#six inch soldiers

[totes-tubulardude]

Ahsoka blinked a few times as she processed what she was seeing. In Tack’s cupped hands, was another trooper. A very small trooper. One, who Ahsoka now realized was the source of the panic she was feeling.

Tack shuffled nervously as the other little trooper gripped one of his fingers for balance.

“Do you know what’s wrong with him sir?” He asked.

Ahsoka moved closer to get a better look at the small trooper. 

“Um, I have never seen anything like this.” She looked up at Kix questioningly.

“Don’t look at me. This is way out of my field of expertise.” The medic shook his head.

“Do you know what happened?” Ahsoka asked the small trooper. “Anything that could have led to this happening?”

“N-no sir, I-I just woke up like this. I managed to wake Tack up because we were sharing a bunk. I-I don’t know what happened.” The trooper's voice was a little high pitched and he was definitely terrified.

Not that she blamed him.

“Ok, everything is going to be fine. What’s your name trooper?”

“I-I haven’t picked one yet. This was our first campaign.” He answered.

“Well I think I have one in mind.” Ahsoka heard Jesse mumble to Echo. “Smalls.”

Ahsoka could practically feel Echo roll his eyes but Tack snorted.

“I think it's kind of fitting.” He chuckled nervously, before he stilled his hands to not jostle his tiny vod.

“Really?” The little trooper whined, but she could feel some of the panic loosened its hold on the trooper.

But still, it wasn’t good to keep him this stressed. She knew what happened to small creatures when they were intensely stressed and she did not want that to happen to the tiny trooper.

“Trooper, can I do something? It will help you calm down.” She asked the little trooper.

She saw him swallow but he gave her nod.

Ever so carefully she reached out her hand. Tack instinctively flinched his hands back towards his body but a small pat from his little vod calmed him. Ahsoka gently touched the tip of her finger to the top of the little trooper's head. 

She had done this multiple times with many of the other troopers. She focused on feelings of calm and safety and wrapped it around them in the force until they relaxed. Now, she focuses on siphoning the panic off the little trooper and releasing it to the force, all while gently inviting calm.

Her very good hearing picked up on the sigh the little trooper let out as he relaxed. She finally removed her finger and let out a breath. 

“Thank you commander.” The little trooper said, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. 

“You’re welcome.” She told him with a smile. 

She straightened up and turned back to the Torrent members. 

Behind her Tack was speaking to his vod. It sounded like the name Smalls was gonna stick.

She opened her mouth to speak before another pang of fear shot through the barracks. Being this close made it hit her harder than earlier. She winced and gripped her head.

“Are you ok?” She looked up to see Rex, Jesse, Echo, and Kix staring at her worriedly.

“I’m fine.” She told them before her eyes widened. “Osik.”

“Language!” Rex snapped reflexively and shot a glare at Fives and Hardcase who were still fast asleep.

“I think there are more of them.” She told them.

That made them all snap their gaze back to her.

“Wait what?”

Ahsoka was already moving. The fear was coming from the areas where the shinies usually bunked together. 

The awake members of Torrent along with Tack and the newly dubbed Smalls followed after her. 

“What do you mean you think there’s more?” Echo asked.

“I woke up because I felt panic. I commed Rex after I felt quite a few people panic. Considering what I felt from Smalls, I’m guessing others have found themselves in a similar predicament.”

“That’s just wonderful.” She heard someone grumble behind her.

She followed the feeling of panic and let the predatory part of her brain lock onto the smell of fear.

Up ahead she began to pick up on a small voice yelling. Soon enough they came across an empty bunk. Or not empty. 

The tiny trooper stared up at her fearfully. 

“It’s ok, we’re here to help you.” She assured him as she knelt down next to the bed. 

He began to stumble towards her but the mattress didn’t make for very stable ground. When he tripped she quickly reached out a hand to catch him. Immediately she poured reassurance and calm into the little clone. He quickly relaxed and she ever so gently picked him up. 

“You're going to be ok.” She assured him.

“Thank you sir.” He said shakily and she turned to pass the little clone off to Tack.

She heard Small’s begin to speak to the new trooper. 

“Ok, I don’t know how many of them there are.” She turned to the members of Torrent. 

“Then I think we should split up and try to find them before something bad happens.” Rex told them.

They nodded and split up. After about half an hour of searching, Ahsoka came across 5 more miniaturized clones, carefully calming them and gathering them up.

When they regrouped at the Torrent bunks, the others had about 3 each. That added up to 20 shrunken troopers. By then most of them were calmer, but Ahsoka still made sure they were all properly relaxed. 

As it approached the time that most of the troopers would wake up, they tried to come up with a plan. 

“Are we sure we didn’t miss anybody?” Echo asked.

“I don't sense anybody panicking so hopefully not.” Ahsoka mumbled as she let the mini clones climb off her hands and shoulders onto the table by Kix’s bunk. 

With all of the little clones together, she could now see that most of them didn’t have any defining marks or tattoos yet. They were all pretty new troopers. 

“Ok so we’ve rounded them up, what do we do now?” Jesse asked. “This is some Force osik if you ask me.”

Ahsoka pinched the bridge of her nose. She had to agree with Jesse. The Force was moving around these miniaturized clones strangely, like it had been warped. But she had never learned about or read about anything like this in her classes.

Behind her, she heard someone’s stomach growl, probably Jesse’s.

“How about we get everyone food and then continue this conversation.” Ahsoka suggested. 

-----

This is inspired by @dakt37's 6-inch soldier au that I loved so much! Figured I'd share it on here :)

[tatalitat]

Stuck Tup poor baby.

The fic itself is a bit much for me, but the basic premise of “Mini Clones” is a straight shot directly up my alley, because shrinking is actually my favorite fandom trope second only to de-aging :Dc

The armor is still pretty half-assed, but at least it’s half an ass better than nothing but phase I shinies. Edit: Aaaaand I put Fives in Echo’s armor. Smooth.

[listenupcupcakes]

MWAHAHAHAHAHA

I, M! ANON, SHALL NOW SHRINK THE SOLDIERS OF YOUR ARMY TO THE SIZE OF HAMSTERS! FOR 9 ASKS!

I-

[he is smol]

WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (iv)

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

WORD COUNT: 2238

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

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

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

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

So, they kept fucking searching.

And then they found it.

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

It only took two days to pinpoint your location.

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

Butcher and Hughie knew it was a dumb idea.

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

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

They moved, and so did you.

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

“Ben?”

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

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

No words were spoken, just heavy breathing.

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

He was here to kill you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you weren’t a supe, you’d be dead.

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

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

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

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

“Ben—“

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

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

He loved you.

Soldier Boy loved you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben—“

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

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

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

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

His dog tags. You were wearing his dog tags.

Ben hesitated, unsure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t kill you.

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

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━���

Coming to was disorientating and painful.

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

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

Ben. Setting his shield down by the table.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Grace Mallory?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that got their attention.

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[ramp-it-up]

Call Me Captain When I...

Summary: You were Steve's subordinate, but you'd met as friends. And Steve needs your help with something.

Pairing: Early CATWS era Captain Steve Rogers x SHEILD Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Not Beta’d. Read at your own risk. S MUT! Early CATWS Steve, talk of politics, flashbacks, groping while asleep, Not-so Inexpereinced-ish Steve, Dom Steve, Friends to lovers, angst, mutual pining, fluff, Captain and Sir kink, pulling rank, uniform kink, talking in sleep, masturbation, sex toy, voyeurism, dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, oral s ex (m receiving), raw p in v, intimations of female receiving oral.

A/N: This was supposed to be the conclusion to Greatest, but this popped in my head. This is set very soon after he first meets Sam and is still getting adjusted to the world. Also, I am not in the military and know nothing really of proper uniform or officer/subordinate address or etiquette. This is pure fantasy. Hope you like it. HBD Steve! 😁

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

-----

You woke up with a start, mouth dry, burning hot and seriously needing to pee. 

You weren’t sick; the cause of your discomfort was the 240 pound super soldier next to you. You looked over to see Steve Rogers’ sleeping face six inches away from yours on the chaise lounge of your sofa, the blue glow from your smart tv’s home screen bathing his face in eerie light. 

You allowed yourself two minutes to admire the man you had come to have a huge problematic crush on in such a short time.

You smiled to think of the first time you saw him in person as he wandered into the Information Technology Division of S.H.I.E.L.D., which you were running. 

------

He wasn’t in uniform, but who he was and his rank was unmistakable. Everyone rose when he entered. You watched him investigate the division by wandering around and looking at soldier’s workstation screens, reading files on desks, which was fine. The venerated Captain Steve Rogers had just about as high a clearance as anyone in the room.

You recognized the look on his face, a mixture of awe and earnestness, and something happened with your heart.

You couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to wake up, 70 years out of your own time. You watched his face, noting the anxiety, but mirroring his slight smile when he saw the book stacks at the rear of the room. Something like relief overtook his features. He scanned the room, calculating that the stacks went quite a way back into the facility, then he sized up the size of the troops in the division. 

You commanded 24 soldiers who helped you to oversee a good amount of basic historical, and quite a lot of classified information for SHIELD. You were too busy watching Steve’s face when his eyes found yours, and were caught off guard when he addressed you although you should not have been.

“Looks like you have quite the mission, Lieutenant.”

You snapped to attention and responded. 

“Yes, Sir. Information is key for the success of SHIELD, and we take pride in our work.”

“At ease.” 

Captain Rogers stood before you as you adjusted to parade rest. 

“I hear you do great work, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

There was an awkward silence.

“I need some help.”

“Sir?”

Steve huffed, annoyed at your formality. He looked around to see your entire division staring.

“Can we go into your office?”

“Of course, Sir.”

Once the door was closed, Steve had to address this first point, even though his body thrilled when you called him ‘Sir.’”

“You don’t need to be so formal, you know. You and I are friends, aren’t we?”

At the dulcet tone in his voice, you looked him in the eye, although you remained at parade rest. You knew that your troops were looking through your window. Steve noticed that your blinds were open and went to close them, which irritated you. That would only arouse suspicion.

Steve quickly admired your body in your work greens, eyes scanning from your boots up your pants, which were tailored very well out of necessity, to your shirt as he marveled how your buttons stayed closed. He chuckled as he had the same problem himself.

Your eyes were on him as his made their way to your face.

“You said you needed something, Captain?”

He almost groaned at that address. He needed you, spread out on his bed, calling him Captain and begging him to fuck you. But he had to play it cool. 

“I have this problem. And only you can help me with it.”

Steve had no idea how much that sounded like a line, so he barrelled ahead. He needed you, and he knew it from the moment he saw you at Sam’s house party the night before. The fact that you introduced yourself as a librarian endeared you to him, and the kind way that you talked to him all night about historical events of the 20th and 21st century cemented your place in his heart. He even adopted Sam’s nickname for you, Libby the librarian.

“I need a tutor.”

He’d piqued your interest.

“Sir?”

This time his groan was audible. That cute little head tilt was driving him crazy. And your braids up in that neat braid bun. You were wound tight at work.He wanted to have them down, waving along your ass and hypnotizing like they were last night. He wanted to wrap them around his hand as he….

You were going to be the death of him. He cleared his throat.

“I need someone to bring me up to speed. Someone who can help me understand this brave new world we have here.”

You didn’t respond, your eyes just scanned his face. He continued talking to fill the void.

“I mean, I wake up, and everything is different, society, technology, women, hell, even the president…”

“You never dreamed we’d have a black president, did you?”

You were toe to toe with him now, an equal in the field of knowledge, superior to him in history and culture. Steve liked this feeling. He really needed you.

“Honestly. No. I’ve missed the history that would lead me there. That’s why I need you.”

You bristled slightly, straightening your posture again and looking at the wall. Steve caught the vibe.

“This is not a command. I’m coming to you as a new friend that I thought we both gained last night. I want help. I’m asking you. Not as my subordinate, but as a friend. Please, Libby.”

Steve’s earnest plea melted you on the inside. You gave up trying to keep him at arm's length. You knew it was not appropriate what you did last night in your bedroom as you thought of the conversation with him last night. His voice, his eyes, those lips. And you did not overlook that body beneath his button up shirt and khakis. 

But he’d made it clear that you were friends and you would rock with that. Besides, you wanted to help America’s number one soldier see all sides of what he was fighting for. 

He needed to see the truth.

“Alright. One evening a week. Thursdays good for you?”

You walked around your desk and grabbed a post it note and started writing.

Steve was elated and nodded until you looked up at him and he responded verbally.

“Yes.”

He kind of liked you in control. It might be that much more pleasureable to subdue you. He shook his head, surprised at his own thoughts.

“Great.” 

You tore off a note and handed it to him.

“Order these books. Have one read, doesn’t matter which, by this Thursday and meet me at Pete’s Deli at 5:30.”

“Thank you.”

You smiled at him and Steve thought he was going to kneel at your feet.

“Don’t thank me yet until you’ve survived one of my very serious debates.”

“Sounds grueling.”

“You have no idea.”

—---

Over the last four months, you and Steve debated, argued, went through periods of needing space from each other, and late nights texting about tons of topics and cultural events during “the ice years,” as Steve called them. It was almost like a marriage.

You’d graduated from books, to Ted Talks, to movies, to videos on tons of topics and Steve was developing quite the knowledge base. 

You were proud of him, he digested information, reasoned it out, and didn’t become a carbon copy of you, but a well informed, better Steve Rogers. 

And fuck all, that made him even hotter.

Now, you were moving to the popular culture portion of your tutoring, and the night before you’d started the 1980’s/Spike Lee movie portion of your lessons. 

You’d binged She’s Gotta Have It, School Daze, and fell asleep halfway through Do The Right Thing. Now you were trapped between the arm of your couch and a 240 lb heat generator super strong super soldier.

You inched out from under Steve’s thick thigh, which was thrown over your legs, and was about to be able to escape when he turned over, his hand grabbing your boob and his fingers skillfully finding your thickened nub.

“Thank God for the right nipple. Thank God for the left nipple…”

You froze, but then remembered that was a line from the movie, and continued trying to escape without waking Steve up. He couldn’t be held responsible for his subconscious.

“Libby, wanna suck your nipples…please..”

You froze again. Well this was a development. Steve’s subconscious was trying to slide.

“Call me Captain when I suck your nipples. Sir when you suck me off…”

You managed to get up and you stood there, watching Steve, who was snoring now, and had no idea what he’d just said. You shook your head at the fact that he hadn’t learned the power of grey sweat pants.

In a daze, you walked to the bathroom and somehow ended up in the shower before you realized you had a guest. You were trying to process, and it was just a coincidence that your Leelo was in there. You’d be able to slake your hunger and clean up before he awoke.

Steve woke up, confused for a minute, and noticed that it was 4 am. 

He was on your couch with a Giant boner, and someone was in the shower. He stood up, stretched and went to your kitchen for a bottle of water when he heard you moan. 

Wanting to make sure that you were okay, Steve went to your slightly open bathroom door and got an earful.

“Ohhhh. Fuck, Captain, yessssss.”

Steve’s heart began to beat as he took a peek in at you through the clear glass of your shower, back against the wall as you held a sex toy to your pussy. The sight made him forget to breahe. The way you convulsed made his dick jump in his sweats. He rubbed himself to try and calm down, but your voice making those pretty sounds made him grab himself and chase friction against his clothes.

“Yes, Sir… would love to…suck… you…. offfff….fuck, Steve….!”

The sound of his name as you came made him feral and he hit his hand against the door frame. 

You stopped what you were doing as you looked toward the door. Steve used his best stealth tactics to go back to the couch, and that’s where he was when you came out of the bathroom in your robe.

“How much did you hear? Did you see anything?”

The way he was looking at you told you everything.

“I’m sorry, Steve. You were talking in your sleep, because of the movies. I got heated at what you said. Needed to relieve some tension. I understand if you want to stop meeting up. I’ve not been professional. Or a friend.”

“What did I say?”

“Hunh?”

Steve stood up and walked toward you. His voice was so deep. 

“What did I say when I was asleep?”

You gulped, but then you just said it.

“You said that you wanted to… suck my nipples and you said, ‘call me Captain when I suck your nipples. Sir when you suck me off…’”

Steve was closer now. 

“That wasn’t because of the movies.”

His hand was above you on the wall and you were staring up into his impossible blue eyes, which seemed to be shining in the dim light.

“It’s what I want to happen.”

“S-steve?”

Steve’s hand went to your hair, loosening the bun that you’d made for the shower.

“But I figured you only wanted to be friends, y’know?

“We are friends. That’s what you established when you came to my office…”

Steve fisted your braids in his hand and drew your head toward his. 

“I needed your help, true. But I was trying to get close to you without knowing how to make my move. Didn’t think you wanted me too, but what I just saw you doing in that bathroom. What I heard you saying, Libby…”

He stopped, his lips mere centimeters from yours.

“Christ, do you know how that ruined me?”

You whimpered in your throat and closed the distance between you.

If a supersoldier could slam someone against the wall gently, that is what Steve Rogers did to you as his lips and tongue explored yours. Your hands found his hair and tugged as he pulled yours, and your body pressed against his.

Steve pressed soft kisses all along your face. When he finally reached your lips, he teased you, barely touching them, causing you to whimper. He deepened the kiss, his tongue licking at yours, daring it to follow. Your mind was completely blown, and when you separated for air, Steve asked a question.

“So. Can you call me Captain when I suck your nipples? Sir when you suck me off?”

Your eyes met his and you made a silent agreement.

“Oh Yes, Sir.”

“Hmmmmmm.” 

Steve closed his eyes and groaned.

“Good girl. Correct answer.”

Steve kissed you again and this time his hands explored your body too. Your skin was moist and hot from the shower, and he ignited it even more. You writhed against him, brushing your nipples against his chest, causing them to swell and thicken. He groaned into your mouth, and it sent a pool of desire straight to your core. His hard cock pressed into your thigh insistently, and you reached into his sweats to wrap your hand around the rigid length of it.

“Jesus….” 

Steve’s ragged breath huffed into your face as his hand found your breasts and weighed them, rolling each of your nipples between his thumbs. You continued to stroke him, causing his hips to jerk up into your palm, beads of moisture helping to lubricate your hand as you stroked him as best you could, struggling to grip his girth. 

“Is this gonna fit in my mouth? In my pussy?”

Steve growled and kissed you again, his fingers parting your robe and dipping between your thighs. You shivered as first, one impossibly long thick finger slipped inside your slick heat, then two.

“We’ll make it work. You are so wet. So ready. And that mouth. If I can just experience you trying, I’d struggle not to blow my load, Libby. M’ struggling right now with just your hand.” 

“Let’s go to my bed.”

“Give me one now.”

“But-”

“What did I just say Lieutenant? Who is in command?”

Lust rocked your body at Steve pulling rank. You whimpered again.

“You are, Captain.”

“That’s right. Now stay here, and take this like the soldier you are.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Steve rewarded you with a kiss and then trailed more down your neck, moving south. He paused, his breath warming the skin over one of your swollen peaks. You were in agony.

“Captain, please.” 

“Please what?” 

“Please let me feel your lips.”

“As you wish.” 

You writhed as he kissed everywhere except where you wanted him. You tugged on his hair, which did nothing to dissuade him from his mission of driving you crazy. 

“I love that you are so desperate for me, Lib. So damn attractive.”

He hovered over your nipple as he teased it with the hot air from his mouth, looking up at you with those blue, blue eyes.

“You love this, don’t you?”

“Yes, Captain!”

Steve added his thumb to the mix of his fingers pumping in and out of you. He kept the pace consistent, no matter how much you tried to move against his fingers. Chuckling, he finally settled his lips around your nipple and hallowed his cheeks as he drew you into his mouth, causing your pussy to shudder to gush over his fingers as you came.

“C-captain!”

“Yes, Doll?” 

“N-need you to fuck me. Please.” 

“Who’s in command?” 

He grazed your nipple with his teeth. 

“You, Captain, I—” 

Steve withdrew his fingers from your cunt.

“Can you call me Sir first?”

You looked into his eyes and suddenly you wanted nothing more. You dropped to your knees in your living room, not caring how the hardwood felt on your knees. Relishing it, even.

Steve pushed your robe off your shoulders and it pooled around you as you watched him take off his t-shirt and pull down his sweats and boxers. You practically drooled at the sight of the thick tan staff in front of your face.

You watched Steve’s thick fingers grab the base of himself and squeeze and you looked up to see him clenching his jaw.

“You’ are trying to make me blow my load on your face with those eyes of yours, Lieutenant. Maybe I should ask you again. Who is in charge here?” 

“You Sir. Let me taste you, please?”

You were topping him with a request, but Steve let it slide as his cock slid past your lips and tongue.

“So fucking hot. Isn’t that what the kids say?”

Steve took your head in his hands as you put your hands behind your back and let him fuck your face. You hummed an acknowledgement as Steve groaned above you. Your pussy was sopping wet at this point.

Steve let go of your head and braced himself against the wall as he warned you through clenched teeth.

“Do you want this? Because… it….fuck… here it comes….”

You prepared yourself and swallowed quite a lot of Steve’s cum, which tasted surprisingly good. You moaned your approval as he gave you his spend.

He grasped himself again and pulled his still hard cock out of your mouth as you grinned up at him. 

“I could do that all day, Doll." He licked his lips as he looked down at you.

"Where is your bedroom again?”

You smiled and took his hand as he helped you to stand, and he followed you to your bedroom, nodding his head toward your California king.

“Get on the bed.”

Steve watched as you obeyed and stroked himself. Then, he kneeled beside you and ran his fingers along your body.

“You don’t know how much I’ve thought about this.”

You rolled under his touch, desire consuming you.

“Please…Steve”

Steve sighed, but secretly thrilled that his dream was coming true. You were begging him for it.

“I thought you knew what this was, who was in charge…”

He rolled your nipple and then pinched it when you said,

"You are, Sir!"

Steve rolled his big body over yours, supporting himself with his arms over your head. His cock nudged your wet slit, and he swore. 

“So damn good, Doll.” 

You moved your hips, trying for friction, or the goal, penetration, desperate now. 

“Please, Steve, don’t make me wait. I need you. I’m yours.”

Steve stilled, and looked into your eyes.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that…that you’re mine?” 

His tongue licked at your bottom lip before he kissed you. 

“I’m not letting you go.” 

His hips started moving, sliding his rigid member through your folds before testing your entrance. His eyes stuttered closed at the resistance there and at the way you slowly yielded open for him. Your eyes rolled back as he stretched you out like never before, fully sliding into you.

You both gasped as he bottomed out, and you gazed at each other, getting lost in the moment. You knew you would never be the same as you met Steve’s thrusts and he didn’t break eye contact as he stroked you to the most mind-numbing orgasm you’d ever had, embarrassingly quickly. 

Steve stroked lazily for a few minutes before he pulled out, turned you over and admired your back, tenderly kissing your shoulder blades.

“You are so beautiful. Everywhere.”

He lined up to your sopping wet pussy and slowly breached you again.

“What is the proper response, Lieutenant?”

“To what, Sir?”

Steve’s head dropped so that his hair brushed your neck and his tongue traced your spine, causing you to arch your back as he slid all of the way home.

“To the statement of fact that you are beautiful. Everywhere.”

His voice was a desperate groan, and so sexy.

“Oh,” you exclaimed, and kept your mouth open, searching for air because you almost forgot how to breathe.

Steve smacked your ass.

“That’s not correct.”

He was going hard now, and his voice was strained. He was close.

“Y-yes, Sirrrrrrr!”

You came again, pussy clutching Captain America’s cock. Steve became the most profane you’d ever heard him.

“Feels so fucking good, Doll. Love this ass, and this tight, wet, pussy. Fuckkkkk!”

Steve roared as you felt his hot ropes of cum spurt inside you, triggering yet another orgasm.

“Oh my goddd!”

You collapsed and Steve moved so that you were still connected, but on your sides.

“We’ve got to finish the movie. Need to find out what happens with Mookie…”

"Yes, Sir."

But Steve was falling asleep, and you looked over your shoulder at the super soldier who looked more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. You kissed his arm, which was wound around you, and which was holding you tight.

—--

The next Thursday, you were in your office when you heard a commotion. You looked out of your window as you saw Captain Rogers striding toward your office, this time in uniform, his hat under his arm. You closed your blinds and went to stand outside the door of your space as he moved nearer to you.

Damn. You should never have told Steve how much him being in uniform affected you.

“Captain Rogers, this is a surprise.”

You kept your eyes straight ahead as you stood at attention and he moved around you.

“I need your help again, Lieutenant. In your office. Now.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“At ease.”

You relaxed as Steve put his hat on your desk, advanced upon you, putting his hands on your waist as he kissed you silly while easily lifting you and placing you on your desk. He backed up to take a look at you as you crossed your legs.

“I’m here to inspect your uniform today, Lieutenant. From this view, it looks splendid.”

“Thank you, Sir.” 

You straightened your torso and pulled on your jacket, but you knew that he was speaking about the fact that you’d worn a skirt today, as he requested.

“I’m interested to see if you followed all instructions.”

Steve’s hands were on your thighs and he pulled them apart and got on his knees before you. He smiled and licked his lips as he saw that you were in fact, not wearing any underwear. He also could smell your arousal and opened his mouth to breathe it in. He was transfixed. You snapped him out of it when you asked him a question.

“You said you needed help, Sir?”

He looked up at your cocky grin.

“Yes, lieutenant. Need you to help me with a new term I came across today in my reading. Cunnilingus?”

“Y-yes, Sir. Of course Sir.”

It was all you could say as Captain Steve Rogers inspected your uniform from underneath your skirt.

------

Read Mood.

Reblog if you liked it!

[blueiscoool]

The 'Carnyx' Nightmare of the Roman Soldiers

The Carnyx was a brass musical instrument used as a psychological weapon of war by the ancient Celts between 300 BC and 200AD in western and central Europe and beyond.

The carnyx was once widespread throughout much of Europe, although only a dozen or so fragments are known to us.

It was carried by bands of Celtic mercenaries; it was present at the attack on the Greek sanctuary at Delphi in 279 BC; it defied Julius Caesar in Gaul; and it faced Claudius when he invaded Britain. They are even shown on a Buddhist sculpture in India, proof of the far-flung connections of the Iron Age world.

However, they were not only used by the Celts; they were also used by the Dacians in modern Romania. The term “Celtic” is a complicated one. The concept of a pan-European Celtic culture is a myth; rather, aspects of art and technology were shared across vast distances by diverse cultures. The carnyx was one example of this.

A 12-foot-long, thin bronze tube with right-angle bends on both ends made up the carnyx. The lower end ended in a mouthpiece, and the upper end flared out into a bell that was usually decorated to look like a wild boar’s had. Historians believe it had a tongue that flapped up and down, increasing the noise made by the instrument. The carnyx was played upright so that the boar’s head bell protruded well above the warriors’ heads. Its primary goal was to create more noise and confusion on the battlefield.

The Greek historian Polybius (206-126BC) was so impressed by the clamor of the Gallic army and the sound of the carnyx, he observed that “there were countless trumpeters and horn blowers and since the whole army was shouting its war cries at the same time there was such a confused sound that the noise seemed to come not only from the trumpeters and the soldiers but also from the countryside which was joining in the echo”.

And the Roman historian Diodorus Siculus wrote, “Their trumpets are also of a peculiar and barbaric kind which produce a harsh, reverberating sound suitable to the confusion of battle.”

Archaeologists discovered a hoard of ritually destroyed weapons in 2004, including a dozen swords, scabbards, spearheads, a shield, bronze helmets, an iron helmet shaped like a swan, a cauldron, animal remains, and seven carnyces. Before the Tintignac discovery, the remains of only five actual carnyces had been found.

The finest was unearthed in Deskford, Scotland in 1816. The Deskford carnyx only has the boar’s head bell and is missing the mane, tongue, and tubing. Images of Carnyx players have been found as well. A Roman denarius, dating from 48 BC bears a representation of a Carnyx. Three carnyx players are featured prominently on the Gundestrup Cauldron, which was found in a Danish peat bog.

One of the seven found at Tintignac, on the other hand, was almost entirely complete. The Tintignac Carnyx was broken into 40 pieces. When puzzled back together, it was found to be just an inch short of six feet long with a single missing section of the tube. The bell was a boar’s head with protruding tusks and large pointed ears. Once restored, the Tintignac Carnyx proved to be the first virtually complete carnyx ever found.

By Leman Altuntaş.

Music video by John Kenny.

[willowed-wisp]

sweethearts [ johnny ‘soap’ mactavish ]

johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x f!reader

You had known him forever. Since nursery school and all the time in between.

John MacTavish- though, you called him Johnny. And in later life, that turned into calling him ‘Soap’.

He had been gunning for that uniform since you were 15 and he was 16… falsifying his age only to fail miserably.

It was culture shock to when he left when he was 18… he was your first friend, first kiss, first young love. Yet, it was nothing official. Just two best friends experimenting with each other. You couldn’t have asked for a better person.

You were there when he came back- more of a man than the boy who left. All of him larger than before even that indicative smile. But HE hadn’t changed, still the same snack eating, football loving Scotsman.

That meant your attraction for him was worse than ever- having been in love with Johnny for most of your life. His sky bursted gaze enough to drive you crazy.

Someone like him would never feel the same about you- strictly friends.

Mates who got mistaken for boyfriend and girlfriend most days of the week. Neither of you minded it but it was always you who persisted the, ‘as if… he drives me insane…’ the pining kind of insanity.

His return led you to distance yourself, an insecure freshly turned 18 year old, distracting herself from the boy next door. Johnny could do much better for friends than you, he was the youngest SAS recruit to pass the selection.

HE COULD DO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU.

You didn’t even go say goodbye to him when he left for his first mission- somewhere you’d never know.

Instead, he came to you. Stood at your doorstep.

His face gloomy, “So you weren’ even gonna say goodbye?” Not knowing what to do, your shoulders shrugged and silence ensued. “You’ve been off for weeks, when was the last time we had a movie night? Is it because of the training? Me leavin’?”

Fingers picking at your nails; you’d never been nervous around him. But this was the first time seeing him in god-knows how long, when you hadn’t spent a day away from each other. “I don’t know, John- ,”

“You do know and that’s the problem, Y/N, because you won’t bloody tell me what I’ve done wrong,” he spoke harsher than intended, regretting it within an instant as your stepped forward- sizing the six foot something soldier up.

Staring up at him, “Why do you bother with me when you could have anybody around you? I’m not going anywhere with my life!” It wasn’t envy that spurred you on, it was the fact he was going to leave you.

Heartbroken and yearning. Lost without the boy who had always bolstered you up when you had been thrown to the ground.

Johnny’s eyes welled with tears, “What’s made you think that?”

In a whisper, “You’ve just gotten into the fucking SAS, Johnny…”

“So what? I’m still the same guy… nothing’s ever gonna change me… you should know that by now…”

You wanted things to change- the dynamics between you. Before he found somebody who would knock him off his feet and you’d never get the chance.

His fingers trailed your arm, before he cupped your hand. Blue coveted your vision, “Nothing’s goin’ to change us, you’re my absolute best mate…”

Like a dagger, he struck a nerve, “Maybe I don’t want to be your ‘best mate’, I’m sick of pining for you when clearly you’ll never feel the same way,” a quick pause, “Go and find a pretty gir- ,” Before you knew it, his kiss smothered you. More intimate than when you were twelve, with more intent.

Instead of resisting, you caved in. Hands balanced holding his jawline, clean shaven.

Exploring every inch of your body in that hurried kiss. It was better than anything you had dreamed.

Before you pulled away first, “You’re my everything, Y/N…” Thumbs rubbing circles at your waist. “I cannot tell you how long I’ve wanted to do tha’…”

The memory ran writhe in your brain. That was 8 years ago…

Since then you were happily married with a baby on the way. Johnny had been deployed for over a month. Today he was supposed to be returning- from where you didn’t have a clue but he always came home safely.

That’s what mattered.

You expected the phone to start buzzing, the usual unknown number saying to go to the airport. Instead, a knock at the door.

It was like him not to want to run you around pregnant. But it was Simon who answered the door.

Not able to help the tremble. Air caught in your throat, choking on nothing. “He’s not… is he?” Stopping those tears from coming down- clutching your belly.

You’d have fallen to your knees- had it not been for capable hands.

You looked up, blue eyes for days and a face contorted worriedly, “What did you say, to ‘er, LT?” He held you close, but it would never be enough for you. “You and munchkin okay?” He rubbed your large stomach.

You crushed him in your arms. “Darlin’, I’m a bit tender…” Only then did you notice the sling in his arm, a bandage skirting beneath his shirt.

“What happened?” He shook his head, a grin on his face.

One of nervousness, “It could have been a lot worse,” Simon was as gruff as usual. You would never be allowed to know what happened.

“I’m just glad you’re safe and sound,” Thumb rubbing along longer stubble on his cheek, there was more to the story than either him or Simon were telling you. “You too, Si, thanks for taking care of him.” Spoken wholeheartedly, “Dinners on, you can stay if you want?”

He accepted as he usually did. The mood held less tension as time went on. You came to the conclusion that you were lucky to have Johnny in front of you, laughing at some stupid dad joke Simon said.

All you did was sit there, looking at the guy you had loved all your life.

Your Johnny…

————

I contemplated 💀 Johnny but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He’s just too sweet and just too tragic to write.

Thank you for reading :) xx

————

masterlist

[jamdoughnutmagician]

All The Man That I Need (18+)

Beefy!Bucky x Female Reader

Warnings:18+, Smut, Size Kink, Oral Sex (F Receiving), Squirting, Missionary Position, Kissing. If I've missed anything that you want tagged just let me know!

Authour's Note: There's literally no plot here whatsoever, just shameless smut. I haven't written for bucky in a while so I wanted to try writing for him again, but honestly writing this was a bit of a struggle so it may not be my best work.

Word Count:1,524

Masterlist Bucky Barnes Masterlist

There was no shred of doubt about it, Bucky was big. In every sense of the word. Tall, broad and deliciously thick. His hair falling down along his chiselled, strong jaw in soft chocolate tresses. 

There was only one word that came to mind when you laid your eyes on your Bucky. 

Beefy.

Bucky was also immensely strong, with powerful muscles padding along the length of his arms, both human and metal alike. His legs were long, his thighs just as powerful as his arms, with sturdy muscles running the length of them.

Never have you ever felt more safe than when you’re held in the comforting warmth of his embrace, resting your head on the well-defined muscle of his chest. His arms circling you to bring you close to him, just where he always wanted you to be.

Bucky also never misses the opportunity to show off to you his super-soldier size and strength. Every inch of his six foot tall frame towered over you, but never once did he ever make you feel intimidated.

His size and strength also came into play in the bedroom. Easily picking you up in his arms as if you weigh next to nothing, carrying you to the bed with a gentleness that others may have assumed he wasn't capable of, but you knew that wasn't true.

He caged you beneath him, stroking his thumb over your cheek tenderly. before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss that was full of passion.

"You're so beautiful, Doll."  His steely grey-blue eyes sparkle in the moonlit-glow streaming in through the window, illuminating the otherwise dark room.

His lips descend lower, kissing his way down the column of your throat, occasionally stopping to nibble and suck hickeys into the crook of your neck. 

His lips trail further downwards, kissing his way across your collarbones and over the plump swell of your breasts. Taking the time to shower each of your breasts with its equal share of gentle kisses.

His tongue darts out from between his pink lips, swirling around one of your nipples, teasing the bud into a hardened peak. Whilst his human hand works to tease your other nipple, pinching and rolling it between the rough pads of his fingertips. 

His kisses continue to trail down your body, kissing in-between the valley of your breasts, moving down to kiss over the soft skin of your stomach, before laying a sweet kiss amongst the small thatch of hair between your legs.

Bucky wastes no time in raising your hips up and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up to him.

He leans down to your core, the tip of his nose nudging at your clit as he begins to lick his way through your folds. His tongue flattens against you as he takes one long sweep from the bottom of your slit to the very top, using the tip of his tongue to quickly flick against your clit. He sucks your clit between his plump pink lips, before letting go with a wet pop.

With a desperate whine you find your hands tangling into the lengths of his shaggy brown hair, your chest rising and falling with shuddering breaths.

He listens and takes your desperate whines of pleasure as a sign that you needed a little more from him.

“You want one of my fingers, huh Doll?” he asks, drawing back from you to look you deep in the eyes.

“Please..” your voice rasps out.

“Which one do you want, hm? You want this one?” he asks as the chill of his cold metal hand softly squeezes the plump flesh of your thigh. 

You shake your head. 

“No?” his deep rumbling voices teases.

“Want your other hand…please…just wanna feel you..please” you plead, desperate to feel the warm touch of his human hand.

“Well since you asked so nicely..” he smirks before slowly easing one of his thick fingers into your tight wet heat. 

He begins to slowly draw his finger in and out, making sure to press against that spot deep inside you that has your hips wriggling against the mattress. His metal hand is held over your stomach, providing you with a gentle pressure that makes everything he's doing feel so much more intense. You're fighting the urge to arch your back from the pleasure, but the chill of his metal hand against the heated flush of your skin keeps you right where he wants you to be.

“Oh you need it real bad don’t you Doll?” he’s relentless in his teasing. He always is. Always knowing just the right things to say that will have you wordlessly nodding your head for more.

His finger brushes against the spot inside you that has you rolling your hips.

His lips are on you once more, working in tandem with his finger, as he tastes you with an unabashed confidence.

“Tastes so fuckin’ sweet baby..Know you’re close, I can feel you squeezing my finger..” he mumbles against you as tongue continues to flick against your clit.

“Come for me, Doll…” he pleads as he watches how your heaving breaths of pleasure turn into desperate whines.

With one more thrust of his finger inside you and the flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit, you felt your orgasm rush over you. Your tight cunt pulsing with a wet gush as you squirt out your release. 

You hear a deep rumbling laugh as you look down between your thighs to see Bucky pull back for a moment, only to see his face glistening with the evidence of your orgasm. His tongue is immediately darting out to savour your taste on his lips, never missing out on the opportunity to drink down every last drop of you.

Leaning back on his haunches you see him slowly stroke his hand up and down his cock, teasing the head by swiping a thumb through the pooling mess of pre-cum glistening at his tip.

“See what eating your pussy does to me baby? Swear nothing makes me harder than getting to taste your sweetness on my tongue, Doll.”

With his cock held firmly in his hand he lays the length of him down against your lower stomach, almost as if he’s sizing you up. His tip coming up to rest just below your belly button, leaving a stick smear of pre-cum as he taps his heavy dick against your skin.

You were all too aware of Bucky's impressively sizable length, but seeing him line himself up against you like that makes you realise just how big he is, and how much he fills you up.

He lines himself up with your entrance, pushing his hips forward slowly with a groan. Filling you up inch by inch with his thick cock. Working himself until he is fully settled inside you.

He gives you a moment to adjust to the stretch, knowing that you always need a quick moment to gather yourself when he fills you so completely. 

He feels your heels digging into his back and that's all the go-ahead he needs before he's drawing his hips back and thrusting himself into your tight wet cunt.

He rolls his hips experimentally before he feels your nails digging into his shoulder bringing him close as you whisper in his ear.

“Want it hard…please..” you whine, placing a sweet kiss below his ear.

Bucky immediately pulls you close to him, his metal hand squeezing into the plump curve of your hips as he begins to fuck his hips into you with sharp precise thrusts.

The feeling of his thick cock stretching you out straddles the thin line between pain and pleasure, with each thrust into you he satisfies you more than anyone had ever done before.

“Look at you, Doll…Look so pretty underneath me like this…fuck..take my cock so well..” he groans, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss.

His other hand snakes down to rub circles around your clit with practised ease, knowing your body as well as he did, he knew exactly the right way to touch you that would have you falling apart under his touch.

He continues to work your body, the feeling of him deep inside you and his fingers rubbing you so perfectly has you rolling your eyes back as your orgasm rushed over you.

“That’s it, pretty girl…come for me…wanna feel you squeezing me..” he moans in his deep raspy voice.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he buries his length inside you as deep as he can before he’s filling you up with rope after rope of his release, swallowing your moans in a deep kiss.

Taking a moment to gather himself with a steadying breath he slowly pulls out of you, his eyes never leaving you as he watches the flow of him drip out of you.

Laying down beside you in the bed he pulls you into his strong arms, once again keeping you safe in his embrace. He places a loving and tender kiss into the crown of your hair.

"My perfect Doll…I love you so much.."

tags @itsfreakingbats @sidepartskinnyjeans @buckgasms

[lila-lou]

✨Nothing he couldn't handle Pt. 1/3✨

Summary: You finally tell Ben why you won't let him in your panties.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, touching and teasing, anxious Reader

Word Count: 2206

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

“Damn it!”, you muttered as you searched the fridge for something to eat. You should have been asleep by now, but you were still full of adrenaline after the last mission you completed just 4 hours ago. Everyone else had been in their rooms for about two hours while you tiptoed around the kitchen in your pajama shirt, desperately looking for a little snack.

You've been a member of the Butchers team for 6 months now. Well, more or less a member. You didn't fight, that wasn't your thing at all, but you had a lot of skill when it came to profiling Supes and figuring out what made them tick, when they lied and what they planned to do next. You worked for Vought, for a 4 year training, until the Tower crashed. In just 2 years, you had learned more about Supes and their profiling than other people did in ten years. You were by far the best in the field, but most importantly, you couldn't be bought and had a strong dislike for Homelander, which was why Butcher showed up on your doorstep six months ago and had Hughie begging you to join the team. The Supes and everything that came with them stopped scaring you a long time ago. You were already too jaded. Well, except for one small aspect.

After agreeing, you stayed in your apartment for a few more weeks, but you quickly realized that wasn't an option at all when you narrowly avoided being split lengthways by Homelander.

Since then you have lived with the other boys, Annie and Kimiko. After the incident between Homelander and Soldier Boy, Annie also made the decision to move in with Hughie to stay with the boys and protect him.

"If you bend over a bit more, I swear to you, I'll rip those damn thin panties off your little ass", Soldier Boy muttered as he leaned against the kitchen island with his arms crossed. "Shit! Stop scaring me!", you squealed a little too loudly, standing back up and clutching your yogurt tightly in both hands. "And by the way… eww! Everything that comes out of your mouth is fucking disgusting”.

Soldier Boy just rolled his eyes and leaned back a little more. Your gaze wandered over his bare torso as you unconsciously bit your bottom lip.

Soldier Boy had been after you since you moved into the apartment you shared. You were the new nice toy he couldn't have. And that very fact made him want you even more.

Of course you couldn't deny damn fine Soldier Boy was, to be honest you actually developed feelings for him over the last few weeks but after the countless accidents and even deaths that occurred when Supes and humans had sex you were just too afraid to let him get to you. As long as Ben was a few healthy inches away from you, your mouth was huge and your attitude even bigger, but as soon as he came closer and touched you, you flinched. Maybe Vought simply shouldn't have assigned a young girl in training to the department that dealt with the most egregious deaths, caused by supes. You hadn't even lasted five months there when you begged Stan Edgar himself to let you join the profiler team.

"You're horny, aren't you?", he grinned knowingly. “Your heart is beating almost as fast as it did, when I kissed you for the first time”. Just the thought of it made your knees weak. You let Ben get close to you twice, but both times you stopped when his hands slid over your hips to your ass.

“No, I’m not”, you grumble and start eating your yogurt, your back leaning against the kitchen counter, facing him.

“C´mon, Sweetheart. I promise you’ll fucking love it”, Ben pushed himself off the kitchen counter and took two steps towards you. You immediately tensed up and pushed yourself back even more.

“Ben…”, you whispered as he stood right in front of you. When his big hand cupped your cheek, you thought your heart would explode. “What do you have to lose?”, he murmured, tilting his head down until his lips touched your neck. As your heartbeat picked up again, he stayed in his position, waiting for some kind of reaction from you.

“My life”, you breathed.

Ben immediately pulled his head back and looked at you, confused, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you think I’ll get you pregnant? You´re fucking stupid? Yeah, I kinda like you, but a child would be too much, don't you think?". Ben had absolutely no idea what you were talking about.

Since you were no longer surrounded by him, you had found your voice again. It was like your brain finally had oxygen again.

"What? No! I did not mean that! Of course having a child would ruin my life, at least for now, but that’s not what I meant!”.

Now Ben just looked more confused. His eyes were on you as he tried to understand you. He couldn't understand why you put him off for weeks. He was nice to you, talked to you and even started watching that stupid show about demons and other supernatural crap. And yet you didn't let him get close to you. He was allowed to kiss you twice, that was it. You were a damn tease and he was starting to lose his nerve.

“Then tell me what you fucking mean, Tom Hardy”.

Slightly overwhelmed, you groaned and let your head fall back before you answered. You knew Ben wouldn't let go, if you didn't finally tell him why you were so reserved.

“I’m scared, okay?”, you confessed, still not able to look at him. However, you could hear the surprise in his voice.

"Wait, what? I know you’re not a fucking virgin anymore, so why should you be afraid?”.

It took a few minutes and admonitions from ben, before you finally told him why.

When you finally made it, you looked intently and expectantly at the Supe in front of you. His face slowly relaxed, but his gaze still remained unreadable to you. However, when a slight grin crept onto his lips, you shook your head in annoyance, grumbled "I definitely don't have to let you laugh at me" and started to walk out of the kitchen, but Ben grabbed your wrist. "Fucking Relax, dollface. I’m not laughing at you", he chuckled, but immediately let go of you as your heart beat faster again. With his lips pursed to hide his grin, he raised both hands apologetically.

Slightly offended, you crossed your arms over your chest and looked at him without saying a word. Ben took a deep breath before speaking.

“Do you really think I would hurt you?”, he asked, still smiling slightly.

“You’re not exactly known for your self-control, Soldier Boy”, you replied sharply, narrowing your eyes.

“Oh Sweetheart, believe me. It takes more than a nice tight pussy to make the first fucking super explode". That started the next discussion. It was back and forth, like the last few weeks.

“Okay, how about you sleep in my bed tonight. Just sleep. And if you're still alive tomorrow, you'll have your proof", Ben suggested at one point.

The thought of sleeping with Ben in his bed was both exciting and frightening, but you knew there weren't many options left before he would eventually give up on you. You tapped your folded forearm thoughtfully.

"Only sleeping?", you asked cautiously after a while.

"Ugh… promise?", he replied annoyed.

A few more moments passed before you forced yourself to say it and finally nodded.

"Okay. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea”, you murmured.

Ben rolled his eyes and shook his head, but couldn't help and let a small, genuine smile appear on his lips. When he started walking but you still stopped, he whistled to you, which finally broke you out of your trance. With a few quick steps you caught up with him and walked nervously next to him. When you got to his bedroom door, Ben roughly pushed the door open as usual and waved his arm for you to move on. In fact, it was the first time you were in his room. Your eyes scanned everything as Ben watched you expectantly. You were pretty sure you wouldn't sleep a wink.

As expected, his room smelled of alcohol, weed and a hint of his perfume. Ben walked past you and gently ran his palm over your back, but only for a split second. He sank onto his bed, pulled his legs up and leaned his back against the headboard of the bed. His hand reached for the joint he had started on the nightstand.

"You should take a hit, it would help you relax", Ben lit his joint before taking a deep drag.

“Yeah, I’d rather not", you snorted, continuing to look around the room. Your gaze stopped at the top shelf next to the bed. As you stretched, your shirt riding up and Ben getting a perfect view of your perfect ass, he felt his cock twiching in his sweatpants. Maybe he shouldn't have been abstinent for three weeks when he really had no other choice. He couldn't get you out of his head for days. He had tried having fun with other women several times, but even with his cock deep in a slut's throat and the idea of ​​the bitch being you, it just wasn't working.

“Ewww Ben, are youfor real?”, you pulled out an erotic magazine from 1971. “Gosh, there’s more hair than skin”, you grimaced as you flipped through the pages.

“Well, different times, doll". His gaze traveled from your face, down your body and back to your eyes. “I bet your pussy is perfectly shaved and fucking smooth", he licked his lips, keeping eye contact with you. Your cheeks immediately turned bright red because Ben hit the mark.

“C'mere”, Ben said in his deep voice, putting an arm around your waist and expertly pulling you onto the bed. Landing on your butt, you let out a short squeak of surprise. Ben focused on your heartbeat and breathing as he continued to hold you. Your back was pressed against his bare chest as he still leaned against the headboard.

"How does that feel?", he whispered against your ear, one arm wrapped around you as his free hand slowly stroked down your side to your thigh.

“I… I don’t know”, you whispered shakingly after a few seconds.

Ben scoffed before pressing a light kiss to your pulse point. “Relax, doll. Focus on my touch, not your fucking thoughts”, he breathed against your neck, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t calm your nerves. “Ben…please…You promised”, you tried to push Ben’s arm away from your waist.

“Fiiiiinee”, he groaned annoyed, releasing you from his grasp.

Ben slid further down so he was lying and reached for his phone. He went through the news as if nothing had happened while you still sat rooted to the spot.

“You want to sleep sitting fucking up?”, he murmured, not watching from his phone.

Grumbling, you lay on your side, your back to Ben, and pulled the blanket up to your neck. “Goodnight”, you said quietly, closing your eyes. Ben glanced over at you for a moment before putting his phone away and raising an arm to wrap it around you, but then quickly let go. Ben watched you for a few minutes before lifting the blanket and laying under it too.

When you still hadn't fallen asleep after about 30 minutes of Ben just listening to your heartbeat, you opened your eyes again. “Ben?”, you breathed, barely audible.

"Hmm?".

“Can I try something?”.

“Whatever you fucking want”, he grumbled tiredly.

You took a deep breath before turning to him and looking at his face. Your hand slowly moved to his upper arm and lingered there for a moment before pressing yourself closer to him.

"Can you hold me?", you whispered.

Ben was definitely not the soft type and by now he would have kicked any other woman out of his bed, but like he had been doing for the last 6 months, he made an exception for you.

"Women. Just can't fucking decide", he grumbled, his eyes still closed. His hand reached under your ass and pulled you as tight as he could with a firm tug, knocking the air out of your lungs. Your face was on his chest, next to your hand, while your right leg lay directly over his lap.

"That's okay?".

“I think so”, you answered him as his hand went under your shirt to your lower back and he held you tight. “Feels kinda nice”, you admitted sheepishly, breathing in his distinctive scent.

"Good. Now shut your mouth and sleep. I’m fucking tired”, he grumbled, starting to rub small circles over your soft skin with his thumb.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 Would you like a second part? Been thinking about giving Ben what he wanted from (y/n) for months.😏

-

Part 2

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

3: SEVENTEEN

Chapter 2 <MASTERLIST > Chapter 4

SUMMARY: You take care of the Winter Soldier's wounds, along with other needs.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning: SMUT: Oral sex (f), no kissing, possessiveness — If there is any more you find not listed here please be sure to let me know so I can add it.

Karpov had not required the infamous Winter Soldier's services for at least six months since your last encounter. Yet you found your mind continually drifting back to him. You vividly recalled his piercing, icy blue gaze - a stare that seemed to penetrate your hardened exterior and reach the vulnerable depths of your soul. When you learned of his reactivation, your heart raced and your body stirred with anticipation. The prospect of seeing him again filled you with exhilaration; you tingled with the tantalizing thought of being near him, able to reach out and touch him once more.

There was no opportunity for you to see him prior to his deployment. He was sent straight out from the cryogenics chamber, brutally wiped of his memories and sent out into the world with a mission not of his choosing. He had no choices out there. You had no idea why, but this disturbed you more than you cared to admit.

He was returned to you after three days. Three days where for some inexplicable reason, you couldn’t sleep out of fear. Not fear of his return, but fear that he wouldn’t come home to you. But return he did, albeit a little worse for wear than when you’d last seen him. This time the blood that coated his clothes was his own. He ambled behind you without instruction. For some reason, no command was needed, he followed you willingly. 

Your soldier, battered and bruised, sat down on a chair, waiting for you to approach. You observed him for a moment, the way he stared, wondering what it was that he saw, what he thought. Did he think? He didn’t flinch, his eyes didn’t even look towards you when you finally stepped towards him. You could see the blood stains coating his leather garments, seeping out between the seams. But there was no sign of pain on his stoic exterior, no grimace, not even a flicker of acknowledgment of your actions, as you peeled back the layers of clothing.

You couldn’t believe what you saw once you pulled back the layers of clothing. Blood stained his shirt, his pants and even his shoes. Your fingers grazed over the stab wounds on his back, there was an intense amount of swelling and bruising. As you touched each wound, the heat radiating off his body was indescribable. He sat there in front of you, perfectly still, not moving a single muscle as you touched every inch of him. You had never wanted to take care of someone so badly.

The stab wounds weren’t deep, they would be easy to treat, a little glue would hold the skin together until his body healed itself as he slept. Seventeen; you counted.

“I have to clean these cuts. Is that alright?” you asked.

“Da.” (yes) His answer was emotionless.

Something inside you lamented at his lack of familiarity. You longed to ask if he remembered you, but it was not your place. But now that you had his attention, his eyes lingered on you, almost as though something was waking in their depths. You tried to ignore it, focusing on the task at hand, but the tension inside you was palpable. Picking up a bottle of sterile water in one hand and gauze in the other, you started cleaning the lacerations on his body, one at a time. You tried to practice your Russian while you did so, counting as you finished with one wound and then moved on to the next.

“Odin, dva, tri…” (“One, two, three…”)

“Semnadtsat'.” (Seventeen) He finished for you in his gruff voice, making you smile.

And then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed your hand, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. You should have pulled away, should have reprimanded him for his inappropriate behavior. But something inside you was curious, intrigued by the intensity of his gaze. It was almost embarrassing how quickly this strange man could unravel you.

The Winter Soldier's touch was like nothing you had ever experienced before. It was surprisingly gentle yet firm, exploring every inch of your body with a sense of curiosity and desire. His hands moved with precision, tracing the curves of your skin as if he were trying to memorize every contour. And with each caress, a wave of pleasure washed over you, igniting a fire deep within your core.

You could feel the heat of his touch searing through you, his fingers danced along your spine, sending shivers down it and causing your breath to hitch in your throat. You arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him, craving more of his intoxicating touch. It felt wrong, in so many ways, to covet the touch of a man who had done such terrible things, a man who you had the ability to control with a single breath, but you couldn’t help yourself.

The heat of his touch was unbearable. You had never felt something so intoxicating before, he was like a drug and you were addicted. The fire spread down your spine and swirled within your veins, as the winter soldier's touch traveled up and down your body, tracing the curves of your flesh. For a moment, you didn't care about the consequences of this illicit encounter. He was powerful, dangerous, and yet, at this moment, in your arms, he was yours. Your breath hitched in your chest as the tension built within you.

He looked into your eyes as he pinched the hem of your scrubs top between his fingers, waiting for the go ahead to remove it. A ruthless trained assassin who asked for consent - how strange! You tipped your head forwards in a nod and he shed you of the polyester cotton scrub top, dragging it over your head and tossing it aside. You watched his face, the way his gaze roamed over your breasts, the way his chest rose and fell, the way his teeth bit into his lower lip.

“Do you like what you see, Soldat?” you asked, breathlessly.

Did you just have the audacity to ask the killer if he liked your body?

“Da.” (yes)

Suddenly, his face was up close to yours, staring at your lips. Was he going to kiss you? He leaned in to your left side, burying his nose in your neck, taking a deep breath, inhaling your scent. You had spritzed Diorissimo, your favorite scent on your neck before coming in to work that morning. What did he think of it? You had never experienced anything as intimate as this before, the sensation was both foreign and exhilarating. 

“Posmotri na sebya. Velikolepnyy. Mne povezlo, chto oni otdali tebya mne.” (Look at you. Gorgeous. I was blessed for them to give you to me.)

His finger reached under your chin, tilting it up so he could look at you. His lips followed the path his hands had taken, leaving a trail of hot kisses along your neck and collarbone. You moaned softly, unable to contain the pleasure that his touch was bringing you. Every nerve in your body was on high alert, tingling with anticipation of what was to come.

“This is torture,” you muttered, looking into his cold, steel-blue eyes. You saw a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

As his hands roamed lower, you felt a rush of heat pooling between your thighs. His touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You gasped as his fingers dipped lower, teasing you in the most delicious way possible. As he continued to explore, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate, you found yourself losing control, giving in to the overwhelming desire that consumed you.

“Pozvol' mne pokazat' tebe.” (Let me show you.)

With a gentle grip on your waist, he pushed you back against the examination couch, your body falling on top of the vinyl upholstery which covered the solid timber structure below it. Your gaze locked with his again as he towered above you. 

“You really are a horny one,” you hummed, eyeing the bulge in his pants.

“Ty takaya krasivaya, ya nichego ne mogu podelat'.” (You’re so beautiful, I can’t help it.)

You may not have understood his words, but you recognized his tone. You knew his intent and you had no objections. His hands roamed over your bare waist, brushing against your covered breasts. With a swift movement, he ripped open your bra, exposing your breasts to him. You gasped with surprise, he had never displayed any form of violence or aggression in front of you before and it reminded you that you were playing a very dangerous game even by indulging his fantasy. But you didn’t stop him as his eager hands kneaded your breasts, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. In fact, the added element of danger seemed to have sent your sex drive through the roof and you moaned softly, arching into his touch, craving more of his intoxicating caresses. His lips sucked your pebbled nipples, tongue tracing their peaked outline.

“Kotyonok.” The word was a soft growl in his throat, like a predator he was marking his prey.

The word ‘Kotyonok’ triggered something within him to take control of the situation. He was no longer the obedient slave that he had been trained to be. For once in his life, he found pleasure just from his lust for you. 

As his mouth appreciated your breasts, his fingers wandered down your body, untying the strings that held up your scrubs pants. He gave your nipple one sharp suck before letting it pop out of your mouth, before licking his lips salaciously. He prowled around to the end of the couch, his ravenous eyes fixed on you as he wrapped his fingers around your ankles, pulling you slowly towards him until your ass was right up against his erection. For a second, your breath caught in your chest as you remembered the size of his erection. The idea of him inside you was intimidating.

You were filled with apprehension as he approached you, his eyes dark and intense. But as he muttered under his breath, you found yourself strangely entranced. His fingers hooked into the seam of your underwear and scrubs, slowly dragging them down over the curve of your ass and off your legs until you lay before him completely bare. Your heart raced as you felt his eyes on you, your body tingling with anticipation. Despite your misgivings about what was to come, your pussy clenched needily at the thought of his gargantuan cock.

“Posmotrite, kakoy krasivyy moy Kotyonok,” (Look how pretty my Kitten is) he whispered, his voice low and husky.

You couldn't help but shiver at his words, feeling a mix of fear and desire coursing through you. His hands moved over your skin, exploring every inch of your pussy with a possessive touch that sent shivers down your spine. You knew what was coming next, but you couldn't bring yourself to resist. His touch was intoxicating, his presence overwhelming. And as he finally took you in his arms, you surrendered to the inevitable, lost in the moment with him. Despite your initial apprehension, you found yourself unable to resist the pull of his desire, giving yourself over to him completely.

His powerful arms seized you, his Winter Soldier strength impressive despite his size. Soft bites teased your ear as his lips returned to your neck. When he removed your clothes, your heart raced - you were naked before this powerful man, yet he offered no judgment, only an appreciative gaze. Gripping the warm, delicate skin of your thighs, he pulled you against his hard body.

The soldier ran his flesh digits over your glistening folds, delicately dipping them inside you. You noticed that he used his titanium arm as little as possible and you wondered why. The memory of his disgust when he first got himself off in front of you swam to the forefront of your mind, but it was short lived as his fingers plunged into your soaked pussy. The volume of your moan was surprisingly loud and you found his metal palm pressed against your lips.

“Tishe, Kotyonok,” (Hush, Kitten), he whispered, his voice sending a thrill through you.

You nodded, knowing that getting caught was not an option. The consequences would be dire for both of you. As he removed his hand from your mouth, you found yourself craving more of his touch. The soldier knew exactly how to please you, and you were more than willing to let him take control. His fingers continued their dance, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You arched your back, your breath coming in short gasps. The soldier's touch was electrifying, sending waves of pleasure through you. Just as you were about to reach your peak, your body trembling, he withdrew his fingers.

“Moy,” (Mine) he growled.

Every touch from him was like fire on your skin, his steel hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him, he was as possessive as you had ever seen him. The way he commanded you, took control, made it evident that he didn't want you to be silent, he wanted you to beg him for more.

His tongue danced over your folds, exploring every inch of you with a skill that left you breathless. Your hands clutched the sides of the couch as you arched your back into his mouth as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the heat building within you, a fire that threatened to consume you whole. Soldat’s movements became more urgent, his tongue delving deeper as he sought to bring you to the peak of ecstasy.

You were lost in a haze of desire, completely consumed by the Winter Soldier's touch. Every sensation was heightened, every touch sending you closer to the edge of ecstasy. You surrendered yourself to him completely, allowing him to explore you in ways you had never imagined.

“Delayesh' tak khorosho dlya menya.” (Doing so good for me.)

The way he spoke to you was as if addressing a queen. You melted in his grasp, the Winter Soldier's tongue igniting your folds, exploring every crevice. His tongue's touch was a firecracker to your flesh, the sensation overwhelming, your body trembling as you fought to maintain composure. He was going to complete what he'd begun, take you to new heights. You craved it, craved him. Your head fell back, a soft moan escaping your lips.

In that moment, there was no room for fear or doubt, only the raw, primal need that consumed you both. As you surrendered to him, you knew that you were his, completely and utterly. And then, with a final flick of his tongue, you shattered into a million pieces. Your body convulsed with pleasure as you cried out, muffled by his fingers in your mouth. 

Your body trembled and shook, limbs flinching with each wave of pleasure that coursed through you. Gripping the couch, you fought to stay conscious as fireworks seemed to explode around you. A loud moan escaped, followed by a soft whimper, and then your eyes fluttered closed. In that final moment, your thoughts drifted to him - the Winter Soldier.

You knew that you had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. But as the Winter Soldier held you in his arms, his touch both tender and possessive, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. He may have returned from his mission, but in that moment it was you who had been captured by him, ensnared in a web of desire and danger from which there was no escape.  You both knew the risks of your forbidden tryst, but in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Chapter 2 <MASTERLIST > Chapter 4

[ltash]

Pest Control 141

Taskforcexfemalereader

You were ready for anything—armed combat, hostile extractions, stealth missions. But what Ghost just called you for? Well, it wasn’t in the job description.

“Oi, get to the common area,” Ghost’s voice crackled through your comms. “We’ve got a... situation.”

You rush in, ready to face some unknown terror. Turns out, the "situation" is an eight-legged monstrosity clinging to the wall, looking like it’s planning world domination. Ghost is standing in the corner, arms crossed, keeping a good six-foot distance between him and the spider.

“You serious?” you say, trying not to laugh. “Ghost, the guy who can take down a platoon single-handed, is afraid of a little spider?”

“It’s not little. Look at the size of it!” Ghost says, nodding toward the creature. It’s huge. You’ll give him that. But still, the irony is too rich to ignore.

“Fine,” you sigh, grabbing a broom like a true warrior. “I’ll take care of it. Stay back, tough guy.”

You inch closer, broom in hand, ready for the mission. Ghost watches closely, clearly not trusting the spider to stay put. With the grace of a seasoned soldier, you raise the broom and swipe—only to miss entirely. Instead of falling to the floor, the spider launches itself… straight onto Ghost’s chest.

The next few seconds are pure chaos.

Ghost lets out a noise you’d never expect from him—half a growl, half a yelp. His hands flail as he tries to bat the spider away, but it’s too late. The thing is clinging to him like a special ops agent on a stealth mission.

“Get it off! Get it off me!” Ghost shouts, running around like he’s under enemy fire.

“Hold still!” you yell, trying to catch up to him with the broom.

“Hold still?!” Ghost snaps, dodging your first broom swing as you chase him around the room like a scene from a slapstick comedy.

In the middle of the commotion, Soap walks in, immediately bursting into laughter. “What the hell is going on in here?”

You barely glance at him, still in hot pursuit of Ghost. “Spider. On Ghost. Stand clear!”

“On Ghost?” Soap is doubled over now, laughing so hard he’s struggling to breathe.

Ghost is still running in circles, arms flailing. “For the love of—just hit it already!”

You aim another swing at Ghost’s chest, but he dodges, and the broom whacks him in the shoulder instead.

“That’s me, you bloody idiot!” he shouts.

“Stop moving, and I’ll hit the spider, not you!”

In one desperate move, Ghost trips over the couch, falls backward, and lands flat on the floor, the spider still crawling around like it owns him.

“Now’s your chance!” Soap shouts, cheering you on like it’s a championship match.

You raise the broom like a gladiator about to strike the final blow and bring it down. This time, you hit the target. The spider goes flying across the room, landing on the window with a satisfying *splat*.

Ghost lies on the floor, panting. “You hit me at least three times, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I got the spider, didn’t I?” you grin, offering a hand to help him up.

He swats it away, muttering, “I’d rather face a whole squad of enemies than deal with that thing again.”

Soap is practically on the floor laughing at this point, tears streaming down his face. “Oh, mate, this is the best day of my life. Ghost, scared of a little spider!”

Ghost pulls himself up, glaring at you both. “Say one more word about this, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Soap wipes a tear away. “Noted. But I’m definitely telling Price.”

You shake your head, trying to contain your laughter as Ghost storms out. Mission accomplished, but you’ll never let him live this one down.

[totes-tubulardude]

Excerpt from One Small Problem

-

“Aww.” Hardcase suddenly whined. “I won’t be able to get my daily ‘Soka hug now.”

Rex gave him a long and tired look.

“Your commanding officer is shrunken to less than six inches tall and the thing you’re concerned about is not being able to hug her?”

“Yes.” Hardcase said woefully.

Tup suddenly whooped with a big smile.

“You can’t but we can!” the young trooper turned and gave her a big smile.

She attempted to keep the smile off of her face but failed as she opened her arms. 

Like an over-excited tooka kitten, Tup pranced over and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. 

Hardcase let out a string of insults and Ahsoka felt Tup raise a vulgar hand sign around her back.

-

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

09 — I'M HIGHER THAN THE HOPES THAT YOU BROUGHT DOWN

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad.

<- previous part | next part ->

When you had taken down the organisation by Shepherd’s side, it was the beginning of everything.

The first time you had drawn someone else’s blood was with a rifle in your hand and a vengeance burning in your veins. A single order from your General – your only support – to kill anyone with the organisation’s uniform. Anyone who raised a scope to you.

It’s difficult, usually, to remember what had happened. 

Sometimes, in your deepest of sleeps, the nightmares of your past came to haunt you. Flashes of blood on your skin, corpses underneath your feet, the crackle of a radio sounding in an empty room.

A congratulations from your General.

Congratulations for seeking revenge, and executing it like a soldier well-trained. Another cog in the military’s rusting machine. A weapon for them, more than a human with free will and determination.

You’d thrown up, after it all.

Heaving, sweating, crying, the endless guilt of what you’d just done. Were you no better than them? Sure, they’d killed your mother, but you had just carried out the same in turn. Tenfold. They had families that they’d never report back to. Families that they’d never get to say goodbye to. Dinner left untouched.

Shepherd had pat your back – then, he’d been in service, active duty. You hadn’t known it, but taking down the organisation was his last mission.

You never even learnt the name of the organisation. Shepherd had said that it was better that way, to detach yourself, not get yourself muddled with the logistics of it all. You weren’t meant for that. You were meant for weaponry and death and destruction.

That night, when you laid awake in the small camp set-up just a few klicks out from the organisation's site, you determined that you wouldn’t take another’s life without certainty. Unless it was for defence.

That night, you’d known that you would ask to be trained for field medicine.

Oh, how naive you had been. Young, aching for a chance to get revenge, to get what you felt you deserved.

Ten days later, you met one Phillip Graves.

A day after that, he offered you a place within the beginning of his mercenary company.

Half an hour after you signed the contract, General Shepherd announced that he was no longer suitable for active duty.

How naive indeed.

*

You think, in the very back of your mind, with the smallest grip you have on thought, that you’ve been carried to safety by men more than you have in your life, these past few days.

In and out, your mind wavers, senses completely gone, consciousness an impossible thing.

Minutes, hours, days. You’re not sure. How does time even work? What is time? Are you alive? Is this death? Another third, universally unknown state, an in between?

These past few days, the utter mess your life has become, has it finally worn you out? Destroyed you from the inside, shrapnel embedded into your flesh? A direct hit, a ticking time bomb gone wrong? A suicide mission with no preparation, no warning, no hope?

If you could, you’d cry.

Let tears fall down your cheeks, crystalline and pure against your dirtied and sinful skin. A mocking of all things good and right and beautiful.

Oh to be beautiful. To be right. To be good.

Heaven would taste like fairy floss melting against your tongue, you think. Sweet and pink and soft. It would furl around your tongue, season your mouth with the feeling of cotton and freedom.

White.

White blinds every inch of your body, the darkness of your eyelids lit with the shade. Chemicals fill the air, a stagnant, all too damning smell. Beeping, too, a constant background noise as you slowly come to.

Hospital – or, at the very least, a Med Bay. It’s something quite familiar, but the feeling of being a patient in one is a very rare instance for you.

That feeling of blood, sticky against your face and arm, has gone. Instead, the itch of fabric and bandage replaces it, an IV drip attached to your inner arm an annoying sting. Your hair feels as if it’s been carefully spread over the pillow underneath your head, a blanket wrapped over your form.

If your spatial awareness is at all correct, you think you can sense a few other people in the room, too. Soft murmuring chimes in over the beeping, now, as you return to full consciousness.

“Can’t believe all three of ‘em are down.”

Gaz – that honey-esque, smooth voice instantly has you recognising the Sergeant. From where his voice is coming from, he seems to be sat beside your bed. 

“It’s not your fault, Kyle.”

Price. Captain. He sounds… softer than you’ve ever heard him. Lost, maybe, upset. Disappointed? It’s hard to place, his tone, but it seems almost forlorn.

“Had a whole fuckin’ team of Marines and we couldn’t make it to ‘im in time. If it wasn’t for her–”

“I know, Sergeant,” Price snaps, shutting down the younger man’s nervous, distressed rambling. A scrape of a chair sounds, the sound of pacing footfalls a moment later. “There wasn’t anything we could do – and it’s not like any of ‘em are dying, now are they?”

“Don’t act like this didn’t affect you either, Captain,” Gaz bites back in return, his chair, too, scraping against the linoleum floor. “I heard your yell clear as day.”

“I can and will write you up for insubordination, Garrick,” Price warns, stern and cold.

Gaz’s responding laugh is biting, grating. “No, you won’t, Price. Because if you do that, you’ll have to report the others too. You really wanna risk losing us all?”

“Don’t test me.”

“Thought you liked that about me, Cap.”

“Kyle –”

“Good morning to you, too.”

Both men turn, then, to look at you with wide eyes. With a small groan, you move to sit up, eyes burning with the sudden overhead lights. Your shoulder aches, your cheek, too, but not as badly as they had before.

“Be careful, don’t –” Gaz goes to say, moving towards you, before you show him your palm.

“I’m fine. I know my limits, Gaz,” you say, a small reprimand as you shift into a comfortable position. “I’ll be out of this bed within the hour if I can help it.”

“You dislocated your shoulder,” Price says, insistent, brows furrowed as he looks down at you, arms folded over his chest. “It’s in a wrap. You’re lucky, Colonel, that they could perform the surgery here.”

Your brows raise.

“Surgery? How long was I out?” You frantically ask, sitting up straighter, wincing when you bump your shoulder. Your mind races with theories, fear trickling down your spine like a cold vice. There was so much you had to do – had to investigate, now.

“Only about a day. You were under anaesthesia – and your body near shut down,” Gaz leans forward as he sits, elbows on his knees. “You were awake, under high-intensity stress, for nearly four days.”

Four days? Had it really been that long? What had only felt like a day – it had been four?

You must show your inner panic on your face, because Price takes a step closer, hand moving to rest comfortably on your shoulder. He has a calming, understanding tilt to his lips that you appreciate. His eyes examine your body, before his blue eyes meet yours.

“Graves is already planning his next movement,” he says, gruff and true. His hand squeezes. “We were playing checkers, seems like he wants to play chess.”

The beep of the machines sat beside your bed and the overall feeling of hospital and gauze and injury has you realising something. A flash in the back of your mind, a bell ringing for you like a dog on a leash.

“Where’s Soap and Ghost?”

Price and Gaz share a look, before Gaz flits a nervous grimace to you. “Ghost… refused to be treated unless he was put in the same room as Soap. Soap, is, well…”

“Get yer bloody hands off me, aye am fine, let me see ‘er–”

Soap’s voice carries down the hallway, the standard-issues curtains surrounding your small area doing nothing to block the sound. Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, Gaz buries his face in his hands, and Price heaves a long-suffering sigh, muttering something under his breath about decorum.

“Sergeant, the doctor’s –”

“Tell Sarah tha’ aye can bloody well handle maself!”

A crashing noise follows the last statement, along with the sound of confused yelling, before the curtain surrounding you gets ripped open by none other than Soap MacTavish.

His grown-out faux-mohawk is messy, obviously having been laid on for a fair bit, his eyes wide and chest pounding in sweeping movements. Fist clenched in the scratchy fabric of the curtain, his frantic eyes focus on Price and Gaz, respectively, before landing on you. His shoulders loosen, and he lets go of the curtain as he trails down your form, analysing for any injuries or a single hair out of place.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, sounding all too like that single nickname is a lifeline, “Yer alright.”

You softly shake your head, disbelieving and confused and shocked and. 

And maybe slightly grateful. Lucky, even, to have someone care for you enough to act like your very presence is their saviour. Like your blood is as worthy as their own, your lungs virtually theirs, too.

“I’m not the one that nearly fell to my death,” you exasperate, voice as soft and vulnerable as you’ve heard it. At the very least, the most open you’ve sounded since your mother was around. “Did you just kill one of the nurses to get here?”

Soap’s creeping smile turns into a full, toothy grin as he shakes his head. “Nah. That’d be Lt.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price mutters from beside you, along with Gaz’s choked off laugh. You can’t help your own private smirk.

“And here I was, thinking you were the dog, Soap,” you tease, except for the first time, it isn’t with the intention of goading. Of poking the beast. You’re… teasing just for fun. Because it feels natural and right and.

Oh.

Oh.

Soap scoffs. “Aye, ye did say that, didn’t ya? Ye haven’t seen a guard dog like Mr. Lt, lass,” He taunts, freckles dusting his nose, the hospital lights doing nothing to wash his tan skin out.

He says, as if your world hasn’t been flipped over, shaken about, and sat down on your shoulders like a snowglobe.

He says, as if everything is fine and normal and not cataclysmic.

“The nurse is fine.” 

Everyone, including Price, jolts where they are situated, eyes darting to where Ghost leans against the wall opposite your bed, picking at his nails.

He’s.

Unlike the balaclava, of which is all you’ve known of the bulky man, the only thing covering his features is a standard black medical mask, covering his mouth and nose. No ink stains the upper half of his face, either, and for the first time – you see his hair.

Dirty blond.

It oddly suits him, the shortly cut mess, the strands hanging over his forehead and ears. What strikes you is the lack of scars from the skin you can see, the unmarred skin, the softness of it. 

He’s pretty, in a rugged, unabashed way, and what a realisation that is.

With just a black compression shirt, sleeves cut to the mid-section of his upper arms, sleeves of talented ink cover his pale skin. A snake, intricately designed, covers his left, curving around the muscle. On his right, what looks to be a Greek god, its depth shadowed with blacks and greys.

“Good to see you in one piece, too, Lieutenant,” you say, and if it was at all possible, you’d swear that sparks shoot up your spine when his deep brown eyes catch onto yours. 

He raises an uncovered brow – pale and soft. “I meant what I said,” he threatens, a glint in his eye.

So, you suppose, not all has been forgiven. Your memories are shaky at best, but a few words stand out from your confrontation – kill, belonging, rank. A promise of death, but a vow of protection, too.

“What’re you talking about?” Gaz asks, looking between the two of you with a confused expression.

Neither you, nor Ghost, break eye contact as you simultaneously say; “Nothing, Gaz.”

Both Sergeants share a look, a cheeky one, the type that no one else in the room can decipher. You had seen the way that the two shared comments, winks, hits up the back of their heads. Joking and full of life, but with an unbreakable bond between them.

Yearning was becoming too familiar of a concept for you, you were finding.

“Laswell found a hit on some intel,” Price breaks the tension of the room, hands bracing on his knees as he looks to the four of you. A grim expression settles on his face when he looks to you. “It’s in the home of one of your Lieutenants.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as you swallow around a dry mouth. “What kind of intel?”

Everyone seems to collectively move in closer – Ghost’s hand rests at his belt, Soap’s at his back pocket, Gaz’s on the chain adorning his neck, a guitar pick attached to the gold.

“Intel on an ‘organisation’,” Price says. “A group of people wanting to overtake the military, one with a rising number of members.”

It’s as if you can feel nothing but the beat of your heart, the sensation of your fingers, the pain in your chest. The organisation. They were. You and Shepherd, you hadn’t eradicated them. Maybe stumped their growth, for a while, but you hadn’t.

You hadn’t realised they were still around. Growing, even, thriving.

The urge to just cry, pour out your emotions and weep is the strongest it’s been since your mother’s funeral. To just pull up the covers over your head and let tears fall down your cheeks, mourn in your misery, scream and claw at your skin and feel.

If only you could be that woman. Just for a day.

Instead, you reply.

“When are we going?”

Soap is, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, the first one to speak up. His hands land on his hips as he studies you with a narrowed gaze. “Ye need to rest, lass. Yer broken.”

You throw your unwrapped hand in the air, waving in their general direction. “Have you guys seen yourselves? How the fuck you’re out of your gowns is almost crazier than you storming into here gunsablazing!”

“We didn’t get a concussion, a wound on our cheek, a dislocated bloody shoulder,” Ghost challenges, and your hackles rise in turn. When he gives, you return. The moon and the sun – the two of you, always taunting the other with a bone just to see if the other will bite.

“I saved your ass,” you seethe back, and with only a small wince, you pull the IV drip from your arm. If Price or Gaz debate that move, you ignore it. “And his. I don’t seem to recall hearing a single thank you, either.” You rise on shaky legs, pushing through the ache, pushing through the thunderstorm in your chest. You turn to Soap, “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” you turn to Ghost, “And you don’t tell me what injuries deem me weaker! I’ve survived this long without the lot of you, and you don’t need to start babying me now.”

The silence in the room should dispel your nerves, but it only serves to increase them tenfold.

“We’ll scope out the area and decide what to do after. Five days ‘til we perform an undercover mission, I suspect.”

With a small tilt of your head, you look to Price, who rubs at his jaw, scratching at the hair lining it. He looks deep in thought – ever the calculating leader.

You sigh, quiet enough to not be heard. “Thank you, Captain.”

The wrapping around your set shoulder seems recently done, and when you move the ligament in small circles, the pain is nothing more than a dull ache. Your cheek, too, has been bandaged, but the sting is nothing if not prevalent.

Someone had spent the time putting socks on your feet, so you’re grateful for the small mercy as you move to the side table and swallow down mouthfuls of water from the plastic bottle placed there.

A thought comes to mind then.

“Where do I sleep? Or should I, um…” You trail off, because the idea of finding a shoddy motel in the middle of nowhere is definitely not a pleasant one.

Silence.

Slowly turning around, bottle in hand, your brows furrow when you see that none of them are meeting your eyes. Even Ghost, which is most definitely a first.

“Are you banishing me? Worried I have cooties?” You tease, bouncing on the soles of your feet. When no one responds again, you truly start to worry. “That was a joke,” you confirm, as if they didn’t know that.

“There’s no spare rooms,” Gaz blurts out, and your eyes go wide.

Of all the things that had briefly crossed your mind, a lack of space was most certainly not one of them. The consequences of that fact is the next thing to be brought to the forefront of your muddled ideas.

“Right,” Soap nods, as if this is a newly found concept. He gestures to Gaz, a smile creeping onto his face. “Thanks for offering to let ‘er crash with ya, lad.”

“I didn’t say that –” Gaz starts, expression slowly creeping into one of exasperation as Price interrupts with a slap to the Sergeant’s shoulder.

“Real generous, Garrick,” Price commends, moving to stand from his chair and leave the room. Ghost follows closely behind him, shooting a look between you and Kyle, simply saying, “Thanks, Sergeant.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Gaz groans, head falling against the chair backing as he slides down the wood. Soap is quick to bound away from the room, too, with a cheerful, ‘See you tomorrow!’.

Gaz, eyes squeezed shut, seeming to try and melt into the floor, flutters one eye open to look at you where you stand. He grimaces, before slowly getting to his feet, too.

“Sorry for,” you bite at your lip, looking everywhere but at the man who seems to want to die more than host you, “Being a nuisance. Really, I’m fine sleeping at a motel, or whatever. Seriously.”

His hand grasps your chin, moving it so you’re forced to look up at him, his analysing gaze searching your own. The brown of his eyes glisten in the bright light, his features shining with it, and you’re hit with an overwhelming want to be cherished by this man. 

How bad had your concussion really been, to be making you think this way? You should really talk to Sarah about it, ask what kind of side effects came with one.

Oddly enough, you don’t think that this realisation is as sudden as you’re forcing yourself to believe.

“I didn’t,” Gaz begins, quickly looking away and setting his jaw before meeting your eyes once more, “I didn’t mean it like that. Just. Embarrassing, y’know?”

“How? Got a secret collection of pornos you don’t want me finding?” You quip back, a soft tilt to your lips.

He chuckles, a soft, girthy thing, shaking his head. “Nah. Nothin’ like that. Just… havin’ a girl in my room on such short notice is a bit scary. Gonna kill them all when I see ‘em tomorrow,” he mutters the last few words under his breath.

“I really am sorry,” you promise, “I didn’t realise that I’d have to impose on you like this.”

“You’re not imposing,” Gaz says, stern, thumb brushing along your jawline. “My bed should be big enough, anyways.”

Your cheeks heat at the implication, mouth opening and closing around nothing. “Your – Your bed? I can just sleep on the floor –”

“No,” he interrupts, shaking your head side to side softly. “If anything, I’ll crash on the floor if you’re uncomfortable. I won’t let you sleep on anything but my bed.”

“Such a gentleman,” you lean in, whispering the words over his lips, a smirk forming on your face as you pull back. Heading for the door, you miss the way his fingers raise to hover over his mouth, gaze flitting to you before he follows behind.

“Do I need to see Sarah? The only reason I was really in there was ‘cause I was passed out, right?” You ask, turning around as Gaz meets you, opening the door for you to walk through. His hand falls to the small of your back as he directs you down the hallways.

He shakes his head. “Nah, Price messaged ‘er. If your pain starts up again, just take some pain meds or see her.”

“I like the way you run things here,” you hum, looking around at the concrete walls and linoleum floors, barren of personality. “No wasting time or resources.”

A draft carries down the hall, and you find yourself rubbing your arm, biting at your lower lip from the cold. Gaz’s hand wraps around your waist, pulling you into his body heat subtly, and you’re silently grateful. “I’ll give you some of my spare clothes to sleep in,” he says, thumb rubbing against where his hand sits in tight circles.

Your stomach growls, then, and you can hardly find the energy to be embarrassed when you haven’t eaten in four days. Yikes.

“Sorry –”

“I made you. Um.” Gaz looks away, bringing up his other hand to rub at the nape of his neck nervously. “I made you some wraps to eat, because the guys love ‘em, and Price kept getting pulled into meetings. So.”

The smile that pulls at your cheeks burns as you softly say, “Thank you.”

His grip around your waist tightens, the smallest amount.

You don’t comment.

“While you change, I’ll go get them from the fridge,” he says, as the two of you pause outside a standard door. The barracks look the same as every other corridor in this base, you’ve found, three other doors sitting close to this one. The 141’s rooms.

Unlocking the door, he switches on the light, and as you step in, you look around at the small room.

A double bed, narrow but long, sits in the corner next to a small window. Next to it, a wooden bedside table, with photos atop it, and a few random medals and gum wrappers. A single poster is stuck to the wall – and as soon as you see it, a laugh bubbles up in your chest.

“What?” Gaz asks, looking through his chest of drawers, looking to you with flushed cheeks. “It isn’t that bad.”

Your laughs continue, racking your body with each inhale as you point to the poster, eyes watery as you look at the man. “Didn’t realise you were into the Spice Girls, Garrick.”

He shoves his clothes into your face, only making you double over with laughter. 

“It was from my mum,” he grumbles, and you grab for his cheeks, squeezing them as your eyes near-shut with the manic laughter bubbling from you.

“Mama’s boy,” you tease, pulling at his cheeks until he’s face level. He huffs, pushing you away with a hand to your jaw, making more giggles erupt from your chest. “It’s cute, Gaz, I’m not being mean, pinky promise.”

“I’m getting the wraps, you twat,” he tries to sound accusatory, but his dimples deepen in his cheeks, his mouth pulling into a stubborn smile as he shoves you onto the bed, slamming the door shut behind him as he goes.

The fondness in your chest aches, and as you pull on his clothes, taking off the medical robe, you realise something. A niggling, in the back of your mind, one you can’t seem to shake as you tie off the oversized grey sweatpants around your waist.

A singular realisation, but a damning one, nonetheless.

Your smile doesn’t fade.

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19

[zepskies]

Sample the Menu

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

AN: Happy New Year, everyone! 🌟 This was requested by a lovely anon. It’s sort of a sequel to the imagine below. ⤵️

See this imagine for context: Repaying him for a job well done.

Word Count: 550 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only — spiciness and innuendo.

Imagine: Interrupting Ben while he’s cooking.

The cringeworthy sound of metal clanging on metal woke you up early on a Saturday morning. Though your irritation was soon waylaid by the glorious smell wafting up from the kitchen.

Bacon. It had to be. Mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

You slid out of bed, pulled on one of the shirts discarded on the bedroom floor (likely Ben’s, for how big it was), and freshened up before heading downstairs.

You were greeted to a mouthwatering sight.

An over six-foot tower of a man was taking up your kitchen, all broad shoulders and lean muscle and bed-tousled hair.  

In short, Ben was cooking.

But because he didn’t have to worry about the potential sting of sparked bacon grease, he only wore a pair of sweatpants while scrambling the eggs. Slowly you crept closer, not wanting to disturb his concentration just yet.

He actually seemed to be doing well. Or at least, nothing seemed to be on fire. (A vast improvement from previous attempts.)

Besides the pans of eggs and bacon, there were four slices of bread locked and loaded in the double-decker toaster, a side of butter, and two plates on the counter. The coffee was already done percolating.

Once again, your boyfriend managed to delight and surprise. He’d never cooked for you before. And you could dare to say, not for anyone before. You'd just recently managed to get him to do the dishes without being asked, to say nothing of breaking out the cookware...

There was an enormous mess of bowls, plates, and even a whisk in the sink, but you could deal with that if this was your reward.

A bubbly feeling rose up into your chest, making you smile. You went to him on light feet, sneaking up behind him.

Looping your arms through his and embracing him from behind, you leaned up on your toes and nipped at his bare shoulder. To him, it felt like a mere graze of your teeth.

“Mmm, I love a man at work,” you said.  

“Was wondering how long you were gonna fucking stand there,” Ben said, finally glancing at you over his shoulder. His lips twitched upward at the sight of your grin.

You hugged him tight from behind and pressed a lingering kiss into his neck.

“Breakfast looks good, babe. Thank you,” you said, though your hands drifted down his chest, down his sternum, down to thumb at the stretchy waistband of his pants. “It all looks good.”

A smirk pulled at his lips, though you couldn’t see it.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “Want to sample the menu?”

He felt your smile grow against his skin. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Just as you might’ve started inching that waistband down his hips, and lowering yourself along with it, Ben set down the metal salad spoon he’d been using to mix the eggs and turned in your arms.

He grabbed you by the hips and hauled you up on the counter beside him, hard enough to make the plates clatter. You gasped at the suddenness of it and clung to his arms.

“Ben—”

“Be a good girl and sit pretty for me,” he said. His eyes glinted with a familiar edge of cockiness before they roamed over your bare thighs. His grip brought you right to the edge of the counter, where he spread your legs apart. You allowed it, a tremor of arousal coiling in your belly.

His hand ventured up the inside of your thigh, and his smirk deepened.

It seemed you’d forgone panties entirely this morning. He liked that, along with the blushing smile you now wore, just for him.

“On second thought,” he said, as his fingers brushed the bare seam between your legs. “I think I want a taste.”  

AN: Hopefully the real food doesn't get cold. 😅

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SB Tag List (Part 1):

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[sexydoffyman]

Hello 👋, could I request some cod characters (perhaps Ghost, Price or Graves) defending a male military reader from a bunch of guys that are being homophobic to him?

DEFENDING YOU FROM HOMOPHOBES

navigation

genre: fluff

characters: Simon Riley, John Price, Phillip Graves

A/N: Sick of writing for kinktober. Mby that's why I can't write fucking properly. So let's look at some fluff.

SIMON GHOST RILEY

Ghost is a fairly scary man. He's known for being cold and serious. No one expected you to hang around him. He had six inches on you (15cm). Some people joked about you being the love birds in your TF. They could never guess how correct they were.

You weren't dating or anything, but you both held some kind of mutual respect, trust and maybe even attraction. You both had some qualities of a couple. He was a little possessive of you. You were a little clingy with him.

Although you had some kind of a relationship, that didn't really matter. The thing that mattered was you having each other's backs.

He was like a predator, making sure no one hurts his weaker companion. But when he wasn't around, you were left vulnerable. Not physically, no. You held great strength. What was left to hurt if people cant hurt your body? Your mind.

They mocked you ever since you met at boot camp. Any time they saw your face, they felt the need to embarrass you. You could handle it. You were a soldier, after all. But that didn't stop you from feeling hurt.

This time, you just sat there and took it. They yelled. They impersonated. Of course, that commotion would attract some people's attention.

The one that had showed up was Ghost. You couldn't even register him when you saw a 6'4 dude punch one of them. The others tried running, but none of them could get far enough to escape him. Their jaws broken. Ribs shattered.

You could hear him laughing under his mask. He then glanced at you "Coffee?" He asked.

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE

All I can say is father energy.

He has been your captain for a few years now. You have gone through shit with him, and you both trusted each other. You viewed him as a kind of father that you never had. And he viewed you as his new child.

He is not possessive, but he is protective. He wouldn't let anyone fuck with you. His rank helped him with scaring people off. He never really had a problem with disobeying soldiers to begin with, so he never actually used his rank, but now. He has to stick up for you.

You really do resemble a kid he would have had. You have similar hair colour and eye colour. Your postures don't have a difference, and you find yourselves finishing up each other's sentences.

These assholes who have been making fun of you were your superiors. What that meant was that you could do nothing to stop them. They could say anything they wanted, and they'd get away with it.

"Thirty laps now!" Your eyes averted to the sudden voice coming from the hall. He heard them. They slowly realised they fucked up. It was raining cats and dogs outside. Everything was muddy and slippery. Running thirty laps would be torture.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Price grunted with a more aggressive tone. They stormed off to the exit to run their laps. He yelled at them before they got out. "Being on good terms with your fellow soldiers is a must. I will have your ranks stripped away from you until you learn that!"

As soon as they left, Price let out a small chuckle. He was proud of himself. Cheeky bastard.

PHILLIP GRAVES

I love this son of a bitch.

Now, this man is always with you. It's not an obsession. It's just the fact that everyone else wants to be either alone or already has someone to be with. He just doesn't want to be alone.

You felt like you were the chosen one. He was still your superior, after all. After some time together, you got used to it. He always apologised for being such a bother. You got free snacks, which you didn't mind at all.

You were fucking around the base, chilling. You would've never thought you'd be sharing stories with him, but there you were. You didn't know what kind of relationship it was. Were you friends, or were you together just because of the situation? You never figure it out.

The dudes who embarrassed you were your rank. But they fuck with both of you since they didn't know Graves's position. A big mistake. He never really said anything to them. One day, they were just gone.

When you looked deeper into it, you found out that two were dead, and three lost their jobs.

Graves is such a gentleman.

[feyreswaterybowels]

𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚕

ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ x ʀʜʏꜱ!ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2ᴋ

ᴛᴀɢꜱ/ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʟᴏꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀᴛᴇ. ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ɢʀɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ. ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ. ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴀʟ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ. ʀʜʏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀꜱꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ. ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ʟɪʙᴇʀᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ꜱɪx ᴍᴏɴᴛʜꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ꜱᴛᴀʀ. ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ ɪs ɢʀɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏss ᴏꜰ ʜɪs ᴍᴀᴛᴇ. ʜɪs ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ sᴏ ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ. ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴠᴀɪʟ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴇʏ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ʜɪs sᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɢʜᴛ ʜɪs ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴs ᴀs ʜᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴏʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʜ�� ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴇ ᴍᴇʀᴄɪꜰᴜʟ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪs ᴍᴀᴛᴇ?

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Azriel’s eyes shot open when he sensed a presence in his room, instantly reaching for the dagger on his night stand. He looked around wildly but there was nothing. No one.

His shadows were tense. Alert. They sensed it too.

Azriel stood from the bed cautiously, bare feet on cold stone. His shadows instantly shielded him. If there was something in this room he would be invisible to them now.

He crept around the room, taking in every inch. Every shadowy corner. He looked behind the curtains. In the massive wardrobes. Under his bed, in his bathroom. Nothing. He walked to the balcony—that feeling of another being there rushed over him. He stepped out, the night breeze chilled his skin instantly and his eyes narrowed.

Nothing.

Then he felt it.

He gasped, dagger dropping to the ground as his hands clutched at his chest.

There was a tug. A tug right in the center of his chest, a tug in that black hole that had been there for months.

He fell to his knees. He couldn’t breathe. His chest was pounding.

“Rhys!” He hissed to his shadows, “Go get Rhys!”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

One hundred and eighty days.

Twenty six weeks.

Six Months.

Six months since Azriel lost the love of his life. His beautiful, sweet mate that he had foolishly turned away—who in her final moments may not have believed his love for her.

He would never forget the look on her face when that damned hyber soldier shoved a sword through her, how his shadows tried to desperately tend to her wounds as he tried to find help, the way she clung to him as her blood soaked through his armor. He remembered it, all of it. Every touch, every look, every whispered word from their last moments together played on repeat in his head.

It was all he dreamed about.

That was probably why he hadn’t left his room much the last six months. All he wanted was sleep because that’s where she was. Even if it was only a glimpse, even if the dream turned into a nightmare he didn’t care. If he could see her that’s all he cared about.

And when he wasn’t sleeping?

Well, he just laid in bed, his shadows curled against him as he stared at the roof or hid under his blanket and considered leaving this earth behind until sleep finally consumed him once again.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Violet blues were in front of him and Azriel immediately reached for him—scarred hand fisting in the dark material of his shirt.

“Az—”

“I can’t,” Azriel gasped, his shadows in a flurry around him. “I can’t breathe, Rhys. I can’t. I—”

“You can, come on, you have to take a breath. You have to calm down before you pass out,” Rhys said, grabbing him—one hand on his shoulder the other on the side of his face.

“Breathe. Come on, Az, breathe with me brother…”

He couldn’t. Rhys' words were drowned out by the ringing in his ears. He gasped again, doubling over again as that tugging in his chest began again. Feeling as if he was being shredded apart from the inside.

Azriel met Rhys’ eyes, saw the panic there, caught just a glimpse of Cassian as he landed on the balcony behind Rhys. The distant concerned shrill of Feyre’s voice. Rhys’ hand left his shoulder, grasping the other side of his face—he looked to be nearly yelling at him, shaking his head at something Cassian said.

His lungs hurt so bad, refusing to take in the air he was desperately trying to breathe. He’s going to pass out, he knows he it, he can feel the lightness in his head as his vision started fading around the edges.

He looked at Rhy again, but this time those violet blues didn’t belong to Rhys.

No. The face looking back at him was the one he’s been searching for since the last time he saw it all those months ago. The one his heart called out for. He reached out, scarred fingertips tracing along her cheek, his lungs finally filling with the breath he was so desperate for.

“Stella…” he gasped as he lost consciousness.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It was the midst of battle when he felt that tug in his chest, worry spreading through his chest. He shoved the dead soldier off his sword and spun around looking for her. She tugged again. He felt panicked, something felt wrong—had been feeling wrong all morning.

When his eyes met hers, she tugged that bond between him and he felt it. She had the same awful gut feeling he had. He nodded in confirmation, tugging that bond between them—the first time he’d acknowledged it.

He almost smiled at her, almost urged her to come closer when a figure suddenly appeared behind her.

No!

But the words wouldn’t come out. All he could feel was dread. He tugged that bond again trying to alert her. Why couldn’t he move? He felt frozen in his spot. He tugged that bond as hard as he could, hoping, praying to the mother that maybe he could pull her to him.

His entire body ran cold as that Hybern soldier appeared right behind her. The he felt it as it happened, watched as that sword pierced right through her stomach.

No. No. No. No! He was screaming, fighting that invisible force was holding him.

He watched her face crumple as she looked down at the sword impaling her. She looked back at him, a gasping sob ripped from her throat as that soldier pulled his blade from her body.

“NO!” Azriel’s shout left his throat, so loud it shook the earth around them.

He watched as she touched that bloody wound in shock—only half paying attention to the fact that Cassian had just killed that soldier but Stella was falling. Her wings had given out and she was plummeting towards the earth—

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He woke with a gasp, nearly toppling from the bed he'd laid on.

“Hey, hey, Az,” A voice echoed before a hand came down on his shoulder. He looked for the owner of that voice, finding his brother there—a look of concern on Rhys’ face.

“What the hell happened?” Azriel breathed, rubbing his hands over his face roughly, his body feeling fatigued and weak.

“We could ask you the same question,” the owner of that voice was Cassian.

“Azriel, I’ve given you time. I know it's been hard but it’s time to talk about it. You can’t keep living like this and I can’t keep watching you waste away,” Rhys said, firm and commanding.

Azriel looked at him, then Cassian. Felt the tears in his eyes, saw the worry in theirs.

“Fuck,” he breathed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. Sat there silently for a moment.

He didn’t see the look his brother shared, the way they silently communicate their concerns to one another.

“I don’t know…” Azriel started, thinking of the words he wanted to say. “I don’t know if I want to live without her anymore.”

The weight of those words was heavy, hitting his brothers hard.

“Is that why you’ve been in your room? Refusing to eat or train? Because you…because you want to die?” Rhys asked, his voice still strong but there was something else there—a silent fear.

“Not entirely,” Azriel shook his head. “Three months ago I started having dreams of her. She’s all I think about in my waking moments and she’s all I see in my dreams. Sometimes they are horrible dreams but I—I stay in bed because when I am awake all I remember is that she is gone but when I sleep she is still with me. I can see her, I can hear her laugh, I can hold her in my arms, kiss her, tell her—tell her I love her and want to be her mate. And I just—”

A sob cut him off as the tears fell freely from his eyes.

“Az,” Rhys breathed, reaching out to grab his brother, wrapping him in a hug the best he could from the side.

Looking to Cassian he saw those hazel eyes brimmed with tears, their brother's pain so strong it hurt them too.

“I miss her so much,” Azriel sobbed, clutching to Rhys.

Cassian couldn’t stand there any longer, moving to the bed and sitting, reaching out and wrapping his arms around his brothers. He wasn’t afraid to let his tears flow as they all sat there together, trying to bring whatever comfort they could to their broken brother.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s three days later when Azriel wakes, his body so exhausted from crying and speaking his feelings that he just slept and slept. Only dreaming of his girl. Not a single nightmare in sight.

As he was laying in bed, the dreams circled over and over in his head. He felt as if she was trying to tell him something, that maybe wherever she was she was still trying to be there for him.

She wouldn’t want this for him. She wouldn’t want him to lay in bed wasting away. She wouldn’t want him to die alone in his room. He couldn’t live his life with her. But he could live his life for her.

So he got up. It was slow, his shadows helped him. His muscles and joints hurt. His wings felt incredibly heavy. And…gods, was that smell him?

He looked towards the window. If he bathed now maybe he could have breakfast with his family. He missed them.

His brothers. His high lady and her sisters. Mor. And even Amren.

He was slow to move to the bathroom—he hadn’t noticed a few days ago or even that night he thought someone was in his room but now? Fuck, he felt it all now.

The bath was already steaming and he had half a mind to praise the house for that but his mental capacity wasn’t quite there yet. Instead he let his shadows undress him and balance him as he stepped into the large deep bath, immediately submerging himself in the warmth, sharing the weight of his body with the water took off a huge strain from his muscles.

Step one: get strength back.

He almost felt too weak to even bathe but while he washed himself his shadows took over the responsibility of washing his hair.

When he finally pulled himself from the water a fresh warm towel was waiting for him with a stack of clean clothes. He paused mid drying off when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

His skin was dull and pale, dark bags under his eyes that looked nearly sunken in. A thick, scruffy beard covered his chin and jaw and his hair fell well past his ears, nearly resting on his shoulders. The majority of his muscle definition was gone and he looked…fragile. Like he could break so very easily. His wings drooped behind him and when he tried to tighten them it was painful.

“Fuck,” he breathed, shaking his head. He hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten, how much his health—mentally and physically had declined.

Azriel brushed his teeth then grabbed the scissors from the counter, grabbing chunks of the beard off and snipping them off. He left some facial hair, and half ass style the hair on his head—he refused to go in front of his family for the first time in months looking so unkempt.

The clothes were simple and he didn’t bother with shoes. He stood at the door of his bedroom for a moment. He didn’t remember the last time he left this room. The little he had eaten had come directly from the house or his shadows.

He pulled open the door and stepped out. There was no one in the halls but his shadows clung to him protectively. They hadn’t spoken at all, merely clung to him. He began down the hall, dreading the stairs knowing they would kill his legs but he had to do it. He had to.

He was moving slowly but he could sense his family in the dining room on the level below. He held the railing and as he finally reached the last stair he took a moment to compose himself. He could feel a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin from the effort it took to descend the steps. His thighs and calves burned. And he had to take a few breaths to calm his racing heart.

He wasn’t sure the last time he ever felt like this. All he knew is he didn’t want to keep feeling like this.

Taking another breath he nodded to himself, placing a hand on the door and pushing it up. He was silent and as he looked around the dining room he wasn’t sure how he felt, but they were there—everyone except Amren anyway.

“Azriel,” Mor gasps, her brown eyes widening as a range of emotion washed over her face.

Every eye in the room turned to him. He lifted his head, tucked his wings and squared his shoulders back. He would not falter. He would be strong. He could do this. So he walked over, he took his normal seat between Cassian and Rhys, still open and ready for him.

He hadn’t yet spoken a word before a plate of food appeared in front of him. Looking up he met the eyes of each person at the table, varying looks but not of pity, sadness or contempt. No all of those eyes, the eyes of his family held pride, love and respect.

So he reached out, grabbed his fork and began to eat.

Azriel spoke to no one and no one spoke to him. Their conversation continued and he felt lighter listening to their voices. When he got back to his room, he fell into bed and he cried. He cried until he fell asleep.

But when he woke up the next morning, he got out of bed and joined his family for breakfast one again.