Lisa

The motel room smelled of stale coffee, cheap air freshener, and the particular mustiness that seemed to follow them no matter which state they were in. It was a scent you'd grown so accustomed to over the years that you barely registered it anymore—like the constant hum of the vending machine outside or the way Dean always left his boots by the door.

Tonight, however, that familiar atmosphere felt suffocating.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the one closest to the window because you'd always positioned yourself as the first line of defense against anything that might come through it, and watched your brothers bicker about something insignificant. Sam was pacing near the small table, his hair falling into his eyes as he gestured emphatically about lore that didn't match up with their current case. Dean was sprawled in the single armchair, beer in hand, rolling his eyes with the practiced ease of a man who'd been hearing Sam's research rants for decades.

And Castiel stood in the corner.

He always stood. Even after weeks of being around them, of existing in this strange in-between space between Heaven and Earth, he still hadn't quite figured out how to relax into furniture. How to be in a room without being of it. He observed everything with those too-blue eyes, head tilted slightly, like a bird trying to understand why humans insisted on building boxes to sit inside.

Normally, you found his confusion endearing.

Tonight, it was making your eye twitch.

"You're not listening to me," Sam said, and you realized you'd missed the last three minutes of his argument entirely. "If we're dealing with a banshee-"

"We're not dealing with a banshee, for fuck's sake." Dean cut in, taking a long pull of his beer before continuing. "We're dealing with a ghost. A garden-variety, salt-and-burn, nothing-fancy ghost. Stop trying to make everything into a-"

"And what makes you so sure?" Sam's voice was climbing, the way it always did when he felt like he was being dismissed. "Because the witness descriptions match-"

"Sam." You said his name quietly, and immediately saw the tension in his shoulders ease. He turned to look at you, and for just a moment, he wasn't a grown man in his mid-twenties with too much trauma and too many burdens. He was the little boy who'd come to your bed after nightmares, who'd clung to your hand during his first hunt, who'd needed you to tell him everything would be okay a thousand and one times. "We'll look at the lore again in the morning. Both versions. Okay?"

He nodded, and you watched him visibly relax. "Okay- Yeah. You're right."

Dean snorted. "She says 'let's look at it in the morning' and you fold like a cheap suit. I say the same thing and you act like I just-"

"Because you don't listen to me." Sam shot back, but there was no heat in it now.

You'd spent years cultivating that perspective of his on you. Years of being the one who stayed up with him when he was sick, who made sure his homework was done, who held him when he cried over things he couldn't even articulate. You'd been twelve when he was born, and while other girls your age were worrying about boys and school dances, you were learning how to warm a bottle just right, how to rock a fussy infant to sleep, how to be everything a mother should be when the real one wasn’t around to do it.

Dean had been different. Even at four, he'd wanted his independence. He had pushed away your attempts at coddling, had insisted he was old enough to handle things himself. But you remembered, too, the way he'd let you bandage his scraped knees without complaint. The way he'd crawl into your bed on the nights Dad had come home angry and frustrated about not being able to handle a case as he should have, not saying a word, just needing to be close to someone who felt safe. The way he still, even now, let you brush off his shoulders and straighten his collar when he was too stubborn to admit he needed taking care of.

They were your boys. Your whole world, really. Everything you'd done, every sacrifice you'd made, had been for them.

Which was why what you were doing with the angel in the corner felt like such a betrayal.

Ever since he'd pulled Dean from Hell, ever since he'd started appearing in your lives with his cryptic messages and his confusing lack of understanding about humanity, he'd watched. But recently—the last few days, really—his watching had become something else. Something more focused. More intense.

More personal.

You felt his gaze on you now, that familiar weight of attention that made your skin prickle with awareness. When you glanced up, you found his blue eyes fixed on you with an expression you'd come to recognize intimately: that particular blend of curiosity and hunger that he didn't seem to understand himself.

Your stomach flipped.

It had started innocently enough. A conversation about human emotions that had gone on too long. A moment of frustration on your part that had led to a physical reaction from him that neither of you had expected. And then, somehow, you'd found yourself pressed against a wall in some abandoned warehouse, his mouth on yours, your hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, his own tugging at your blouse.

After that, it had become... frequent. Addictive. A secret that you kept from your brothers not out of shame but out of necessity.

They saw him as a weapon, a tool.

They didn't see him the way you did.

They didn't see the way his eyes would go glassy when you touched him. The way his breath would catch when you whispered his name in that particular tone. The way he'd arch into your touch like a cat seeking affection, utterly shameless in his need, completely lacking in the human inhibitions that might have made him self-conscious.

You'd created a monster, you realized. A beautiful, angelic, utterly addicted monster who didn't understand the meaning of the word "discretion."

Like now. As you watched, Castiel's gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower, tracing the line of your throat with an intensity that made heat pool low in your belly. His vessel's body was responding to you in ways you'd taught it to, ways that had nothing to do with divine purpose and everything to do with base, human desire.

"I think we should discuss the case in more detail," Castiel said, and you felt your jaw clench. "The witness accounts are contradictory, which suggests either misinterpretation of events or deliberate-"

"Cas." You didn't mean for your voice to come out so sharp, but you were tired. So tired. Three nights of interrupted sleep, two days of driving, and the constant, gnawing worry that someone was going to figure out what was going on between you and the angel. "We said tomorrow. Drop it, please."

His head tilted, and you could see the confusion written across his face. The genuine, innocent confusion that said he truly didn't understand why humans got so worked up over things that could simply be... fixed. "But if we examine the evidence now, we might—"

"Castiel. I said drop it."

The room went silent.

You hadn't meant to say his full name. You never did. Not when anyone else was around, not when you were supposed to be pretending that he was just the angel who'd pulled Dean out of Hell, nothing more. You'd been so careful, so deliberate about keeping that boundary intact.

But you were exhausted. And stressed. And your brothers had been bickering for hours, and the angel in the corner kept staring at you with those eyes that seemed to see straight through every wall you'd ever built, and—

And now he was looking at you the way he did when you were alone.

The way he did when you had him spread out beneath you, gasping and whining and so utterly, beautifully undone.

The name had come out like a slap, sharp and commanding, and you watched in mounting horror as Castiel's entire demeanor shifted. One moment he was standing there, stiff and composed, the perfect picture of celestial detachment. The next, his shoulders had gone rigid, his gaze dropping to the floor with the sudden, sharp intensity of someone who had no idea where else to look.

A flush was creeping up his neck.

And his pupils were dilating.

Oh no.

"Cas?" Dean's voice cut through the haze. "You okay, man? You look—"

"I'm fine." But Castiel's voice had gone strange. Rougher. Thicker. The way it got when you had your hand wrapped around him, when you were whispering dirty things in his ear and watching his composure shatter into a thousand pieces.

You had done that to him. You had Pavlov'd an angel of the Lord.

The realization hit you like a physical blow. Every time you called him Castiel—only when you called him Castiel—it meant you were about to take him apart. About to have him beneath you, on top of you, against you, inside you. His name was your code word, your trigger, the line between polite conversation and the sheer, primal carnality that existed between you when the door was closed and the world didn't exist.

And you'd just said it in front of your brothers.

"Here?" Castiel's voice broke, and he swallowed hard. When he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper, and you could hear the need in it. The desperate, confused need of an angel who had become addicted to the feeling of skin on skin. "But here... with Dean and Sam?"

Sam dropped the lore book he'd been holding. It hit the floor with a thud that seemed to echo through the suddenly silent room.

"What the hell?" Dean was sitting up straighter now, beer forgotten. "What does that mean? What do you mean, 'here with Dean and Sam'?"

"Nothing-" you said quickly, and you were already moving, reaching for Castiel's arm, trying to steer him toward the door. "He's just confused. The Angel thing. He doesn't-"

"Don't." Sam's voice was like ice, and when you looked at him, his face had gone pale. "Don't you dare lie to me. What was that?"

"He needs to-"

"Why did he say it like that." Dean was on his feet now, and his eyes were darting between you and Castiel with dawning horror. "Why did he say that in the first place? Why did he react like that?"

The angel in question was still staring at the floor, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers were twitching like he was fighting the urge to reach for you. He looked like a man on the edge of something, and you knew with certainty that if you didn't get him out of this room in the next thirty seconds, he was going to break.

Because Castiel didn't understand shame.

He didn't understand secrecy, or the careful social dance that humans did around their private lives. He didn't know what it meant to keep something hidden, to protect the people you loved from the truth of who you were and what you'd done.

He only understood what you'd taught him.

And you'd taught him to want.

Behind you, Sam made a sound like he'd been punched.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "It's just his name. It's not like she's—" He stopped, his eyes going wide. "Wait. She's not saying it like that. Is she?"

The silence that followed his inquiry was enough of an answer.

"No. No way." His voice cracked like a high schooler's. "You're not—you can't be- with him?"

"I'm going to be sick." Dean's voice was hollow. "I'm actually going to be sick."

You turned to face them, and even though your heart was pounding and your hands were shaking, you made yourself meet their eyes. You'd faced down demons and ghosts and things that shouldn't exist. You could face your brothers.

"I was going to tell you... eventually." you said, and it wasn't exactly a lie. You'd thought about it, maybe. Sometimes. "I just didn't know.. how."

"How?" Sam's voice cracked. "How about 'hey Sam, guess what, I've been sleeping with the angel who's been hanging around us for weeks'? That would've been a good start!"

"Sammy—"

"Me." Dean was pacing now, hands running through his hair. "He pulled me out of Hell. I was the one who started all this. And now my sister is—" He made a vague gesture that seemed to encompass everything. "My sister's been-" He looked from you to Castiel. "With the angel. My sister and the angel have been... doing things."

Sam looked between you and Castiel, his expression a mixture of disbelief and growing horror. "Cas is an angel. He's not- he doesn't even understand human—"

"Oh, he understands plenty." Dean said, his voice flat. "Look at him. Look at the way he's looking at her."

Castiel was still pressed against your back, and you could feel the way his body was straining toward you, the way he was fighting every instinct to just take what he wanted. His breath was hot against your neck, and you knew without looking that his eyes were half-lidded, his lips slightly parted.

He was losing his grip on whatever control he'd managed to maintain.

"We should go." Sam's squeaked out. "Dean, come on. We're leaving."

"Sam! you can't just- our sister is- with Cas!"

"Watch me." He was already grabbing his jacket. "I can't be in this room right now. I can't be near—" He gestured at you and Castiel. "That. Whatever that is."

Dean hesitated, and you saw the war in his eyes: the desire to stay, to yell, to do something, and the need to get away from something that was clearly breaking his brain.

Finally, he turned.

"You owe us an explanation." he said, and his voice was cold in a way you'd never heard from him before. "We'll be at the bar. When you're done... whatever you're going to do... you come get us. And you tell us everything."

The door slammed behind them.

For a moment, you just stood there, breathing. Listening to the sound of their footsteps retreating, the muffled thump of another door opening and closing.

And then Castiel's hands were on you.

"Please," he breathed against your neck, and the sound of it went straight to your core. "Please, please, I need-"

You turned and kissed him.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't the soft, exploratory thing you'd given him the first few times, when you were still figuring out how to touch him. This was hungry, desperate, your mouth claiming his with a ferocity that had him gasping against your lips.

"Castiel." You said his name like a curse, like a prayer, and you felt the way his whole body shuddered in response. "What did you do? What did you just do?"

"I'm sorry." His voice was broken, fragmented. "I apologise, didn't mean to- it just happened- you said my name and—"

"I know." You kissed him again, harder, and he made a sound that was almost a whimper.

You pushed him backwards, and his legs hit the edge of the bed. He went down without a fight, the way he always did, looking up at you with those dark, desperate eyes. His pupils were completely blown, dark enough to swallow the blue, and you could see the way his chest was heaving with breaths he didn't need.

"You like that, don't you?" You climbed over him, straddling his hips, and watched the way his hands immediately came up to grip your waist. "You like it when I'm rough with you."

"Yes." The word came out on a gasp. "Yes, I- it feels—"

"Good." You leaned down, your mouth against his ear. "It's supposed to feel good. But you messed up big time, errand boy"

"I'm sorry." His voice was trembling. "I couldn't- when you said my name, I couldn't-"

"I know." You kissed his neck, soft at first, then harder, feeling the way his pulse jumped beneath your lips. "I know you couldn't help it. That's why I'm going to be so good to you tonight."

"Please." He was already arching into you, his hands gripping your waist so tight you knew you'd have bruises tomorrow. "Please, I need—"

"You need what?" You bit down on the junction of his neck and shoulder, and he cried out, a high, broken sound that went straight to your core. "Tell me what you need, Castiel."

"You." The word was barely audible. "Just you. Always you."

His hips were bucking up into you, and you could feel how hard he was, could feel the way he was already leaking through his pants. He was so sensitive, so utterly responsive to everything you did. It had taken you weeks to get him to this point, weeks of careful conditioning and deliberate touch.

And now he was yours. Completely, utterly yours.

"That's right." You rocked against him, just enough to make him gasp. "You're so good for me. So perfect. You just need me to take care of you, don't you?"

"Yes." His eyes were closed, his head thrown back against the mattress. "Yes, please. Please take care of me."

"Poor baby." You kissed down his neck, feeling the way he trembled beneath you. "Getting so worked up over a name. You couldn't even control yourself in front of Dean and Sam."

"M'sorry." He was babbling now, the words tumbling out between desperate little gasps.

You sat up, looking down at him. "I know exactly what you were thinking when it slipped. You were thinking about all the times I've said it before, weren't you? All the times I've had you just like this."

His blush deepened, spreading down his neck and disappearing into his collar. He didn't deny it.

"Tell me," you said, and your voice was almost gentle now. "Tell me what you were thinking about."

"That first time." His eyes were still closed, but you could see the way his pupils moved beneath his lids, the way he was losing himself in memory. "When you put your mouth on me. I thought I was going to- I didn't know what was happening."

"You came." You smiled at the memory. "Just from my mouth. You came so hard you almost passed out."

"I didn't know what it was-" His voice was shaking. "The feeling. I didn't know it was supposed to feel like that. I thought I was dying."

"That was just the beginning, baby." You leaned down, your mouth hovering over his. "We've come a long way since then, haven't we?"

He nodded frantically, and you could feel the way his whole body was quivering with need.

"Open your eyes," you commanded, and he obeyed immediately, looking up at you with those dark, desperate eyes. "Tell me what you want."

"You." The word came out on a sob. "Just you. I want to feel you. Please, I need to."

"Shh." You pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'll give you what you need. But first, I need you to be good for me. Can you be good?"

"Yes." He was nodding frantically. "Yes, I'll be good, I'll be so good, please just-"

You silenced him with another kiss, and felt the way he melted into it. The way his hands came up to cup your face, the way he kissed you back with desperate, hungry need.

"Take off your clothes," you murmured against his lips. "All of them. And don't move until I tell you."

He scrambled to obey, his fingers clumsy with need, and you watched as he fumbled with buttons and zippers. His shirt came off first, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, the hard lines of his muscles. Then his pants, kicked off with desperate haste. His boxers followed, and you felt your mouth go dry at the sight of him.

He was gorgeous. Utterly, stunningly gorgeous. His body was lean and hard, all sharp angles and smooth planes, and his cock was already hard and leaking against his stomach.

"Look at you." You climbed off the bed, and he made a desperate little sound of protest. "Don't move. I'm just going to watch you for a moment."

He was trembling, his hands clenched in the sheets, his eyes fixed on you with single-minded intensity. "Please," he breathed. "Please, I need you to touch me."

"I will." You circled the bed slowly, taking in every inch of him. "But first, I want you to tell me something. Do you remember what I said I'd do to you if you ever told anyone about us?"

His eyes went wide. "I—no- I didn't mean to-"

"I know you didn't." Your voice was soft. "But you still did. And now Dean and Sam know. They know what we've been doing. And I know you didn't mean to. But you still broke the rules, Castiel. And when you break the rules..."

You leaned down, your mouth against his ear. "..You get punished."

He shuddered beneath you, and you felt the way his cock twitched against your thigh.

"punished?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Mmhmm." You kissed down his jaw, feeling the racing pulse beneath your lips. "I'm going to be so rough with you, baby. So rough. And you're going to take it, aren't you? Because that's what good angels do."

"Yes." He was already arching into you, already surrendering. "Please. Please be rough."

You cut him off with a kiss, and this time there was no softness to it. Your teeth caught his lower lip, and he whined in response, the sound swallowed by your mouth.

"This is what happens," you said against his lips, "when you can't keep your mouth shut. I have to remind you who you belong to."

"I belong to you." The words came out on a gasp. "Only you. Always."

"That's right." You kissed down his neck, feeling the way his pulse raced under your lips. "And you're never going to forget it again, are you?"

"No." He was shaking his head frantically. "No, never. I'll—I'll be good. I'll be so good. Just please—"

You smiled against his skin. "Good boy."

And then you took him in your mouth.

He choked on a moan, his hands flying to your hair, and you felt the way his hips bucked up into you. You let him, taking him deep, feeling the way he filled your mouth. He tasted like salt and heat and something that was purely him.

"Please," he was gasping, his hands fisting in your hair. "Please,pleaseplease—"

You pulled off with a wet pop, and he made a sound of desperate protest. "You can take it." you said.

His eyes were wild, his pupils completely blown. I'll take anything."

"Don't worry, baby." You climbed back up his body, your lips hovering over his. "I'm not going to stop. I'm going to take you apart piece by piece, and then I'm going to put you back together."

"You're so beautiful," you murmured. "So perfect. Do you know that?"

He shook his head, unable to speak.

"Then let me show you." You reached down, guiding him to your entrance, and felt the way he shuddered beneath you. "Do you feel that? That's how much I want you."

You sank down onto him, and he whimpered. High and broken, almost keening. His back arched off the bed, his hands gripping your hips so tight you knew you'd have bruises.

"Shh." You pressed a hand over his mouth. "You have to be quiet. We can't have anyone hearing us."

He nodded frantically, his eyes wild and struggling not to cross, and you felt the way his whole body was trembling.

"You're so big," you breathed, beginning to move. "So perfect. Filling me up so good."

He whimpered against your palm, his hips thrusting up to meet yours.

"That's it." You rode him faster, harder, feeling the way he was losing control. "You're so good for me, Castiel. So perfect."

He was close, you could feel it, and you leaned down to kiss him again.

"Come for me," you breathed against his lips. "Come for me, baby."

The light exploded.

It came from everywhere and nowhere, filling the room with a warmth that felt like standing in sunlight. His grace touched you, and you felt your own orgasm crash over you, amplified and intensified by whatever was happening between you.

---

Three hours later Dean was staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. Finally, he said, "He makes you happy?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation. "More than I've ever been."

"Then I guess that's all that matters." He stood up, pulling you into a rough hug. "God, I can't believe my sister's banging an angel."

"Dean!" But you were laughing, the tension finally breaking. "It's not like that."

"It is exactly like that." He pulled back, shaking his head. "My sister. And Cas. I need a drink."

"A bottle," Sam muttered, finally turning back to face you. "We need a bottle. Maybe several."

But he was smiling, a little, and you knew it would be okay.

"It's going to be weird," Dean said. "You know that, right? We're never going to be able to look at him the same way."

"I know." You smiled. "But you'll get used to it."

"I really don't think I will." But there was no heat in his voice. "Just... keep it down, okay? I don't need to hear—"

"Dean." You cut him off. "I'm not going to talk about this with you."

"Thank God." He shuddered. "I think I'd rather face another demon."

———— 𝐒𝐇𝐇𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 ————

a small, stifled groan left sam’s lips. one hand was braced against the wet wall, fingernails digging into his palm. his other hand was wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly, almost too slowly for his liking. but damn, his thoughts were running wild. he gritted his teeth, abdomen tensing with each twist of his wrist. the water was hot, the glass of the shower doors foggy, covered in droplets from the humidity. if you saw him like this, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell if sam’s body was glistening with sweat or the water. but who cared, anyway?

his eyes shut tightly as he shifted on his feet, his soaked hair sticking to his forehead. “mhhhnn.. fuhhhck—” he whispered, the pace of his strokes getting faster and faster. his breaths grew shakier, heavier, more uneven—chest rising and falling irregularly, unequally. the more he thought of you, your hands, lips, voice, the more he unraveled. “ghhh—god fucking damn it.” the muscles in sam’s legs tightened as he leaned his forehead against the shower wall, swallowing a moan when he thought about you breaking him down bit by bit, pushing him over the edge with just your words. continuous breathless gasps left sam’s mouth, his palm now pressed firmly to the wall, fingers splayed out. his other hand, yeah, it kept working on his now throbbing cock. he wished it was your hand in the stead of his. he wanted it so badly. the more he continued, the louder he got.

soft, barely audible moans and breathless gasps turned into deep, loud groans and whimpers. he tried biting his lip to stifle them, but when sam got close and his legs buckled? all that effort went out the window. he didn’t have any shame, not when he was nearing an orgasm. his voice got a tad bit higher as he thumbed at his tip, trying (and failing) to overstimulate himself. poor guy just really wanted to draw the pleasure out. he missed you like crazy. his legs trembled and abdomen tensed when he finally came, throwing his head back with a whine. “ah shit.. fuck.. fuck.” he breathed out, voice a whisper, the water constantly hitting his shoulders. when he finally relaxed, he huffed and straightened his back. sam cleared his throat, pushing his soaked hair out and away from his face. sure, he felt a little bit embarrassed about what he had done, but you couldn’t blame him. you weren’t there, he hadn’t seen you in over two weeks and he wanted you. he had to soothe himself somehow.

———— 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐅 ————

“there we go, baby,” your voice was smooth, sweet as honey. “relax, yeah? can you do that for me, sam?” at your request, the one so softly spoken, made sam give in. he leaned his back against your chest, enjoying the warm water of the shower. “just like that, sam. that’s good.” you praised him gently, your fingers wrapping around sam’s cock, giving it a few slow, experimental pumps. his brows furrowed a bit at that, but no protest left his lips. in fact, you got a content sigh from him. your other hand was on his abdomen, tracing invisible patterns into his skin. “feels good?” you asked with a small, slow kiss to his shoulder. he didn’t answer verbally, but he did nod his head, both of his hands moving to your forearms, holding onto you. “don’t think about anything else. just me. us. right here.” you coaxed him, the pace of your strokes increasing in speed.

sam took a deep breath, leaning more of his weight into you. you kept pressing kisses to his shoulders and the nape of his neck, occasionally nipping at the flesh. it made sam shudder, goosebumps settling over the skin of his arms. a dissatisfied grunt was what you got in response but you knew he didn’t really mean it. he was just pissy about the shivering. hated the feeling. “you’re so gorgeous, sam. so, so handsome.” you muttered, pressing your nose to his wet hair. he groaned, this time louder, bucking his hips into your palm as if urging you to speed up, give him more. “aw, baby, want more?” you cooed. “should’ve just asked.” you whispered, nudging his head with your chin in a playful manner, your hand tightening around his cock in return. his hips jerked weakly, a broken, raw sound leaving his throat.

there it was.

“atta boy,” you murmur, a grin spreading across your lips, drinking in his sounds. every noise he made was like melody to your ears. your hand on his abdomen slid up his damp body, landing on his chest. sam arched his back into your touch. he ended up moaning your name, fingers tightening around your forearms. “i get it, baby, i get it.” you whisper, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “you’re tired.. ‘n upset. we’ll finish showering and get straight to bed. promise.”

“You're gushing for your old man like a goddamn faucet.”

He picks up the pace, his fingers hammering in and out of your embarassingly sloppy pussy. The room fills with a sick sloshing sound.

Your face burns in shame but it doesn't stop a pornographic moan from escaping your lips.

You see, playing house with her pays the bills and keeps his approval rating high—even thought they went only on a few dates. So for now he's a real lovely, doting husband.

Except for when she's out on a business trip and he splits you open on his cock.

You didn’t mean to start fucking him you swear! it just sorta happened.

You were her cute, new assistant who kept making heart eyes at him even when she was is in the room. Eventually he cornered you in the bathroom— your panties at your ankles as he hammered into you over the sink so hard, the porcelain edges dug into your skin.

She's kind and generous and genuine. You almost feel awful for betraying her.

Almost.

"Feels so fucking good!" you groan. His fingers are hitting your sweet spot deep inside over and over and over again. "Uh-uh-harder!"

"You want me to make it hurt huh? Want Soldier Boy to rape this stupid cunt?"

You beam at his question, not being able to help the stop the shameless giggles from escaping you. “Uh huh! fuck yes! r-rape my dirty pussy".

“Fuck, doll—you’re so goddamn cute.” he breaths as he flips you onto your stomach. His large hands immediately come to lift your hips to his, you feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your ass.

“You ever feel bad you’re keepin' a man away from his wife with this sweet fuckin body of yours ?” He punctuates his taunt with a harsh slap to your ass cheek.

Usually any mention of her used to make your stomach turn with guilt. After awhile it got replaced with jealousy, possessiveness. Being reminded she existed was part of the game, the shame and guilt of it all made you both disgustingly turned on.

“Don’t care,” you pout, “and I know you don’t either—daddy.”

“Damn fuckin right I don’t.” he grunts as he lines his swollen tip with your pretty entrance.

He pushes inside with a loud groan and a tight grip on your hips, the bruising already forming underneath his fingertips.

You on the other hands can barely breath. No matter how many times he’s had you in this position it always hurts. The dull ache in your belly makes your head spin.

“Christ this cunts tighter than a fuckin' Chinese finger trap.”

He drills into your sensitive core, the plap plap plap of his balls smacking against your clit sends jolts of pleasure through your body.

“Dumb broads probably waiting by the phone right now hoping I’ll call" he chuckles to himself. “You on the other hand, well fuck, I'll always make time for my best girl."

You moan at his praise, another giggle escaping your lips.

"Wonder if she ever smells you on me?, you think she'd be happy knowin' you're a fuckin nympho? huh?"

"N-no Sir—ngh—just l-leave her already" you groan into the sheets.

He ignores your plea and violently flips you onto your back, his big arms coming to place your ankles on his shoulders.

"No no no, this right here, this, is what matters most doll" he coos as he slowly slides back inside you.

"This creamy fuckin cunt soakin' my balls is what I care about, it's all I fucking live for."

The sweet spot inside you becomes a sensitive bruise he keeps jabbing until your body goes limp. It's all too much. His thrusts grow more aggressive and so do his moans. He sounds pained, hungry, desperate.

"I'm gonna fill you up now and you're gonna thank me huh baby?"

You nod feverishly, face flushed and borderline drooling. "Yesyesyes breed my pussy Ben, c-can we have a baby? please!"

That breaks him. He empties himself into your pussy with a string of curse words and filthy ramblings. You pull him closer and revel in the shockwaves pulsing through your body. “fuck—thank you, thank you, thank you so so much” spills from your mouth. It's moments like these where all the lies seem worth it. You feel so close to him, what else could matter more?

When you feel yourself come back down to earth, Ben has pulled out of you leaving you in a puddle of his spend and your own slick.

He’s got his phone pressed to his ear and you can faintly hear the voice on the other end. His eyes roll and you try to stifle a chuckle. Feeling left out, you drag your fingertips down to your mess of a cunt, spreading yourself open to reveal what's left his his cum being pushed out slowly.

Ben does that tongue poke-in cheek move at your actions. You’re slutty and messy, but most of all shameless. So he hangs up at the phone and orders you ass up again.

“Since you’re so damn desperate—let’s make that kid now.”

this sucksssssssssssss im trying yall

As it turns out, you and Kyle getting caught by Price was only the beginning.

Your job got a lot more interesting after that day in the captain's office, where it became obvious that you were no longer just Kyle's. Not that you two had a name for what you were, you were never exclusive to begin with. But now you help the rest of the team just a little bit more... Helping them in the same way that you've been helping Kyle, and everyone loves this new development.

Every member is a bit different, but you've gotten used to how they handle you. Understanding the individual needs of the guys is important when it comes to being an assistant, right?

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Thanks to Price, the smell of cigar smoke started to act like an aphrodisiac to you. Whenever you smelled it, you'd suddenly start squirming and pressing your thighs together under your pencil skirt. It was probably because Price always had one between his lips whenever you stayed under his desk to help with his paperwork. Or whenever he had you bouncing on his cock in his lap, smoke curling around you as you tried answering calls and making out emails.

Price purposefully turned off your auto correct, just so he could pound up into you even harder and growl against your ear, "Fix that right now... Can't send it with a fuckin' typo, love."

And if you were able to fix it without whining? Then the captain would coo gentle words of praise and fuck into you at the pace that you loved, making you cum until you were boneless in his arms.

"Good girl," he murmured against your ear while he rubbed your clit, still being buried to the hilt inside of you. He'll keep you stuffed full of his cum for as long as he can. "Take all of it, every drop..."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

But no matter how hard Price would fuck you, Soap was always rougher. As soon as you gave him the okay to use you the way that Kyle and Price did, he didn't waste any time. It was later that same day that he had you bend over a table, your head being held down against the wood as he pounded into you with brutal thrusts.

Now, no matter what you're doing or where you are, Soap's hands are on you. More often than not, he'll grope your chest and rip your white blouse open until the buttons pop. He pinches and rolls your nipples between his fingers in between massaging your soft breasts. If he's not using his hands to grab your tits, then he'll grab your ass and thighs, kneading the plush flesh there. Just let him manhandle you for a while and he'll be content.

"You should stop wearin' these," the sergeant suggested as he yanked the dark blue skirt you wore that day. "They just get in the way."

"Well then... What do you suggest I wear, then?" You asked, deciding to humor him as you guided his hand to the waistband of the skirt.

"Around the base? Nothing. Nothing at all, it wouldn't faze us." And with that, he yanked your skirt and lace panties off in one swift move.

But besides the sergeant's wandering hands and filthy words, he prefers fucking you on any surface he can get you onto. Tables, benches, counters, couches and beds... The floor. But no matter where he's fucking you, he wants you bent over or on your knees. The sight of your ass jiggling with every thrust and seeing how it reddens whenever he spanks you... It gets him off faster. And if your hair's long enough (and if you're okay with it), he'll pull it as he fucks you. Kisses your head so gently afterwards too.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

And then there's Ghost. Big, bad Lieutenant Riley, who switches between wanting you to call him "sir", "Lieutenant", and "Ghost". He never takes his mask off when he fucks you, dark brown eyes staring at you through the holes of the pale skull. You may not see how his lips part as he climaxes, but you can see how his pale lashes flutter when he goes over the edge.

And to say he doesn't take the mask off at all might be an over exaggeration. You saw his scarred lips for a split second before he dove between your thighs and ate you out until you saw stars.

"I don't wanna overstep," you murmured after a long few hours of riding him, head laid on his chest. "But do you think you'll ever take the mask off when we do this...?"

"Negative," he responded just as the question left your lips. "The mask stays on. Otherwise, you'd drop the others in a heartbeat."

"Such a big ego that's not even compensating for anything..." You teased before he had to rush out for an emergency meeting.

Other than grunting here and there and the brief pillow talk that always came after, Ghost stayed silent for the most part during your encounters. But he loves to hear you. The more vocal you are the better, and he'll speak up if you dare to hold back any moans or gasps.

The only other time he's more vocal is when Soap is involved... Because of course they share you. Of course they do, and the few times they fucked you together you ended up falling asleep crushed between them. You slipped in and out of sleep while they did all the pillow talk. Or mission talk? It blended together after a while.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Last but certainly not least, Gaz... Or Kyle, as he still insists you call him by his real name. He never wants to hear you call him anything else... Not "sir", "sergeant", or "Gaz". Just Kyle.

Out of all of the men, he's the most passionate. He is the only one to kiss you slowly and hold you, he takes his time and makes sure every part of you is loved kissed and praised. Any marks left behind by the others are kissed and fussed over.

"Who the hell bit you here?" He asked one time as he carefully ran his fingers over a sensitive mark on your inner thigh. "Wait... Let me guess. Soap?"

Despite how tender the area was, you still squirmed and giggled softly when he kissed the bruise. "Nope... Ghost left that one."

And he was gentle with you, kissing the mark before trailing kisses over your thighs and stomach.

It's odd... He wasn't so gentle before you two were found out. Perhaps he just wants to give you a break from the rough fucking in between paperwork, trying not to moan while on phone calls, and needing to rewrite emails after getting tempted by one of the others after they finished working out.

Or perhaps it was something more. One night, before you had to go home, Kyle messaged you.

"my quarters, its urgent 😫 im dying"

Obviously, he was fine... But after a heated make out session and making you cum on his fingers twice, he had you in his lap. Neither of you bothered to strip, all he had to do was pull his aching cock from his sweatpants so you could sink down to take him.

It was all normal, the usual praise and moans paired with slick sounds filled the room... And as you rode him, driving both of you closer to the edge, he said it.

"Say you’re mine," Kyle pleaded against your ear, his voice rougher than usual. "Say you’re mine, f-fucking say it… Please…"

"I'm yours, Kyle," you gasped, clenching around him as your third orgasm approached. "I'm yours...!"

Kyle shuddered and thrust up into you, holding you tighter as you came. You were moaning and twitching in his lap, and he let you ride it out.

"Please, fuck, say it again, love… Say it again, that you’re mine." He had to hear it one last time... And when you managed to say it again for him in a hoarse voice, he came hard.

You two stayed like that for a while, he filled you and just let you stay in his lap as he softened. Carefully, he lifted you off of his lap and laid you down, spooning you. Your breathing slowly returned to normal as one of his hands stroked down your stomach and dipped between your legs... Just gentle, slow touches meant to soothe you.

"You were amazing, love..." Kyle murmured against your shoulder, kissing it gently before trailing kisses up to your ear. "I... I want to take you out sometime. Away from the base, just us."

"Mmh, that sounds like a date to me, Ky," you pointed out, a quiet chuckle leaving you. "But dating the assistant? Sounds a bit... Unprofessional, no?"

Kyle couldn't help but laugh, trying to stifle it as he nipped your earlobe.

"Yeah, because we're all paragons of professionalism with our sweet assistant..." He teased as his arms tightened around you. "But I mean it. Give it some thought, yeah? Just want you to myself... For a while, at least."

You continued to take care of them in lots of little ways: reminding them to drink water, making Dean eat vegetables, keeping snacks for them in your bag, cleaning and dressing their wounds, calling on leads, making appointments, and probably more. 

You don’t think anything of it, it’s just how you care for the people you love. 

The boys don’t stop calling you ‘mom’. Earning them a glare or a flick to the ear most of the time. If you’re being honest you don't really mind. If you’re being really honest it warms something in you. To be needed. 

It became a bit. A running joke. You’d feed them or scold them and they’d call you mom. 

So when you found matching “I ❤️My Mom” t-shirts in some middle of nowhere town, you had to buy it for them. 

They both scoffed at you, but they’ve worn it. Dean more than Sam. The first time they both pulled it on you cooed at them and pinched their cheeks and made them smile for for a picture.

“This is so cute!” You squealed as you took their photo, arms around each other.

“I feel ridiculous," Sam muttered.

“Shut it Sammy, just humor her alright?”

“Okay Okay thank you! You two can change now”

“Nope! We’re wearin it all day.” Dean grinned at you

“Awe proud mama moment” you coo at them, playing into the bit. But warmth spreads through your bones, the affection making them feel too soft to hold you up.

A few weeks and a few towns later, the Winchesters returned the favor. 

You were doing research in the motel room while they were out following a lead. When they returned, each of them were hiding something behind their backs. 

“We got you something” Dean said with a mischievous smirk. While Sam looked like he was trying to hide a smile. 

They both pulled out their tshirts with a flourish. One said “Boy Mom” the other says “Hot Moms Read”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the two of them. 

You pulled one on over the tanktop you had one right away.

“How do I look?” You asked with a smile

Dean looked at you with soft eyes. 

Sam grins like a fool next to him. “Like a mom”

————

Months went by, you continue to ‘mother’ them. They continue to tease you about it, followed by kind smiles and thank yous.

Your relationship with Dean grows over the months too. 

Sharing beds when necessary turned into all the time. You two started cuddling on couches. Fingers lingering when they brushed. 

Now you're in the back of some dive bar, wearing your “Hot Moms Read” shirt. Which admittedly has seen better days. There’s a few holes in it (definitely not from a knife) and the bottom hem is got ripped off, so it frays and exposes just a hint of your stomach. It’s your favorite shirt. 

Sam left hours ago, you can’t really remember why. You can’t think of anything to be honest, too focused on Dean's warm callused hands dragging over your exposed waist. Or on the way his warm breath on your ear, sends shivers down your spine. 

The bar is crowded. You two had moved closer to hear each other but with the tension that’s been building and the alcohol making you feel braver, now you are practically in his lap. Your stool touching his, your legs draped over his thigh. His arms around you holding you close. 

Your eyes watch as his plump, pink lips move when he pulls back to ask you something. You can’t hear his question over the noise in the place though. Or is that just your thundering heart?

“Huh?” You tilt your head at him

Those tempting lips curl into a smirk as his big hands drag you closer. His lips tickle your neck, making you shiver. 

“Can I kiss you?” His question is pleading and growly and delicious. 

Your breath hitches. You and Dean have bcoming increasingly more flirty and touchy lately, but he never crossed that line. You were beginning to feel like it was more of an impenetrable wall than mental boundary. 

So you don’t answer with your words. You pull back just enough to crash your lips against his. 

It’s not pretty. It’s not romantic nor gentle. It’s passionate. Messy. The long building tension finally snapping. Teeth clacking, tongues battling, lips sliding against each other. He swallows your moans, you swallow his groans. 

He drags you off your stool and onto his thigh. Lips only leave yours to drag down your throat. You sigh and tip your head back as he nips and kisses back up to your ear. 

“Goddamn honey, y’re perfect” it comes out a growl, lips and stubble sliding against the sensitive skin behind your ear

“Dean” you gasp out as he bites on your earlobe, teeth tugging on the jewelry just a little “let’s get out of here”

You’re not sure how you make it back to the motel. It’s a blur of messy kisses and his massive rough hands against your skin. 

Dean’s stripped down to nothing leaning against the headboard, you straddle his hips still in your panties. 

“You feel so good baby” you moan, head tipped back. Rolling your hips over his thick cock

Dean groans, clutching at your hips. Helping you move over him. “Y’re killin me here”

“Youre being so good to me baby” you coo, nails dragging up over his chest, up his throat, to pull at his short hair. Dragging him up to you

His lips latch on your nipple, groaning immediately into your breast. Hips thrusting up into your clothed core. 

You whine at the way his mouth works you. “That's it baby, just like that.” One hand slips from his hair to the back of his neck, holding him in place

He pops off your tit, looking up through his thick lashes. Something soft and needy in his eyes. “Please, Mommy. I need you… please” he pants before switching to your other breast

Fuck his plea. His name for you. It was powerful. Intoxicating. You whine and grind your clit down on him. Your pussy clenches on nothing, dripping more of your arousal through your already soaked panties onto his throbbing cock. 

“Say it again baby” you whimper “beg for me again”

You feel him swallow around your nipple, eyes flick to yours with uncertainty and need.

“Come on baby, be good for your Mommy. Beg for me and you can finally sink that fat cock inside me”

He groans into your soft skin before he releases your nipple. “Mommyy pleaseee” it was a low whimper, breath tickling your saliva drenched breast “Mommy I need you. ‘Ve been so good. Been waitin months for ya” each sentence a soft whimpering plea. Sending shivers down your spine. 

“Fuck baby” you sat up just enough to tug your panties to the side and line him up with your dripping cunt. 

He groans at the feeling of your warm wet heat against his tip. Hips thrusting up. Fingers digging into your soft hips. 

“Mommy’s been waiting a long time for you too, baby. Let me take my time to feel you” you push down just a little, popping just that massive tip inside you. 

You both moan at the feeling. “Fuck baby you feel so damn good inside me” it’s a breathy pant as your swivel your hips around him. Hips fingers gripping harder on your still panty-clad hips. 

You sink down little by little. Stopping to roll your hips. 

He feels incredible. Stretching you wide. Wide and long and perfect. Your gush and flutter around him. Even as you desperately try to slow your impending orgasm. Needing to take care of him more than anything.  

He’s gone almost nonverbal as you work yourself into him. Just groaning and whimpering at you. His lips latch back on to your  nipple, messier and harder. All teeth and tongue. Drooling over you. 

You sink down the rest of the way, unable to help yourself. He fills you completely, more than you've ever been before. You tip your head back in a moan. Arching your back. Pushing your full breast farther against his head. 

You rolled your hips, frantically. Your legs quivering, pussy walls fluttering. As you split yourself open on his fat cock, grinding him into your sensitive cervix. You’re not gonna last long. 

“Come on baby. Cum for me. Let me hear you”

He whines and whimpers into your chest. Mumbling something into your skin. Hips frantically bucking up to meet yours. 

You drag his head back, making him release you tit again to look at you. 

You lean down, crashing your lips to his. It’s not quite a kiss. You’re both too busy chasing your orgasms. “Tell me” you pant against him. 

“Fuckkk. Mommyyy” he whimpers against your lips. As you roll your hips a little harder. His words become a chant as his hips falter. Pulling your even  closer as he buries his face in your cleavage. He grows impossibly bigger inside you , throbbing, twitching. The feeling of his seed spilling inside you drags you over the edge. You collapse over him as the waves of pleasure you’ve been holding back overtake you. You grind lazily down on him through it, trying to prolong both your orgasms. 

“Fuck” you finally gasp as you catch your breath

Dean shudders against you, head still buried between your tits. 

“So good De” you coo at him, trying to gently encourage him to say something 

A wrecked muffed sound leaves him instead as you feel an undeniable wetness on the soft insides of your breasts. 

“De” you whisper “baby what’s wrong”

He doesn’t answer right away, and you don’t push him. Letting him cry and sniffle into your cleavage as you rake your fingers through his short hair and rub soft circles into his back. 

Eventually his tears slow and his looks up at you, those green eyes watery and nervous and a little bit ashamed as he blinks those full lashes. 

“You’re okay baby, I got you” you coo as you continue petting him. 

His eyes flutter shut, leaning into your touch as he admits in a gravely whisper, “I didn’t mean f’tonight to go like this. Honey ’ve thought bout being with you at least a thousand times. And none’ve them had me cryin and callin you…” his voice catches. The word stuck in his throat. 

You don’t push him, just waiting it out as you gently caress him. 

“Mommy” he finally gets out. “Ya probably never wanna touch me again after that”

You half to bite back a grin. You are literally stuffed full with his cock, running your fingers over every inch you can touch while he clutches at your hips and your tits are still wet from his mouth. 

“Why would you think that baby?”

Dean scoffs, opening his eyes back to look at you smiling down at him. 

Whatever he was going to say got lodged in his throat at the sight. 

“You’re balls deep inside me baby and I haven’t stopped touching you. If you couldn’t tell, I loved when you called me Mommy. I asked you to keep using it.” 

Those big green eyes blinked at you. Too many emotions swirling in them for you could tell whets he’s feeling now. 

“Did you not like it?” Your voice is softer now, vulnerability creeping in. You didn’t want to be a mistake. 

He swallows hard, “Definitely love it honey, I just…” he sighs, “What kind of fuckin man am I? Havin a damn mommy kink and cryin durin sex”

“Mine” you answer automatically before he can say anything else. 

“Y’ don’t mean that” He gruffs out quickly trying to cut me off. 

“I want you to be mine, Dean. And me to be yours.” Your words come out soft but serious. “If you want that, of course.” 

“But-”

“I’ve been wanting this. Wanting you” your clench your pussy around him for emphasis and he groans. Head falling back against you cleavage “The more parts of you that show me just makes me want you more.  And the fact that my protective, tough, kindhearted, badass crush likes to get a little soft and needy for me? Baby, I fucking love that”

Dean groans again. And you’re not sure if it’s your words or the way your pussy started fluttering around him as you worked yourself back up again as you talked about him like that. 

He starts to kiss at your skin. Warm mouth leaving a trail over your breasts. Your neck. Shoulders. Collarbone. “What if I don’t only want to be soft n’ needy under ya?” Dean’s question is low, muffled by your skin. 

You chuckle softly, dragging your nails a little harder against his back. “I’ll love that too, baby. As long as I still get you like this sometimes.” 

“Honey y’re fuckin perfect.” He sighs, tilting his head up for a sweet kiss against your lips as you hold each other close. 

Eventually, he pulls out of you. Making you both groan at the loss. Dean’s warm rough hands are so gentle as they move you. Stripping your ruined panties off and laying you back against the pillows like you’re made of glass. 

He follows you down, laying between your spread legs and resting his head back against your chest. Your fingers make their way back into his hair automatically, running against his scalp in a soothing rhythm.  

He’s quiet for a while. Breath steady and hands still on your skin. Probably asleep. You’re not far behind him, eyelids heavy as his warmth and weight press you perfectly into the mattress. 

“Did you mean it honey?” Dean asks in a low whisper. Breath tickling your breasts. 

“That you’re mine? That I’m yours? That you…that you like me calling you…Mommy?” He continues before you can ask what he means. 

“Yeah baby. I meant what I said. You’re mine. I’m yours.” You lean down enough to press a kiss against his head. “And I definitely like being your Mommy”

He sighs out a breath, “Mine” he mumbles into your skin. Right out the edge of your areola. 

You smile when you realize what he wants. 

“Go on baby. Drink your milk before bed” you cup his neck and drag him over just a bit til his mouth is hovering over your nipple.

both of you moan as you grind your hips against his clothed cock. a pathetic "please, mommy" echoed against your skin. and dean already couldn't help but pinch and roll at your perky nipples through your shirt, sending ripples of pleasure through you.

dean's mouth found your left breast first, lips pressing softly, tongue swirling over your nipple, drawing a low groan from his chest. his free hand found the other, kneading gently.

“you like it when i give you what you want?” you murmured. “nothing in that dopey head, hmm baby?”

his fingers almost white-knuckled, as he hummed around your nipple, swiping strings of saliva over the bud with a frantic tenderness.

“can’t even stay still in your boxers, can you, my sweet boy?”

a stuttered whimper escaped dean, and he shifted, desperate for friction against your clothed cunt without thinking. trying to get some sort of relief.

“so messy already,” you teased. leaning closer, letting your thumb brush over his glistening bottom lip. “and it's all for mommy?”

moans slobbered around your nipple, his jaw moving between the two mounds and his free hand slid down your back, fingers brushing the curve of your ass, pulling you closer.

"i can't” he admitted. “wanna make you feel good but— ”

“it's okay my sweet boy.” you whispered, letting your words make him leak even more. “tell me what you want ”

dean whimpered, tilting his head forward as he tried to bury the rosy stain on his cheeks between your breasts. but you made sure he held eye contact, letting him be lost of warmth.

“c'mon you can tell me,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to his. “tell me what you want, dee.”

“i wanna come,” he whined, trembling. “so bad, please don't stop.”

the way dean worshiped you, so tender yet so frantic, made you're cunt throb against your panties. you shifted slightly, letting him grind the tip of his cock between your pussy lips.

“feels so good, too fucking good.” he whispered around your nipple, a low groan following each word, each syllable vibrating against your chest.

your hand slipped between you, fingers curling over the damp front of his boxers until you found soaked heat. gliding your hand against the outline of his cock through the grey cotton. pre-come already slick and stringy against your fingers.

“go on my sweet baby, taste it,” you hummed, pressing your slick fingertips up against his parted lips. without hesitation, dean's tongue wrapping around your digits, sucking his own pre with a flutter of his lashes.

“tastes good, doesn't it?” your questioned, coaxing him further.

the sound of dean sucking, paired with the damp friction of your hand stroking his cock only made him rut harder against your pussy, voice breaking into little gasps. “please, i can’t— m'gonna—”

“come for me,” you interrupted. “show me what a good boy you are.”

dean's lips stilled on your nipple as a shudder ran through him. he came, hips bucking, whining a pitiful "mommy" repeatedly against your skin. unsure what to do with himself as he kept leaking in your hand. pulsing the last of his spent, dribbling globs of sticky, thick semen all over his lap.

his cock gave one last weak twitch against your palm, then sagged fully, boneless in your lap. his chest heaved against your breasts, damp lashes fluttering as he tried to catch his breath.

“y'made such a mess,” you murmured sweetly, rubbing slow circles into his back. you tugged at the waistband of his boxers, shifting the sticky fabric away from his skin before it cooled too much.

gathering dean against you, smoothing his hair back, kissing his temple, and cradling him in your arms like he was fragile. his big rugged frame folded into yours so easily, hands clinging to your waist.

“i'll always take care of you, my baby,” you whispered, rocking him slow, holding him close until his breathing steadied.

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The penthouse suite of the Vought-owned hotel in midtown Manhattan was supposed to be a safe house. A place to lay low after the chaos of the past few weeks. The endless scheming had left Ben's jaw tight and his temper shorter than a gnat's lifespan.

But here you were, seventy-two hours into what was supposed to be a "strategic retreat" and the safe house had become something else entirely.

A battlefield.

Your battlefield.

The room was a wreck: lamps overturned, sheets twisted, a crack in the wall where Ben's back had connected earlier when you'd first shovedpinned him. That was two hours ago. Maybe three. Time had dissolved into a haze of sweat and skin and the wet, rhythmic sound of your hips meeting his.

You had him on his stomach now, one hand twisted in his hair, his face shoved into a pillow that muffled most of what he was trying to say. Most, but not all.

"Fucking—" he grunted "—bitch, when I get you-"

The silk sheets were tangled around his massive frame, sweat-slicked skin glistening under the dim amber glow of the now-broken bedside lamps. His broad shoulders heaved with each ragged breath, the muscles in his back bunching and flexing as he tried—and failed—to push himself up from the mattress.

"Get the fuck off me-" he snarled, voice muffled by the pillow his face was currently being ground into.

You tightened your grip on his dark hair, the strands coarse between your fingers as you yanked his head back just enough to make him gasp. The angle pushed the strap-on even deeper inside him, and the sound that escaped his throat was caught somewhere between a growl and something far more humiliating.

"Off you?" You leaned forward, pressing your chest against his sweat-slicked back, your lips brushing against his ear. The motion drove the silicone deeper, and you felt the way his entire body shuddered. "But Ben, baby, I'm not done with you yet."

"The fuck you're not—" His protest was cut short when you shoved his face back into the pillow, hard enough that his nose and mouth were pressed into the downy fabric.

One.

Two.

Three.

You counted the seconds as his body tensed beneath you, the muscles in his back rippling as he instinctively tried to buck you off. But your super-strength held him pinned, your weight distributed just so that he couldn't get any leverage, couldn't throw you off no matter how hard he thrashed.

"You were saying?" you cooed, releasing the pressure on the back of his head just enough that he could breathe again, could suck in that desperate lungful of air.

"Fucking bitch." he spat, turning his head to the side just enough to glare at you over his shoulder. Those forest-green eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with a heady mix of rage and something else, something he'd never admit to. "I'm going to-"

"Going to what?" You punctuated the question with a sharp thrust of your hips, burying the strap-on to the hilt, which caused him to choke on a gulp of air. "Blast me with your chest beam? Go ahead, baby. Show me what you've got."

His jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grind together. The red glow began to flicker beneath his sternum, warming the sheets, that deadly radiation that could level buildings and melt steel. But it sputtered, died, because you both knew he wouldn't use it. Couldn't use it. Not against you.

Not when his traitorous body was already arching back against you, hips rolling in a rhythm that had nothing to do with escape and everything to do with chasing that delicious friction.

"That's what I thought." You reached around with your free hand, fingers finding his back and pressing against the curve of his spine. "My big, strong Soldier Boy. So powerful. So dangerous."

You pulled out almost all the way, watching the way his muscles clenched, the way he tried to push back against you, chasing the fullness. Then you slammed home again, hard enough to make the headboard crack against the wall.

"All that power," you continued, voice dropping to a syrupy sweet whisper that was at direct odds with the brutal pace you were setting. "All that strength. And here you are, baby. Taking it. Taking everything I give you."

"Fuck. You." he gritted out, but the words were choked, strained. He was losing control, you could feel it in the way his hips were moving without his permission, meeting your thrusts with increasing desperation.

You laughed softly, the sound light and melodic: the sound of a doting girlfriend, not the woman currently fucking him stupid. "Oh, honey. I think we're past that point, don't you?"

You reached around, fingers finding his jaw and forcing his face to the side. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, chest heaving with ragged breaths. A thin sheen of sweat covered his brow, and his lips were parted, swollen from biting them to keep from making sounds he'd never forgive himself for.

"Tell me what you want," you whispered, your voice soft as a lover's caress. "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

"I don't want-" he started, but you cut him off with a sharp thrust that had him gasping.

"Liar.." you said, still sweet. Still kind. "Such a pretty, pretty liar. But we both know the truth, don't we?"

You shifted your grip on his hair, tugging just enough to arch his back, changing the angle of your penetration. Ben's eyes rolled back for just a moment, a split second of unguarded ecstasy that he'd deny until his dying breath.

"There it is." you crooned. "There's my good boy."

"Don't call me that, bitch" he snarled, but his voice cracked on the last word.

"Such a mouth on you." You grabbed a handful of his dark hair again, using it as leverage to pull his head back while you continued to fuck him. The exposed column of his throat was slick with sweat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard against the groans that were fighting to escape. "What happened to the big, scary Soldier Boy? The man who's been alive since World War Two? The man who's killed more people than I've had hot dinners?"

"Shut-" He choked on the word when you hit that spot inside him, the one that made his vision go white and his entire body lock up. "Shut the fuck up..."

"Oh, does that feel good?" You rolled your hips, grinding into him, watching the way his fingers fisted in the sheets. "Did I find your sweet spot, baby? Is this what you needed?"

His response was a sound that was halfway between a snarl and a moan, and even as it escaped his throat, you could see the mortification flash across his face.

"Don't." he warned, the single word rough and broken. "Don't you dare."

"Don't what?" You were relentless, keeping that same angle, that same pressure, watching his composure shatter piece by piece. "Don't notice how hard you're breathing? How your hips are moving on their own?" You leaned in close again, teeth grazing the shell of his ear. "Don't mention how wet you are for me? How your dick is practically dripping?"

"Fucking-" His entire body shuddered, a full-body tremor that wracked his massive frame. "You're dead. When I get my hands on you, you're fucking dead."

"Big talk for a man who's currently getting his insides rearranged." You bit down on his earlobe, tugging gently, and the sound he made was obscene—a broken whimper that he would deny to his dying breath. "But we both know you don't mean that, don't we, Ben?"

"m'gonna fucking k-"

"You're gonna what? Gonna blast me with your little chest beam?" You cooed, sweet as honey. You punctuated the question with a particularly hard thrust that had his fingers curling into the ruined sheets. "You could've done that hours ago, Benny. But you didn't."

"Don't call me that-" he snarled into the pillow, the words muffled but the venom unmistakable.

You tugged his hair, pulling his head back just enough to let him breathe, and watched the flush that crawled up the back of his neck. "Aww, does my big strong man not like his pet name?" Your free hand slid down his spine, tracing the ridges of muscle, feeling the way he shuddered under your touch despite himself. "You know what I think? I think you love it. I think you love being my good boy."

He made a sound of protest, but it died in his throat when you pulled out entirely. The sudden emptiness made him gasp, and he tried to push himself up, tried to turn and see what you were doing.

You didn't let him.

Your hand in his hair shoved him back down, face pressed into the pillow while you repositioned yourself. "Uh-uh-uh. I'm not done with you yet."

"G't t'fuck 'ff me-" he snarled again, but the words were muffled, barely intelligible.

"Beg me." The words came out sweet as honey, a stark contrast to the vice grip you had on his hair. "Ask me nicely to put it back in."

He managed to lift his head, looking over his shoulder to you before spitting: "Fuck. You."

You shoved his face into the pillow again, hard, holding him there for a long count of five in which he couldn't get oxygen into his lungs. His body bucked beneath you, but he wasn't trying to escape—he was just reacting, his hips thrusting against the mattress as if searching for something to fill.

When you finally let him breathe, you tugged his head back again and forced him to arch his spine, to present himself to you like the filthy, desperate thing he was trying so hard not to be.

"I said," you repeated, voice still so goddamn sweet. "beg me."

His jaw worked, muscles clenching and unclenching as he fought against the words. You could see it in his eyes—the war between his pride and his need. The part of him that wanted to maintain this illusion of control even as his traitorous body betrayed him at every turn.

"I'll fucking kill you," he finally ground out. "When this is over, I'm going to—"

You didn't let him finish. You drove back into him in one smooth motion, burying the strap-on to the hilt, and the sound he made was everything you'd been waiting for.

It was a broken moan, torn from somewhere deep in his chest, something that was equal parts pain and pleasure. His head dropped forward, his forehead pressed against the mattress, and his entire body went rigid.

"There it is," you purred, starting up a brutal rhythm. "There's my good boy. There's my big, strong Soldier Boy, taking it so well."

"m'not-" he gasped, "your good- nngh—"

"Shh." You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his sweat-slicked shoulder. "Just let it happen, baby. Let me take care of you."

The words seemed to short-circuit something in his brain. For a moment, his body went slack beneath you, and he stopped fighting. Stopped snarling. Just let you take him, let you use him.

But then the moment went as quick as it had come, and the fight came roaring back.

"Fucking hate you-" he snarled, even as his hips pushed back against you. "Hate you so goddamn much."

"I know you do, baby." You fucked him harder, faster, with a hand on the back of his neck, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the penthouse. "That's why you're clenching around me like this. That's why you can't stop moving."

"Shut-" His breath caught when you angled your hips, hitting that spot again. "Shut the fuck up."

"You want me to shut up?" You yanked his head back again, forcing him to look at you, to see the smug smile on your face. "Make me."

The challenge hung in the air between you. He could try. He could summon all that power, all that strength, and throw you off. He could blast you with his radiation, could use his super-strength to flip you onto your back and take control.

But he didn't.

Because for all his snarling and threats and bluster, Ben didn't want to.

He wanted this. Wanted you. Wanted to be held down and used like this, to be stripped of all that power and control and just be taken.

The realization made him burn with shame, and the shame made him angry, and the anger—well.

"Bitch." he spat, the word venomous. "Fucking bitch, I'll-"

You shoved his face back into the pillow, holding him there while you fucked him through his struggle. His body bucked and twisted, but your grip was iron, your strength matching his. And when you finally let him breathe, when he sucked in that desperate lungful of air, you took the opportunity to whisper:

"Say it again. I dare you."

"Fuck—" He was panting now, his body trembling with the effort of holding on. "ing bitch."

"Wrong answer."

You pulled out and flipped him over so fast he didn't have time to react. One moment he was on his stomach, the next he was on his back, staring up at you with wide, furious eyes.

"What the fuck do you think you're-"

You settled yourself over him and drove back down into him in one smooth motion. His head fell back against the pillow, a choked groan escaping his throat as you bottomed out inside him.

"Muuuuch better." you cooed, starting a new rhythm. "I like seeing your face when you fall apart."

"I'm not falling apart." The words were defiant, but his voice was shot, wrecked. "I'm not—fuck, I'm not anyt'ng."

"You're my good boy.." you cooed, reaching down to stroke his chest. The radiation glow was flickering beneath his skin, but he wasn't using it. Couldn't use it. Not when you were fucking him like this, taking control, taking everything he had to give. "You're my best boy, and you're going to come for me."

"No." He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. "I'm not-"

"Yes you are." You leaned forward, planting your hands on either side of his head, and fucked him deeper. His breath caught, his hips jerking back to meet yours. "You're going to come for me, and I'm going to watch you fall apart, and you're going to remember this. Every time you try to act tough, every time you try to pretend you don't want this—you're going to remember."

"I hate you," he gasped, even as his hands came up to grip your hips. "I fucking hate you."

“Hate me?” you laughed, a light, tinkling sound that was so at odds with the filthy act you were committing. “I think you love it. I think you love that your girlfriend can pin you down and make you feel like this. You think the guys at Vought would believe it?” You gave a particularly brutal thrust, making the whole bed frame groan in protest. “The one and only Soldier Boy, a moaning, whimpering mess for his girlfriend?”

His only response was a strangled, desperate sound as his body clenched around you, a beautiful, helpless surrender. The fight was gone. He was yours.

"And yet here you are, letting your girlfriend fuck you senseless. Letting her make you feel so good." You punctuated each word with a deep, grinding thrust. "And you love every second of it, don't you?"

"Go t'hell-"

"Mm, that's not a very nice thing to say to the woman who's about to make you come so hard you forget your own name."

"No-" he gritted out, even as his hips rocked back to meet your thrusts. "Not—fuck, not gonna give you the- ngh- the satisfaction—"

"Yes, you are. You're going to be a good boy and come."

He shook his head, his teeth gritted, but you could feel it. Feel the tension building in his body, the way his hips were starting to stutter against yours, the way his breath was coming in harsh, desperate gasps.

"I know you want to," you murmured, your pace never faltering. "I know you're so close. Just let it happen, baby. Let go for me. Come for me."

"Fuck," he gasped, and there was something almost broken in his voice. "Fuck, I—fuck-"

"Come on." you encouraged, your voice sickly sweet. "Be a good boy. Let me see you fall apart."

He fought it. You could see him fighting it, his pride warring with his body's desperate need. But it was a losing battle, and you both knew it.

And, as expected, he lost.

His whole body arched off the bed, a sound torn from his throat that was half-groan, half-sob. He came harder than he had in weeks, maybe months, his release painting his stomach and chest in hot stripes.

You fucked him through it, never stopping, watching his face contort with the intensity of it. Watching the great Soldier Boy completely and utterly undone.

"There we go," you soothed, your pace finally slowing to a gentle rock. "There we go, sweetheart. See? Was that so hard?"

He was breathing like he'd just run a marathon, his eyes glassy and unfocused, his body trembling with the aftershocks.

"Fuck you." he managed, but there was no venom in it. Just exhaustion. Just... surrender.

You laughed softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Maybe later. Right now, I think you need a minute."

The safehouse was silent except for the heavy rhythm of your hand connecting with his flesh.

SMACK.

Ben's grunt was muffled by the mattress, his face pressed sideways into the cheap synthetic fabric, drool already beginning to pool beneath his slack jaw. His eyes—those famous, arrogant green eyes that had made lesser men tremble—were glazed over, pupils blown wide from the weed Butcher had been feeding him all day.

"That's fifteen, Benjamin." you said, your voice carrying the weight of the years of experience you held over him. "You want to tell me why you're over my knee like a misbehaving child, or should I just keep going until you figure it out yourself?"

He was draped over your lap like an overgrown, muscle-bound child, his face buried in the cheap motel mattress that smelled like bleach and stale cigarettes. His jeans were pooled around his ankles, his boxer briefs pulled down just enough to expose the twin globes of his ass to your merciless gaze.

The man was completely wrecked, his body trembling with a need he would never admit to in a million years, his cock hard and leaking against your thigh where it was pressed against your leg.

"You know," you said conversationally, bringing your hand down in a sharp crack that made him jolt, "I've been alive for a very long time. Nearly a hundred and seventy years, give or take. Do you know how many men I've had to discipline in all that time?"

"Nnngh—" he managed, his fingers clutching at the cheap sheets.

"A lot." you continued, landing another blow on his already reddened flesh. His skin was warm to the touch, the heat radiating off him in waves. "But I have to say, Ben, you're probably the most difficult of the bunch. And the most annoying. God, the way you were speaking to Hughie tonight... you know he's just a kid, right? He's barely older than that little sidekick you used to shove around.. mnhm, Gunpowder, was it?"

"Don't-" Ben growled, his voice breaking. "Don't you fucking—"

"Don't what?" You brought your hand down again, harder this time, and he let out a sound that was half-groan, half-sob. "Don't remind you of the fucking horrible human being you were even before all of this? Even before you turned into a walking weapon with a hair-trigger temper?"

Another crack. Another broken sound from his throat.

"I'm not—" he started, but you cut him off with another blow.

You were the only person on this godforsaken planet who could do this to him. The only one who could pin him down, who could make his superhuman strength feel like nothing more than a child's tantrum against an immovable wall. Your hand—the same hand that had crushed concrete and bent steel like tinfoil—came down again.

SMACK.

Ben's hips bucked involuntarily, and you felt the heat of his body through his jeans, the way his muscles tensed and then relaxed under your touch. The sight of him like this, the legendary Soldier Boy, America's first superhero, reduced to a drooling mess over your lap.. sent a thrill through you that no amount of decades could dull.

"Oh, you absolutely are. You're a weapon, Ben. That's all they ever wanted you to be. That's all you ever let yourself be. But I've been around long enough to know the difference between a weapon and a man. And right now, you're acting like a fucking child."

Your hand descended again, and this time, you let the full force of your strength behind it. Ben cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily against your thigh, and you could feel the slick heat of his arousal smearing against your skin.

"There it is," you murmured, your voice dropping into something almost tender. "There's the man I know. The one who can't help himself when someone finally takes control. The one who's been starving for this his whole life but couldn't admit it if his life depended on it."

"F-fuck," he slurred, the word coming out thick and clumsy around his tongue. "You... you're gonna pay for this, you old—"

You cut him off with another sharp slap, this one landing just at the crease where his ass met his thighs. He jolted, a sound escaping him that was somewhere between a yelp and a moan.

"Old?" You laughed, and there was nothing kind in it. "Benjamin, darling, I was putting down rebellions before your great-great-grandfather was a twinkle in his daddy's eye. You want to try that again?"

"Fuck you." he gritted out, but the words had no heat in them. They were wet, broken, almost pleading.

"No." you said softly, landing another blow that made his whole body seize. "Fuck you. That's the whole point, isn't it? You've been running your mouth all night, being a complete bastard to everyone in sight, making Butcher's life a living hell, terrifying poor Hughie, and now you're going to take your punishment like a good little soldier."

"Not- fucking- good-" he managed between gritted teeth, but you could hear the lie in his voice. Could feel it in the way his body arched into your palm with every strike, in the desperate little sounds he was making, in the way his cock was weeping against your thigh like a broken faucet.

"Oh, you're not good," you agreed. "You're the furthest thing from good. You're a menace and a liability and a complete fucking disaster of a human being." You said, running your hand through his sweaty hair, watching him lean into the touch like a starving man offered bread. "You were being a brat today. Weren't you, Benjamin?"

He tried to summon some of his usual bravado, but it came out weak, pathetic. "Was not. They... they're just... they're fucking idiots. Butcher's a bloody-"

"Language." you chastised, and brought your hand down again.

SMACK.

"That's twenty-three," you said, keeping your voice steady. "And you know what? I don't think you've learned your lesson at all."

He laughed, but it was broken, fractured. "What... what lesson? That you're a controlling-" SMACK. "bitch who-" SMACK. "can't handle-" SMACK. "that I'm-"

You paused, your hand hovering over his reddened flesh. "That you're what, Benjamin?"

He let out a sound that was almost a whine, and his hips rolled against your leg in a desperate, unconscious plea. "Pleasee" he whimpered, and the word was so quiet you almost missed it.

"Please what, baby?" You ran your hand over his reddened flesh, feeling the heat radiating off him. "Use your words. I know you can do it."

"Please—" he choked out, his voice breaking. "fuck- I just- I want I—I don't-"

"I know what you need." you gently cut him off, and this time you let your hand drift lower, cupping him through his boxer briefs. He bucked into your touch, a desperate, broken sound escaping his lips.

"Please, please, please—"

"Not yet." You withdrew your hand, and he actually whined. "You're going to have to earn it."

"How?" he asked, and the word was barely a whisper.

You leaned down, your lips brushing his ear. "You're going to tell me why you were being such a little shit today. And you're going to apologize. Properly."

He was quiet for a moment, and you could see the war going on behind his eyes. But eventually, he nodded.

"Because... because I was stoned," he said, the words sounding like they were being ripped from his chest. "I.. I wanted your attention. So I acted out. Like... like a fucking child."

"You were acting like a child," you agreed. "And how do we fix that?"

He was quiet again, and then, so softly you almost missed it: "Apologize. To... to the wankers. Butcher. Hughie."

"Good boy."

"And... and to you. For being... for being a dick." He looked up at you, his eyes red-rimmed and pleading. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a brat. I'm sorry for making you... for making you have to do this."

"You don't have to be sorry for that," you said, with a smirk. "I like doing this. I like taking care of you. I like seeing you like this."

"Like what?"

"You know exactly what." You smiled. "Beneath me. Helpless."

He shivered, a full-body tremor that shook him to his core.

"You're so beautiful.." you said, and it was your turn to be breathless. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"You're one to talk. You're... you're fucking timeless."

"I know," you said, stroking his hair, unable to keep the smile from your face. "I've known for a while, actually."

He laughed at that, a genuine laugh that shook his whole body. "Fuck, you're insufferable."

"You are insufferable." you corrected, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of his neck. "And you love it."

"I do." he admitted, the words coming easier now. "I really fucking do."

You grinned, gifting his ass with a gentle smack that made him yelp. "Good. We've got a long night ahead of us, and I'm not done with you yet."

"Oh yeah?" he challenged, his voice rough. "What else did you have in mind, sweetheart?"

"I was thinking," you said slowly, running your hand down his spine in a way that made his mind spin. "that maybe we could work on that mouth of yours. You know, the one that's been causing so many problems tonight."

"I thought you liked my mouth." he said, looking at you over his shoulder, and there was the familiar mockery.

"I do," you agreed, leaning down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss. "But I'd like it a lot better if it was occupied with something other than complaints."

He groaned against your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and devotion.

"Fuck," he breathed when you finally pulled away. "You're going to kill me."

"Not yet," you promised, pulling him upright and guiding him toward the head of the bed. "I've got too many plans for you."

The motel room stank of cheap bleach, stale cigarettes, and the unique, ozone-and-whiskey tang that always clung to Ben. The air was thick, heavy with the heat of two bodies that had been at it for hours. The cheap digital clock on the nightstand, its red numbers a bleeding wound in the dark, flashed 3:17 AM. But time had lost all meaning in here.

Ben was on his back, right where you’d put him. The threadbare sheets beneath him were a tangled mess, a sweat-soaked nest that he’d been writhing in for what felt like an eternity. His body, a monument to a bygone era of American masculinity, was a canvas of slick muscle and glistening skin, the faint scars of a hundred forgotten battles tracing silver lines across his chest. That ridiculous, perfect jaw was slack, his mouth hanging open as a low, guttural moan was ripped from his throat. A thick, glistening string of drool connected his lower lip to his stubbled chin.

His hands, the hands that had ripped apart planes and shattered skulls, were currently white-knuckled, gripping the cheap headboard. The wood groaned and splintered slightly under his superhuman strength, a testament to his subconscious attempt to hold on. It was the only part of him that was fighting, even now. Everything else had surrendered.

His legs were draped over your shoulders, heavy and useless. The powerful quadriceps that could launch him across a room trembled with a fine, constant vibration. His thick, meaty thighs were slick with a sheen of sweat and lube, occasionally twitching as you delivered another deep, punishing thrust.

“Ah—fuck—nghhh…” he managed, the words slurred and broken, barely making it past the thick knot of pleasure in his throat. His eyes were squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in ecstasy. The cocky, arrogant smirk that had once graced the cover of countless comic books was gone, replaced by a slack, blissed-out expression of pure, unadulterated surrender. He was beyond words.

The black silicone strapped to your hips moved with a practiced, powerful rhythm. It was thick, unyielding, and you drove it into him with the precision of a master carpenter. There was no hesitation, no gentle inquiry. You took what was yours. He had been a brat about it, of course. He always was. He’d snarled and pushed and tried to use his size to intimidate you into the submissive role, a pathetic little performance that you’d seen through in seconds. But after the first round, the fight had bled out of him. After the second, the protests had turned into wordless whines. Now, he was just a puddle of man, a legendary hero reduced to a whining mess on a cheap motel bed, and he was loving every degrading, beautiful second of it.

“Look at you, Ben,” you purred, your voice a low, silken command that cut through the symphony of his moans. You punctuated the statement with a particularly slow, deep grind of your hips, forcing him to feel every single inch of you buried inside him. “This is what ‘America’s Mightiest Hero’ looks like, hmm? A sloppy, whimpering mess. Did your father ever teach you to be a good boy for your elders?”

The question, a direct hit to a part of his psyche he tried to pretend didn't exist, made him shudder. A broken sob escaped his lips, and his hips bucked involuntarily, grinding back against your strap. You reached down and slapped his inner thigh, a sharp, stinging crack that echoed in the room. “I asked you a question. You might be too dumb to form a sentence, but you can answer me with that head, can’t you?”

He nodded frantically, his hair plastered to his forehead. “Yes- yes- fuck… I..” he stammered, his eyes fluttering open. They were glassy, pupils blown so wide they almost completely swallowed the color of his irises. He looked at you, and there was no trace of the defiant soldier he presented to the world.

“Yes, what?” you demanded, picking up the pace. You started fucking him harder, a relentless, pounding rhythm that drove the headboard into the wall with a rhythmic, percussive thud. The sound was obscene, a wet, slapping counterpoint to his gasping breaths.

“Yes, I’m- I’m a good boy- fuck”

He was past the denial, past the witty retort that died in his throat, past the pretense.

“Fuuuuck… ah… Christ…” He threw his head back, throat working as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

You leaned forward, putting more of your weight on him, the angle changing and making him let out a whiny and high-pitched sound he’d deny until his dying breath. “Look at you,” you purred, your voice a low, silk-and-steel caress. “Benjamin. The baddest motherfucker to ever walk the earth. And look at you now. My little cockslut.”

A tremor wracked his body. A delicious, full-bodied shudder. His eyes went unfocused, rolling back in his head before he forced them to look at you. There was a spark of defiance there, a stubborn ember that refused to be extinguished. He tries to summon his arrogance, to conjure a smirk. “F-fuck you…” he managed to gasp. “…old lady.”

The insult was a slap of affection, a last-ditch effort to reclaim some of his crumbling control, and you rewarded his bravery by fucking him harder. A sharp, punishing snap of your hips that drived the dildo straight into that sweet spot inside him. His eyes flew wide open, a choked sob bursting from his lips. His whole body clenched around you, cock, painfully hard and weeping pre-cum, twitching against his stomach.

“Oh, that’s it,” you cooed, your voice dripping with condescending affection. “There you go. You take it so pretty, honey. Such a good boy for your lady.”

That does it. He dissolved. His features slackened, the last vestiges of his fight evaporating into a soft, broken moan. 

His hips started to move, fucking himself back on you, trying to match your rhythm. He’s so desperate, so needy. His legs trembling against your shoulders, hands clenching and unclenching as if he’s trying to ground himself. “Please… please, honey… please…” The words tumbled out of him in a pleading, desperate cascade. The arrogant, suave façade was gone, replaced by this raw, vulnerable, beautiful thing. He wanted more. He needed more. 

You pulled out completely. The sudden emptiness making him let out a sound of pure, unadulterated agony. A pathetic, reedy whine. His eyes snaped open, wide and panicked, his body bucking as he tried to find you. “No, no, no! Wh-what are you… don’t stop, please, for the love of God, don’t stop…”

You just stared down at him, a Goddess looking upon her most devoted worshipper. His chest was slick, eyes wet with unshed tears of frustration, and his lips were swollen and parted. He was a masterpiece of debauchery, a fallen soldier who had found a new, more demanding commander.

“You want it, baby?” you asked, your voice soft and cruel, like a lullaby sung before a storm. You tapped the tip of the dildo against his inner thigh, making him flinch. “You want me to fuck you like the dumb little slut you are? Say it. Tell me what you are.”

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. A flush of shame and desperate, burning arousal coloring his cheeks. He looked away, jaw tight. “You… you know what I am…”

“No, I don’t,” you purred, leaning down, your lips a whisper against his ear. “Tell me. Who does this greedy, needy asshole belong to? Who’s the only one who can make you feel this good?”

A shiver wracked him. His voice was so small, so broken, you almost miss it. “Y-you are. Fuck. It’s you.”

“That’s right,” you cooed, your hand coming down to gently stroke his feverish cheek. “And what are you? What is my beautiful soldier boy right now?”

His eyes squeezed shut, a tear finally escaping to trail down his cheek and onto the sheets. He knows he’s lost. He surrendered the moment he stopped fighting you. So he took a shuddering breath, and the words came out in a broken, defeated whisper.

“I’m your little cockslut.”

The moment the words left his lips, you rewarded him. You slided back into place in one smooth, perfect motion, and his body arched so hard he looked like he was balancing on his shoulders and the balls of his feet. You didn’t even give him time to adjust. You set a punishing pace, a piston-like rhythm that drove the air out from his lungs.

“That’s my good boy,” you said, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. “My perfect, slutty soldier. This is what you were made for, Ben. Not for wars, not for anything else. Just for taking my cock.”

"F-f... f... uhn..." 

You slowed your pace, stilling your hips completely. The sudden absence of movement was a shock to his system, and he whimpered, a pathetic, needy sound. "I'm waiting," you said, your tone cold and bored. "And I can do this all night, Ben. I'm older than you. I've got more stamina. More patience." You leaned in closer, your lips ghosting over his. "And you know I'm stronger. You couldn't fight your way out of a wet paper bag right now, let alone free yourself from me. So tell me."

He opened his eyes, those hazy, green pools meeting your gaze. For a moment, there was a flicker of the old pride, the defiant spark. You stared him down, unwavering, your expression one of supreme, untouchable dominance. He saw it in your eyes, the age, the power, the absolute certainty that you could hold him here for eternity if you wanted.

The defiance crumbled. It collapsed in on itself like a dying star, leaving behind only the black hole of his all-consuming need for you.

"Y-yes..." he breathed, the word barely a whisper.

"Yes, what?" you demanded, giving a sharp, shallow thrust of your hips to remind him what you were holding back.

"Yes!" he cried out, his voice cracking. "I'm... I'm your cockslut. I was fucking... m-made for taking... your strap… now please..."

"Good boy," you purred, and the praise was a balm to his frayed nerves. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You rewarded his submission by resuming your pace, but this time it was different. It was no longer just about domination and punishment; it was about possession. You were claiming him, every inch of him, with every deep, powerful stroke. His moans became higher, more desperate, his body trembling violently.

"I can feel you clenching around me," you murmured, watching his face contort in pleasure. "You love this. You love being helpless. You love that I can do whatever I want to you."

"Y-yes... I love it... I love... you..." The words were ripped from him, raw and unguarded. He didn't even realize he'd said the last part, and you decided to file it away for later. Right now, you wanted to take him apart.

"You want to come?" you asked, a dangerous edge in your voice. He nodded frantically, a pathetic, broken gesture. "Ask me nicely."

"P-please... please let me come..." he begged, his voice cracking with desperation. "I need it... I need to come... fuck, please... please, I'll be good... I'll be so good for you... just please..."

His begging was music to your ears. The most powerful supe in the world, reduced to this. A whimpering, obedient, cock-drunk mess. You reached down and grasped his leaking, aching cock in your hand. He moaned at the sudden contact, his hips bucking up into your grip. You pumped him, ruthlessly, in time with your thrusts, a rough, punishing rhythm that was designed to do nothing but ruin him.

"Then come," you commanded, your voice a hot breath against his ear. "Come for me, Ben."

It was like pulling the pin on a grenade, a breathless whine tore from his throat, shaping his lips in an ‘o’, back bowing off the bed as he coated your hand and his own chest. You fucked him through it, not letting up for a second, drawing out every last shudder, every last drop, until he was a boneless, twitching heap on the bed.

Finally, mercifully, you stilled. You pulled out of him slowly, and he whimpered at the loss, his body feeling empty and impossibly open. You unbuckled the harness, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. You lay down beside him, pulling his sweaty, trembling frame against you. He was a mess, covered in his own seed, tears streaming from his eyes, his limbs heavy and limp. He was utterly spent, completely used, and you had never seen anything more beautiful in your long, long life.

He snuggled into you, his head resting on your chest, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. "I hate you," he mumbled, the words slurred and utterly unconvincing.

You chuckled, your fingers tracing soothing patterns on his back. "No, you don't, baby." You pressed a kiss to his damp forehead, feeling him sigh and melt even further into your arms. "I know you don't.”