Lex🪽

Ben might be cruel, but he always softens his mean words with sweeter ones, kisses away the bruises he leaves on your neck after he steals your breath away. His eyes melt into something warm when he sinks into you, staring down at you like you were a heavenly creature, and he whispers things against your skin that makes you wonder if he really does care about you. 

Tonight, he’d come to your apartment covered in blood, in another one of his moods, his uniform dirtied by whatever fraud of a mission Vought had sent him on. 

You never ask who he kills—you don’t care. It’s sick, evil, and it’s wrong, but there’s something overwhelmingly gratifying about the fact that Ben could kill anyone in the world if he wanted to, but he doesn’t hurt you—not really. 

In a world of supes, a world that’s made you more vulnerable and weak, the knowledge that Ben comes crawling back to you, that he needs you in his worst moments is something that makes you feel powerful.

Most of the time, he comes to you when he’s angry. When things are going well, he stays at Vought, though he never asks you to come there. Ben says it’s because he wants to keep a safe distance between you and Homelander, claims he’ll kill him if he ever lays a finger on you.

That probably counts for something. 

You don’t know if Ben loves you, if he’s capable of loving anyone anymore, but whatever you have is probably the closest thing to love you’ll ever get from him, and you’re mostly okay with that. 

There’s still blood on his face, along his neck, and the sight of it just makes you wetter, makes you want him even more. Your thighs make an attempt to squeeze together, desperate for friction, but Ben yanks them apart, exposing your wet cunt to him. 

“God, you’re such a pathetic slut,” he says, cocking the gun and putting it to your temple. His other hand grips your thigh tightly, a knee wedged between them to force them apart. “You’re so wet and I’ve barely even touched you.” Leaning back, Ben analyzes your cunt like a piece of art in a museum. He runs a finger over your folds, and you jerk, somewhat self-conscious from his intense stare, your cheeks growing hot. 

Ben laughs, a mocking sound, amused by how easily you falter under his touch. “Is that all you’ve done all day? Wait around for me to put my dick in you?” 

He’s so crass, and it makes you want to hate him, be disgusted with him, because you would with any other man. Ben’s the type of person you’d typically run away from. Men like him repulse you, and you look the other direction before they can even make an attempt to get you into their bed. 

But there’s something rewarding about being with Soldier Boy, something that you can’t get enough of. Ben makes you feel like you’re on top of the world, even when he tries his best to break you apart. 

You take too long to answer, heart still racing, lips slightly parted as he looms over you. 

Truthfully, you haven’t thought about him at all today, but you’d never tell him that. You’d only gotten home an hour before he arrived on a warpath, slamming the door from two rooms over as he cursed under his breath. Your hair had still been damp from a shower when he pulled you into the bed, eyes lit up with red-hot fury. 

“Huh? You gonna answer me, doll?” Ben asks, dragging the gun down your cheek, your neck, until it’s positioned in the middle of your chest, just above your breasts. His tone is mocking, but he indulges you too—he’s got you right where he wants you. “You’re always such a brat, always got something to say. Now I put a gun to your head and you can’t come up with a single sentence?”

“Fuck, Ben,” you say, shuddering, and his expression doesn’t wane, so flat and serious that you’re uncertain if what you feel is fear or desire. Maybe a little bit of both. “Don’t—”

“What?” Ben asks, lowering his mouth to yours, eyes wild and unpredictable, even under the layers of affection. He whispers a reply, breath ghosting your chin. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.” 

You blink back at him, mouth growing dry and thighs growing wetter. You’re not sure what you are, but you shift your hips, begging for him to touch you without saying a word. 

“I’m not scared,” you say, though your voice is hoarse and your heart is pounding in your chest, the beat unceasingly fast. 

It’s not quite a lie. He’s unpredictable, that much is true, but you’re also delusional and halfway certain that he likes keeping you around. 

Ben drags the gun further, between your breasts, down your stomach, goosebumps popping up along its path. A small grin grows on his face, teeth barely visible, something akin to a wild animal. “You sure seem like it,” he says, cocking the gun, his finger loose around the trigger. “You’re shaking.”

You stay still, the rise and fall of your chest the only movement you allow yourself as Ben leans back, evaluating the scene in front him. 

“Such a dirty girl,” he says, caressing your sensitive skin with the cold metal. He grazes it against your cunt, a feather-light touch as he inspects your folds with another scrutinizing look. “Always surprising me. I didn’t think you’d get so worked up over this.” 

Ben rubs the gun against you, catching your clit with the tip, adding just enough pressure to have lust swirling in your gut. You stare up at him, at the blood on his cheeks, the disheveled hair that falls over his forehead, the lust that reflects just as strongly in his eyes, and you wonder what it is about you that makes Soldier Boy stay. 

“I’m not,” you say, trying to remain still, your words a hushed and raspy. 

“Fucking liar.” Ben says, his hand rubbing hard circles into your hips. “You’re soaking my damn pistol. Next time I kill someone, they’re gonna smell you all over it. Christ.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, vision going hazy as Ben flicks a thumb over your nipple, inching the tip of the gun into your cunt. 

“Ben,” you gasp, trying to close your legs, your body reacting without a thought. 

He stills you, pressing your hip down into the bed, his grip on you tight enough to leave bruises. “Ah, ah,” Ben says, prodding the pistol around your hole. Your body rejects it, grows tighter as Ben pushes it deeper, and you clench painfully around the tip of the gun. “Careful, doll. If you move too much my finger might slip.” 

“You’re gonna kill me?” you ask, trying to narrow your eyes, sharpen them, even though you can’t focus your sights on him and your voice is weak, uncertain. “Just like that?” 

“You wanna find out?” Ben asks roughly, staring you down with a glare that doesn’t have an ounce of humor. “You’re nothing special. Can find another pussy just as good as yours—better even.” 

He says it so carelessly, and you exhale, biting your tongue. Part of you knows he’s probably not bluffing, but you also want him too much to give a damn. 

“You’ll scare everyone else off,” you answer, letting out another soft gasp. “I’m the only one who will stay.”

Something like pride flashes through his eyes before he’s toughening up again, tracing your hipbone with his thumb. 

“Maybe.” he says, sliding the gun up and down, the tip rotating just inside your cunt. You try your best not to move, gripping the sheets tightly, your lips parting softly. “You gonna behave, or do I have to find someone else to blow off some steam with?”

Ben pushes the pistol just a centimeter deeper. You grit your teeth, trying not to enjoy the feeling of the cool metal, but the curves and edges of the barrel rub you just the right way. A sharp sound leaves the back of your throat and you pinch your face tighter, hating how easily he can turn you into a mess. 

“Hey,” Ben says roughly, switching into a more commanding inflection, the tone he uses on the rest of the Seven. It’s not the voice of Ben, one with a sharp bite but still gentle in the middle, but the Soldier Boy voice that has everyone following any order he gives. “Answer me.” 

“Yes,” you say, croaking out a reply as your core pulses with want, curling deep in your stomach. It builds with every word, every sound that leaves his lips. You’re no better than the people that are afraid of him, no better than every other person that grows weak in the knees from the deepness of his voice. 

“Yes, what?”  

“Yes, sir.” You reach for him, hands trying to twist through his hair, but he doesn’t let you get that far. The gun lodges deeper into your cunt, breaking off the rest of your sentence. As hard as you fight against him, he’s far too strong, and your attempts at trying to get more friction, trying to slip the weapon deep enough inside you to brush the place you want it, fail miserably. “Please—”

“Stay still,” he says roughly, tightening his grip on the handle of the pistol. “I’ll fuck you when I want.” 

You stop moving, blinking up at him from under your lashes, your hands going flat on the bed. Ben’s gaze drops to your chest and he licks his bottom lip, watching the way your breasts rise and fall with your nervous, heavy breathing. 

“God, you’re so gorgeous. All laid out for me like a Christmas present, listening to every word I say.” 

He fucks you harder with the pistol, and though it’s not the same as his fingers, his cock, you’re crazy enough about him that the pistol brings you closer to an orgasm. You lay back on the bed, unaware of the string of mindless words that spill from your lips. 

It’s hard not to fuck yourself back onto his gun, but you stay still like he asked, desperate for him to throw the weapon aside and take you like you know he wants to. The combination of his messy hair, blood-stained cheeks, and the gun he’s used to kill hundreds of people has you nearing a climax faster than usual. 

“What would all your friends say if they knew what I do to you, hm?” Ben asks as the pistol slips in and out of you faster, the tip so soaked that it slides into you with little resistance. “Sweet little girl like you letting Soldier Boy stick his gun in your cunt, fucking you with it till you’re almost crying? They’d think you’re disgusting.”

You whimper, afraid to close your eyes or look away from him. Ben’s hard, straining against his pants, and though you want to reach for him, slip your lips around his cock, you think he actually might put a bullet through you if you tried. 

Still, Ben sees your eyes straying, darting down between his own legs. “Oh, you’re ruined.” He grins. “All this time, I’ve been worried you might be fucking someone else while I’m gone, but you’re so fucking dumb over my cock you don’t even care if I kill you.” He puts his hand on your cheek, curls it around your jaw, his palm big enough to cover half of your face. 

“I don’t care,” you say, voice cracking, wishing his hands were all over you, that’d he’d cover your body with his own, rest his weight on top of you as he thrust up into you. The fear is waning—you don’t feel anything but your pulsing need to come around the barrel of his pistol. If you die, at least he’ll be the last thing you see. “You can kill me. I don’t want anyone else but you, Ben.” 

“Hey,” he thrusts the gun up into you, and you moan, clenching around it tightly. “What’d I say?” 

Your mind is hazy, but you remember his previous ask. “Sir. I just want you, sir.” 

“Attagirl.” Ben slips his thumb into your mouth like he’s offering you a gift from the heavens and you, turning pliant  and dumb under his touch, run your tongue along the bottom of it before sucking it into your mouth. Drool gathers at the corner of your lips, and his finger brushes against the back of your throat, deep enough to have you almost gagging. 

“I’m not really worried about you sneaking around my back, pretty. I know you’d never do that. We got a good thing going, huh?”

You nod gently, trying not to shake your body too hard and send the bullet through your internal organs. 

Ben grins, and though it’s mean, brutal, it’s also soft around the edges. His eyes always give him away—they hold something special for you between the different shades of green. “Pretty cunt’s taking my gun so well, I know you’d do anything for me. I can tell you’re close.” 

You nod, reaching for his hand, the one that’s in your mouth. This time, he takes pity on you, knows you want to touch him. Ben lets you curl your hand around his wrist, dig your nails into his forearm as you hold him tighter, keeping his thumb in your mouth. 

“You gonna come for me, baby?” Ben asks, the rest of his fingers caressing your jaw with something close to affection. 

“Fuck,” you moan around his finger in your mouth, eyes drifting closed as you feel yourself there, just on the edge of an orgasm. His voice alone is enough to make you wet, and the more he talks, the faster he jerks the gun into you, fucking you with it like it’s an extension of his hand. 

“Can’t believe you know how many people I’ve killed with this thing and it gets you off.” Ben scoffs. “Bet you’d come on the spot if I killed someone for you, wouldn’t you? Just a dumb slut who wants a man to protect her.” 

Another moan leaves your mouth, but it’s broken up, muffled as you clench around the gun, soaking the end of it, your core pulsing. Relief spreads through you, your heart racing as your climax hits, and Ben pulls the gun out of your sore, aching cunt, exchanging it for his fingers. 

His hand works you through the orgasm as tears linger on your lashes, though you’re not sure if they’re more from the pain or pleasure. You’re aching, but it only takes a minute before he’s brought you to the brink of another orgasm, his hand, wet with saliva, grazing your nipples. 

You say his name over and over again, but he doesn’t care, just shuts you up with a rough kiss, so brutal you think he’s trying to eat you alive. 

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Ben says against your mouth. “My good little cockslut.” 

He pulls his fingers out of you and grabs the discarded gun off the bed, throwing it onto the side table. Your face grows hot at the sight of it—his pistol, glistening at the tip, wet with your juices. Everything he says about you is right. He has ruined you, because you don’t care about anything he’s done, anything he does, as long as he fucks you like this at the end of the day.

Ben tugs off the rest of his clothes, throws them onto the floor and leans over you once more, eyes roaming across your body like a predator. 

He slips into you with ease, and you moan again, though a small, little smile spreads across your face as Ben fucks you, taking out every emotion on your poor, abused cunt. It hurts at first, when he thrusts into you, but the pain fades away and all you think is more, more, more while his hands claim your body. Every touch is possessive, but he’s strangely tender, brushing your hair out of your face, kissing you every time your expression screws up in a way he knows is bad. 

His hips snap into you, thrusting roughly until you’re coming again. It takes just a few more moments while you lay there, exhausted, before Ben is spilling into your cunt, painting your insides with thick ropes of cum. 

Exhaling heavily, Ben falls onto the bed next to you, reaching for you without even thinking. He’s not a sweet-talker, doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea and think he loves you, but he’s got an arm over your stomach, dragging you so close that he’s practically draped on top of you. That makes it hard to believe he doesn’t give a shit about you.

“Got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?” Ben grunts, thumb grazing one of your ribs, his eyes already closed.

You’re not sure what he means. Maybe he’s just saying that it doesn’t matter what he does—he could kill someone right in front of you and you’d still want him. Or maybe, he’s seen the way you look at him when he cleans blood off his uniform, jaw going slack and eyes hazing over, that he knows he’ll never be able to scare you, not really.

Maybe he’s just talking. 

You smile, lashes fluttering over your cheeks. “You gonna stay?” 

Ben doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t leave either. That’s enough of an answer for you.