath is warm on your shoulder and his arms are wrapped tight around your waist, you finally stop wondering.

Because your clock is ticking.

And so is his.

And you’ll grow old.

Together.

Just like you were meant to.

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[bnanamlkluvr]

being dean's best friend is fun, because it means you get to ride around in baby late at night when you both can't sleep. or dean can't sleep, and in the middle of the night he shakes you awake. you might grumble at first, but then he jingles he keys in your face with a shit eating grin, and find yourself sleepily stumbling to your shoes. and every time watches you and shakes his head, too easy.

and it's fun because he drums on the steering wheel and sings loudly and off tune and it makes you giggle, and he'll stop at a gas station and buy you snacks and a big cherry slushy, and his mouth runs like a goddamn faucet cus he's so comfortable with you, and he's been waiting to ramble and tell you every little thought and feeling he's held in today with his dean winchester facade. and you happily listen n nod, because you love that you get this side of dean, all silly and soft smiles and stupid jokes, relaxed and free.

and you're a damn good listener, but maybe sometimes when you look at him your attention is focused less on words coming out his mouth and more on... his mouth. his plump lips. n his freckles are cute. and wow, have his lashes always been so long? dean's real pretty isn't he?

"hey! you with me?" oh. what. "hm?" he looks over at you with a teasing smile, and you notice the way your heart is thumping rather fast. "i said i'm starving and i need food now. you fallin' asleep on me, doll?" free breakfast. more dean. score. "nuh uh."

[bnanamlkluvr]

𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔗𝔥𝔲𝔰 𝔅𝔢𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔗𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣

When the love of Dean Winchester's life, his Eurydice, is taken by Crowley to keep the Winchesters from closing the gates of hell, Dean goes on a dangerous trek through the underworld to get her back. All it takes is one deal, with one simple rule:

Orpheus must ascend from the underworld without looking back, trusting that his Eurydice is following behind him.

But an Orpheus who does not look

Is an Orpheus who does not love her.

Mini-series coming soon!

[bnanamlkluvr]

texting dean winchester

Dean <3: hey.. u still looking for a new chair for ur place?

Y/N: yea! u find something?

Y/N: send pic!

Dean <3:

Y/N: um.. thats not a chair..?

Dean <3: anythings a chair..

Dean <3: if u sit on it ;)

Y/N: wow.

Y/N: just wow

Y/N: how long u had that joke up ur sleeve?

Dean <3: no idea what ur talking about..

Y/N: ok well

Y/N: its very pretty..

Y/N: but how sturdy is it?

Dean <3: solid foundation

Dean <3: built to handle pressure

Dean <3: easy to clean if it gets wet..

Dean <3: and very straddle-friendly.

Y/N: uh huh

Y/N: sounds fancy.

Y/N: hows the height?

Dean <3: fully adjustable.

Dean <3: perfect no matter the angle.

Dean <3: ease into it slow…

Dean <3: or bounce hard..

Dean <3: this babys not moving an inch.

Y/N: stability is important

Y/N: but i rly need something i can use for hours..

Dean <3: oh sweetheart

Dean <3: this one can take ur weight.

Dean <3: all of it.

Dean <3: over and over till ur legs shake.

Y/N: kinda sounds like a challenge.

Dean <3: more like a promise.

Dean <3: all u gotta do is sit tight…

Dean <3: and hold on.

Y/N: god

Y/N: i hate when ur not here.

Dean <3: i know.

Dean <3: but when i get back..

Dean <3: u wont need a chair for a week.

Dean <3: just me

Dean <3: under u.

Y/N: yes PLEASE!!

Y/N: ..but after that..

Y/N: can we go shopping for an actual chair? lol

Dean <3: of course babe.

❤︎ I just know this man loves a good bit.. especially a dirty one.

credit & links:

⟡ pics from pinterest, edited by me.

⟡ dividers by easytiger-xo.

[bnanamlkluvr]

— 𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚���� 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲/𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨 .ᐟ

summary — the people's princess and the people's prince, that's what you were promised. the reality? he was the best worst thing to happen to you, yet.

cw — supe!fem!reader x soldier boy. payback era. 18+ smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it), spit kink, teasing, corruption kink (kinda), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, name calling (slut, whore, princess, baby, sweetheart, angel), degradation, cursing, edging, riding, drugs, drinking, mentions of manipulation blackmail, mean & soft ben.

word count — 3,844 words

you were laying there, in the haze of the moment, trying to remember a time before him, before all the chaos and turmoil. life had been calm, somewhat boring, but tolerable before being head-hunted by vought. life in a rural, suburban town had its perks; you knew everyone and everyone trusted you despite your... curse, as you called it; "powers" by everyone else.

they weren't super powers, they weren't a gift. it was a curse set upon you; the responsibility too big to bear for only a little girl when they first showed up. the mind reading and mind control. touching your mum's hand in comfort and seeing her whole life flash before your eyes; her thoughts, her wants, her sins. the same with your father.

you hadn't, willingly, let anyone touch you for 20 years, not up until you were thrusted into the spotlight and ben's experienced hands.

he had crushed the bennies with the bottom of his hunting knife on the edge of his bedside table before lining up the fine powder over the valley of your bare breasts. he couldn't coerce you into taking them with him like he wanted, so he had to resort to taking them off you instead. you lay with bated breath as he chuckles to himself before snorting the drug, his nose dragging over your full breasts; his hands cupping them softly to make sure you keep still. unlike last time, when you fucking spilled the powder all over and he had to lick it off of you like a dog, lapping at his water-bowl. you can't help but admire his hardened features as he pinches his nose and rests his head on your breast, feeling the full effect of the drugs.

the freckles that dance over his nose, his moss green eyes and the gentle wrinkles surrounding them, his plush rose lips, that both spit venom and whisper honeyed words.

for as long as you can remember, no one touched your bare skin unless it was arranged and paid for, by your parents. while you were still young and impressionable, they talked you into "using your powers for good". people paid you, or rather your parents, to make you control them, "help" them. help addicts drop their addiction, no matter what it may be. help people work harder, better to get that promotion. help politicians get votes, get laws passed. help people fall in and out of love. no matter what it was, it had a price and many were desperate enough to pay it. it was a vicious, endless cycle but you were seen as a selfless saviour to those in need.

which is exactly why vought wanted you, needed you. some recent controversies and mild scandals had landed payback in hot water with the board members and pr team. allegations of drug use, violent bar fights, bribing, sex. you name it and the members of payback had probably done it. and here you came in, to save their name and reputation.

the crowd cheered as you stumbled onto the stage, the board members sitting front row looking pleased with themselves and payback sneering behind you, their eyes silently warning you; threatening. your hair had been curled and styled to perfection and you had been forced into a, somewhat, modest lilac suit that hugged each curve deliciously; if you asked soldier boy. along with matching gloves to keep you from accidentally reading someone's mind.

it was a fear that you carried with you at all times. with just a brush or graze of your hands against theirs; all their deep, dark secrets spilled and exposed. no matter what or how much you saw, you kept it all tightly locked up and pushed deep down so that it would never spill over the surface. you could barely live with yourself anyway, but it wasn't your place to ruin others lives in return.

"mystara!" the host announced as he slipped his arms around your shoulder and shook you as you forced a smile. "small town girl coming to big town new york! us, at vought, are delighted to announce that she'll be joining your favourite team, paybaaaack!" he pointed back at the vexed members who all plastered on fake smiles, similar to yours. they all waved ceremoniously, arrogantly to the crowd. soldier boy swaggered forward, pushed the host back to replace his arm around your shoulder and grabbed the mic from the host with a smirk.

"we are more than thrilled to have such a beautiful addition to our team. especially as she is my new girlfriend!" he said through gritted teeth. vought had worked hard to ensure that the marketing was in place. pairing you and soldier boy would only increase numbers. the soft-spoken mind-reader with the brutish, rough killer? it was almost too good and too easy. "we can't wait to work with her and make her a valued member of the team. ain't that right, sweetheart?" he turned and your eyes finally met. you could barely manage to keep the eye contact, his eyes demanding your attention as he held the microphone to your quivering lips. all you could hear was crimson countess scoffing behind the pair of you.

"thank you, s-soldier boy. i am so pleased to be here, so excited for this opportunity. i owe this to my parents, stan edgar and most importantly you, b-babe." you stuttered through your PR approved speech. soldier boy planted an unexpected kiss on your cheek before hissing in your ear.

"if you ever use any of your fuckin' tricks on me, i'll destroy your fuckin' pathetic, little life. you got that, sweetheart?" all you could do was stand frozen and just nod. "atta girl." he laughs and gives your ass a small pat.

"if only they could see you now, baby, hmm?" ben sighs as he pepper kisses across your breasts, his tongue poking out and flicking at your hardened nipple, chuckling as you squirm. "not so sweet and innocent as you would have them all believe." he hums as he sucks at one nipple and pinches the other, whilst whimpers fall past your bitten lips. "who knew you could be such a whore? such a sweet, obedient whore for me..." he groans as he leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses down your heaving chest and tensed stomach.

"you're so mean." you huff in protest, arching your back to feel his lips better against your supple skin.

"shut the fuck up, you love it." he scoffs, swiping his fingers through your folds and admiring the slick that adorns his fingers. "look how fucking wet you are and i've barely even touched you." his eyes sparkle as he brings his fingers to your mouth, inviting you to taste. your defiance isn't appreciated and he roughly grabs your jaw, forcing your mouth open and stuffing his fingers against the pad of your tongue. "fuuuck, sweetheart." his voice filled with adoration as you wildly suck and run your tongue over his fingers.

he knew he destroyed everything he touched, but he just couldn't keep his hands off of you. since he first saw you, he just knew that you were the one for him. underneath your innocent eyes and soft-spoken nature, you were hungry for acceptance; for someone to love you for you and not fear you. a feeling he mirrored and knew all too well.

he pulled back his hand, a string of saliva connecting his digits to your panting mouth. he slightly slaps your clit with his spit-covered fingers, messily running them back and forth over your most sensitive spot, relishing in your pleading.

"ben, ben- please, oh fuck-" you beg, as your hands pull and tug on the cotton sheets beneath you. it only ignites ben's excitement as he roughly spits on your pussy before dragging up pointed tongue up through your folds and settling on your tortured clit. he hungrily devours you as he wraps his toned arms around your thighs and tries, but fails, to keep you still as you feverishly buck your hips against his gifted tongue.

"god, you're so fuckin' needy, aren't you? always fuckin' beggin' and pleading for me." he mumbles against your folds, his tongue still working to pull the first orgasm out of you. "you're just my lil needy princess, aren't you? does my princess want to cum on soldier boy's tongue?" you can only squeeze your eyes shut and nod as your senses are overwhelmed. "look at me." another slap against your pussy. "look. at. me." ben demands. his eyes could burn a whole through yours with the intensity of his gaze as you start to lose control and cum all over his tongue. he loosens his grip on you and let you grind your pussy against his tongue, as he smirks and savours your taste coating his tongue.

ben wastes no time climbing on top of you, smashing his lips onto yours and your tongues intertwining with one another. to your surprise, he pauses to rest his forehead against yours and stroke your cheek.

it took you weeks to settle into your room and role at payback, no one took you seriously but simultaneously they feared you. dodged you when you got too close, afraid of what you would see, of what you would think of them. ironically, you didn't care enough to want to know their secrets and regrets, you could barely carry those you already had tried to forget.

but what you had forgotten is that your life wasn't yours to control. you were nothing but a puppet to the company that had threatened to "send you away" if you didn't comply.

you would pose as a secretary during vought meetings with a wig and all, shaking hands with international elected officials and relaying the information to vought management for extortion and blackmail purposes. influencing presidents, CEOs, and industry moguls to strategically invest in vought and help pass supe-positive laws to allow more human testing and production of compound v. anything to make vought more money.

however, it didn't stop there. the more power-hungry vought got, the more you were pushed around and forced to go against your morals. over the past several weeks, you had been sneaking into the payback member's individual rooms to gain intel and to make them more... complacent to voughts ideas and suggestions. but when it came to soldier boy, you flat-out refused. no matter how much you screamed and shouted at your managers, your worries were pushed aside.

that's how you found yourself sneaking into his room against your own will and better judgement. he looked so vulnerable when he slept, his brows furrowed only slightly and his hair swept beautifully across his hardened features. you're not sure how long you just stood there and just admired him, wanting nothing more than to just reach out and touch...

what you hadn't known that night, was that soldier boy was wide awake. he wasn't surprised; he knew why you were there and what vought was up to. but what surprised him was that you just left, without using your powers on him like he had expected and defying vought.

he thought about you for days until one evening, he thought it was finally time to confront you, to get some fucking answers. it was just after midnight and all the members had gone to bed after some heavy drinking and drug-taking in the payback conference room; everyone except you. you were never invited and never expected and that suited you just fine. you had witnessed how that shit could destroy lives too many times to count and you heeded the warnings. three loud knocks rapped at your door pulling you out of your thoughts. you sat your book down, instinctively pulled on your gloves, padded over barefoot and opened your door.

"s-soldier boy." you gasped. he looked down at you with a sneer, his brows in a deep frown and his soft, unstyled hair falling just in front of his analysing eyes. he simply grunted as he looked you over; no makeup, messy hair, pink pyjama set and your fuckin' gloves. he silently pushed past you and walked into your bedroom, leaving you frozen and confused at your door. you quickly closed the door and turned to the contrasting, intimidating figure in your girly bedroom. like a western stand-off, you both stood and just watched one another, waiting to see who'd break first.

"why?" he barked at you, making you flinch.

"why what, sir?" you asked carefully.

"don't give me that sir bullshit." he snorted. "do you think i'm fucking stupid, huh? why didn't you touch me that night with your freaky-ass powers? i know you're doing it to all the others, by the way. i've seen how you sneak in and out of their rooms, how they're suddenly acting different and think everythin' vought does is just revolutionary. i see you." with each sentence, he makes his way over to you right until he's towering over you. you feel like a wounded animal at the end of a hunter's gun, silently begging for freedom.

"i- i couldn't. i was afraid of what i'll see. afraid of how you would react if you worked it out. afraid of you." you quietly admit, deciding it's better to be truthful and once you started, it was hard to stop.

"but what if i wanted you to see?" he muttered in response.

he had pushed and folded your legs tightly against your chest as he mercilessly pounded his thick cock into you, with one hand wrapped tightly around your dainty throat and the other grabbing your thigh to stabilise himself. the only sounds filling the room were your hushed begging and ben whispering the most foul words into your ear as you came undone under him.

"god, please- ben, im so close, please.." you begged endlessly and breathlessly as his grip on your throat tightens.

"always so fuckin' tight, princess. god, you're so cock-hungry, it just keeps suckin' me in. fuck." he groans as his stubble rubs against your ear. his hips snap ruthlessly against yours, your gummy walls contracting and clamping around him. "d'you wanna come, baby? gonna cum all over my cock, like the slut you are?" as your eyes roll into your head, you somehow manage to nod and let out a weak "yes, please...". his teeth nipped and tugged on your ears before travelling down and leaving sloppy kisses all down your neck before biting down on your shoulder. marking your silky skin and watching with glee as the teeth marks decorate your skin as a reminder of who you belong to.

he pealed himself away to gaze softly down at you and your completely fucked-out state. god, he was convinced that he would never grow tired of this sight, which is why he immediately stopped, leaving you high and dry. tears threaten to form and roll down your reddened cheeks as you stare at him, mouth agape and band right about to snap.

"my sweet angel, i'm not done with you yet." he hums as turns you over onto all fours and slowly starts to thrust again as he gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, starting the torturous process all over again.

he had grabbed your wrist and slipped off your glove as you fought and yelled in protest. this is the last thing you wanted. you weren't ready to face the horrors that his psyche hid. but he wanted to give you the full truth so he could pour some out and share the in the guilt you carried, together.

"stop!" you yell out. "no, fuck! don't, plea-" his fingers had intertwined with yours and everything flashed before your eyes like a bomb had gone off behind your eyes.

his abusive father, his distant mother, his trauma-filled boarding school days, injecting the compound v and the pain that followed. all the fake pr stunts; normandy beach, ww2, helping the soldiers. the drugs, the women, the drinking. killing, murders, bodies beaten to a pulp. the desperate need for approval, for acceptance, for something real. like you, his life was no longer his and he feared the worst. the last thing that appeared in front of your eyes was as clear as day: his dirty, unfiltered thoughts of you.

you wrenched your hand from his grip and staggered back, your mind a whirlwind.

"don't ever fucking do that again." your chest heaved with anger. "you don't have the fucking right to do that! no matter who you are!" you snatched back your glove and put it on.

"did you see it all?" he asked calmly. not what you expected.

"i saw everything." you nod.

"... and?"

suddenly, the towering figure in front of you had transformed into the young boy who yearned for love and understanding. he had never wanted to be feared but it was wired into his new dna and he couldn't shake it no matter how much he wanted to. you couldn't help but soften up and almost... pity him.

"and i see you." you repeat his earlier words back to him. he lets out a loud sigh and runs a hand over his rugged face. "i- i had no idea. about everything. i'm sorry." ben scoffs in response.

"i don't need your fucking sympathy. i just needed you to know that..." he hesitated. "i understand and i'm not afraid of you. you shouldn't be afraid of me. i don't want you to be." he edges closer to you, grabbing the tips of your gloves and slowly sliding them off, his eyes never leaving yours. he held your hands in his as if they were porcelain, bringing one up and kissing one of your fingertips to show the depth of his words. "our hands are weapons used against our will. but together, you and me, we can resurrect something beautiful."

"ben." you gasp, all of this unexpected.

"you know i want this. my dirty thoughts of you, they were never mine to keep." he sighed before leaning down, ever so slightly, and brushing his lips against yours. you grab the back of his neck and bring his lips to yours in a heated clash of tongues and teeth. you knew he was going to wreck you, but you wanted nothing more than to give in and seek comfort in your american psycho.

that's how you ended up here; riding ben like your life depended on it. your tight walls hugging bens cock like your pussy was made for him and his hands fitting perfectly on your hips as he guided you. he swallowed your loud moans as your lips tangled together and your tongues intertwined. his hips bucking up to match your frenzied tempo as you lost yourself in the sensation of being completely filled by him. he threads his finger through your hair and tugs on it, yanking your head back, making you yelp and hiss in pain.

"i love the way you hurt me." you rasp out in between rough thrusts and playful bites across your chest; the harsh purple bruises a contrast to your delicate nature. ben grins against your neck as he reaches around and slaps your ass with a groan.

"god, i have really fucked you up, haven't i? my baby, so fuckin' dirty." he chuckles as he leans back and folds his arms behind his head to watch the show you're putting on for him. "show me how much you fuckin' need me and i might let you come on my cock." you claw at his chest with your lilac nails, that match your supe-suit, as you grind down onto him with full force. the sweat cascading down your back and slick covering ben's thick thighs.

that was a pro and con of being supes; you could fuck for hours, but you could also get fucked for hours without room for a breather. you were sure that ben had fucked you stupid after edging you on for what felt like hours as he rides his bennie-filled high and gets to see how you fall apart under him.

"you know that only good sluts get to come on my cock, don't you?" he laughs as you notice your pace slacking, your body soon couldn't take anymore. he forcefully grabs your jaw; his pupils completely blown leaving only a ring of bright green around them. he taps your lips and you open them with a second thought, something that he programmed into you. he spits into your mouth and watches adoringly as you roll it around in your mouth before swallowing it and resuming your previous frenzied pace. his rough hands grab your hips, squeezing your supple skin as he fucks his cock deeper into you. within seconds, you're finally coming all over him as you curse and pant his name like a prayer.

"fuck- nggh, oh my fucking god, ben.. ben, ben!" you shout as he comes with you; the feeling of being filled with him was like no other. he lazily thrusts into you whilst carefully laying you on your back and adorning your face with soft kisses and whispered "good girl"'s. you share one final, deep kiss; filled with unsaid emotions and promises to one another before he lifts you up and carries you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up.

two misplaced puzzle pieces, finally belonging and forming a picture no one else could see.

you weren't sure who affected who more. you had been introduced to the world of desire and sin by ben; he was your first everything and he revelled in that fact. knowing no one had heard or seen you the way he does, fuck. it was like a whole new drug and it's potency was almost deadly. you had gotten more calculated, with his encouragement, and were using your powers for your own good and not just at the behest of whoever held your leash. you confronted your parents and had cut off the contact, although the damage was done. you were still the people's soft princess to the adoring crowds, but you had evolved into something more sinister; more selfish. and nothing could get in your way now.

in comparison, ben had gotten calmer. he didn't throw himself into women, drinking and drugs like before, only occasionally dabbling in taking a hit or two of whatever he had lying around. men like him is what love destroys and his harsh outer layer was slowly eroding. his vicious appetite for destruction and violence needed less feeding and attention. his sole purpose was to protect you and ensure that you both would never be denied the happiness he knew you deserved. he considered what was better; to be feared or to be loved. but he had come to the conclusion that "one should wish to be both, but, because it is difficult to unite them in one person, it is much safer to be feared than loved."

thanks to you, he had both.

a/n: WELL. i hope you like this one too guys; it was so much fun to write and rather self-indulgent. i'm considering ACTUALLY make this fic a series, i love their dynamic. this was based on another favourite song of mine that immediately makes me think of the loml, ben, when i hear it <3 long live fall out boy

-`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @doeinlace (comment or inbox me to be added)

[bnanamlkluvr]

་༘࿐ SNEAKY!LINK!BEN HEADCANONS ꕥ

inspired by this and this; my sneaky!link!ben fics. MDNI (18+)

how i think being soldier boy's sneaky link might go:

¹ — SOLDIER BOY is not discreet about it. at all. he's throwing knowing glances your way, patting his lap for you to sit on him while you're around other people. he's manipulating situations so there isn't enough seating and you have to sit on his lap. "looks like there's not enough chairs," he'd say, the undertone clear, "come sit on my lap. we all know how comfortable you are with it." begrudgingly and sheepishly, you sit in his lap. nuzzling his chin into your neck, he whispers at a high enough volume for just you and the person next to you to hear, "my lap was made just for you."

² — SOLDIER BOY likes that you're a little ashamed of how much you want him. at first, it was some casual hooking up, which spiraled into you needing him. he makes sure you voice it too. "speak up for me," he'd mock you, "tell me exactly what you need or i'll give you nothing."

³ — SOLDIER BOY doesn't tell you, but he likes when the scent of your perfume rubs off on his sheets. the next day, he buries his face into the pillow well after you're gone. the next time he sees you, if you're wearing that perfume that makes him feral, it's hard for him to keep his hands off you. so he doesn't.

⁴ — SOLDIER BOY starts wearing a specific cologne when he's intimate with you. he wants you to feel the same way he does about your perfume. it's like he's pavloving you into needing him and he knows it's paid off when you're begging for some relief in the corner booth at restaurant, nearly blowing the sneaky link cover you have so carefully designed when it comes to him. with your hands all over him, he's basking in your sexual frustration that is nearly bringing you to tears, "better not cry or i'll tell everyone what's got you teary eyed."

⁵ — SOLDIER BOY pulls you into the bathroom at events for a quickie, though, it's hardly ever quick. he takes his time, and just before you can finish, he pulls out and slips your panties back on. with a grin plastered across his face, the muscles working overtime to the point of a slight ache in his cheeks, he would say, "you're gonna be on your best behavior if you want to finish what we started."

[bnanamlkluvr]

i literally CANNOT choose between s1 or s9 dean😔

[bnanamlkluvr]

undress me, caress me. (i jus want u to fck me.)

cr: glenackles on insta★

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

[bnanamlkluvr]

Lost on You - Epilogue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Here we go, the end of the ride. 💚

Song Inspo: “Lost on You” by Cubaneros

Word Count: 1.4K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, but mostly fluff, and an ending…

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Epilogue: As Good As It Gets

Arthur was still lying low in Belize, but he was able to do you one last favor. A wire of money allowed you, John, and Ben to travel across the Atlantic—to Medellin, Colombia. There Ben took you to one of his old vacation houses.

It was a large, beautiful Spanish style house. Best of all, it was in a remote location on the cusp of a mountainside, complete with a scenic waterfall. It was like something out of Vought Geographic. You needed to take a helicopter just to get to this place.

It was the best security Ben could think of.

He had plans to renovate and beef up the surveillance of the property itself. Then you would be able to have your brother Chris and his family visit. You hadn't been able to see him or your nephew before leaving the U.S. again, but you had called Chris from the airport to let him know you were alive and well, and that you would see him soon, when it was safe.

But before all of that, there was one very important item of business you and Ben were handling together in the living room, while John was outside swimming laps in the pool.

A phone dock rested on the coffee table. The call was on speaker.

“That child represents a multi-million-dollar investment,” said Stan Edgar.

“You should’ve thought about that before you shipped us off to motherfucking Siberia,” Ben snapped. “Hell, before you decided to steal my goddamn DNA. But guess fucking what. He’s my son. He belongs with me.”

You gave him a look of pride, resting a hand on his thigh in support. He glanced at you and grabbed your hand.

“You’re not leaving me with much recourse here, Soldier Boy,” Stan replied.

Ben leaned forward. He took that as a very real threat.

“If you come after me or my family, I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen,” he said. “First off, you’re going to lose. Fucking miserably. Next, I’m going to make my way back States’ side, and I’m coming for you, Stan. You and your whole fucking world, down to the family dog. Then I’ll burn Vought to the ground and piss on whatever’s left. And then the whole world can know that I’m alive, and just who lied to them for a damn decade.”

You were uneasy with that threat, but you knew he meant it.

The other line was silent.

“Or, you can unfreeze my bank accounts and put them back in my name,” said Ben. “I’ll do you the giant fucking favor of staying where I’m at, and I never have to hear from any of you cocksuckers again.”

After another long moment, an exhale of breath came from the speaker.

“You’ll have access to your accounts by end of business today,” Stan said.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Ben said, his tone infused with both anger and sarcasm.

He hung up the phone with a mild slam, and he leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his mouth and beard. You smiled and managed to get up off the comfy couch, just to settle yourself into a more comfortable seat across his lap. Ben welcomed you with a supportive hand molding to your lower back, and another running up your thigh. You cupped his cheek.

“Look at my man, all protective and clever at negotiations,” you teased. You leaned in to kiss the other cheek. Ben smiled reluctantly.

“Yeah, well, I think he got the idea.”

“Mhmm,” you agreed. Your lips moved over his, and you treated him with progressively dirtier kisses. When you slowly pulled away to speak, your voice was husky, laden with sensuous teasing. “Now we can go on a proper honeymoon.”

Ben chuckled against your lips. “Already want to spend my money, huh?”

“It’s our money now,” you playfully retorted. (But you were serious.)

He scoffed, though he thumbed at the shining ring on your finger. You two got married the very night you set foot in Colombia.

“Besides, if you can’t spoil your pregnant wife, who can you spoil?” you said, with a sly smile.

Ben eyed you wryly. “So that’s why you said yes.”

You framed his face in your hands. Now you were serious.

“I would’ve married you even if you never had another dime to your name,” you said. “Even if we had to spend the rest of our lives in hiding.”

When he searched your eyes, he eventually found whatever he was looking for. He guided you down for a real kiss, hungry and claiming. His hands began to move down your body with purpose.

A whoosh of air preceded a pair of smallish feet landing in front of the couch. You and Ben parted, seeing John standing there all wet from the pool.

“Why’re there so many brown people here?” he asked. “I can see them in the town down there.”

You and Ben shared a perturbed look. You were the first to recover, turning to John.

“Well, we’re in South America. You’re going to see people of all shades and skin tones, and different races too.”

John seemed to process that information for a few seconds. Then he shrugged.

“Okay,” he said. “Hey, can we have hot dogs for dinner?”

“It might be hard to get that here, but uh, I’ll have someone look into it,” Ben said. “Hey, grab a towel before you get the rug all wet.”

The man was getting impatient at being interrupted, you sensed. You soothed a hand over his chest.

John zipped out in flight, and came back with a fuzzy towel to wrap himself in.

“This place is so big!” he said, bouncing on his feet. His excited smile was endearing. “And all the rooms are big. And all of them have a TV. Can we watch another movie tonight?”

You smiled indulgently. “Sure. Which one do you want to watch next?”

“Jurassic Park! The dinosaurs look so real, like they’re really eating people. Ooh, no, let’s watch Scarface. The cover looked cool.”

Ben was ready to agree to Scarface, but you vetoed.

“Uh, no, we’re not doing Scarface just yet. Jurassic Park is okay,” you said. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and we’ll have lunch.”

John nodded. He half ran, half flew up the stairs to his room. You shook your head with a sigh.

“That kid’s going to need all kinds of therapy,” you said.

Ben shot you a stern look. “My son doesn’t need a fucking shrink. He’s not crazy.”

“Well, he’s not normal either,” you argued. “Who knows how else they brainwashed him. For his whole life, ten years. It’s different even from what you and I went through…and I’m still not okay.”

Ben’s tight expression faded somewhat. He swept a thumb across your cheek.

“But are you happy here?” he said.

“What?” you asked. Not because you didn’t understand him, but because his question genuinely surprised you, and even more when he doubled down, staring into your eyes with a weight in his own.

“Are you?” he pressed. “Is this really what you want?”

You read the conflict in him, the flash of uncertainty behind his otherwise stoic face. It was something you didn’t think you’d ever seen before. You smiled, as tears welled up in your eyes.

“It’s exactly what I want,” you said.   

 He gradually smiled back, albeit more reserved. “All right.”

“And you?” you prodded. “Are you okay with…you know, early retirement?”

Ben let out a long breath. “Look, I started with Vought in 1944. That’s 50 years since. A goddamn lifetime,” he said. “I’ve made more money than the fucking Beatles. Drugs, booze, women, fame. Everyone in the world knew my name. I had everything…and a lotta jack squat.”

He moved his hand over yours, resting on your stomach. It took him a moment, but he dropped another confession.

“Before you, I would’ve always had nothing.”

Emotion tightened in your throat. Tears slipped down your cheeks, no matter how quickly you swept them away.

“So you’re saying thank you,” you said cheekily. He smirked.

“I suppose I am,” he said, staring into your eyes. “Thank you.”

Your emotions continued to bubble over as you read the sincerity in his. You leaned in to steal a kiss, but first, you whispered near his lips.

“You stole my line.”

AN: and there we have it! Another rocky road to a happy ending. 🥹

I hope you enjoyed the 80s and 90s vibes, the canon divergences, the character development, and all the twists! I'd love to know what you think. 💚

I'm also working on another shorter Soldier Boy x POC!Reader series called Unravel Me, but I don't have a release date on that one yet. It's still in development. 😉 Until then, I hope you had fun with this series. In some ways, it was even more of a challenge than Break Me Down!

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[bnanamlkluvr]

Lost on You - Part 4

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Ben claims his prize…

Word Count: 5.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for suggestiveness. Cheating (technically), more cat and mouse seduction, cracks in the masks, and a cat fight.

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Part 4: Better Shape Up

Who knew this man could be such a damn tease. You wouldn’t have thought him capable, for someone who wasn’t used to waiting for anything he wanted.

He demonstrated his resolve on a morning where you thought it safe to venture down to the gym. The others typically didn’t surface until around noon at least, so the morning was your time to work out and train in peace.

Today, Ben was already here. He was dressed down in a loose gray shirt and a pair of sweatpants and combat boots. He had already worked up a sweat and was now doing some impressive leg curls.

You tried not to linger your gaze on the exposed muscles of his arms and the outline of his broad back, but you slipped by him to claim a treadmill after offering him a polite good morning.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you in here,” he remarked.

You shot him a glance. “I like the quiet in the morning.”

“Matter of fact, you don’t go out of your way to hang out with anyone else on the team,” he said, as if you hadn’t answered.

He was right, but the fact that he’d noticed that about you was interesting. It proved he had his eyes on you, in more ways than one.

“Smart,” he added. “The others are dipshits.”

You smiled in amusement. You were inclined to agree.

Well, most of them, anyway. Crimson Countess was smarter than he gave her credit for, and you were sure Mindstorm was as well, even if he was a hermit.

Once you finished your cardio, you caught your breath with a few sips from the water fountain and found a small towel to wipe at your face and arms. Afterwards, you moved to the mats to stretch out. Yoga was one of the exercises that not only cooled you down and kept you limber after a workout, but it also helped you focus your internal world.

Sometimes it wasn’t easy being able to sense so many male presences around you, along with their baser emotions. It had taken several years of honing your mind and your powers to be able to spread your awareness only when you wanted to. But some energies were just too difficult to ignore.

You raised your hands high above your head, then bent at the waist to lower them all the way to the ground. From there, you walked your hands out across the mat into a downward dog pose.

As you moved through your yoga routine, you could feel a hot stare on your ass. You almost smiled to yourself.

By now, your companion had shifted to a different machine, working on his arms. After a few minutes, you heard the heavy clink of metal on metal. You looked over and saw that he’d finished, dropping the truly massive dumbbells on either side of his legs. He sat at the machine for a moment, catching his breath. His skin was glistening with a fine layer of sweat.

He pointed over to a water bottle that lied on the floor, a few feet away.

“Mind grabbing that for me, sweetheart?” he asked.

That request was harmless enough. You went over and grabbed it for him, your warm hands brushing his on the tradeoff. You meant to turn and head for the showers, but your foot got caught on one of the dumbbells. You gasped and nearly went down when you tripped.

Ben stood and hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you into his solid form. You grabbed onto his arms on reflex. You felt sweat under your palms and between your fingers, smelled his musky, masculine scent. Your breasts were brushing his chest with every breath.

And all the while, he looked down at you like he was thinking about devouring you. You felt his desire.

Instead, he smiled and let you go.

“You okay?” he asked.

Your brain short-circuited for a minute.

“Um, y-yeah. Thanks,” you said. Your hands slipped away from his arms, and you slowly turned and walked away. You almost stopped at the showers like you intended, but at the last second, you thought better of it and kept going all the way back up to your room.

Ben watched you go with a smirk, admiring your ass in those yoga pants.

You knew your plan was working, even with all his antics. You could ultimately use his interest in you to your advantage: for your career.

The plan had started forming the second you met him in that breakroom, and was only reinforced by Countess's superiority and general bitchiness toward you...

But you also thought that man was affecting you far more than you’d like to admit.

So you tried your best to give yourself a break from him. You trained on your own, and only engaged in minor small talk with your fellow teammates whenever you crossed paths with them; even Black Noir, the only person you’d been able to share some genuine conversation with.

You’d sensed the friction between him and Ben, and as unfair and often cruel as you thought it was, you didn’t want to give the latter a reason to resent you. It would only muddle your plans. For that matter, you tried to stay out of Countess’s way as well.

Throughout it all, you began to realize that you were even more alone than you thought you would be in this Tower.

However, your excitement bubbled up again when Arthur called you up to his office. He seemed excited too, which already had you gripped with anticipation. You were hungry to prove yourself, and also to jump on a project. Any project that they might give you to advance your career and increase your exposure to the public.

“I happened to show Soldier Boy that clip you sent in with your audition. The video of your off-the-cuff duet with Whitney Houston at that live show? Now, it was a little fuzzy. Looked like it was filmed with a kid’s Kodak, but whatever. It was brilliant.”

You smiled genuinely. “Thank you.”

Arthur nodded. “Well, Soldier Boy agrees that you’re impressive. And he’s been chomping at the bit for something new. So, I talked to Madelyn and the rest of the team, and we think you two should do a duet together. A cover.”

You blinked a bit wider. “O-Oh, really? Of what?”

“You remember ‘You’re the One That I Want,’ by John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John?”

“From Grease?” you asked with furrowed brows. That movie was like, five years old already. But you did see the previews for a new movie John and Olivia just did together, Two of a Kind. It was set to come out later this year.

“Exactly,” Arthur said, pointing at you. “It could be bigger than the movie!”

You doubted that, but it was still a great opportunity for you. Exactly the kind you’d been waiting for.

There was just one problem.

“And…what about Crimson Countess? You think she’ll be okay with this?” you asked. “She hasn’t exactly warmed up to me.”

Arthur sighed, but he waved a dismissive brow.

“Let us handle that part. At the end of the day, she understands this is all business here. No one’s gettin’ married.”

You laughed politely while hiding a sliver of unease. You agreed to the idea, but if Ben had a hand in this at all, you had a feeling you knew what he was up to.

You showed up early to the studio on a Tuesday morning. Ben, of course, was an hour late. You two had already pre-recorded your vocal parts separately, so today started the filming for your version of the music video.

You were already getting ruby red lipstick painted on your lips, when Ben stumbled into the hair and makeup trailer.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he rumbled in your direction.

“Good morning,” you replied cordially, though you watched him out of the corner of your eye.

He was nursing a tremendous hangover, by the looks of it. If it wouldn’t ruin your stylist’s concentration, you would shake your head in exasperation. Could he take nothing seriously?

Angela, his stylist, began by cleaning his face with an exfoliator wipe. She spread some primer on first before she went for the foundation. He stopped her with a raise of his hand and a halting sound in his throat.

“Make me a little more tan today, eh, doll face. You washed me out last time,” he said, slapping her on the ass. Angela jolted, but she gave him a practiced smile.

“No problem, Soldier Boy.” She swapped the foundation in her hand for a warmer shade. 

You barely managed to stop yourself from frowning. Asshole.

Another half hour later, you were ushered out of the makeup trailer and into the dressing room. By the time you stepped out, you were transformed fully into Sandy Olsson, Olivia Newton-John’s character in Grease, complete with the skin-tight black jumpsuit.

You were reenacting one of the final songs of the movie—the moment where Sandy drops her prim and proper upbringing to show Danny that she could live in his “edgier” world, if he was willing to step up, or shape up, for her as a man.

Vought had the money to create a truly impressive set. You stepped out towards the stage and looked around at all the people, not to mention the expensive-looking equipment on this production. You had been on big stages before, but not as the leading lady. This was big, and you could admit, it was intimidating.

Ben soon joined you, looking very much the part with a real cigarette in hand as he blew out smoke. He was made to look like John Travolta’s character, of course. His brown hair was neatly coiffed and gelled back. He was wearing a tight black shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks, with five o’clock shadow dusting his cheeks. You were a little surprised he was agreeing to something like this…but you also had a hunch on what was motivating him.  

A grin soon spread across his face. You averted your eyes, surprising yourself by the way your face warmed. However briefly it was, he’d caught you checking him out.

He returned the favor. His gaze lingered on your every curve, and finally your face.

“Lookin’ good, baby doll,” he said mildly, but he leaned over to whisper in your ear. “I’m gonna be thinking about those red lips tonight.”

Your lips pursed as you watched him walk away with his usual smooth, arrogant stride. You refused to feel how hot your face was. Instead, you relaxed your shoulders and raised your chin before you stepped onto the stage with him.

The director came over to talk you both through the script and his vision for the music video, a scene by scene replica of the fairgrounds. (And he handed Ben an ashtray for his cigarette.)

The opening scene was already set up. The pack of actors playing Danny Zuko’s friends were hanging off to the side, while a handful of young women in 1950s style dresses hung out on the other side, waiting for you.

The director called to roll sound. A production assistant handed you a fake cigarette to hold between your fingers, just like the original movie scene. Other instructions were shouted out as you stared into the cameras blankly. Your body felt stiff, your mouth heavy.

You were nervous, no matter how much you didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Hey,” came a deep voice in your ear.

You turned to Ben and tried to hide your anxiety. He smiled and once again leaned in close. You felt the warm pressure of his hand on your lower back.

“You’ve seen cameras before. Don’t even look at ‘em. They’re not there,” he said, encouraging you to use your imagination.

You took a subtle breath. “And the thirty-something crew of people?”

“They’re the audience,” he said. “This is just a stage, like the ones you’ve been on before. Even smaller.”

You nodded subtly and tried to calm the ball of nerves rising into your throat. You made your way over to your mark and got ready with a hand on your hip, and the prop cigarette poised in the other. Ben went to his mark, with the other Greasers.

Ben smirked at you. “Remember to sing pretty.”

You shot him a teasing smile back.

“Oh, don’t worry. When I sing, people listen.”

I got chills, they’re multiplying. And I’m losing control.

‘Cause the power you’re supplying…

It’s electrifying.

He might not have had Travolta’s range, but Ben was a decent singer himself. It was rich and baritone, occasionally with some edge. They’d lowered the song down a key for him, you noticed, but you didn’t mind.

It was all you could do to remember the choreography, all while feeling the push and pull of the music, the lyrics, and the man himself. He was also making some subtle changes to the character in his performance.

“I’m not dragging myself across the fucking ground after her like some love-sick pussy,” as he’d snapped at the director.

So he was applying a more suave approach to Danny’s role, trying to persuade you with a Cary Grant-like charm. Partnered with your sensuous persona, it gave the bouncy song some new depth.

You better shape up, ‘cause I need a man.

And my heart is set on you…

It took a few hours to get through the first scenes, and you found that you and Ben worked well together. But his attention on you was intense whenever he looked into your eyes. His every small touch ignited across your skin, eliciting tingles of electricity down your spine.

When you finally got to your first verse after the chorus, you were up on one of the carnival ride platforms. Painted on one of the walls was Danger Ahead.

If you’re filled with affection, you’re too shy to convey…

Per the choreography, Ben followed you up a short flight of stairs and cornered you against a wall. You pivoted on your heels and felt bold enough to improvise. You drew him in with a hand on his stubbled cheek, and you allowed your eyes to shine with a bit of your power, giving them a violet glow.

Meditate on my direction. Feel your way…

As you sang, his hands glided up the swell of your hips and gripped you tight at the waist. His gaze lowered to your lips. You could smell his musky cologne mixed with cigarette smoke as he began to lean in. Your mouth parted unconsciously.

“Cut!” the director shouted.

The music stopped and a sharp bell rang out. You paused, letting your hand fall away from Ben’s cheek. He reluctantly released you as well. You eased away from him with a smile.

“All right! That was great guys,” the director chimed in cheerfully after he came out from behind the network of cameras. “Tell you what, let’s break for lunch.”

You sensed the burning presence following you off the stage, just a few feet behind. It shadowed you all the way to your trailer.

The moment you opened the door and stepped inside, you weren’t all that surprised when Ben grabbed your hand and turned you around into his arms. You stifled a small gasp.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, despite knowing full fucking well.

He was no longer teasing as his eyes swept down to your cherry red lips.

“I’m claiming my prize,” he said, his voice sinful and deep.

He bent down to capture you in a demanding kiss. You breathed in, and allowed yourself to give into it. Your hands slid up his arms, then wound up into his hair. He devoured you deeper with each new glide of his lips against yours, his hold on your waist moving down your hips and gripping your ass.

He mostly carried you as he guided you back against the wall of the trailer. His hand slapped against it to brace your impact, making the wall tremble. You gasped into his mouth at the suddenness of it, and he took the opportunity to taste you deeper, slipping his tongue against yours. He relished every small sound you made, and every part of you he got his hands on.

Until he broke from you suddenly, allowing you to catch your breath. You couldn’t help but blink up at him in a bit of surprise while you recovered. His smile was smug looking down at you.

“That was more than a kiss,” you said. Thank God you sounded steadier than you felt.

Ben chuckled and leaned in closer again, this time letting his lips drift across your cheek, and down your neck.

“And I promise I’m good with my hands,” he said in your ear.

You fought not to shudder at the depths in his voice. Your internal alarm finally sounded, however, when one of his hands left your hip to slip along the inside of your thigh. He stroked a thumb between your legs, over the silky leather of your pants. Your core pulsed with anticipation, but this wasn’t part of the plan. Not yet.

You tensed up and grabbed his wrist.

“Ben,” you warned in a gasp, issuing a trill of power on reflex.

Stop.

The unspoken command laced through him. He paused with a tense look, but not just because of your powers. He saw the sliver of fear in your eyes. He frowned.

For your part, you honestly didn’t mean to compel him this time. Your eyes widened, your mouth pressed into a line.

Part of you was afraid, but not for the reasons he might’ve thought. It was a delicate game you were playing with this man. And like it or not, even though you had the power to stop him if he tried to take it any farther, his influence still had power over your career.

“The fuck is your problem? You’re running hot and cold on me,” he snarked. But he relaxed, taking a step away from you. You released his wrist.

“I meant what I said,” you said. “Look, you’re helping me out a lot by doing this music video, and I appreciate that. More than you know.”

Your tone was gentle as you attempted to soothe his ego, but your words had the added benefit of being true.

“I’m still the new kid here,” you added. “Countess already thinks I’m trying to take her place.”

Which, at this point, you could admit that you were in a way. You had a feeling that she’d been using Ben the same way you were—to enhance her status and cement her position in Payback. 

He rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t have to know.”

You broke into a small smile, crossing your arms at him.

“Come on, Ben.”

His face became taciturn. You tried to gouge his reaction with your abilities, and you sensed his irritation underneath. He was likely trying to curb every inclination he had to give a nasty retort and hold onto the charm, but he was also starting to lose patience.

“So what the fuck do you want from me?” he snapped.

You held your tongue for a moment. You knew that whatever you said, whatever you did next could either make or break your plans to be successful. Still, no matter how much you actually wanted to give in to the desire in his eyes, you didn’t just want to be the equivalent of his mistress, or one of his forgettable conquests. That would make sure you remained on the sidelines forever.

No. The only way this worked was if he broke up with Countess for real. 

You stepped in close to him again. With slow moments, you rested your hands on his chest and leaned up, as if to give him a sensuous kiss. You stop just shy of his lips. He grasped your hips on instinct.

“If you really want me, you can have me,” you purred. Though you pulled away when he bent down to kiss you. You lowered back down to your heels.

“Just me,” you said. “I like you, Ben, but if you really do love Crimson Countess and want to…work it out with her, I understand.”

You crossed your arms. His jaw ticked in annoyance.

“They’re gonna have to fix your face,” he remarked with a gesturing finger. “Looks like you sucked off Ronald McDonald.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You turned to look at yourself in the large mirror on the far wall, and sure enough, your pretty red lipstick was smeared all around your mouth. When you turned back to find Ben’s more amused grin, you glared at him, feeling a hot blush coming on. Pink smudges stained his lips and chin as well.

“Yeah, well, you too, Casanova,” you say pointedly. “You look like a…a fucking clown!”

It was lame, you could admit.

He just laughed and strolled out of your trailer. You huffed and crossed your arms.

He was goddamn insufferable.

Challenges of sexual tension aside, the music video turned out to be a great success. It wasn’t a perfect frame by frame rendition of the movie, but you recreated many of the scenes at the carnival, especially the one at the end. Ben actually hit the High Striker bell so hard that it flew through the roof of the studio.

Maybe getting out some pent-up frustration there.

The video would later get splashed across MTV and all the Vought channels. It piggybacked on the publicity from your first couple of saves with Payback that finally made it to the news.

It all did wonders for your popularity, especially because the reviews on the video were mostly positive—not only for the production and the quality of the vocals, but also for the chemistry between “Soldier Boy and Sirena.”

It just had the predictable side effect of making Countess even bitchier toward you, if that were possible. To a point, you couldn’t fault her. You and Ben did have chemistry on-screen, and she was smart enough to guess at your chemistry off-screen as well. She probably already thought you two were fucking.

You knew the truth, but you also knew it was useless to try and change her mind—hers, and everyone else who gave you sidelong looks when they thought you didn’t notice. Maybe you should’ve just done it with him anyway, if people were going to think it was true no matter what you did.

The only one who congratulated you on your success with any sincerity was your brother.

“I’m proud of you, sis. You’re really doing great,” Chris said.

You shed a couple of tears on the phone with him before hastily changing the subject, asking about your nephew. He’d made a new friend at preschool.

“Aww. Lisa, huh?” you teased. “Is she gonna be his new little girlfriend?”

“Well, she shared her box of crayons and he gave her half of his oatmeal cream pie at lunch, so they’re off to a great start,” Chris joked. You were happy to hear it, and you promised to send him another gift signed by Soldier Boy soon.

After you hung up with your brother, the next call you made was to your dad. Except, you never even got the chance to mention the video.

“How’s Mom doing?” you asked.

“Well, I was actually going to call you,” your dad said. “She’s uh, she’s not doing well… It’s time, honey.”

Your breath stilled in your lungs. You almost didn’t hear his next words: that your mother had been transferred to hospice this morning. That she had a matter of days, and you should come home as soon as you could. You promised that you would.

And suddenly, you remembered every promise you’d given your parents over the past couple of months to go see them, have dinner with them. You remembered that you’d never made good on any of those promises.

Your ears were ringing after you hung up with him. You wiped your tears away.

In your dissociative state, you went to your desk and looked at your calendar to see what was next on the painstaking daily schedule you crafted for yourself. Instead of packing a bag or calling Arthur to try and negotiate some time off, you donned some activewear and went down to the breakroom.

You shoveled some oatmeal into your mouth that you didn’t even taste. Then you went to start your morning routine at the gym.

To your unpleasant surprise, Crimson Countess was there. She was running on the treadmill you usually took. You barely glanced her way as you passed by, aiming for an elliptical instead.

She smiled and tsked. “Oh, honey. That’s one rough looking hangover.”

You turned to her and tried to hide your annoyance. Your eyes were likely red rimmed from crying, not from a bender.

“You should drink more water,” she said, gesturing with a finger around her face. “Might help with the bags under your eyes.”

You sucked in your cheeks and pursed your lips. An irrational anger, dark and deep, roiled in your gut.

“Maybe you can give me the number of your surgeon too,” you shot back. “That’s how you got those plastic tits, right?”

Countess visibly paused, like she hadn’t expected you to hit back. You normally just took whatever snide remarks she made with a smile, as if it were a joke (or at worse, a look of nonchalance). Today was not that day.

She turned off her machine and slowed to a stop.

“No, but I do know someone who can suck the cellulite out of your ass,” she said snidely. She grabbed a water bottle up from the floor and took a sip. You hopped off your own machine and smacked the bottle out of her hand. It made water spill down the front of her red sports bra.

“Tell me, Donna. As the most senior female superhero in Payback, how does it feel to be every man’s guilty pleasure jerk off material?” you sniped.

That managed to strike a nerve. She sneered at you.

“That’s right, honey. Everyone in the world knows who I am,” she said with a haughty look. Her eyes were cold and cruel. “The only way someone’s gonna remember you is exactly how you got here. On your fucking knees.”

She shoved at your shoulders, pushing you back a couple of steps. Your temper finally snapped.

“Oh really? The only reason people know you is because you’re fucking the ‘boss,’” you said, air quotes included. Then you laughed. “The Sonny and Cher routine? Please. Soldier Boy doesn’t love you. He doesn’t even fucking respect you. And you let him walk all over you. Because it keeps you exactly where you want to be. On your knees, sucking off the oldest dick in the world.”

You could see how your words were cutting into her, making her seethe. Her hand came up swiftly with a slap across your face. She was strong. The force behind the hit made you stumble again, but this time, you weren’t holding back. You threw a punch that caught her on the side of her nose. (And for the record, that one actually was fake.)

It soon devolved into a petty, dirty, angry fight, complete with hair pulling, punching, and a kick to the stomach that sent Countess onto her back on the hardwood floor.

The gym doors opened to Ben and Gunpowder rushing in. They must’ve heard the commotion, because they were already on alert. Ben’s face was set with a frown while he watched you squared up on the mats. Your opponent was slowly getting to her feet, huffing and puffing with rage.

Your eyes widened when Countess raised her hands, and a red glow of energy materialized. She tossed a red hot fireball in your direction. You dove across the mat to avoid it, but it vaporized half the gym equipment on your side of the room. You twisted your ankle badly on the way down as well.

While Ben intervened and stopped Countess from hurling another fireball, Gunpowder went to you.

“You okay?” he asked. He reached out a hand to you, but stopped short, like he was afraid of your touch. You were dismayed, but you grimaced and tried to help yourself up. You’d fallen onto another exercise machine and one side of your ribs felt battered.

Meanwhile, Ben whirled Countess around by her arm and glared down at her.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he raised his voice.

She was still livid as she tried to yank her arm out of his grasp. She pointed at you where you lied on the floor.

“Are you fucking her?!” she yelled.

He blinked in surprise, but he quickly recovered.

“What’s the matter with you? Of course not!” he bellowed. “Jesus fuck. Forget to take your damn crazy pills today?”

At that, she looked stricken. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“They’re not…I suffer from migraines,” she said.

“Yeah, well, do us all a favor and take a handful,” Ben groused. “Better yet, the whole goddamn bottle.”

You somehow managed to pull yourself to your feet. Gunpowder was useless, since he was wary of touching you. Really? Does he think I’m going to hijack his mind right here and now?

It hurt, but you hopped from machine to ruined machine in attempt to get out of the room. Ben started toward you. You held a hand up to stop him.

“I’m okay,” you said shakily. “I don’t need help.”

At this point, you were done being reckless. You didn’t want to give Countess any more ammunition against you. 

You managed to limp your way out of the gym and down the hall to the sound of Ben’s shouting, versus Countess’s enraged crying.

“I know you’re fucking her. You want to know why? Because you fuck anything with a pulse!”

“Christ on a cross, I can’t talk to a hysterical woman.”

You shook your head, despite the tears burning in your eyes. You felt your way down the wall like a one-legged crab.

Until a strong pair of arms scooped you up under your legs and around your back. 

You gasped and met a masked Black Noir.

Without a word, he carried you up to your room. There he set you on your feet, in front of your door. You braced yourself with a hand on the doorknob, but you carefully twisted around to look back at him.

“Thank you,” you said with a sniff.

He paused. You sensed his uncertainty.

“Feel better,” he said.

Then he left you alone in the hall.

You took the longest hot bath of your life, dumping in half a bottle of lavender bath soaks. It helped your aches and pains, but it still didn’t manage to wash the day away.

I need to go home, you were reminded. You needed to see your mom, before…

You covered your face with your hands, and you finally allowed yourself to cry.

Back in the gym, Ben cut off Donna's enraged rant with a sharp grip on her arm. He shook her once, hard enough to make her teeth click. It startled a gasp out of her.

She looked up at him and couldn’t entirely hide her fear.

“Get a goddamn grip,” he growled. “Never fucking disrespect me like that again. And if you make another mess like this, so help me God, you’re gonna leave me no choice but to make you regret it. Do you understand me?”

It took her a moment, but after he tightened his grip on her arms, she winced and nodded contritely.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ben,” she stammered. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

He rolled his eyes, but he released her. “Good. Go clean yourself up. You’re a fucking mess.”

He left her in the gym where she stood, still holding herself.

Ben frowned when he didn’t find you in the hallway. At the pace you were going, you couldn’t have gotten that far, he reasoned. But he still didn’t find you, even when he traveled to the elevators and up to your apartment. He stopped in front of your door.

He raised his fist up, poised to knock, but his superior hearing perked up to a sound.

He realized he could hear you crying. The kind of muffled sobs where you were trying to hold yourself back, and were failing miserably.

Ben hesitated…but ultimately, he couldn’t handle two emotional women in one day.

He walked away from your door.

AN: *Sighs* Ben isn't shaping up, is he? Don't worry though. We've still got plenty of track left to go on this rollercoaster.

Next Time:

An album was playing on his record player. You recognized Sinatra’s smooth voice singing “My Way.”

“You want a drink?” Ben asked.

“Whiskey, neat,” you replied. He rose a brow, but he fulfilled your request. While he was busy, you grabbed his forgotten half a blunt from the ashtray on the coffee table, and you lit up. You didn’t often partake in drugs because you didn’t like being out of your lucid mind. You preferred being in control.

Today was different. You needed a distraction. Maybe that was why you were here to begin with.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 5

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[bnanamlkluvr]

thinking about dean who is just so worried about corrupting you…

at first, it was just the innocent touch here, and there — the way his fingers would brush against yours, or when he would gently grab your hand to pull you away from someone almost bumping into you. not to mention the way he would place his hand on your lower back, trying to keep you close to himself when you were walking through a crowded places.

you were his sweet little darling that he had to protect at all cost.

so the moment it started getting not so innocent… he didn’t know what to do with himself.

he knew it was wrong.

he was supposed to protect you, give you care and support you so desperately needed. he was supposed to be your anchor and a shoulder to cry on when some asshole breaks your heart. but somehow, he got lost on the way. although, it would be fair to say that you both did.

because sooner than later, he had you bend over the desk in his room, things scattered all over the wooden table your cheek was pressed against. but it wasn’t brutal — his touch was gentle, his fingers gently stroking through your hair as his other fingers were taking good care of your aching pussy that has been yearning for him ever since.

soft whimpers and mewls escaped your throat, your eyes squeezed shut and your lips quivering as his thick digits were exploring your soft and slick skin, gently prodding your entrance.

“shh, it’s alright, baby. you’re doing so well. i’m so proud of you,” he cooed gently, a soft smile on his rugged face, despite the aching hardness in his jeans that awaited the moment it could slide in your tight channel. god, how he just wanted to absolutely ruin you.

again, another whimper slipped through your parted lips, a sound he wished he had engraved in his mind so he could listen to it over, and over again.

“d-dean—” you stammered, not even sure of the words you wanted to say. but somehow he knew. he already knew, and so he leaned forward, placing a small kiss on your temple as he finally slipped his finger inside.

“i know, honey. but it’s okay. you’re a big girl. you’re handling it so well.”

oh, he was definitely going to hell for it. but he would do it over and over again, only if it meant that you’d be his sweet little girl forever.

[bnanamlkluvr]

HALF OF ME (iv)

SUMMARY: With Soldier Boy alive in the 2020’s, back in America, he starts his mission of vengeance. Of course, his first stop is to you; the only woman he’d truly wanted to start a relationship with, who’d taken his spot only months after his supposed death. And you don’t exactly expect your old lover to appear in your home, with the intent to kill.

WORD COUNT: 2238

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Typical Soldier Boy behaviour, gore, heavy violence, canon divergence.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Finding you was difficult. They were beginning to think Ben had been wrong, that you were six foot under in some unlabelled grave, rotting away. But, Ben was sure. And arguing with him seemed like signing their death warrant.

So, they kept searching. Despite the fact they could have located at least two other Payback members, and had them dead, by now, Ben was insistent on killing you first.

So, they kept fucking searching.

And then they found it.

It was a tiny discrepancy. Something most people would simply brush past. But, Hughie found it, and it was all they needed. They followed the rabbit hole, down and down, finding hidden documents and details not even Ben knew about.

It only took two days to pinpoint your location.

The Appalachian Mountains. In the middle of fucking nowhere. Smack-bang in the middle of one of the largest forests in the entire USA. But, to Ben, that fact was whatever. He had your location. And he was going to find you, even if it meant spending weeks searching every inch of that forest.

Butcher and Hughie knew it was a dumb idea.

But, they got Ben in a car, and started their roadtrip.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

The quiet life was nice, you’d decided. You’d forgotten about Queen Maeve’s uninvited visit, going back to your routine of feeding the animals and drinking coffee on the balcony every morning.

It was weird. You used to be one of the most famous people on the planet. There was blood staining every inch of your hands, and families who were likely still trying to gain justice for the people you killed. You had decades of history. And, yet, you now lived out your days as some sort of Disney princess.

You couldn’t complain. It was better than willingly running into gunfire every week.

Padding through your dark home, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the floors, you headed for the kitchen. You were never too old for a midnight snack. Especially in the comfort of your own home. You turned into the kitchen.

And you saw it. A dark figure, shadowed in the corner.

But, you kept moving, playing oblivious. In your mind, your old training make itself own. Ben’s critiques and advice played like a movie, as you pulled the cabinet open, standing high on your toes to reach for packet of chips. Your senses were on fire, focused in on the quiet breaths, the soft squeaking of boots on the tile.

They moved, and so did you.

You ducked under the fist swinging towards your face, snatching a knife from the block beside the fridge. Holding it tightly in your fist, your stance ready to attack, you looked at the intruder. Every muscle in your body froze.

“Ben?”

He didn’t pull his punches. Ben grabbed you by the throat, using your momentary distraction to his advantage, shoving your back against the sharp edge of the counter. Instinctively, you swiped the knife towards him, but a rough hand caught your wrist, slamming it down onto the counter.

A cry of pain slipped past your lips, fingers releasing the knife. It was his turn to grab it, tossing it from your reach.

No words were spoken, just heavy breathing.

You’d never seen Ben look at you like this before. This look was reserved for those who got on the wrong side of him. Those who disappeared mysteriously overnight and were never found again — but you knew what happened. And so did he.

He was here to kill you.

“Ben—“ You choked out, through the tightening grip his hand had around your throat. The grip tightened, and your breath caught with a squeak, broken gasps for air trying desperately to pull in oxygen.

“How much did they pay you?” He demanded, his voice low and gravelly. “Huh? How much, did they fucking pay you?” There was something about him that was so different. A new edge to him, maybe. But, what caught your attention, was the look in his eyes.

Hurt. He was staring at you like you’d ripped his heart from his chest and stomped on it.

You clawed at his wrist, unable to bring any air into your lungs. Your nails bit into his skin, the scratches down his wrist quickly repairing themselves. He let you go. Not out of mercy. No. He grabbed your collar, lifting your head up, and then slamming it down onto the counter.

Your vision went completely white, all remaining breath knocked from your lungs with a gasp. Blinking desperately to clear the stars, you tried to struggle. But, he slammed you down again. And again. And again. Until he tossed you to the floor like nothing more than a rag doll.

The counter was cracked from the force of it, blood staining the white marble, and splattered across the counter. Your own kitchen. Stained with your blood. You could feel the warm liquid dripping down the back of your head, matting in your hair.

If you weren’t a supe, you’d be dead.

He didn’t let you get a word in, brutal with each of his attacks. As you desperately tried to scramble away, body on fire, he put his foot down on your ankle. Leaning down, staring intently at you, with dark eyes, Ben snarled. “How much?”

“Ben—“ Finally, words escaped. In a pathetic whimper that made his lips twitch in disgust. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your breath hitched with pain.

That answer wasn’t good enough for him. You swore you could feel the bones in your jaw crack, as his fist met your cheek. You cried out in pain, the force of the impact whipping you around, hitting your head against the ground.

His hand curled into your hair, forcing your eyes on him. “Don’t fucking lie to me, you bitch.” Your breaths were ragged, with pain and terror, staring up at the man you thought was dead. He seethed, nothing but anger and disgust (and hurt?) in his green eyes. “You whored yourself out to me, huh? Put my dick in your mouth? For what? Fuckin’ soften me up like a weak pussy?”

“Ben—“

“Don’t.” He tugged your hair, hard. “I loved you.” His teeth grit together.

Your heart broke, tears in your eyes as you stared up at him. He loved you. And he thought you’d hurt him? He was dead. He was dead. That’s what they said. They said he was dead. Your mind worked at 100 miles an hour, heart constricting.

He loved you.

Soldier Boy loved you.

You didn’t even think he was capable of that. Sure, you knew you had something special with him, something unique. But love? It’d never crossed your mind. You’d always loved him somewhat, always throwing yourself in front of bullets and danger to protect him. Always following his lead and teasing him.

Always pushing your luck with his temper. Because he never snapped. He never hurt you. He never hit you. You knew you’d loved him, when your heart would dance when he chuckled at your jokes. The way your body reacted to his hands on your hips during your first training session. You knew there was something. But, for sure, you thought it was one-sided.

That, to him, you were a good fuck. Just a hole, as he liked to say about some women.

But, you’d been so wrong. And, all this time, 37 years, he’d been alive. And you’d done nothing.

“I loved you.” He repeated, in a broken seethe. His eyes were less angry now, but still held that hint of vengeance. “I would’ve died for you.” You could’ve sobbed, right there. “We were gonna start a family.”

Your voice was shaky. “Ben. Please. I don’t know what’s going on.” You begged, pathetic and weak. Ben scoffed, emotional. “I thought you were dead. I swear it, Ben!” It was practically a plea; a desperate cry for him to believe you.

He was too blinded by his rage. “I waited every day for you.” He hissed, reaching over and grabbing his discarded shield. “For you to come and get me. To save me. You never came.”

“Ben—“

He shoved you down, head slamming against tile once more. Knees on other side of your hips, Ben gripped the edge of his shield, raising it high.

He was going to kill you. You couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t fight it. All you could do was look at him, tears running tracks through the blood on your face. A silent plea, begging him to not do this.

He rose the shield higher, lined up with the juncture of your throat.

And then he saw it. A glint of metal peeking out from under your shirt. He could recognise them from a mile away. They were his, after all. His dog tags, sat delicately just above your chest, resting on the skin like they were made to be there. His brows furrowed, movements faltering.

His dog tags. You were wearing his dog tags.

Ben hesitated, unsure.

He looked down at you, meeting your teary eyes, and his brain ran wild. Of memories of being a couple. Of the memories of when a big question mark had hung above your relationship, neither of you sure of what was going on, but treating each other like lovers anyway.

Your soft touches; the way your fingers would trace the contours of his muscles in the morning. The way you’d kiss each of his scars, muttering against his skin how perfect he was, despite the flaws and the imperfections littering his body. How gentle you were. He’d never felt a gentle touch before you.

How you’d giggle at his jokes, smile blinding, pretty dimples, cheeks flushed.

God, and those eyes. How they’d shine and shimmer when you looked up at him, like he was made of the stars themselves. He always used to melt when you propped your chin on his chest in bed, looking at him with that cute smile, and he’d trace your face with his thumb, cradling your cheeks like delicate glass.

Those few nights spent together, in the limited time you’d had together as an actual couple. The way you’d move together; perfectly in sync, like you were made for each other.

The way you’d hold him. Laugh with him. Smile at him. The passing touches. The lingering stares across red carpets and events, subtly checking each other out, and then meeting up in the supply closet. The quiet moments together, cooking dinner or merely holding each other. All those times you forced him to dance, and he’d begrudgingly spin you in the kitchen. The dates, and the movie nights, and the silly fights, and how warm his cold penthouse felt when you were with him.

Every memory, every moment, replayed in front of his eyes, as he stared at you. He lost his breath, muscles stiff. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring this shield down and kill you. His chest ached and burnt.

He couldn’t kill you.

So, instead, he hit the blunt edge of shield against your head, and watched your eyes roll back.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Coming to was disorientating and painful.

Every inch of your body ached, from the beating you’d received from Ben. You cringed as the light made the throbbing in your head intensify. Through squinted eyes, you made out the sight in front of you.

You were in your dining room. And there were two… unfamiliar men stood by your table, leaning over files and papers. Movement caught your attention.

Ben. Setting his shield down by the table.

“Ben.” You choked out, instinctively trying to reach out and grab him. To check if he was real. If he was actually stood in front you. Living, breathing. Your hands didn’t move. You looked down, frowning at the sight of tattered rope tying your wrists of the arms of your chair.

The noise drew over the attention of the three men. They exchanged a silent look, and slowly, and rather intimidatingly, approached. You whined a little, at the throbbing pain that made a tremble run it’s course through your body.

One of the unfamiliar men pulled up a chair. “What d’ya know abou’ BCL-RED?” Was that an English or Australian accent? You couldn’t tell through the buzzing in your ears.

“Wha’?” You slurred, blinking rapidly, trying to orientate yourself. “BCL-what-now?” A grunt slipped past your lips. They didn’t look impressed by that answer. “I— I saw it on a file. Back in ‘84. Never figured out what it meant.”

The man learnt forwards. “Neva’ found out?”

Your head shook, and it made the pain increase. Your face scrunched up in agony. “Mm, no.” You groaned, breaths hitched. “It was all classified. Edgar never told me. Mallory and I— we tried to figure it out.”

“Grace Mallory?”

“What? Yes. Grace.” You groaned again. “Jesus. Can you turn off the fucking lights? It feels like there’s a drill in my head.” You tried to push your face into your shoulder, hiding from the light that made your eyes burn and your head feel like Ben was slamming it against the ground again.

There was a beat of silence. “Did you know?” That was Ben. He sounded hesitant.

“Know what?” You peeked up at Ben, eyes squinted to be able to look at him. He looked tense, face expressionless. “I thought you were dead. I don’t know what else to say to convince you. I thought you were dead.”

“How did you not know?” He demanded, his short fuse lit. Ben and his fucking temper.

“I don’t know, Ben!” Your own yell made you wince in pain. “They never told me shit! I tried for 15 years to get answers!”Ben didn’t look convinced. Of course he didn’t. He was so set in his heartbreak and rage, by your supposed betrayal, that he’d utterly convinced himself. “I didn’t know.” You echoed in a broken whisper.

“How’s ‘bout this?” You blinked rapidly, trying to focus in on the accented voice. “We track down the otha’ girl. See what she ‘as to say.” There seemed to be a group-wide agreement.

“Countess?” You grunted, confused. Your gaze flicked between the three men. “I know where she is.”

And that got their attention.

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[bnanamlkluvr]

My tits are sadly bigger than my ass. Therefore, all my faves? They're tiddie men because I say so. No, I will not be taking any criticism at this time.

[bnanamlkluvr]

────⠀ soldier boy has a glasses kink WHO said that

warnings / SMUT ! MDNI. soldier boy. bro hes a warning just, as himself. glasses kink ???. oral(m!recieving). uhhh kinda filthy i gotta say. he cums on reader's glasses + face. dirty talker. degradation? he says whore once. first time writing ben uhhh let me know if u guys like it <3 and if u wanna be on the tag list for uhhh the boys or jensen stuff idek

thank u @theosaurous for gracing our earth with this beautiful hc all creds 4 this thing to them <3 (its been almost a month HELP)

it's humiliating. completely degrading and demeaning and you're lapping it all up even then. the way he holds you so gently but lets the meanest things fall from his lips, his words gruff and gravelly, it makes your head spin. your skin feels hot, your knees digging into the shitty motel rug beneath you as he keeps you on your knees below him. your chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, eyes darting up to him frantically from where you're kneeling. "look at you," he grunts.

the entire reasoning for your position beneath him and status of being gagged by his cock? those glasses of yours. usually you wore contacts, since they were easier for your line of work and simpler to handle everyday. ben had never seen you without contacts before, wearing glasses. he'd be a damn liar if he tried to say that it didn't turn him on so bad to see you with those lenses over your eyes and nose bridge adorned.

"teasing me with those fucking glasses, huh? shoulda' worn 'em earlier, maybe wouldn't have ended up on your knees like a whore for me, huh?" he pats the head of his cock against your lips, grasping the back of your head tightly to push himself between your lips once more. a guttural groan escapes him and he swallows thickly, a low chuckle escaping him too.

"that's it, take that fucking dick. that's it, fuck." the look of your glasses slipping down your nose, too low to actually help you see however perfect for ben to get off on.

you're practically drooling on him, lips stretched around him with every inch he pushes further down your throat. the whimper you let out by the time he's near bottoming out makes him groan, and his grip on the back of your head tightens instinctively. "ben—"

"shh, sh, don't wanna hear a word out of your mouth," his tone is practically a snarl but still soft enough to coax you into listening to him. "just wanna look at you, those glasses, shit," he didn't know he was into glasses, to be honest with you. ben was into everything about you, but this? this new development? yeah, he'd take advantage of it for a long ass time.

"look so good takin' my cock," he muses, thumb stroking over your cheek. it brushes over your lips, soon smearing your saliva over them with another low chuckle. he likes leaving you a mess, not just likes, he loves leaving you a mess like this. "that pretty mouth's great for fillin', ain't it? always chattin' shit, just gotta stuff it full of me." ben knows he can get away with it since your mouth's a little preoccupied with sucking him off.

all you can do, really, is look up at him with wide, watery eyes. your jaw lax with the intrusion of him between your lips, hands grasping loosely at his legs as best as you can to make sure you don't end up falling over.

"a little deeper," growling, he grasps at the back of your head once more and tugs you further along his dick. the gagging sound has him groaning, hips rutting up against your face instinctively afterwards. "suckin' the fuckin' life outta' me," despite how rough he is in practically fucking your face, he's soft, in a way.

this is ben, he isn't exactly all sunshine and rainbows, but he's always in awe of how well you do for him—every single time. and he makes you feel perfect afterwards, he'd rather die than leave you unfulfilled.

"doing so good," he tells you, voice breathy, low with his arousal and how worked up he's getting right now. he swallows thickly, glancing down at you, "feel so fucking good, that mouth, shit.."

"mmh?" you mumble around him, eyes lifting back up to his again as your breathing picks up a little. every little bit of encouragement from him meant a lot, because you knew he meant it. he really does.

"yeah, yeah.." ben's head falls back with a groan, his hips picking up pace and thrusting into your mouth a little more rhythmically now. you can feel he's getting closer now, from how his grip on your head tightens and his sounds become more and more frequent. "you're gonna make me—fuck, fuck, come off for me, there we go, fuckin' warm mouth, nice and warm for me. made for me, huh? say it, wanna hear you fuckin' say it."

ben's hand quickly wraps around his cock, his grip tight as he starts pumping it quickly, thumb brushing against his slit occasionally—only tensing his thighs even more. "made for you," you mumble instinctively, batting your eyelashes as you adjust to the loss of him in your mouth.

"what's made for me? huh? c'mon," ben pats your cheek with his free hand, his other still moving up and down himself in quickening paces. his brows raise, gaze turning expectant as he looks down at you.

"my mouth," you tell him, tone a little whiny. he's smirking, that stupidly attractive smirk, as he hears that. "my mouth was made for you," and he really believes it too, 'cause you take him so damn well every single time.

"that's it, you learn so well, hm?" ben coos, condescension in his tone as he speaks. it's all loving, really, but he's not exactly thinking much with his heart here as much as he's thinking with his dick. especially right now, as the pressure tightens in his abdomen, the movements of his hand growing less controlled and more jerky. "you ready for me, baby? for me to come all over that face? those glasses? god, those glasses. c'mon, tongue out. there we go, that's it.. there's that mouth i love, huh?"

he's practically babbling right now, his eyes squeezing shut. your tongue stuck out for him, waiting and ready, has him pumping his hand faster till his thighs start trembling, thick white ropes of cum spurting from his throbbing, aching tip landing in globs on your glasses, cheeks, tongue. you look so good like that, and he tells you, "that's a pretty picture, ain't it? might take a photo of that, mmh?" his head tilts to the side a little bit. the whine you let out in response makes him laugh, the corners of his lips tugging upwards at the corners.

"open your eyes," ben coaxes, thumb brushing against your cheek and pushing a little bit so your eyes open. he hums, "there you are," he lets out a gruff laugh, "can't see, can you?" you shake your head in response, swallowing thickly. your gaze is all blurry, without the glasses, not able to see properly. "glasses all messy? let's take 'em off," he eases your glasses off your face, inspecting them all messy with his cum before he looks back at you.

"that's alright," he tells you, placing the glasses down onto the bedside cupboard, before he gets your attention again. "only thing you gotta see is me. just me."