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venus-haze · 1 year ago

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She's Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: Soldier Boy’s been pulled from the European Theater to sell war bonds to the American people, the goodwill tour dotted by big cities and small towns alike. In the meantime, he gets familiar with the variety of women in dazzling costumes that accompany his speeches with carefully choreographed dances. You’re, without a doubt, his favorite of them all.

Note: Female (blink and you’ll miss it implied plus size) reader, but no other descriptors are used. This fic is so short because it’s pretty much PWP. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Dressing room sex, mirrors, breeding kink, daddy kink, power imbalance, overstimulation, implied baby trapping. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Chattering from the packed high school auditorium somehow seeped through the walls. The rural town that was the latest stop in Soldier Boy’s war bond drive had shown up en masse out of patriotism or sheer curiosity. Usually both. Electricity was always in the air before the show in small towns. Some of them didn’t even have movie theaters.

You and the other dancers on the tour had set up camp in one of the bigger classrooms, using it to get ready in since it was near one of the bathrooms. Dresses, sequins, and makeup scattered about the room, making the place of learning look like a department store had exploded inside. You’d been helping another girl with the curlers in her hair until a masculine voice called out your name from the doorway.

“Soldier Boy wants to see you in his dressing room.”

You nodded, giving an apologetic look to your colleague, who waved you off. It wasn’t unusual for Soldier Boy to call on one of you to help him “warm up” before the shows. Lately, however, he’d almost exclusively been asking for you, to the detriment of your jaw.

Grabbing a nearby tube of red lipstick, you hastily applied it in the illuminated mirror in front of you. The lipstick residue soon adorned a tissue that you discarded, and you used your fingertips to gently massage the muscles in your face in preparation for taking him again. You hoped you’d at least get to come this time.

A flyer had gotten you to this point, stark white with patriotic motifs, pinned to a board in the nightclub you had been working in prior to getting the gig. Uncle Sam declared, “Ladies, you can serve your country too!” You figured why not, there was a war on, and if you could do something to help, you might as well.

Your qualifications led you to your local USO office, where you were handed a star-spangled outfit and joined a gaggle of other girls to be the supporting act on Soldier Boy’s war bonds tour across the country. At times, you felt silly, kicking and shimmying to audiences who were clearly only putting up with the opener just to catch a glimpse at the world’s first superhero. A man larger than life in every sense of the word, as you and your fellow dancers on the tour would learn.

Wandering the hallway, you checked each door for an indication of which commandeered classroom was his. Not one for subtlety, his dressing rooms always had ‘SOLDIER BOY’ printed in large letters, declaring his presence. You found the sign toward the end of the hall, giving a smile to the usual group of people who congregated around him, assistants and handlers to keep him on schedule.

You knocked on the door, announcing your arrival.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you asked when he opened the door.

He smiled, putting his hand on your lower back as he ushered you inside. “Sure did, sweetheart.”

His dressing room always betrayed his vices—alcohol, drugs, porno mags. It didn’t faze you anymore, not like the first time he asked for you, a stuttering mess in his presence. Back then, you had to take a shot with him to settle your nerves enough to blow him without feeling too self-conscious. Now, it was routine. You moved to get on your knees, but he stopped you, to your confusion.

Instead, he disarmed you with a passionate kiss that nearly knocked you over. You steadied yourself on his strong arms that had made their home near your hips. He squeezed them, pulling you closer so your body was flush against his as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

You let him take the lead, he always did—strong, masculine, hard-working. Wasn’t America lucky its hero was easy on the eyes too? Except he had a temper, a mean streak that could go for miles. Not that you’d ever been on the receiving end of it. No, for all his faults, you seemed to get the best of Soldier Boy.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he whispered against your lips.

“You have?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. You’re—“ he paused, searching for the word he wanted to use, “special to me.”

You weren’t sure why he was laying it on so thick. It wasn’t your first rodeo with him. “Special?”

“‘Course you are. You wouldn't be here if you weren’t,” he said. “I wanna try something different today, alright, doll?”

“Alright,” you agreed softly.

He smiled. “That’s my girl.”

Your body came alive at his praise, and you pressed your lips to his for another kiss. He guided your body backward until you bumped into the vanity. Parting his lips from yours, he turned you around, bending you over it so you were face to face with yourself in the mirror.

You looked at him from the reflection, brows furrowed as you wondered what he was doing.

He leaned down, voice husky in your ear as he growled, “I want you to see how pretty you look when you come.”

Your eyes widened, and you grabbed either side of the vanity in preparation, to his amusement. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck as he pushed up your shimmery skirt, exposing your red, satin panties, specially made to be on display. Soon, your panties were around your heeled feet, one of his hands reaching to play with your clit while the other squeezed one of your breasts through your top.

“We look good together, don’t you think, sweetheart?” he asked, intense gaze studying your reactions.

“Y-Yes,” you moaned, trying to keep your eyes open.

He always wanted you to look at him. From your knees when you were sucking him off, when he’d be standing on the side of the stage during your act, in his hotel rooms when he couldn’t find local girls to fuck around with. This instance was different, though, able to really see him, and yourself. You didn’t find your glassy gaze or parted lips particularly flattering, but he couldn’t seem to get enough.

His fingers had already brought you close to climax, and you whined when he pulled them away from you for a moment to free his hard cock from his pants. You shuddered, feeling it on your skin before he guided it in your pussy. Your hands curled around the vanity you were bracing yourself on. You weren’t sure if you’d get used to how his cock seemed to split you apart every time.

One of his arms wrapped just below your chest to hold you up, as you struggled to support yourself when he started pounding into you. Your pussy was already wet and pliant for him, and you'd be embarrassed by the obscene squelching sounds if you weren't so focused on getting off when he had brought you so close to the edge already.

You were your own voyeur, your brain feeling like it was going to melt, watching yourself getting fucked by him. His superhuman strength always caught you off guard, from the first time he shocked you by lifting you above his head on stage for a roaring crowd to the way he could make your body feel—and look—like you were little more than a ragdoll.

“Gonna put a baby in you,” he grunted as he thrust into you, items falling from the vanity and onto the floor at the force he used to fuck you. “Want you up on that stage with my cum leaking out every time you kick up those legs—fuck—you’re mine.”

Your pussy clenched around him at the vulgar image he conjured up. “Yours daddy.”

His voice was strained, words slurring together. He was close. “‘S right, baby. Keep fuckin’ you ‘till you make me one. You like takin’ daddy’s dick, don’t you?”

You had to force the short affirmation out of your mouth, pleasure’s chokehold creeping up on you. That wasn’t enough for him or his ego.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“I love taking—oh fuck—taking your dick, daddy.”

He came, hard and sloppy as your pussy milked his cock. You cried out, feeling so full it almost started to hurt. Something in you finally snapped, releasing the pain and pressure as you rode out your orgasm on his softening cock. Your arms gave out from under you so that it was just his strength holding you up. You weren’t sure how you’d be able to go back to having sex with men who weren’t well-endowed superheroes. Go back to faking it, you supposed.

Your throat was sore. You hadn’t paid attention to how loud you were being. Everyone outside the room must’ve known what was happening if they didn’t have an idea when you first showed up looking for him.

Soldier Boy pulled himself out of you, and you could hear fabric rustling and the sound of his zipper again. You didn’t bother trying to stand up, still needing time to catch your breath.

He used his fingers to swipe up some of his cum that had begun dripping out of you, causing you to gasp at the slight sensation of them brushing against your pussy. You whimpered when he pushed his index and middle fingers inside you, already aching from the orgasm he’d just pulled from you.

“I—I can’t—“

‘I can’t get pregnant and ruin my career,’ you wanted to say, but all that came from your lips was a desperate, animalistic moan.

“I got you, baby,” Soldier Boy whispered, voice low and husky in your ear. “Give me one more so it sticks.”

You choked on air as his thumb brushed your clit, rubbing circles in the sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers pushed deeper, and your hips bucked at the overstimulation, your spent pussy reactively pulsing around his cum-slicked fingers that curled inside you.

The woman staring back at you in the mirror was a mess with her mascara stained cheeks and smeared lipstick. You were utterly unrecognizable as you came again, harder on his fingers this time, crying out as you gripped the edge of the vanity, threatening to break one of your manicured nails.

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing kisses to your cheek, as you came down from your second orgasm, pulling his hand from between your legs. “You alright?”

“I think so,” you breathed. “Jesus Christ.”

Your legs felt like jelly beneath you, and you wondered how the hell you were going to be able to dance in less than half an hour. You’d have to reapply all of your makeup too.

He turned you around, looking at you with a brief fondness before kissing your lips, soft and quick.

“I need to fix my face,” you breathed.

He smiled. “Why? You look great.”

You laughed softly as he gave you space. You pulled up your panties from around your ankles, knowing his cum would stain them by the time you made it back to the dancers’ makeshift dressing room. Taking some of the tissues from the box on top of the vanity, you began wiping your ruined makeup from your face. He stared at you in silence from the spot he’d taken on the loveseat that’d been brought in for him.

“I think I’d be a good father. Better than my old man,” he said finally.

You paused, looking at him from the mirror, giving him a sardonic smile. “I don’t see you as the settling down type.”

“Maybe I just need a woman worth coming home to.”

“Maybe,” you echoed.

“C’mere.”

You obliged, joining him on the loveseat. He wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. You let yourself bask in the intimacy.

“Things aren’t always gonna be like this,” he said. “Once the war’s over, what’re you gonna do? Go back to dancing in nightclubs?”

“Why not?”

His jaw clenched, cheek twitching as he pulled his gaze from you. “I don’t want you doing this for anyone but me.”

This could have been any number of things, dancing, fucking, being at his beck and call. Knowing him, he meant all of it.

“Ben,” you said, grabbing his attention, “then you have to tell me what you do want.”

“I want you. I want the white picket fence, kids running around the yard with the dog,” he said, the intensity in his voice wrapping tendrils around your mind, pulling you into the world he was describing. “I want dinner to burn ‘cause I was busy putting another baby in you when I got home.”

“Oh,” you whispered.

A voice through the door startled you. “Soldier Boy, the mayor’s here to see you!”

“Think about it,” Soldier Boy said, getting up from the loveseat to grab his helmet and shield.

The door shut behind him, leaving you to agonize over the future he presented to you. Part of you wondered if you’d really have a choice.

#soldier boy x reader #the boys x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy smut #the boys #the boys amazon #the boys tv

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dyaz-stories · 1 year ago

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in a world of boys, he's a gentleman || Park Chan-Young x f!Reader

summary: Yeong-Su breaks a window at the stadium, and Chan-Young takes the blame for it, resulting in severe consequences. Fortunately, you're here to pick up the pieces afterwards.

word count: 3.1k

warnings & tags: spoilers for season 2 of sweet home, violence, injuries, soldiers being assholes, coarse language, making out, the pronoun "she" is used in reference to the reader

A/N: couldn't find gifs for chan-young so I made this one, but I'm by no means a gif maker, so, yeah. Also, I don't know anything about baseball, so please pretend this makes sense if you know better. I'm not sure which team Chan-Young was supposed to be on, so I picked the Doosan Bears because Sweet Home takes place in Seoul. Finally, it's my first time writing for him, so I hope you'll enjoy my take on this character!

It’s another day at the stadium, which means it’s another day of boredom.

Oh, there are things to do around here, sure. If you don’t mind being ordered around by soldiers who stand behind you with a scowl on their face and remind you that the only reason you’re even there is because of their good will, you’ll find a job to do. Cleaning a corner of the stadium, probably, in hopes that someone will be able to live there — as if there were enough mattresses — or doing the inventory, again, while looking the other way when rations mysteriously go missing and everyone knows who’s doing the taking.

Thing is, you’ve never been one to grovel. In fact, back in the Before days, you were the one giving the orders. Youngest assistant coach for the Doosan bears, the Seoul baseball team, you were in line to become the youngest coach in the history of the country. And, yeah, you weren’t completely in charge, but you were trusted. You had responsibilities. People knew to take you seriously.

You’ve had ideas for how to run this place more efficiently, to avoid making the civilians feel like they’re second-rate citizens, but it’s been made clear to you that you weren’t welcome to make suggestions. So you haven’t bothered, lately, but you also won’t play in that stupid game, where people get to change the rules without telling you.

It means that you do a lot of aimless walking around in the stadium. Chief Ji implicitly lets you roam around, a testament to the fact that you knew each other well back in the days, when you used to bring her coffee before big games, but you mostly try to make yourself useful in the way soldiers haven’t bothered accounting for.

A lot of that means keeping an eye on kids that are left to themselves otherwise. Their parents are busy, and it’s not like there’s much to do for them, here, so you try to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, you’re no teacher, meaning that it’s a lot of physical activities, wherever you find enough place. Other days, people who are teachers take over for you. That is the case today, meaning you’d have the day ‘off’, if it weren’t for Yeong-Su not showing up for class.

You don’t personally think he should have to attend class. You know how mean the other kids can be to him, and though the teachers don’t do much in the name of keeping the peace, you don’t let that fly when you’re in charge. Which is probably why the kid never misses your classes, a small pride that you keep well tucked in your heart.

Still, the teachers insist that you make sure he’s okay, so you agree to go try and find him. He knows the stadium well, meaning it will be no easy task.

You end up finding him throwing a ball against a wall. It looks like he’s practicing his aim, you think when you notice that he’s drawn a square on it. You’re about to approach him, maybe give him a few pointers, when a particularly hard throw has the ball bouncing too high and it crashes through a window, finishing outside of the stadium.

You freeze. Monsters don’t approach the stadium much — it’s been months since there’s been a case of that happening.

But the mere thought of there being something open here still has your heart pounding with fear. It’s only a few seconds before you compose yourself, but that’s long enough for someone to come running. You rush towards Yeong-Su, prepared to fiercely defend him if you need to.

It’s Chan-Young, and you relax, even if your heart is now pounding for a whole other reason.

“What happened here?” he asks.

He may have been running with his whole equipment, but he shows no sign of being out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Yeong-Su mumbles. He’s hard to handle, especially these days, but he clearly respects Chan-Young a lot. “I didn’t mean to— I was just practicing and—"

Oh gosh, you realize, kid was practicing pitching, and it’s not lost on you that that’s the position Chan-Young mainly played as.

“…and now I’ve lost my ball,” Yeong-Su sniffs.

He’s trying to hold back tears, and it tears a little piece of your heart away. You know that Yeong-Su had found a ball autographed by Chan-Young, know that it’s one of his most prized possessions. It’s no surprise that Yeong-Su can’t stand the thought of losing anything more than what he already has.

Chan-Young glances at you, still standing a few steps behind Yeong-Su.

“He didn’t mean to,” you say. “I’ll help you fix the window.” Eun-Yu probably won’t mind giving you a hand, too.

Chan-Young nods, and you watch as he puts a knee to the floor, so he’s at eye-level with Yeong-Su. If he was any other soldier, you’d be more cautious, but you know him. Worked with him, when he was on your team, lost him when he enlisted, and now you’re in this strange limbo, where he doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you, even though there is this obvious familiarity between the two of you, every time you do speak.

“You need to be more careful,” he tells Yeong-Su, putting on his Serious voice. “If a monster heard that and came in, it could be very dangerous for everyone. And if you’re in front of the window when it happens, it would attack you first. So don’t let that happen again, okay?”

Then he gives Yeong-Su a small, comforting smile.

“If you want to practice again, come ask me next time, okay?” He glances up at you, and there’s such softness in his eyes when he does. “Or ask the coach. She knows her stuff.”

You’d never become coach, not officially, but his use of the word makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” Yeong-Su mumbles, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, it looks like everything will resolve itself just like that, and you’re already putting a hand on Yeong-Su’s shoulders to pull him away with you, when you hear the familiar stomping of military boots coming towards you.

Chan-Young’s expression changes immediately.

“Go,” he orders.

“But…”

He spins around to grab your shoulders, lowering himself to look straight into your eyes.

“Go,” he repeats. “Please.”

There’s such urgency in his voice that you can’t deny him, even if you’re not sure what is going on exactly. You grab Yeong-Su’s hand and pull him with you until you’re both behind a corner, just in time. You keep an eye on the scene, confused. The soldiers behave like assholes, you know that, but surely—

“What happened here?” the Sergeant bellows in Chan-Young’s face. “You’re lucky it was us, who were standing outside the window, and not something else! You better have an explanation, soldier.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chan-Young says, shoulders straight, from what you can see. “I was just practicing and—”

Before you can wonder why he’d lie, the punch catches him in the stomach, and he doubles over in pain. You catch yourself before you can gasp out loud, and instinctively cover Yeong-Su’s mouth, which is probably a smart move, because he starts thrashing to run towards Chan-Young. You don’t blame him, but you also absolutely cannot let him do that, not right now.

“Yeong-Su,” you whisper, mimicking Chan-Young’s attitude with you just a minute ago. “You need to go back to Ms. Cha. Okay?”

“But they’re…”

You wince, because they’re still berating Chan-Young, and one of them has just given him a hard kick to the ribs. All the more reason for you to intervene.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise, but I can’t do that if you’re here. So go back to her, and I’ll come see you when everything is okay again, alright?”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes to hide the tears, then turns around and runs. At least he’s got a good survival instinct, you think, even if it hurts to remember where it comes from. The second you’re sure he’s not coming back, it’s your turn to run, but towards the soldiers this time, with a confidence that you now worry is wholly unwarranted.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?” you interject, maneuvering so you can get between them and Chan-Young.

There’s a scoff and they roll their eyes. One of them puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes, but you barely take a step back. You’re used to men trying to intimidate you.

“I thought we’d made it clear that your opinions weren’t welcome,” Seo-Jin snaps at you, getting too close to your face for comfort — like that would make you budge.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you beat up someone because he broke a fucking window, when if you’d gotten to work, that hole would be closed by now,” you reply on the same tone.

He opens his mouth to yell at you once more, a vein bulging on his forehead, when Chan-Young comes to stand in front of you. He’s barely just gotten on his feet, has one hand pressed against his rib cage, and still, he’s already coming to stop you from taking any risk. You want to scream at him and hug him all at the same time.

“Please, sir, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Neither does he!

“That’s enough, Seo-Jin,” sergeant Kim finally intervenes, and the man immediately takes a step back. “Don’t let it happen again,” he tells Chan-Young. “And fix the hole,” he tells you, as an afterthought, before leaving and taking his team with him.

Your blood is boiling. He might try to be the voice of reason now, but you saw him doing nothing while his men got blood on their hands so he wouldn’t have to.

You don’t have time to think about it, though, because next to you, Chan-Young has slowly let himself slide to the floor.

“Are you okay?” you ask, panicked, while he grimaces and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says, an obvious lie. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You took responsibility for something you had nothing to do with, but I’m the one who shouldn’t have said anything?”

He sighs, shakes his head.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. He looks at you with warm eyes, and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

There’s something about Chan-Young, there always has been. You always have to remind yourself that he’s nice to everyone, because he’s such a kind person. Even that didn’t stop you from falling for him — and it’s the second time that it happens, damn him.

“I’ll go get medical supplies,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Please, do you want to die from an infection after surviving all these monsters? Stay. Here.”

You ignore any further protests as you rush to get the supplies.

It doesn’t take you long. Chief Ji provides you with what you need without questions, and apologizes for not being able to give you painkillers — they’re reserved for emergencies, she explains. You know the other supplies are, too, but you understand her reasoning, and just thank her with a quick nod and a promise to help out for the next few shifts outside the stadium, if she needs it.

When you come back, Chan-Young’s moved to sit on one of the boxes that are always laying around in here, and you grab another one to sit across from him.

“Open your jacket,” you say as you take the disinfectant.

“I— I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with an eyeroll, because the guys on the team weren’t exactly shy about taking their shirt off in front of you and he should remember that.

He clears his throat and glances away, and you notice his ears turning red.

“Um, right. Yeah. Just a second.”

Under the jacket, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, and he lifts it up so you can see for yourself.

And it’s not looking good. The area is red and swollen already, and you worry it will be worse soon. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about that, so you disinfect the scratches caused by the boots, and gesture for him to put it back down. You’d normally advise to put something cold on it, to calm the swelling, but that’s not really an option here, not when the little electricity you have is mostly used to keep the lights on.

“Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a brief laugh. It’s a silly recommendation, and you both know it, but you still felt the need to say something.

“Now give me your hand, I’ll see what I can do.”

He does, and you carefully turn it to check the palm. You’re not sure if he hurt himself when he fell earlier, or if it’s just that there’s constantly manual work to be done and it’s hard not to injure your hand. Either way, you start cleaning it and disinfecting it as well.

“Do you think they would have been as hard on a kid?” you ask.

“No!” he protests immediately, maybe a tad too strongly. “They’re humans. I’m sure they wouldn’t have—” He interrupts himself, and you suspect that he knows they still could have hit him, a thought that makes your stomach turn. “But… Yeong-Su’s had a hard enough life as it is. People here are not… kind to him.”

“I’m not blaming you, especially after that,” you sigh, “I just— You do realize that it’s not your responsibility, right? I’d have helped the kid, and it could have ended better than…”

You gesture vaguely at him, and he closes his eyes for a second. He closes his fingers over yours where you’re holding his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin, which sends a wave of heat through your body. It only lasts a moment, though, before he catches himself and lets go.

“I’m— I was in charge, when his sister— I was supposed to be helping them. And I failed him.”

“What?” Ms. Cha told you that story, in hushed whispers, to explain why Yeong-Su was such a complicated child these days. It had been clear that there was nothing Chan-Young could have done. “You can’t blame yourself for someone turning into a monster and going on a rampage.”

“It happened on my watch,” he insists. “If I’d been more careful— If I hadn’t left the bus—”

You stop yourself to look at him straight in the eye. He’s close, but you don’t feel uncomfortable, not with him.

“That could have happened to anyone. You couldn’t have planned for it.” He exhales, long and slow.

“Thank you for saying that,” he says, but you can tell that your words haven’t sunk in. It breaks your heart, and yet you have no idea what more you can say. After all, you weren’t there. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe you.

“You still shouldn’t put yourself in the line of danger to—” to what, anyway? Expiate his sins? What does he have to prove? Does he have a death wish or something? “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have to.”

“Better me than Yeong-Su,” he insists. “He’s just a kid, and he has his mom — well, Ms. Cha. And he has you.” You set the disinfectant back down, hands almost trembling as you realize where he’s going with this. “Better me than him,” he just concludes sadly.

“Park Chan-Young,” you say, “you don’t seriously think that, right?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he replies.

“He has a family here. I— don’t really have anyone—”

You’re not sure what goes through your head when you put your hand on his cheek and kiss him. If you had to rationalize it — which you’re not really in any position to do when it happens — you’d say that you just wanted to prove him how wrong he was. Truth is, though, that you also couldn’t bear the idea that you were letting him believe that when it was so entirely untrue.

His lips are warm against yours, and you think you feel him leaning into you, but you pull away too soon to know.

“There,” you say as you gather your things. “Now you know you do have someone, so don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily, alright?”

Then you’re on your feet, hell-bent on fleeing the scene.

Of course, Chan-Young catches up with you in an instant. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you back against him. His eyes are wide as he searches yours.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice catching in his throat.

“Mean what?” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re… not sure where he is going with this.

“It wasn’t pity, right? You— I have you?”

The words almost send a shiver down your spine.

“Of course you do. I don’t exactly go around kissing people—”

Next thing you know, his hands are cupping your face and his mouth is on yours. He kisses you feverishly, like he desperately needs you to prove your words to him. You kiss back without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck. It isn’t long before your back hits the wall and you let out a brief groan.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from you to check on you. “Are you—”

You don’t let him finish, pulling him back down against you. His hands move down to your waist, one of them slipping under your t-shirt to feel your bare skin. He’s kissing you slower now, more sensual, and he abandons your mouth to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, before he comes back to your lips.

“I shouldn’t—” he mumbles against you. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” you reply, but it doesn’t surprise you when he tears himself away from you. He’s a sight to behold, flushed and out of breath — and is it odd that you enjoy seeing him panting from kissing you when you know he can run for hours without struggling? He’s always been one to stick to the rules closely. It says a lot that he broke one right now, but you won’t push him any further, not until he’s ready.

You take a step back towards him, take his hand in yours, and press your lips to his cheek for one last, soft kiss.

“Don’t forget now,” you say. “You have me. Don’t risk your life without thinking.”

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he leans in to press his forehead against yours, squeezing your hand in his.

“I have you,” he repeats, as if to convince himself. “I have you.”

I hope you liked it! as always, if you did, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought! feedback is really motivating and is what keep us authors going, so leaving a comment or sending an ask or anything really helps to keep me writing!

more writing for sweet home

#sweet home #sweet home x reader #sweet home netflix #sweet home season #park chan young #chan young #chan young x reader #park chan young x reader #sweet home imagines #park jinyoung #my writing

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killerpancakeburger · 7 months ago

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Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2) Soap's part 2. Soap's part 3.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

“Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him.

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified.

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily.

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it.

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst.

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks.

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.”

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…”

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that…

“Pretty please?”

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context.

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart.

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you can’t have.

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed.

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality.

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor.

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter.

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it.

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

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aestas---estas · 3 months ago

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You're like the sun

MDNI 18+ | Part 2 | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | 2,3k words | fem!Reader, assistant!Reader, protective!Simon, intrusive thoughts briefly mentioned that are quickly squashed, drinking mentioned, reader is described as curvy (one mention), probable military inaccuracies | if I forgot a tag/tw please tell me, I'm new to this | divider by @cafekitsune | Read on AO3

You're like the sun. Simon hates the sun. Always too bright, too warm, beaming up at him with that celestial smile, and if he stares at you for too long your face imprints at the back of his eyelids; forcing him to bask in your light even when he turns his gaze away.

You bring him tea in the mornings — knocking confidently on his office door, waiting for his gruff grunt of acknowledgement before entering, too chipper, too bright. It's Earl Grey, a dash of milk, just to his taste, and he fucking hates that it's perfect. He questioned your motives the first time it happened, and with a melodic voice you told him you're bringing Captain Price his coffee and Simon's office was just on the way. Never faltering under his scrutinising gaze, only calling out a sweet goodbye before disappearing the way you came. It takes him weeks before he realises he never told you how he likes his tea, and by that point it's too late to ask.

One week you're out; sick, some stomach bug Price told him when he asked point blank about your absence on the second day. It's not that he misses you, of course not, he had just gotten used to the daily routine. He counted on you bringing him his morning tea like he counted on the sun to climb the horizon. So if he suppresses a smile underneath his mask when, after 5 days without your bright light, you grace the doorway to his office with a steaming mug and a wide smile, that would only be because he finally didn't have to make the beverage himself.

Before you, Simon would send his paperwork to Price via an unfortunate rookie that happened to pass by his door — threatening that even a glimpse inside the folder would be answered with violence. Too comfortable in his own space to venture outside and possibly subject himself to pointless small talk with soldiers he couldn't care less about. Now, he finds himself walking the hallway between his office and Price's, placing the files on your desk without a word. That's what you're there for, he tells himself. You're the assistant, it's your job to deliver whatever paperwork that was meant for the Captain. He doesn't scold or threaten the sun when it beams down at him from high up in the sky, so why would he utter a hateful word in your direction when you flash him that blinding smile and do your job?

It takes Price 4 months until he convinces you to join him and the boys for a night out at the pub. It's not that you feel unwelcome or unwanted per se, but you know you don't belong — not like the rest of them. You're the newcomer, have never been in a firefight, never had a scar be inflicted upon you from an enemy getting too close. You read and write reports, take phone calls, pass along messages and bring caffeinated beverages. But after a particularly shitty week, a drink with some coworkers didn't sound so bad anymore.

Stepping into the crowded pub, a pretty dress accentuating your curves, you drew Simon's attention right away. Like any personification of a celestial body would, you commanded the room. But the other mens’ obvious stares ranging from salacious to malicious did nothing to deter you, your focus was on the booth in the far corner where the team was all sat. A wave and the usual radiant smile of yours was all the greeting they got before you held up a finger and backtracked to the bar to order.

“Bonnie one, ain't she?” Johnny says, elbowing Simon in the ribs, eyes never leaving your form as you lean over the bar top to make your order heard over the music. Simon doesn't answer, but something ugly snakes across his chest, tightening around his heart. Of course Johnny had set his sights on you, and you would fall to his charm like every man and woman before you. It was a small miracle you hadn't already taken a tumble or two in the hay with the sweet-talking Scotsman.

Kyle scoots down the bench once you finally make your way over, a yellow and orange drink in hand. Despite your bad week your mood is as bright as the colours of your beverage, and Simon finds himself enraptured by your stories, your laugh. Even from across the table, the toe of your heels bumping against his rough boot with every shuffle of your legs, he can feel your warmth; it washes over him, makes the palms of his hands damp where they grip his beer glass tensely.

You fit in almost seamlessly with the squad. You talk in depth about some book with Price, you joke with Kyle, you flirt with Johnny. Had Simon been a better man, he would've offered you his seat so you could be closer to the Scottish Sergeant. But he's not a better man — he wants to be able to stare at you from across the booth, wants to observe your glow without distractions or interruptions. He's selfish, depraved, rude, a brute to put it simply.

So when Johnny offers to walk you home with a grin on his face, Simon fixes him with a steely glare and crosses his arms over his chest. “You're not fucking the secretary, MacTavish.”

Johnny sputters some half-assed defence, but eventually shrinks back down in his seat. You stumble as you get out of the booth, feet tripping over themselves, and Simon's arm snakes around your waist to steady you.

“‘M not a secretary,” you slur out, swaying slightly as he pushes open the door to the pub and leads you outside. The night air is crisp, cool, yet your body is warm where it rests heavily against Simon's side. “‘M a personal assistant.” You sound so proud over the title too that it almost makes him chuckle; almost.

“You answer calls and deliver mail,” he replies, downplaying your role like the right bastard that he is.

You huff in annoyance and displeasure, obviously deterred by his dismissal. He can't be sure, but for a second he senses a glimpse of hurt in your eyes. Why would you care what he thinks of your position? Didn't you get along with Johnny all night? Or maybe you're mad that he cockblocked you. Yes, that must be it. You're not sad that he doesn't truly understand your value, you're not annoyed that he dismissed your pride, you're angry because he wouldn't let Johnny walk you home and tuck you in tight.

The two block walk to your apartment building from the pub is done in silence. Simon has his arm around you the whole way, making sure you don't stumble and fall flat on your face.

“Thank you,” you say as you lean against the door to your flat, fumbling with your purse to try and find the key. “For walking me here. You didn't have to.”

“No, I didn't,” he answers at length, because really, there was no reason for him to stay by your side the entire walk home. He could've called you a cab, he could've left you by the foyer instead of ushering you into the elevator and asking ‘what floor’, he could've stayed put inside the pub. He could've done a hundred and one things instead of making sure you got inside your flat safe and sound with his own two eyes.

A sound of victory expels from your lips as you fish your key out of the mess that is your purse and hold it up for him to see, a big, drunken grin on your face.

When you stumble into your hallway, Simon thinks he must've lost his mind — you didn't close the door. Didn't you know that was dangerous? Didn't you know he was?

“Careful,” he mutters out as you nearly tumble over and hit your head at the corner of a table when reaching down to unsnap the buckles of your shoes. The lock clicks in place behind him.

He takes care of you that night; argues with you to brush your teeth and remove any makeup you had put on, makes sure you drink at least two glasses of water and take a painkiller before ushering you off to bed. He sleeps on the couch and it occurs to him how horrifyingly simple it would be to snuff out your light. He could walk away, leave your door unlocked for any degenerate to enter, or he could be personal about it; press a pillow over your face as you sleep, hold your throat in his hands with enough force to snap, maybe even steal a kitchen knife from the wooden block so primly placed near the stove.

It's a terrifying thought, one he forces out of his mind as soon as it enters. The sun doesn't deserve to implode just because he sometimes finds its brightness debilitating, and neither do you.

Nothing changes after that night, yet everything does at the same time. You still bring Simon his tea every morning, now with an accompanying crumpet or biscuit, he still hand delivers his paperwork to your desk, but now he stays for a minute to chat. He makes a simple typo once, misspells his own rank at the beginning of the report, just to get a few extra moments of your warmth as you stop by his office to point it out — but not to worry, you have already fixed it, you reassure with a smile.

You bake cupcakes a few weeks later, two for each of them, decorated with a light pink frosting that matches the shade of your top so perfectly Simon suspects you must have done it on purpose. You make Price call everyone into his office for a quick celebration; it's your birthday, and Kyle and Johnny both offer to throw a proper party, but you shake your head and tell them you already have plans to celebrate that weekend. To Simon's surprise they both back off, neither of them making a big fuss about not being invited. He dreams of pale pink sunsets that night.

The incessant ringing of his phone wakes him up, pulling him from a fitful sleep in the middle of the night. Too tired for formalities, he simply grumbles out a ‘what?’ into the receiver, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Loud, drunken chatter, drowned out by the thumping bass of whatever club music that was playing in the background, met his ears for a few seconds before your voice broke through.

“Hey, baby.” Baby. The nickname feels like a cold shower, making all his synapses fire, his attention at high-alert.

“What's going on?” He asks, already pulling on his jeans and searching for his keys. You don't sound like yourself, something is off and it makes a ball of anxiety furl tight in his gut.

“Can you come pick me up?” You ask in lieu of a proper answer, rambling off the address of whatever club you had found yourself at.

He's outside the club within minutes, probably breaking a handful of traffic laws, but none of that matters as he spots you — arms wrapped tight around yourself, slightly shaking from the cold night air, some sleeze talking you up despite your closed-off body language.

“Oi!” He calls, drawing both your and the sleeze's attention.

“You serious?” The sleeze mutters, distaste clear on his face as he eyes Simon up and down.

“Simon!” You fling yourself in his arms, a wide smile pulling at your lips as you press yourself against his solid form. You're cold to the touch, goosebumps littering your bare arms, and he drapes his jacket over you before he even realises what he’s doing.

“This him then?” Sleeze asks. “The boyfriend?”

“Yup,” you answer, popping the p as you look back at him, still keeping yourself flush against Simon.

That explains the nickname then. You were trying to get rid of this jerk, and the only thing that works on people like him is telling them you're unavailable.

“Let's go, love,” Simon mumbles against the top of your head, just loud enough for the other man to hear.

“Thank you,” you say once he's got you in the car, fingers nervously playing with the hem of the skirt of the dress you're wearing. It's another cute number that hugs you in all the right places, just like the one you wore that night in the pub. “I'm sorry I called. I'm… I'm sorry I said you were my boyfriend.”

“Don't worry ‘bout it,” Simon answers at length. He doesn't care that you had disturbed his sleep, he doesn't care that you had lied to a stranger about your relationship, he doesn't care that his jacket will undoubtedly smell like you once he gets it back — all he cares about is that you were safe, that despite the alcohol in your system you had enough wits about you to call him.

You kiss him on his cheek when he drops you off at your building, smiling softly before disappearing with a quick ‘see you on Monday.’ He doesn't realise until he's halfway back that he never asked for the jacket back.

It's nearing your one year anniversary as Price’s personal assistant. You make the team cupcakes again, vanilla frosting this time. Everything is just as it was day one, yet nothing is the same. Because now Simon walks you to your car at the end of every day, because now he follows you home after the pub whenever you accompany the team on one of their outings, because now he calls you ‘love’, because now you hold his hand and kiss his cheek, because now when he compares you to the sun it's because you're all encompassing, life giving, eternal. Without your warmth, your light, your love, his world would be cold and cruel and lonely. You're like the sun. Simon can't live without you.

--- Masterlist

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty fic #my writing #sunshine x grumpy #ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon riley

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 7 days ago

Text

A Kingdom of Shadows and Steel

Paring: Poly 141 x Reader

AU: (Medival) Knights!141 x Healer!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of injuries, boys assist in training their healer

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, i might make a story about this-

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The wind carried the scent of blood and smoke as you knelt in the ruins of the battlefield. Around you, the cries of the wounded echoed—some fading into silence as life slipped away, others clawing at the edge of survival. Your hands worked quickly, trembling but steady, weaving threads of healing magic into a soldier’s mangled leg. The golden glow of your power barely illuminated the grotesque wound, but slowly, the torn flesh began to knit itself back together.

“Get out of here,” you urged, your voice strained but firm. “Before they come back.”

The soldier nodded weakly, dragging himself toward the treeline where others had fled. You sat back on your heels, every ounce of strength drained. Magic always demanded more than you were prepared to give, and this battlefield—a wasteland of broken bodies and charred earth—had swallowed your reserves hours ago.

The sharp crunch of boots on gravel snapped you out of your haze. Your head jerked up, instinctively raising a hand as though you could muster another spell. A shadow loomed over you, taller and broader than anyone you’d encountered today.

“You’re braver than you look,” a low, accented voice drawled.

You blinked, your vision sharpening. A man clad in battered black armor stood before you, a half-mask obscuring the lower half of his face. His eyes, sharp and dark, studied you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

Behind him stood three others, equally imposing: a grizzled, blue-eyed man who carried himself with the weight of leadership; a younger soldier with a cheeky grin, his messy hair barely kept in check; and a man whose presence was like a shadow—silent, his face hidden behind a skull-like mask.

“I wasn’t aware the crown hired mages,” the grizzled man—Captain John Price, you realized—remarked, his arms crossed.

“They don’t,” you replied, struggling to your feet. “I’m not with the crown.”

The masked one, who had yet to speak, tilted his head slightly, his gaze pinning you in place. “Then what are you doing on *our* battlefield?”

You met his stare, unwilling to back down. “Saving lives, since you lot can’t seem to stop spilling blood.”

The younger man—Soap, if you remembered correctly—barked a laugh. “She’s got fire, eh? I like her already.”

Price’s gaze didn’t waver. “We’ll see.”

They didn’t leave you behind. Despite your protests—and your insistence that you could take care of yourself—they decided it was too dangerous for a lone healer to wander war-torn lands. Price gave the order, and that was that.

At first, their presence was overwhelming. They moved like a unit, each man fitting into the group like a piece of a puzzle. Ghost’s quiet intensity was unnerving; you often caught him watching you, his gaze unreadable. Price was distant but protective, a commanding figure who seemed to expect competence from everyone—including you. Soap, with his endless jokes and easy grin, was the only one who made an effort to pull you out of your shell. And then there was Gaz, whose sharp wit and subtle kindness chipped away at your defenses before you even realized it.

The days blurred together as you traveled. The landscape was a patchwork of desolation: burned villages, abandoned farmlands, and the occasional stretch of wilderness untouched by war. At night, the group set up camp in silence, each man falling into a routine as practiced as it was efficient.

You, however, struggled to find your place. Healing was all you knew, and while they respected your skill, you felt like an outsider. That began to change one cold evening when Soap handed you a dagger.

“You’re good with magic,” he said, twirling his own blade between his fingers, “but magic won’t save you when someone’s got steel to your throat.”

You hesitated before taking the weapon. “I don’t know how to use this.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” He grinned, positioning himself behind you. His hands covered yours as he adjusted your grip and stance.

“Relax,” he murmured. “You’re too stiff. It’s just me.”

His touch was firm but careful, his teasing tone oddly comforting. By the time the lesson ended, you were breathless—not from exertion, but from the way his laughter warmed the cold night air.

Over the following weeks, the 141 began to feel less like an obligation and more like a team. Price often joined you during quiet moments, his gruff voice softening as he asked about your past. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, and though he rarely spoke about himself, the glimpses he gave you felt like pieces of a puzzle you were eager to solve.

“You’ve got the heart of a soldier,” he said one night, his eyes steady on yours. “Even if you don’t see it.”

The words lingered, wrapping around your heart like a shield.

Gaz, meanwhile, became your confidant. His sharp humor and easygoing nature made it impossible not to let your guard down. One evening, as you stitched up a tear in his tunic, he regaled you with tales of his childhood.

“Got myself stuck in a tree once,” he admitted, grinning. “Had to be rescued by my little sister. Never lived it down.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t imagine you needing rescuing.”

“Well, we all need rescuing sometimes,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “Even you.”

You looked away, his words striking a nerve you weren’t ready to confront.

And then there was Ghost. He was the hardest to read, his silence a wall you couldn’t climb. But his actions spoke volumes. He always seemed to know when you were on the verge of exhaustion, his presence grounding you in ways you couldn’t explain. One night, as you cleaned a gash on his arm, he surprised you by speaking.

“You’re stronger than you look,” he said quietly.

You met his gaze, startled. “So are you.”

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you. And in that moment, you felt something shift.

It was during an ambush that everything changed.

You were caught off guard, the group scattered as enemy soldiers descended upon your camp. You barely had time to draw your dagger before a blade was swinging toward you.

“Down!” Ghost’s voice cut through the chaos. He moved like a shadow, intercepting the attack with brutal efficiency.

The battle was over in minutes, but the fear lingered. As you sat by the fire that night, your hands still trembling, Soap leaned close, his grin softer than usual.

“You did good,” he said, his voice low. “You held your own.”

“I froze,” you muttered.

“And then you fought,” Gaz added, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “That’s what matters.”

You looked around the circle, meeting each of their gazes. For the first time, you felt like you belonged.

The firelight cast flickering shadows across their faces as the five of you huddled close. The tension that had been building for weeks finally reached its breaking point.

“I’m not blind,” Soap said, breaking the silence. “I see the way you all look at her.”

You froze, your heart pounding. “What are you talking about?”

Gaz snorted. “Don’t play dumb. We’ve all got eyes.”

Price cleared his throat, his gaze flickering to you. “It’s true. We’ve… grown attached.”

Ghost’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s not just attachment.”

You stared at them, speechless. The walls you’d built around yourself began to crumble, the weight of your feelings crashing down.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice shaking.

“Say you’ll stay,” Price said, his tone gentle but firm.

“Say you’ll let us protect you,” Gaz added.

“Say you’ll let us love you,” Soap finished, his grin softening into something vulnerable.

Your gaze swept over them, each one looking at you with a mix of hope and fear. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to face the world alone.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

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lostcherise · 19 days ago

Text

Know Your Place

pairing: ben/soldier boy x f!reader

summary: Ben isn't quite happy you get to boss him around, so he takes it upon himself to truly show you who's in charge.

tags/warnings: set in the 80s, just pure smut zero plot, soldier boy being a prick (a hot prick tho), dub con at first, dom!ben, rough sex, hair pulling, gagging, face fucking, choking, sir kink, creampie

word count: 3,741

a/n: you know the drill, not proofread yet but i'll get to it eventually. any feedback is welcome, i hope you enjoy reading as much as i did writing this.

The rhythmic clacking of your heels echoed throught the empty hallways of Vought Tower. Not a soul was around at that time of night, it was very well past 10P.M, the only remaining employees in the building being the night shift security guards and you.

Young and ambitious, you strived to fight your way to the top in the harsh cruel world of a male dominated corporation, and well, field in general. To say you hadn't been over the moon the moment you had gotten promoted to being Stan Edgar's right hand, his replacement when needed in supervising Payback, would have been an understatement.

However, the excitement soon fizzled out once you got an insight of how things truly operated within the corporation and the Payback team. Especially Soldier Boy. That man although downright handsome, he was just as much of a prick. It was fine being a simple assistant, your interactions were kept minimal, but along with the promotion came more time spent with the members of Payback.

With a deep sigh, you braced yourself before your fist made contact with the wooden door in a firm knock. You rolled your shoulders back, as if to seem more confident, when in reality anxiety was eating you up from the inside. The door forcefully swung open, causing a startled gasp to slip out of you.

"Well, sweetheart, I knew you'd come around eventually." Soldier Boy drawled. He stood tall and confident, his large frame towering over you, scandalously dressed in just a deep green silk robe - same shade as his suit.

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to quip back, but that was not the reason you were there. "I'm here to talk business." you gave him a pointed look.

To your surprise, he silently stepped to the side motioning for you to come in and you did not miss the way his eyes traveled up and down as he took you in. As much as your mind fought to maintain control, your heart betrayed you and took over, heartbeat increasing. Heat rushed to your cheeks because you just knew he had heard that.

"I'm all ears, doll." you could hear the smug smirk on his voice.

"Listen, Soldier Boy-"

"Ben."

Your body whipped back to look at him. "What?"

"Call me Ben when we're alone." he commanded.

"Soldier- Ben." you corrected yourself immediately. "It's about your upcoming movie."

Immediately you were met with a groan, and Ben scowled at you as he made his way to his mini bar. "I've told that fucker Edgar millions of times, and I'm telling you this too." he pointed at your direction, a crystal tumbler in hand. "I'm not sharing the spotlight with that cum guzzler, Noir."

"It will improve your ratings, it's good for diversity."

Instead you were met with a condescending scoff. "Sweetheart, I don't need any of that," he inched closer to you, the ice clinking against the crystal walls of his glass with each step closer to you. "I'm fuckin' Soldier Boy."

"Why don't you get off your high horse and just do the fucking movie?" you snapped, shocking both him and you. Usually, you remained poised and collected, but the increasing stresses of the job were catching up to you.

"Excuse me?" he asked, looking up at you with a raised brow from the rim of his glass.

"As your boss-"

"No woman is the boss of me." he cut you off, before gulping down the rest of his drink.

That comment should have angered you more than it truly had, but over the years your skin had thickened this much you were practically immune to such words. Instead, it just riled you on even more. Call it stubborness, pride; you didn't care it just drove you to show that whatever men could do, you did it better.

"And yet, here I am." this time it was your turn to smirk smugly.

Ben inched closer to you, so close his spicy ambery scent engulfed you entirely. Once again, your heart betrayed you beating so hard as if it was fighting to burst out of your chest.

"And yet, too powerless to make me change my mind." Ben spoke in a low rumbling hum.

His body heat was pulling you in, itching to be engulfed by him. And although you knew better than to get linked with him in such way, your body ached to feel him; lust and curiosity were killing you.

Ben inched closer, an action that had you leaning in closer to him involuntarily, he was pulling you in like a magnet. "The answer's no sweetheart, give it up." he pulled back abruptly, his tone turning clipped in just a matter of seconds. With a pivot, he made his way over to the mini bar once more for a refill.

Frozen, you stood there for a few seconds before you snapped back to reality and marched off to where he stood.

"I've risked a lot to be in this position and I'm not going to allow a manchild like you jeopardize my job. So, accept the offer." your chest was heaving. Frankly, you didn't know where that sudden burst of bravery came from, but one thing you were sure of was that it was reckless; given the fact that Soldier Boy was a literal walking ticking time bomb.

The bottom of his glass clanked loudly against the marble counter top and it was only a matter of seconds before you found yourself pinned between him and the counter. While one hand gripped the edge of the counter, the other had your jaw in a tight hold.

His mossy green eyes were ablaze, glaring down on you. "Go on and act boss on those sack jugglers, but that attitude won't work on me."

The way his body was pressed against you, your thigh somewhat between his - as much as your pencil skirt could allow you - his rough hands on you, should have ignited a sense of fear in you. Oddly, it had the opposite effect and your skin sizzled beneath his calloused fingers, your imagination jumping wildly at pictures you were painting in your head of what those very same fingers were capable of doing to you.

Involutarily, your legs spread just a little wider, which of course did not go unnoticed by Ben. Cocky and full of himself, he chuckled at your state, it was so easy to get you were he wanted and he hadn't even tried.

"What is it sweetheart? You want a taste, hm?" his hand traveled further down, enclosing around your throat, constricting your airway ever so slightly.

Forming a coherent answer seemed like a foreign concept, your mind screaming at you to say that this was wrong on so many levels, yet all you could muster to let out were weak whimpers.

Of course, to Ben that seemed enough of an affirmative answer and wasted no time in jumping into action. If it was even possible, he harshly pulled you closer, and you could feel all of him against you, hard all over.

"The things I keep thinking of doing to you every time I see the way you sway that sweet piece of ass in that tight skirt of yours," he grumbled in your ear and grabbed a handful of your left ass cheek in a tight squeeze. "Drives me mad, doll." he finished his sentence with an echoing slap on your ass that had you jumping with a yelp.

The same hand then moved up to grab a fistful of your hair, his fingers curling at the roots. "On your knees." he commanded, ushering you down by giving your hair a firm tug.

Right there and then was a perfect opportunity to get up and leave, yet your knees made contact with the cold marble floor beneath you, all the while your gaze never left his. You were pretty sure you looked like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide and somewhat scared; scared of what was to come next, and yet that also riled you on even more.

Yes, you were aware of the hushed whispers shared amongst your female coworkers about him; of his skills in pleasuring women. Now it was your turn to see for yourself. Either you were going to hate this, or love this too much that no other man after him could compare.

"Be a good girl and use that mouth of yours for something good this time, hm?" Ben curled his top lip, pulling at your hair and forcing your head backwards to look at him.

Unable to speak, you simply nodded to which you earned a cocky smirk in response. Not bothering to strip completely, Ben simply pushed his robe aside, revealing his hardened length.

Of course that slut was naked under his robe, you thought to yourself, but your train of thought was cut short when you felt your head being pushed towards his cock. As if with a mind on its own, your mouth enclosed around his shaft, already halfway in, his angry tip hitting the back of your throat.

A guttural sound slipped past parted lips and Ben thrusted himself further down your throat, causing you to gag around him. He pulled you back by your hair and you coughed out and gasped for air. A few seconds passed before you found yourself in the same position, this time slackening your jaw to take in his girth better, his firm hold on the back of your head steadily keeping you in place.

His hips snapped in short, rhythmic thrusts as he fucked himself down your throat. "You take me so well, better than any other broad." Although the compliment was backhanded, it still managed to light up a fire within you, making your chest swell with a newfound wave of confidence.

You tried matching his frantic rhythim, bobbing your head along his length, pulling your head back whenever he pulled back his hips, meeting him again when he pushed deep in you, your nose burying in the short tuft of hair around the base of his cock.

A few more seconds passed and your eyes started brimming with tears as you struggled for breath, while also fighting back the feeling of the dull throbbing in your throat. You were definitely going to wake up with a sore throat in the morning.

Ben, seemingly lost in the throes of his pleasure, kept fucking into you, unaware of your struggle. Your hand found purchase on his strong thigh, giving it a series of firm squeezes to get his attention back to you.

He took one good look at you, at the state he had you in, all disheveled and teary eyed before he pulled out. He smiled pridefully and the sight of you like that made his cock twitch for more. "Up." he commanded, to which you immediately jumped up on your feet. A little dizzy, you braced yourself with your hands on his chest.

Ben's strong forearm wrapped beneath your bottom, lifting you up as if you were light as a feather. You held his gaze, all the while he carried you to his room.

In a swift motion, he threw you on the large Alaskan king bed adorning his large bedroom, and you fell lying on your side. You lifted yourself up on your knees, shaky fingers fumbling with the tie of his robe. "How do you want me?" you asked quietly, looking at him through your lashes.

"Oh, sweetheart," Ben cooed, bending down to grab your chin, the pad of his thumb toying with your bottom lip, then pushing inside your mouth to press against your tongue. "I'll have you any way I want."

At his words, your lips wrapped around his digit the same way they had wrapped around his cock. You pulled back, "Please." you let out a wanton whimper.

"Aren't you an eager one?" he chuckled, his hand moving down to grip around your throat, and pushing you down on the mattress in one swift motion. He followed suit, hovering over you and sizing you up as if he was a predator and you were his prey; he had you cornered right where he wanted you to be.

Immediately, your face flushed red, because yes you were being incredibly eager for him. You clearly weren't thinking straight, but that would be an issue to deal with for when you were no longer so horny.

"I need you inside me. Please, sir."

"Say that again." Ben's voice was so low it almost came out as a growl, his tone also full of lust.

"Please, sir, fuck me." you begged once more, your hands coming up to hold on to his strong forearm.

"Only because you asked so nicely."

He quickly removed his hand from your throat and forcefully ripping your shirt open, sending the buttons flying everywhere. His eyes were transfixed on the frantic up and down of your chest, watching the swells of your breasts moving with each sharp intake.

He mouthed at each one through the thin satin fabric of your bralette, feeling your nipples harden against his mouth. Albeit disappointed he didn't pay enough attention to your breasts, it was all lost on you the moment his hand slid up your skirt, between your thighs. His fingers wrapped around the fabric of your panties, bunching them at the center of your core, pulling them against you and causing much needed friction against your clit.

"Shit." you gasped out at the foreign sensation. No one had played with your clit like that. With each passing second, the fabric glided in between your folds with much ease as it was getting soaked with your slick.

"Gonna fucking wreck you." he groaned against your stomach, his teeth grazing your bare skin. "Think you can take it?"

"Yes. Yes, sir!" At this point you were panting like a bitch in heat. Your hands found their way in his sandy brown locks, tugging softly.

Ben remained silent, but his actions spoke louder than any words that could've been said. With one flick of his wrist, your panties were torn, leaving you in just your bra and skirt. His hand moved to do the same to your skirt, but in a tiny moment of clarity, your hand came over his. "Please don't rip this one, too."

Ben chuckled breathlessly, "You're no fun sweetheart." he chided, but complied nonetheless. In no mood for teasing, he quickly pulled the zipper down and slid your skirt down your thighs and past your ankles. His fingers then found their way on your cunt, sliding two fingers across your folds to gather up your slick, before plunging them deep inside you with no warning.

"Oh, shit." you moaned breathlessly; the pace of his fingers quickening inside you with every pulse of your muscles around them. Your whines raised in volume as he curled his fingertips, hitting the back of your pelvic bone.

His assault on your pussy went on for a few more seconds, until your slick was dripping down his knuckles, your pussy all prepped and ready to take him. With a lewd sound, he removed his fingers and moved them towards you, toying with your lips. Eagerly, you lapped up at his long digits, tasting yourself on him.

"Gonna fuckin' wreck you." Ben grunted heavily above you, lifting your left leg up and positioned your ankle on his strong shoulder, while you wrapped your right one around his waist.

With a shy smile, your hands reached to toy with the tie of his robe again, only this time your forefinger looped around the knot, undoing it in one swift motion. A shaky breath was caught in your throat the moment you finally took him in, in all his glory. He was so big and strong all over, it made your core ache for him in a way that had you questioning your sanity.

"I can take it, please."

You held your gaze with his, noticing the change in his eyes; how they darkened with desire. His plump lips curled into a smirk, he remained silent all the while he grabbed himself by the base, moving the tip of his length to align with your slit.

Your jaw slacked the moment his head pushed in. Ben moved deliberately slow, sheathing himself inside you inch by inch, until he bottomed out. You both groaned at the feeling, of how he was stretching you so perfectly, of how your pussy clamped up around him, engulfing and sucking him in.

His hand gripped around your thigh tight enough to bruise, bracing himself as he pulled out almost entirely, and pushing back in in one hard thrust. His movements repeated, growing more frequent with each thrust, yet the force remained the same.

After about five or six thrusts, Ben had set a steady pace that had you moaning beneath him; although at first the stretch of his cock hurt you a bit, it all melted down to pure pleasure.

Ben's free hand moved to pull your bra cups down, just enough so he could admire the way your breasts spilled out and bounced rhythmically with his every thrust. He delivered a couple of firm slaps on each one, your nipples tingled in pained bliss upon contact.

"Do it again."

"Ask nicely." Ben's hand gripped your jaw and keeping your head in place, forcing you to focus on him. Despite that, your eyes still rolled in the back of your head as Ben kept on fucking into you relentlessly, his pace never once faltering.

"Please, sir."

As much as Ben would love to keep you on the edge and beg for it more, he loved hearing the way you moaned and clenched around his cock more, so he gave in. He only stopped his assault on your breasts until they were red and sore to the touch and you kept begging for him to stop.

He grabbed your ankle off his shoulder, throwing it to the side so you were now flipped on your stomach and face first with the mattress. "Ass up, doll." he commanded, landing a firm slap to your ass. Silently, you obeyed, shimmying your hips further up, and arched your back in a perfect angle.

Ben's hands toyed with the fatness of your cheeks, massaging them and digging his fingers into the supple skin, and he spread them apart exposing yourself to him. He admired the way your pussy glistened in the dimly lit room and he pulled your cheeks just a bit further, transfixed by the way your walls clenched around nothing.

The tip of his cock rubbed against your folds, teasing your entrance before moving a bit further down to play with your hardened clit. He guided his cock back up to align with your entrance, plunging himself deep with ease. He was on one knee - the only time Ben ever saw himself on that position - having better leverage that way, being able to fuck into you much deeper.

He grunted behind you, loving the way you so eagerly bounced back on his cock, your hips meeting him halfway. You were a whining mess beneath him and he loved every second of it. Feeling very gracious, he moved one hand down between your legs, his middle finger finding its way to your clit expertly. His pace on your nub matched that of his hips and it was what drove you over the edge.

Your hands gripped the bed covers, and you buried your head deeper into the mattress to muffle the screams of pleasure that ripped through you. Tingles coursed through your body, all the way to your toes as that hot familiar feeling built up inside you. It was only seconds after when your back arched even deeper, and your pussy clamped up around Ben's thickness as your orgasm hit you in waves. His finger never once halted, only prolonging that warm blissful feeling that had your toes curling and your entire body shivering.

"Such a good girl, doin' so good f'me. Taking my cock so well." Ben praised you, only now he sounded the tiniest out of breath, indicating that he must be close to his own climax as well.

A few seconds later, your body began to relax as the aftershocks of your orgasm began to die down. His hand moved up to press your head roughly into the mattress, his hips snapping frantically into your needy cunt as he chased his own orgasm. The bed creaked beneath as Ben was fucking into you with such force, you were surprised you were able to take it, given his superhuman strength.

"Gonna fill you up so good." he moaned above you.

"God, yes. Yes!" you screamed, his balls were slapping against your overstimulated clit, driving you into your second orgasm. It came over you like the first one times 10, your entire body quaking as it pusled through you.

Ben's fingers curled around the roots of your hair, his grip on your head tightening and pushed you even deeper into the mattress. His hips slapped sloppily against yours for a few more thrusts, until they halted. His cock twitched and spilled his hot seed inside you, coating your walls white. He came hard and loud, his chest rumbling whilst he let out a deep guttural moan.

He pulled out with a groan, and admired the way his cum dripped out of your swollen pussy and onto the covers; truly a sight he'd never get tired of. He slumped back on he bed, resting against the headboard, only after grabbing a much needed blunt from his nightstand.

You hadn't moved much, only now you were sat up on your knees and eyed him, the way his hair fell over his eyes, the way his pecs shone with a light sheen of sweat. Ben caught your gaze, smirking at you as he blew a thin cloud of smoke, he studied how there was a sense of reluctancy written in your eyes.

With an outstretched hand, he offered you the blunt with a doubtful look in his eyes. Silently, you accepted without any second thoughts which only surprised Ben even more. Your eyes held a silent conversation with his, a new kind of tension loomed above the two of you.

Work was going to be interesting the next morning.

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut #soldier boy #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles

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zepskies · 4 months ago

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Lost on You - Part 3

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

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

AN: The tables are about to turn…

Word Count: 3.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Implied smut, drug use (weed smoking), and a bargain struck…

🎙️ Series Masterlist || YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 3: A Deal is a Deal

Once you were back from your little excursion, you were relieved to return to the privacy of your room. You dropped heavily down on the bed, face first, with an oof.

Rolling onto your back, you stared up at the white ceiling. Perfectly white. Unbidden, the memories of spending the day with Ben filtered through your mind. You were a little put out to realize you had mostly enjoyed yourself through it all, even though you knew he was only doing it to hook you in. To charm you.

To fuck you.

But the memory of his cocky grin, the restrained power in his hands whenever he touched you, the feeling of his lips dragging against your skin, and his sinful voice…

Well, pulling away from him had taken more restraint than you’d anticipated. Rolling your eyes at yourself, you sat up and went over to your desk where your phone sat. It was time to check in at home.

You dialed the number from memory and waited as the line rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad, it’s me.”

“Oh! Hey, honey. How’s it going over there. You all settled in? Get to do your first save yet?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m good,” you said. “I was meant to do my first save today, but…well, some things didn’t go according to plan.”

“Oh, really?” He sounded disappointed. It carved another small notch in your gut.

“It’s no big deal. I’ll get another chance soon,” you promised.

“Your first save on camera is important for your PR. They can’t wait too long on that,” he said.

You resisted the urge to sigh. You dropped your forehead into your hand, still holding the phone to your ear with the other.

“Yeah, I know,” you said. “Anyway, how’s Mom?”

He sighed. “You know. Good days and bad days. Today…today was a bad day.”

You tugged your lower lip between your teeth. Your brows furrowed with concern, and a familiar ache settled in your chest.

“Can I talk to her?” you asked.

“Ah, I just got her to take her medication. She’s resting now.”

“Okay. Yeah, don’t worry about it then,” you said. “…Do you think you guys will be coming up to visit with Chris this weekend?”

“You know what, I’m sorry, honey. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. All those people,” he said. You were nodding before he finished the thought, even if he couldn’t see you.

“Yeah, it’s okay. They’ve got me pretty busy right now, but I’ll come by and see you guys when I can.”

“All right. Sounds good,” he said. “Oh, before I let you go. I got the latest bills on your mother’s treatments. It’s just, it’s a bit too much for us. Think you could help us out again?”

You paused for a second, but you readily agreed.

“Sure, just let me know how much. I’ll write you a check.”

“Perfect. Thank you, honey.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said. “Um, tell Mom I said hi then. When she wakes up.”

“Aw, I will. Don’t worry. Now, go out there and make some saves!”

Your lips pursed. “Yep, will do.”

When you hung up with your father, you felt even more exhausted than before.

You had another mission on your schedule, this time with Black Noir, Soldier Boy, and Gunpowder. Your excitement had built all day after Arthur’s assistant Joanna called you with the news.

However, when you got downstairs to the lobby where you were meant to meet the team, you found Crimson Countess in heated discussion with Arthur himself.

He looked a bit exasperated, but was trying his best to be professional with her. You had a bad feeling about this.

“I understand, but this is meant to be Sirena’s day,” Arthur said. “We’ll get you and Soldier Boy together on the next one. Just you two, if you guys want.”

“It’s just that Ben and I haven’t done enough together recently. I miss him,” she said, hanging off her boyfriend’s arm. Ben himself seemed to be going along with the idea, looking like he didn’t much care one way or the other. Yet his slight smile looked smug. It likely stroked his ego to have her wanting to be with him for once.

She even leaned up for a kiss. Ben spotted you out of the corner of his eye. His smile kicked up a notch before he obliged her with a slow kiss.

Your gaze fell to the ground as you swallowed your irritation. It wasn't jealousy, however. You knew exactly what she was doing.

Arthur sighed. He’d noticed you as well. He gave you an apologetic look, but he came over and informed you that it would just be original team members today. Considering the last episode with you and Countess, he thought it best that they didn’t team you up again for your first official save.

Couldn’t agree more, you thought, but it also meant that you wouldn’t be going out with the team today. You’d be losing a prime opportunity to show what you could do and finally get the ball rolling on some good PR.

Countess shot you a wink when she and the rest of the team started to head out. You gave her a fake smile.

Fucking bitch.

The weekend came, and you had to put on a good face to hide your latent frustrations from your brother, Chris. He and his family had come to visit you, driving over from Queens.

When they arrived in the Tower lobby, you went to them and let your brother pull you into a big bear hug. It brought a genuine grin to your face as you hugged him back. You hadn’t seen him in months.

“Hey, troublemaker,” he said.

“What do you mean? I’ve been on my very best behavior,” you quipped.

He smiled wryly. “I’m sure.”

He pulled back so that Danny, your four-year-old nephew, could run up to you. You bent to his level and gave him a big hug as well.

“Hey, buddy!” you said. “Did you get the action figures I sent you for your birthday?”

“Oh, he did,” said Ellie, your sister-in-law. “To no one’s surprise, Soldier Boy’s his favorite. He sleeps with it under his pillow.”

You laughed a little dryly at that. Danny was a big superhero fan as well, but there was no accounting for taste. Your brother sidled up to you for a conspiring whisper.

“Yeah, about that. Is the big guy busy?” Chris asked. “Because I may have accidentally promised Danny that he’d get to see Soldier Boy today, and he hasn’t shut up about it ever since we started planning this trip. It’s literally the only thing he wants. So maybe now that you’re a famous superhero, you can do your big bro a solid so the kid doesn’t have the world’s most epic meltdown—”

“All right, all right. Shut up,” you said, holding back a laugh. Inside though, you were strained.

Shit.

“Okay, why don’t you guys hang out in the lobby for a bit, check out the gift shop,” you said. “I’ll…see if Soldier Boy isn’t too busy.”

You braved going up to Ben’s apartment on the penthouse floor, where three beautiful, if scantily clad escorts were just leaving. One of them was stuffing a wad of cash into her bra. Rolling your eyes in disdain, you almost lost your nerve.

This isn’t for you, you reminded yourself. It was for your nephew.

So you knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” you heard from inside.

“It’s me, Sirena.”

There was a pause, but eventually he replied.

“Come in.”

You had some trepidation twisting the knob and opening the door. When you stepped into his suite for the first time, you weren’t surprised to be assaulted by the smell of sex and weed smoke. You waited in the foyer of a lavish space, with shiny marble floors and rich dark wood furniture.

Ben padded out to you barefooted, but at least he was clothed, in a black silk robe no less. He was also smoking a fat blunt.

“What’re you, Hugh Hefner?” you couldn’t help a remark.

Ben grinned around his oral fixation. He blew a coil of dank smoke up into the air.

“Who do you think gave him the whole Playboy idea?” Ben said. He eyed you in your supe suit. “What can I do for you, baby doll? You caught me at a good time. Although, about twenty minutes ago would’ve been even better.”

Hiding your disgust, you waved the gray, musty cloud away from your face.

“Since it’s a good time, I actually wanted to…ask you for a favor,” you said. You knew how dangerous that really was by the way he smiled.

“Okay,” he said expectantly. You released a breath to steady yourself.

“My family’s here visiting, and understandably so, you’re my nephew’s favorite superhero.”

Ben chuckled through his nose, releasing more smoke like a fire breathing dragon.

“Understandably, huh?”

“Of course,” you said. You made sure your smile seemed sincere. “Look, about what happened last week…I hope you’re not upset with me. I had a lot of fun with you that day, and I’m really grateful that you wanted to show me a good time. To be honest, I’m incredibly flattered that you even noticed me.”

You took a step closer into his orbit, until your chest was inches away from brushing his. He looked down at you.

“But I know I’m the rookie here. I don’t want to step on any toes, especially Countess’s. I have a feeling she doesn’t like me very much,” you said. Your eyes were half-lidded in demure.

You were putting on your best performance. He only took half the bait, however. Ben’s mouth quirked at the corner, and he set his blunt on a nearby ashtray.

“I understand,” he said. “So what do want from me?”

Hmm, maybe your rejection had bruised his ego more than you expected. But really, he had to be refusing to break up with Countess for appearance’s sake, because there didn’t seem to be any real love there.

Christ, he wants to have his cake and eat it too.

“Well, like I said. My nephew is downstairs, and he’d really love to meet you,” you said. “Could you, uh…pretend to be a little more family friendly for a minute and take a quick picture with him?”

Ben frowned, like he was offended. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean? I’m a family guy.”

You raised a brow. Glancing around his apartment, you didn’t see any pictures on the walls, nor had you ever even heard him talk about his family.

“What’s in it for me then?” he asked, crossing his arms.

You blinked your eyes wider. Really?

“I doubt whatever you’re thinking, Soldier,” you said, a little more snidely than you meant to.

Ben’s cocky smile said it all.

Your lips pursed in exasperation. You hadn’t thought you would have to bargain to get him to be nice to a kid.

“Okay, I’m sorry. Clearly you’ve had a long day, so I’ll just get out of your way,” you said, raising your hands in surrender. You turned to leave.

“All right, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he said.

You paused at the door, tossing him an annoyed look over your shoulder.

His smile deepened. “I’ll do it.”

His steps were measured as he approached you. You turned back to face him, albeit warily. As he seemed to like doing, he gently grasped your chin between his fingers.

“I’ll do it for a kiss,” he said.

You tried to stifle your smile of amusement.

“One kiss?” you clarified.

“One kiss,” he agreed. “That’s harmless, right?”

Unlikely. But it was a bargain you were willing to make. It might even work in your favor.

“Okay,” you nodded, guiding his hand away from your face. “After you hang out with my nephew, for five minutes at least.”

He smirked at you. “You’re a demanding little thing.”

You gave a more impish smile. He then walked away to his bedroom, presumably to get dressed. You hoped he’d take a quick shower as well.

Ben found you downstairs in the lobby, now cleaned up and dressed in his supe suit. He hammed it up with your family. He was charming with your brother and your sister-in-law, and welcoming to your nephew, calling him young man and sport and pal and recounting an old war story with gusto.

When it was time to take a picture with Danny, Ben lifted the kid up into his arms, pretending he weighed a ton. It made a normally shy Danny giggle with glee, and Ben playfully held him under his arm so he could ruffle his hair. You noticed some genuine joy on the man’s face.

Afterwards, Danny even unzipped his backpack and showed his hero his collection of action figures. His prize’s possession, of course, was Soldier Boy.

Things were going so well that Chris and Ellie felt comfortable enough to break off and grab some food at the food court, while you stayed with Ben and Danny. They sat on one of the couches in the lounge area, play fighting with the action figures.

“So, got yourself a girlfriend yet?” Ben asked.

When Danny made a face of confusion, you shot the man a pointed glance.

“He’s a kid, Ben.”

He shrugged with a grin. “Fine. A little early for that, huh? Trust me, not for long.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“What’s your favorite sport to play at school then?” Ben asked.

“Ummm…” Danny thought about the question. He was busy creating a small Lego tower for Swatto to perch on. “Connect 4.”

“Connect 4?” Ben repeated. He shot you a glance, and he leaned over. “Kid ain’t too bright, is he?”

“He’s four years old,” you whispered indignantly. “He’s not exactly getting drafted for the NFL.”

Again, Ben shrugged you off and continued playing with the kid. You had a feeling he was enjoying it more than he’d be willing to admit.

When Chris and Ellie returned with food for you and Danny as well, Ben took it as his cue to duck out of the rest of the family activities.

“Thank you for your time, Soldier Boy,” Chris said, shaking his hand firmly. You knew he was trying to come off as manly as he could. You hid a smirk behind your hand while Ben obliged him with a nod.

“Yes, thanks so much!” Ellie gushed. She’d got a picture on her own with Ben earlier, and Chris had tried to pretend to be okay with the way she’d hung off the supe’s arm with proverbial stars in her eyes.

“You’re very welcome, ma’am,” said Ben, laying a smiling kiss on her hand. You thought her heart might just stop right there.

You sighed and took Ellie by the shoulders. “Okay, why don’t you sit down before you pass out.”

“Good idea,” she said breathily.

“You’re leaving?” Danny asked. He looked up at Ben with big glassy eyes, and he started to cry.

Chris grasped his shoulder and smoothed back his hair. “Aw, buddy. Soldier Boy’s really busy, and it was really nice of him to spend so much time with you.”

You laid a hand on Danny’s other arm. You glanced up at Ben, imploring him with your eyes, though you didn’t exactly know what you were asking for.

With a subtle sigh, Ben relented. He lowered down and took a knee in front of Danny.

“All right, none of that now. There’s two things a man doesn’t do: cry, and take shit from anybody,” he said. You frowned, but before you could say anything, Ben laid a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “I’m not going to forget you, Danny. In fact, I’m really glad I got to meet you today. Because I can tell you’re gonna be a great man someday.”

Danny sniffed, but his tears stopped. He smiled when Ben ruffled his hair again.

Despite yourself, you smiled too as you watched the scene.

Maybe he does have a heart in there somewhere.

After dinner, you gave your brother and his family a tour of Vought Tower, including your apartment. An hour later, you led them back to the lobby. They had booked a hotel nearby and were planning to see more of the city tomorrow before they went back to Queens.

You were grateful to get some time alone with your brother first, while Ellie took Danny for one last stop at the gift shop. You and Chris sat together in the lounge area.

“Is Dad still asking you for money?” he asked.

You frowned at him. “For Mom’s medical bills. It’s not like it used to be.”

“Okay,” Chris said, glancing away. “It’s just ironic that Mom and Dad can’t really appreciate how far you’ve come, after everything they did to get you here. After everything you did to get here.”

You sighed. They’d had variations of this conversation before, and it never ended well.

“It’s not her fault she got sick,” you said.

“Yeah, it can’t be the pack-a-day she smoked since we were kids.”

“Chris.”

“Well, it didn’t just tickle her lungs and kidneys,” he pointed out. “I swear, our family should’ve been sponsored by the Marlboro Man.”

You shook your head and glared at him. “She’s getting really bad now.”

“Yeah, I know. You weren’t the only one they called asking for money,” he said. He quieted in contemplation.

Despite his attitude, you knew he was hurting. This was just how he dealt with pain—by pretending he didn’t feel it.

Chris eventually sighed, relenting a little as he grabbed your shoulder. “Sorry. I know it’s always been harder on you. I just…they want to pretend like all that other shit never happened, you know?”

You nodded, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You didn’t have the energy to get into all that other shit. Not today.

After you said your goodbyes to your family, you steeled yourself and ventured back up to the penthouse floor. This time when you knocked on Ben’s door, he was properly clothed, now out of his supe suit and wearing a nice shirt tucked into some dark brown slacks. He was halfway to putting on a pale gold Rolex.

He must be going out, you thought.

“Two visits in one day? Boy, do I feel fuckin’ special,” Ben remarked. He offered you a drink, and you accepted. You actually needed something to calm your nerves.

He led you into the living room and made you a vodka soda upon your request. He poured a glass of bourbon for himself. You slipped a finger around the rim of your glass, and you met his expectant gaze.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” you said, “for what you did today.”

You then smiled wryly. “I know it wasn’t without motive, but it made my nephew really happy.”

You took another sip of your drink and set it down on a ledge above the fireplace. It was your turn to look up at him expectantly.

“Okay. A deal is a deal,” you said. “One kiss. I’m sure you’ll make the most of it.”

Ben set down his own glass beside yours. He drew closer, looming over you. You almost felt the warmth of him; you certainly felt his anticipation. Or was that your own?

His head bowed, ever closer. But he stopped just shy of his lips brushing yours.

“Not just yet,” he said. He pulled back from you, making your brows furrow.

“Not yet?” you asked incredulously.

“Just what I said, sweetheart,” he grinned.

You blinked up at him in confusion, and then in annoyance, though you tried to keep it off your face.

“Must we play this game? Just kiss me,” you said. You grasped his arms in invitation, but he slipped out of your hold.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“But why?” you asked. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Apparently it is to you, rookie,” Ben said. He stepped back into your personal space, but you held your ground. “So I played nice, like the gentleman I am. But now, it’s gonna be my right to claim my prize when I want to.”

Your lips pursed. So he wanted to change the rules, did he?

You adopted a more magnanimous smile.

“Fine,” you said.

You grabbed your vodka soda and took another poised sip before you slipped it into his hand. Then you turned on your heel and left his apartment.

Ben watched you go with a smirk on his face. He raised his own glass back to his lips. He knew then that no matter what game you were playing at, he’d finally gotten under your skin.

AN: Ben's pressing his luck, isn't he? 😂 But I think you guys are going to like where we're going next...

(Bet you wondered why a song from Grease was on the music playlist for this series. 😉)

Next Time:

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

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

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

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

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

You doubted that, but it was still a great opportunity for you. The exact kind you'd been waiting for. There was just one problem.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 4

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arjwrites · 5 months ago

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The Space Between- Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: GN!Reader breaks their arm on a hunt and needs a little assistance. This is a Dean version of my other fic Close (Sam x Reader), as requested by @the-scream-story !

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Injury, nudity, strong references to sex. MDNI!

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE! I had so much fun writing this. This is officially the end of my writer's block- I am back in business, baby. I hope you all enjoy!!!

“DAMN IT!” Your voice echoed out of the bathroom from behind the closed door, punctuated with the contents of your toiletry bag crashing to the floor. Instantly regretful of your outburst, you prayed that no one had heard your voice above the dull whir of the bathroom fan and the rushing water cascading against the floor of the tub. The last thing you wanted was for one of the boys to come try to play the knight in shining armor to your damsel in distress.

After making some brief mental calculations, you figured Sam would still be out grabbing food, leaving only Dean in your shared motel room. There was no way he heard you, and even if he had, you doubted he would stir from his current position. When you had headed in for your attempted shower, the man was already reclined in a chair, beer in hand, and engrossed in some sub-par TV show.

Attempted truly was the best word to describe the shower experience so far. Last night’s hunt had landed you with a broken arm, and a long wait at the ER had delayed your return to the motel into the wee hours of the next morning. At this moment, it was 4am and none of you had slept. And you, covered in a mix of dirt, and blood (yours and the creature’s), figured that a quick shower would be the best catalyst for sleep.

But twenty minutes had passed since you had holed yourself up in the bathroom. There were several obstacles that sat between you and a warm, clean nap. Your dominant arm was confined to a cast, providing a myriad of challenges. First was getting off your clothes. Next was wrapping your cast with the ziploc bag and duct tape combo you had armed yourself with. Then was navigating your shower routine, somehow shampooing your hair and scrubbing blood off your body with your weak hand while trying to keep the other clear from the water.

It was an impossible task, but asking for help was not necessarily your forte. Plus, you felt horrible having kept the boys up all night because of your injury. Of course, they waved you off, used to the sleepless nights, taking the late hours in stride and going about their usual post-hunt routines (Sam’s supply run and Dean’s beer and motel TV marathon). Though neither of them would ever admit it, you could see the exhaustion radiating off their every movement, and the guilt ate at you. The last thing you wanted to do was to ask either of them to do you any more favors.

But your hopes of soldiering on independently were crushed in an instant. In a valiant effort to singlehandedly take off your shirt, the tight fabric had become twisted over your head, covering your eyes and trapping your free arm against you. And when your balance was thrown off, you stumbled back, foot catching the shower curtain and bringing the tension rod down with a decisive bang. Shit. There was no way Dean hadn’t heard that.

Your suspicion was quickly met with a firm knock on the bathroom door.

“You alright in there?” Dean’s voice harbored no sign of annoyance, simply concern. So after a few deep breaths and a moment to wriggle your head free from its trap, you conceded to what seemed to be your only option.

“Dean, can you come in?”

Nothing could have prepared Dean for the sight behind the door. There you sat, in a pile of shower curtain and shampoo bottles, one arm pinned to your head and the other pinned to your chest. The shower, still running and void of its curtain, had started to spray down on your fully clothed body, adding insult to injury. Dean’s mouth gaped open for a moment, searching for the words, eyes blinking as he took in the scene.

“Look, I need your help. Please don’t be weird about it. Can you just help me get this shirt off and then I’ll just wrap the cast and hop in-” Your nervous rambling was cut off as Dean lifted you from the floor and sat you down on the closed toilet seat.

“Sweetheart, you’re not doing this by yourself. You’re gonna mess up that cast and I am not going back to that goddamn hospital.” You cringed at the memory of the long hours you, Sam, and Dean had spent under those horrible fluorescent lights. Though his remarks dripped in frustration, nothing about his appearance did- his eyes and lips were graced with the softest echoes of a smile.

You mumbled a few protests but Dean had already set right to work. In a few, swift movements, he had popped the shower curtain back into place, pulled it aside, plugged the drain, and shifted the source of the water down to the bathtub spout. When the water began to pool in the bottom of the tub, he turned back to you.

“Dean, I really don’t need you to do this. I’ll be fine if I can just get this damn shirt off,” you huffed, punctuating your complaint with a few pulls at your restraint. This was exactly what you had feared, and it made it all the more embarrassing because it was Dean. You felt vulnerable and looked ridiculous, and here he was cleaning up your mess and drawing you a bath? Your nerves wound tightly in your stomach as Dean lowered himself to sit on the lip of the tub across from you. The tiny motel bathroom left little room between the two of you, and your knees brushed against each other in your seated positions.

“You’re hurt and I’m helping you. Take it from me, you don’t need to pull the tough guy routine all the time. It’s not gonna help anyone.” It was as if the intensity of his eye contact had taken hold of your entire body. You were frozen in front of him, caught off guard and melting quickly as warmth swelled in your heart. This felt different than the usual Dean. In a way, him helping you in your vulnerabilities seemed vulnerable of him, too. And there was no denying your feelings for the man. In the short few years you had hunted with the brothers, you had developed a soft spot for the older Winchester that you had vowed to never let see the light of day. But your heart was beating hard and fast against your chest, because here he was, right in front of you, reaching in to unbutton your shirt…

You shook the thoughts from your head, recognizing the tenderness of the moment. Off came your shirt, which Dean haphazardly folded and placed on the counter. The intensity that buzzed between the two of you raged on unencumbered for a while. It made you nervous to look at him even a second longer, so you turned your gaze to your jeans, working at the button with your free hand. Dean sat back, letting you work for a moment, before stepping in to help and to dissolve the tension with a joke.

“This might be the longest it’s ever taken someone to take their pants off for me,” he chuckled to himself as he popped the button free with ease.

Your head snapped up to him, your expression tinged with annoyance, but Dean didn’t miss the blush that tinged your cheeks and the smile that threatened to breach the surface. He knew you were unhappy with the situation, a bit anxious and uncomfortable, so he figured he would do what he did best- crack a few jokes. Plus, he had come so close to kissing you right then and there that he needed a way to distract himself.

Dean always knew how to make you laugh. It was one of the things you liked most about him. So any nerves you had about being naked in front of Dean Winchester were easily melted away because you couldn’t help yourself from laughing the whole time. Like head-thrown-back, full-body-shaking laughter. What had started as a challenging and tense situation had boiled down to just simply hanging out with Dean.

He had lowered you into the tub, you clinging to his arm for dear life, until you were sat down, the bubbles in the water providing you just the right amount of coverage to make you feel even more secure. Once you were settled in, Dean took a step back, sitting down to let you get to work. He knew you would want to retain a bit of independence, so he let you work on scrubbing whatever you could with the arm you had, only stepping in when you needed his help. The time was filled with conversation about the previous hunt, wonders about what Sam could possibly bring back for food at this hour, and plenty of shared laughter at Dean’s jokes.

“So I see you don’t have a lifeguard here at your beach,” Dean said, taking on a dramatic tone as if he were playing a character.

“Dean, what are you-”

“No, no, no. You’re supposed to say, ‘I’m not at the beach, this is a bathtub.’” He wagged a finger at you as he corrected your response.

“What the hell are you talking ab- Oh my God! DEAN!” Realizing the origin of the joke he was making, you used your free hand to splash him with the warm soapy water. But you couldn’t even feign frustration- your laughter gave you away.

Things continued on like this for a while- you and your washcloth scrubbing dirt and blood from every corner of your skin, Dean cracking jokes, and occasionally stepping in to offer a hand.

“Look, let me do your hair for you. How the hell are you supposed to do that with one hand?” Dean interjected as you attempted to lather shampoo in your palm.

He kneeled on the floor next to you, taking the bottle into his hands. As he worked, you took time to notice the sensations around you, to ground yourself in the moment. You watched soap bubbles take flight as you moved through the bath. You felt the warm water lapping at your skin, and the gentle circles Dean’s fingers made on your scalp. You could smell the clean scent of the soap that filled the tub, the floral perfume of the shampoo, both mixed with something you could only describe as Dean. He smelled like some combination of the beer he was drinking, his usual cologne, and the lingering sweat and dirt of the day’s hunt. Rarely were you close enough to Dean to be able to smell him, but whenever you did, you relished in the moment. But at this particular moment, his proximity was drawing all of the nerves back into your system. Dean was hovering over your naked body- you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he worked his fingers through your hair. Beyond feeling his touch on your skin, you felt as if you could feel him- his presence, his essence. It was so intimate, so romantic, that your heart swelled and your mind raced to a million and one places. Nevertheless, you remained anchored in the bath, the water and bubbles serving as a shield and the only thing that served to separate the two of you.

When you were finished, all the suds rinsed off your body leaving you squeaky clean, you weren’t sure how to feel. Dean had slipped out of the room to grab you a towel, and though you remained in the tub filled with the warm water and the air hung hot and heavy with humidity, the lack of his presence still made the room feel cold. Sitting alone with your thoughts, even for such a brief moment, you had realized the extent of your feelings, the irreparable mark Dean had left on your heart. In your head, you rifled through a library of moments you two had shared, picturing this morning’s events sliding into place on the shelf as the newest edition of the series.

Stepping back into the room with the towel, Dean handed it over to you before plucking the plug from the drain and helping you rise to your feet. You braced the towel underneath your broken arm and used the other to wrap it around yourself, hoping to restore even a shred of your decency- though there was little point in that anymore. Now there sat a power imbalance in your relationship with Dean- he had all the cards in his hands. So when you stepped out of the tub, you stood square in front of him, determined to level the score somehow.

You lingered for a moment, both of you locked in an intense stare, feeling goosebumps radiate your entire body. At first, you attributed these to your drastic change in body temperature since stepping out of the water, but when you noticed a similar sensation rising over Dean, your perception shifted. Dean cleared his throat.

“So, uh, you want me to help you get dressed?” Dean rubbed at the back of his neck to settle the hairs that had been raised under your intense look.

“Not really.” You murmured in response, looking to him through lidded eyes. The unusual burst of confidence in your system inched you closer and closer, until there was nothing that separated the two of you but the thin towel you had wrapped around your frame.

You channeled every ounce of what you were feeling into your gaze, praying Dean could read your thoughts through your eyes as if you were an open book. When he reached a hand up to cup your face, you knew the message was received. With a slowness that was almost painful, he leaned his forehead against your own, drawing his lips nearly to yours before rerouting them to your cheek, just slightly above their initial destination. After planting the softest kiss, his lips lingered, hovering ever so slightly above you. Dean was in limbo, as if he couldn’t decide whether to pull away and return to safety, or lean in to seal the deal. But you made the choice for him when your hand snaked around the back of his head and pulled him down to you, closing the gap between your lips.

The kiss was everything you had hoped it would be, and yet, nothing you could have ever imagined. Dean was soft and gentle, so cautious of your injury, but you could feel the intensity so thinly veiled below the surface. The energy flowed from both of you, as if you were cautiously exploring something so new and dangerous, yet so incredibly desirable and magnetic. Something needed to break the seal, to throw your cautions to the wind.

You wanted to kiss Dean Winchester forever, and he shared the sentiment. So the only thing that could break you two away was the brief moment when you took a calculated step back. Confusion twisted into Dean’s face, before melting away into desire when you let your towel fall to pool at your feet. He took his own step back, reaching behind him to turn the lock on the bathroom door, before closing the gap between you- the very last time there would ever be space between you and Dean Winchester.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic #supernatural reader insert #supernatural #supernatural one shot #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #spn reader insert #dean winchester reader insert

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icycoldninja · 1 year ago

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Fluffcember #7 (Sephiroth x reader)

Fluff headcannons

-Is essentially a sleepy old cat; loves to laze around on your lap whenever he has time. He doesn't get many days off, but when he does, hoo boy. Clear out your schedule and cancel all plans for the day--thou shalt be his living pillow.

-He drapes himself across your lap, often burying his face in your stomach or curls up in your lap like a cat and uses your chest as a headrest.

-Will actually purr if you scratch his head, especially if you get that spot right above his neck. He loves it. He also loves getting forehead kisses as he drifts off to sleep because they make him feel so relaxed.

-Besides cat-like behavior, Sephiroth enjoys spending time with you as a human. He'll put on a movie or TV show and lounge around on the couch with you curled up under his arm.

-Can't cook, but wants to enjoy dinner with you, unlike most of the time when he has to rush through his meals and race off to work. Either he'll assist you in the kitchen (and contribute as much as a 3 year old who really wants to help) or order takeout. Nevertheless, you two end up spending a quiet evening in.

-Another thing he likes to do is squash you with his giant frame and hold you tight; like a kid squeezing their stuffed animal. He loves to hold onto you, breathing in your scent, basking in your warmth, and generally enjoying your presence.

-Despite his tough exterior, Sephiroth is really a playful guy at heart--though he'll only ever reveal this side of him when he's around you, the person he trusts more than anyone else. (Except his mom)

-He'll play games with you, and not just video games. This grown-ass super soldier will 100% play dress up and/or tea party, as well as chase you around the house only to tackle you onto the couch and pin you there while smothering you in kisses.

-Occasionally you'll wake up and find yourself trapped under a strange, thin material that's too dark to be your sheets. Further investigation shows that Sephiroth has slid his nightshirt over your head at some point and has kept you like that for some time.

-On really rare occasions when he's feeling extra cheerful, he'll wake you up by gently slapping you with his wing before picking up a few fallen feathers and using them to tickle your feet. Adorable. ❤️

#Ffvii #Ff7 #Final fantasy 7 #Sephiroth x reader #Sephiroth #Ffvii sephiroth #Ff7 sephiroth #final fantasy 7 sephiroth #final fantasy vii #Final fantasy vii sephiroth #Headcannons #Fluffcember #Part 7 of 31 #Sephiroth x reader headcannons #Fluff #Fluffy

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soldiersslut · 4 months ago

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GHOST OF YOU — SOLDIER BOY "CHAPTER ONE"

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2,638

Author's Note: I am super duper excited for this! I am happy to see others are as well. Thank you so much again!

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED PLEASE LET ME KNOW. DON'T FORGET TO FOLLOW, HEART, AND REPOST. THANK YOU AGAIN!

“I am gone for one day, and this is what happens. Was putting MM to sleep really necessary?” You asked, watching what unfolded from afar. MM told Annie ahead of time what the plan was, and Annie told you.

It was no surprise that neither Butcher or Hughie had told anyone else about the plan. Little by little their recklessness was clouding their judgment. Going as far as to putting MM to sleep. Butcher scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“He is just taking a little nap. I cannot have him getting in the way and as much as you might not want to agree, you do. Soldier Boy is our weapon, and we need to make sure he is satisfied with our gift waiting inside.”

You stayed silent. There was no point in arguing with him.

“Don’t you think someone should stay inside with her? Just have eyes on her in case she tries anything?” you suggested.

Butcher nodded and tilted his head towards the direction of the door. “Since you offered to babysit, have fun. I will be waiting for him out here.”

You did not move until Butcher did. He stayed facing the trees. Your friendship with Butcher is interesting, to say the least. While you did not agree with most of Butcher’s plans the end goal was all the same. He had been the one to recruit you after MM vouched for you. Before joining the Boys you were a combat medic specialist for the Army. Most of your work consisted in base to assist soldiers as well as help in humanitarian situations. Somewhere along the way you met MM, and you made a big enough impact he remembered you.

Here you are now serving as medic most of the times, but when things get bad you are ready to fight and defend yourself.

“Who’s there?” spoke up Countess, panic heard in her tone. All you had done was enter her trailer and stay by the door for a moment.

You looked to your right to see Countess’ hands had been taped and chained down. You stepped out of the shadow so she could have a closer look at you. Though you made sure to keep your distance.

“That’s impossible,” she whispered.

You were unable to hide your confusion. Both of your eyebrows furrowed closer together and you tilted your head slightly.

“I’m sorry?” you questioned, hoping she was going to elaborate what she means by it.

She began to shake her head and a snarl formed on her lips.

“Don’t play stupid with me, bitch. You’ve been alive this entire fucking time!” Countess snapped and attempted to harshly pull on the chains to let herself loose.

You blinked twice at the audacity of her attitude. This is the first time you are meeting her and somehow you are supposed to know her. There is one thing you’ve noticed about Countess though. Behind her anger, there was fear.

“I am not playing stupid! What the hell are you talking about?” you snapped back.

“Come on, Mimi, you’re really wanting to play stupid? Isn’t it just a tiny bit coincidence that Soldier Boy is out of Russia and you are here. You’re not supposed to be here. I was told you stayed in Russia.”

You still could not hide your confusion. You were so taken back you blinked multiple times and shook your head.

“Well, obviously, I am not in Russia. This was the one and only time I went. Care to explain what the hell is going on through that chimp brain of yours?!” you demanded to know.

Before Countess could say anything the door to the outside opened. Your eyes remained on her while she looked behind you to see who showed up.

“Ben? Is that really you?” she asked.

Slow, but heavy footsteps can be heard. Slowly you turned around and came face to face with Soldier Boy.

And there it is again.

The same look Countess had when she saw you was the same look Soldier Boy had. Soldier Boy completely ignored Countess at the moment. He was just staring at you, and you stared back waiting for him to say something. Nothing was said, but there was a trance between you both. You nor him could look away from one another. Countess decided to break it.

“You look so young,” she complimented. Soldier Boy had been quick to answer, “you don’t.” And yet he had not even looked at her for him to say such a thing. This was not your place to be at.

“I’m leaving,” you announced. The trailer was small and the amount of things Countess had made it even smaller. With three steps you would be out of the door, but as you took two steps forward Soldier Boy moved to the side to block you.

“No, you’re staying” he ordered.

You were stunned by his demand and was unable to protest. It was not going to get you anywhere and you did not want to make him angry either. The man was on a vengeance, and you had no power to fight against someone like him. He moved past you and stood in front of Countess now. She let out a laugh.

It was obvious you did not wish to be there. This was something personal, and almost intimate. You tried blocking out their conversation but it was impossible. Nothing in the room was interesting enough to stare at and zone out.

“I loved you.”

That’s when things got interesting. You did not even have to look at Soldier Boy to hear the sadness in his voice. The way he was describing his pain, torture, and yet still held onto the hope. It explains why he felt so betrayed. This time you turned to look at Soldier Boy and Countess. His back was towards you, but Countess could still see you. Her eyes moved to you and she shook her head in disbelief. She let out a scoff and spoke.

“You did not love me, you loved her. Deny it all you want, but it has always been about her. You never looked at me the way you looked at her. Hell, you fucking treated her better than you’ve ever treated anyone else. It was about damn time she got smart enough and left you. She knew her worth. When she left I was furious because I had the hope that with her being out of the picture you would have changed for the better, but you only got worse with time. I would have done the same thing and left you, but I made a vow to make you pay for everything. For every tear, pleads, and humiliation I had to endure because of you. I hated you.”

There was silence afterwards. You were not sure what to think of Countess’ speech. She keeps bringing you up, and yet it makes no sense. You have never met Countess before. Much less Soldier Boy. The last time they were together it was during the 1980s. You weren’t even a thought.

“As for you, why did you go back for him? You had a life all sorted out for you. His words might sound sweet, but you know better than I that the only person he will only look out for is himself.”

This was your opportunity to say something. You wanted to ask her for clarification. She held something against you, and you cannot even wrap your mind around what it is. Though it was too late.

“Leave.”

You looked at Soldier Boy who continues to have his back towards you.

“Wait a minute—” you began to protest but was rudely interrupted.

“Are you stupid and deaf now? Go!” he snapped.

You then realized why he demanded you left. You can see the light forming in his chest and aimed toward Countess. Without a second thought you ran out and sprinted towards Butcher.

“The hell happened in there?” Butcher demanded to know.

“He’s about to explode! Grab MM!” you yelled, and right on cue a loud explosion occurred behind you.

There was so much force that wind picked up and forced you to fall on the ground. Butcher was quick to grab MM and be out of harm’s way. From the ground you turned around and used your elbows to sit up and look at the damage. The trailer was gone, but the debris was scattered everywhere. You stood up and rushed towards MM to make sure he was okay.

Annie called out to you, and Hughie followed behind her.

“MM is alright. Butcher was able to get him out of the way,” you explained and lightly slapped MM’s face multiple times hoping that would wake him up. Once again you heard the heavy footsteps and all attention was shifted to Soldier Boy who appeared from the fog of what used to be Countess’ trailer. You got up from the floor and just watched. Annie had gotten defensive and Soldier Boy noticed. He watched Annie, but then looked at you. He stopped moving and just stared like he has done before.

Once again the both of you were in a trance. The trance got disrupted by Hughie’s voice as he tried to reason with Annie. He and Butcher began to follow behind Soldier Boy. You stayed in place with Annie and MM who was starting to wake up.

“I’m alright,” MM assured. You and Annie helped him off of the ground and watched the other trio walking away. Though Soldier Boy came to a stop and turned around to see who was following.

“What the hell is happening now?” MM asked. Soldier Boy, Butcher, and Hughie were talking and it almost looked like an argument. They began to walk back towards the other trio.

“You are coming with us,” Butcher ordered, pointing at you. Annie and MM quickly got defensive.

“It is the only way Soldier Boy is going to cooperate with us. Either she comes or he goes into destructive mode. I don’t know what the hell you told him in there, but he is demanding you” Butcher explained. Butcher was getting desperate and if he has to knock you out, carry you, or threaten you he’ll do it.

Annie and MM were not convinced, but you were. If someone has all the answers to your questions it must be him.

“Soldier Boy can suck my dick too and I still would not accept her leaving. Go fuck yourself, Butcher. He is your problem!” MM argued.

Soldier Boy now stepped forward, “we can do this the easy way where no one gets harmed, or I can do this my way where I can just kill you both” he suggested. It only made things worse as Annie’s eyes lit up. MM walked towards Soldier Boy to get in his face. You moved quickly to get in between both.

“No! One death is already enough for tonight. I will go with you under one condition and that is for you not to harm my friends. It isn’t because I am scared of you.”

You stood your ground against Soldier Boy. If it were anyone else to have spoken to him the way you did right now he would have put them six feet underground by now. Though this is you, he remained quiet but his hands turned into fist and by how tight he formed them a small squeak was let out from the leather gloves he is wearing.

You heard the squeak and knew he was holding it in together. “Shall we, then?” you asked and motioned the direction they were heading towards to. You looked up at Soldier Boy who continued to stare. At this point it was getting annoying. You said nothing to him and walked away. Before the distance got greater you looked at MM and Annie.

“I will be okay, I promise.”

That was going to be the last time you will see them both until who knows when. You said nothing else, even when you all got to the car. Butcher drove and Hughie got the passenger side. You sighed and got in the back with Soldier Boy. It was a small space and with someone large such as Soldier Boy is sitting next to you the space is limited. Your knee was forced to touch his own. You ignored the way he kept moving his knee slowly as if he was trying to feel you. Butcher was explaining their next destination but they needed to find lounging for tonight. After some time in the road they found a motel in the middle of nowhere. Butcher checked them in.

“You are staying with me Soldier Boy, while Hughie stays with you” said Butcher to you. Hughie was okay with that and offered to sleep on the couch. Soldier Boy hated the idea.

“Fuck you, I am staying with her. I’m not about to share a bed with another set of balls and a dick.”

You rolled your eyes, “and what makes you think I want to?”

“Oh, please sweetheart. Playing hard to get doesn’t get you anywhere. Drop the attitude.”

“Make me.”

Butcher intervened, “alright, alright! All of us are staying in a room together. I will sleep on the floor, Hughie gets the couch, and both of you figure it out in the room. I am going to ask for a refund on one of the rooms.”

Butcher left to the main office while the rest walked towards the room. You entered and took a look around. It was clean, a little spacious, and there was only one bed. The argument began again.

“You are indestructible, a soldier, and have been sleeping for a long time already. You do not need the bed! You can sleep anywhere else!” you snapped.

At this point Hughie had given up in playing mediator.

“The bed is large enough for the both of us. Quit your whining!” Soldier Boy reasoned.

The argument continued until Butcher showed up and put an end to it. In the end you were going to share a bed with him. You sat down on your side and just watched the rest get comfortable. Butcher had clothes for Soldier Boy to change into.

“We have a long day tomorrow. Get some sleep” Butcher ordered. He turned off the lights. Hughie said goodnight to you and you said it back. You laid on the bed and felt it sink next to you. You turned and saw Soldier Boy smirk. You were ready to wipe the smirk off of his face.

“You know you can scoot in closer if it gets too cold. I don’t bite” he whispered the last part to you. You scoffed and turned to your side. There was not enough pillow to form some wall between you both. Eventually sleepiness took over the nerves, and you had fallen asleep.

Soldier Boy had yet to fall asleep. He was the last one awake. Everything that has happened in the past two days has been replaying over in his mind. He looked down at you sleeping so peacefully. Why were you acting like this? Why was he a stranger in your eyes? It has been a conflicting thought since the moment he laid eyes on you. Even now he wonders if this was a test and he was actually at the lab still. He was hoping it wasn’t.

You moved in your sleep and was facing him now. Hair had fallen onto your face. Slowly and lightly he moved it out of the way of your face. His finger stayed on your cheek; feeling your soft skin.

Whether this was a test or a dream, he knows he never wants to wake up for he has found you once again.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two

Author’s Note: Hello again! I hope everyone is enjoying this as much as I am. As you can tell we are following season three but there will be changes along the way. I chose to start on season three so we can see how it begins to unfold for Soldier Boy and reader. There will be lots of angst and drama soon. Just please be patient and thank you so much again for reading!

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x you #the boys series

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prettyboypistol · 4 months ago

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Yo, cis guy here, I've always felt a lot of shame about being super gay for the tf2 men, because it made me feel like less of a man. You reckon I could possibly get a scout or engie x reader when theyre calling the reader handsome, pretty boy, big man, and lots of masculine petnames? Smut or fluff or ignoring this is fine

I really like your work dude 😁

fellow cis guy here- I totally get it man. i'm glad that other guys like me enjoy my work. I also struggled with my attraction to men and fictional men were (and still are) my escape from homophobia and biphobia. Stay safe, you're valid.

TF2 Mercs With a Masculine!Male Reader

Scout

He loves squeezing your muscles and feeling your abs, totally not thinking of you as a goal for himself!

Nicknames include: Big man, big boy, sweet cheeks, hot shot/stuff, bossman, stud, etc.

likes the feeling of your facial hair when you kiss him- it tickle/scratches him in the best way!

Soldier

Thinks of you as the best man in the unit of RED! You're an exemplary man with gusto and power to spare! Solly fell for you when he caught you on a morning run "to keep yourself fit". That dedication got his heart skipping!

Nicknames include: Soldier, pride, the unit's pride and joy, big man

arm. wrestling. as. flirting., sparring. as. flirting. honestly anything that gets him up close and personal to you

Pyro

Hold onto you like a damsel in distress and loves how protective you are over them. As much as Pyro would and has protected you from enemy Spies, they like depending on someone who can hold their own.

nicknames include: My fire, firefly, my fireman, big boy, handsome

They love how you treat them like "just another one of the boys" rather than "the creature"- it really hurts their feelings when they're excluded due to how they cope with life.

Engineer

God he couldn't have asked for a better assistant. You grab heaps of metal for him, toolboxes, and sentries you can pick up with both hands and carry over to him!

Nicknames include: Hoss, handsome, big man, sir, boss

loves watching you work out while he works on his bench (sometimes even being your bench weight)

Demoman

He treats you like how he'd treat any partner of his, no changes. Demo's kind, loving, tender, but would let you fend for yourself to not baby you.

Nicknames include: dear, darlin', lovely, loverboy, handsome, best-shag-of-my-life

loves cuddling up to you and just burying his face in your muscles- but when he's not sleepy he is constantly hooting and hollering about how awesome his boyfriend is.

Heavy

a lot more friendly about his romance, treating you more like a best friend than a romantic partner in public mainly due to his anxiety about "being caught"

nicknames include(mostly in russian): lover, love, handsome man, hero, heart

he loves kissing your strong hands and sliding his hands over your muscles, it assures him that you're strong enough to take care of yourself, and that eases his worries.

Sniper

god this is a useless gay man. he sees you crush a bonk can and his heart skips a beat. you take off your shirt and he's speechless. you make him unprofessional and it ruins him internally.

nicknames include: Hotstuff, love, mate, darling, chickadee, big bugger, bear

he likes asking you to carry his stuff, complaining about his aching arms (totally not to watch you carry his things!!!)

Medic

ooooh god this man is a HOMOSEXUAL for you. on GOD.

nicknames include: honeybear, my love, my heart, my magnum opus, big man, beast

can, has, and will continue to flirt with you on the battlefield, no matter who sees him do it. If anyone gives you shit for being gay, he's instantly at your side and ready to beat them down with you

Spy

i mean... if you have a degradation kink go ahead i guess? he treats you like a bodyguard in public and is cold and callous in other's eyes. they think he hates you. In private however he is all over you. kissing, holding, embracing, etc., whispering sweet nothings in your ears.

nicknames include: my sweet love, my man, my handsome, big beauty, sweetness

although he seems uncaring in public, anyone who disrespects you gets backstabbed as "target practice" later when they least expect it.

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lila-lou · 4 months ago

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✨ His second exception - Pt. 5/? ✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Ben being hurt, Reader being hurt, soft Ben, sad Ben, Reader having another stupid idea

Word Count: 6701

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 5 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

It had been 12 weeks since you lost your baby. Last week, Ben finally got rid of the broken furniture, a small step towards healing. Today was your first day back at work, and you felt a mix of anxiety and determination as you walked into the meeting room.

Ben had just announced you as his personal assistant, a decision that caught everyone off guard. You sat beside him at the head of the table, feeling the weight of the gazes from around the room. Annie and Butcher exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. Frenchie, however, couldn’t contain his excitement.

"Ah, it’s about time! Soldier Boy is back!", Frenchie exclaimed, a wide grin spreading across his face. "And now Butcher can suck it!".

Butcher scowled but didn't respond, his eyes flickering between you and Ben. Annie offered you a small, encouraging smile, but there was a hint of concern in her eyes.

Ben, sensing the tension, leaned forward, his presence commanding the room’s attention. “Let’s focus on what’s ahead and get back to work”.

You nodded in agreement, trying to project confidence even as your heart raced. The meeting continued, and you took diligent notes, immersing yourself in the tasks at hand. Despite the challenges, you were determined to prove yourself and support Ben.

After the meeting, as everyone was filing out, Butcher lingered behind. He walked over to you, his expression serious. “You sure you’re up for this?”, he asked, his voice low.

You met his gaze, nodding firmly. “I am”, you replied. “I need this”.

Butcher nodded slowly, seeming to accept your resolve. “Alright then. Just… take care of yourself”.

“I will, thanks”, you assured him.

As you turned to leave, Ben placed a reassuring hand on your back. “You did great”, he murmured.

Even though Ben wanted you to have a table in his office, you insisted on having your own space. You needed a bit of independence and the chance to carve out your own niche. Ben reluctantly agreed.

As you settled into your new office, organizing files and setting up your workspace, you heard a soft knock on the door. Looking up, you saw Annie standing in the doorway, her expression warm but concerned.

“Hey”, she greeted you with a small smile. “Mind if I come in?”.

“Of course not”, you replied, gesturing for her to take a seat. “What’s up?”.

Annie sat down, glancing around your office before meeting your eyes. “I just wanted to check on you”, she said gently. “It’s been a tough few months, and I know today must be a big step for you”.

You nodded, appreciating her concern. “It has been tough, but getting back to work feels… necessary. It helps to have something to focus on”.

Annie nodded in understanding. “I get that. Sometimes, keeping busy is the best way to cope. But don’t forget to take care of yourself, too. If you ever need to talk or take a break, I’m here for you”.

“Thanks, Annie”, you said, feeling a lump in your throat. “That means a lot”.

Annie hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I also wanted to ask… how are things with Ben? He still seems a bit off”.

You sighed, moving to the small couch in your office and gesturing for Annie to join you. She sat down beside you, her concern evident.

“He wants to try for a baby again. And since I told him I wasn’t ready, he’s been pretty grumpy and closed off. I don’t know how to deal with it”.

Annie nodded slowly, processing your words. “I understand where he’s coming from, but… you barely made it through the first few weeks of your last pregnancy. It was so hard on you”.

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. “I know. And the doctors have assured us that the V medication is ready this time, but that’s not the problem. The problem is… I can’t get.. intimate. My mind keeps telling me it’s wrong, like I’m betraying the memory of our baby”.

Annie reached out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “I understand you”, she said softly, her eyes full of empathy. “But that’s not how it works. You aren’t betraying your baby by trying to move forward. Grieving and healing can coexist. It’s okay to want happiness again, to want a future”.

You looked down, feeling a mix of relief and confusion. “But it feels like if I let go, if I move on… it’s like I’m forgetting him.. or her. Like I’m erasing what happened”.

Annie shook her head gently. “You’re not erasing anything. Your baby will always be a part of you, a part of your life. Moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting. It means carrying that memory with you and finding a way to live with it”.

You sighed, the weight of her words sinking in. “I want to believe that. I really do. But it’s just so hard”.

“I know”, Annie said, her voice full of understanding. “Healing is hard, and it’s not a straight path. There will be good days and bad days. But you have to give yourself the grace to feel what you’re feeling without guilt”.

You nodded slowly, feeling the tension in your chest ease just a bit.

Annie took your hand, squeezing it gently. “You and Ben need to have a real conversation”, she said softly. “Lay down all your feelings, and try to understand each other. You need to help each other through this”.

You nodded, taking in her words. It was easier said than done, but she was right. You couldn’t keep avoiding the difficult conversations.

Annie hesitated for a moment, then continued. “You know, when Homelander attacked you… Ben was devastated. He thought he was going to lose you. He couldn’t stop himself from trying to save you, no matter the risk”.

You swallowed. You knew Ben had been worried, but you hadn’t realized the depth of his fear.

Annie sighed, her expression conflicted. “I hate to admit it, but I see now how much he actually loves you. He’s rough around the edges, but it’s clear he’d do anything for you”.

“I know he loves me. It’s just… complicated”.

Annie nodded. “I still have doubts about a supe baby, though. The risks for you are real, and I worry about what might happen. But if the V medication works and having another baby would help you and Ben move forward, I’ll do anything to support you”.

You felt a lump in your throat, the mix of emotions almost overwhelming. “Thank you, Annie. That means a lot. Really”.

She gave your hand one final squeeze before standing up. “Just promise me you’ll talk to him. Really talk to him”.

“I will”, you promised, watching as she left your office.

As the door closed behind her, you took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. Annie’s words echoed in your mind. It was time to have that difficult conversation with Ben. You knew it wouldn’t be easy, but it was the only way to start healing and moving forward.

Later that day, as you were digging through some files in your office, you felt a presence at the door. Looking up, you saw Ben standing in the doorframe, his arms crossed as he watched you with a faint smile on his face.

It took a moment for you to register his presence fully. “Hey”, you mumbled, your attention shifting back to the files. “You and the team have a meeting with the President tomorrow evening”.

Ben raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Already got the President on speed dial, huh?”, he said, his tone cocky. “You’ve settled into this position pretty damn fast”.

You couldn’t help but smile at his teasing, the tension between you easing slightly. “Well, someone has to keep you and the rest of the team in line”, you replied, closing the file and looking up at him.

Ben chuckled, stepping further into the office. “Looks like you’re already making yourself indispensable… But seriously, how are you holding up?”.

Your smile faltered slightly, but you appreciated his concern. “I’m managing”, you said softly. “It’s a lot to take in, but it helps to have something to focus on”.

He nodded, moving closer until he was standing right in front of your desk. He looked down at you, licking his lips before speaking up. "You ready to go home?", he asked, his voice low and gentle.

You glanced at the clock, realizing how late it had gotten. "Yeah, I think I'm done here for the day", you replied, starting to gather your things.

He grumbled under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "If I hear one more complaint about Butcher insulting someone, I'm gonna smash some damn doors", he muttered, his frustration evident.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his irritation. “Butcher’s got a talent for pissing people off”, you said, shaking your head. “But let’s just get out of here before you end up breaking something for real”.

Ben’s expression softened at your laughter. “Good idea”, he agreed.

As you stepped inside your house, you immediately pulled off your heels, sighing in relief. Ben walked straight through the little hallway, clearly eager to relax after the long day.

“Ben”, you called out, a hint of exasperation in your voice.

He paused, rolling his eyes slightly before turning around. “I know, I know”, he muttered, placing his shield down and pulling off his boots like you always told him to. “Happy now?”.

You smiled, feeling a bit of the day’s tension melting away. “Yes, much better”, you replied, hanging up your coat. “Thanks”.

Ben grunted in response.

You made your way to the bathroom, starting to undress. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you sighed. Your stomach was perfectly flat again. Shaking off your thoughts, you gathered the new shampoo you recently bought and stepped into the shower. The warm water cascaded over you as you hummed your favorite song, trying to let the tension of the day wash away.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Suddenly, you felt two big hands cupping your hips from behind, making you jump slightly.

Ben’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “Since when the fuck do you not call me to take a shower anymore?”. He sounded slightly grumpy.

You turned your head to look at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “I didn’t know you wanted to join”, you teased lightly. “I thought you were tired”.

“I’m always tired”, he grumbled, his hands moving up to your waist, pulling you closer. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you”.

You leaned back against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. “Well, you’re here now”, you murmured. “So why don’t you help me with my back?”.

Ben reached for the shower gel, lathering it in his hands before gently massaging it into your back. His strong fingers worked in soothing circles, easing the tension from your muscles. As he continued, his hands gradually wandered lower, to your lower back, eliciting a content sigh from you.

You couldn’t help but tease him. “Getting a bit adventurous there, aren’t we?”, you chuckled softly, your eyes closing in pleasure.

Ben’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle. “Just trying to be thorough”, he replied huskily, his hands kneading gently. His touch was both comforting and arousing, and you melted into his embrace, letting the warm water and his ministrations ease your mind.

“Mmm, well, I appreciate the thoroughness”, you murmured, leaning back into him. The steam from the shower filled the small space, creating a cocoon of intimacy between the two of you.

Ben’s hands stilled for a moment, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “I love you”, he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and affection.

“I love you too”, you whispered back.

Ben’s hands brushed over your sides, his touch light but deliberate as he slowly moved them up, tracing the curve of your ribs. Your breath hitched, and your heart raced as his hands continued their journey upward, finally reaching your breasts. It had been weeks since he had touched you like this, and the sensation was almost overwhelming.

You leaned back against him, feeling the steady thump of his heart against your back. His fingers were gentle yet firm, and you could feel his breath warm against your neck. The combination of the hot water and his touch sent shivers down your spine.

Ben’s voice was low and rough, filled with longing. “I miss this”, he murmured, his hands continuing to explore your body. “I miss you”.

You struggled with your feelings, caught in a storm of emotions. The warmth of his touch, the familiarity of his embrace—it was all so intoxicating. Yet, your mind was in turmoil, screaming at you to stop, to remember the grief, to not allow yourself this moment of vulnerability and pleasure.

Your body responded on its own, the wetness forming between your thighs a stark contrast to the cold grip of your sorrow. You wanted to let go, to be with him fully, but the weight of your loss hung over you like a dark cloud.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can…”.

He paused, sensing your hesitation, and pulled back slightly, turning you gently, to look at you. His eyes were filled with understanding and a hint of frustration. “I get it”, he said softly. “I don’t want to push you”.

You bit your lip, torn between your desire for him and the guilt that gnawed at you. “I want to be with you, I really do. But it feels like… like I’m betraying our baby by moving on”.

Ben’s expression softened, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “You’re not betraying anyone”, he said firmly. “Our baby will always be a part of us, but we need to find a way to live again. Together”.

You searched his eyes, looking for reassurance. His sincerity and love were undeniable, and for a moment, you felt the walls around your heart begin to crack.

“Just… be here with me”.

You nodded, feeling a small spark of hope. “Okay”, you whispered back, leaning into his touch.

Ben kissed you gently, a promise of patience and understanding. As the water continued to cascade around you, you allowed yourself to relax into his embrace, taking comfort in the fact that you didn’t have to face this journey alone.

Ben’s hands wandered to your ass, cupping it firmly as he lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling the strength in his arms as he supported you. He pressed you against the cold tiles, the chill a stark contrast to the heat of his body against yours.

His lips found yours again, the kiss hungry and demanding. You could feel his need, his desire, in every movement. His other hand roamed over your back, holding you securely as his hips pressed into you, creating a delicious friction that made you moan softly into his mouth.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your fingers digging into the hard muscles as you held on. The mix of sensations – the cold tiles, the hot water, Ben’s solid presence – was intoxicating.

Ben’s lips left yours, trailing down your jawline to your neck. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin, making you shiver with pleasure.

You moaned his name, trying to tell him to stop, but the words hesitated on your lips. You wanted to enjoy it, to give in to the passion, but a part of you still resisted. As Ben’s erection pressed against your belly, you felt a surge of panic mingled with desire.

With a trembling hand, you pushed his chest back slightly. His mouth left your neck as he took a deep breath, his eyes filled with a mix of frustration and concern. You could see the effort it took for him to hold back, to keep his annoyance in check. After more than 12 weeks, his patience was wearing thin, but he didn’t want to hurt you.

“What’s wrong?”, he asked, his voice husky with restrained need.

You looked away, feeling a mix of guilt and confusion. “I… I can’t”, you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the shower.

Ben’s hands, which had been gripping your hips, relaxed their hold. He stepped back, giving you space. You landed back on your feet.

You could see the disappointment in his eyes, but he masked it quickly, trying to be understanding.

“Okay”, he said, his voice softer now.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you hated how conflicted you felt. “I’m sorry, Ben. I really am”.

He shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s fine”.

Ben kissed the top of your head gently, a gesture meant to reassure you, and you stepped out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you glanced back at him. He stood still under the stream of water, his head bowed.

“Are you coming?”, you asked, nodding toward the door, trying to keep your voice steady.

Ben mumbled, “I’ll be out in a few minutes”.

You bit your lip, feeling a pang of guilt and self-reproach. You knew exactly what he was up to, and it tore at you that you couldn’t give him what he needed right now. You felt a mix of frustration and sadness as you left the bathroom, closing the door behind you softly.

The moment you were gone, Ben let out a deep, shuddering breath. His hand moved to the base of his dick, gripping it tightly. The frustration and desire that had been building up for weeks came to the surface.

His head leaned against the cool tiles, closing his eyes as he pictured your body, the way you felt under his touch. His mind replayed the moment in the shower, the intimacy they had shared so briefly. He wanted you so much, it ached.

With a deep sigh, Ben started to stroke himself, his hand moving with increasing urgency. The frustration and desire that had been building up for weeks surged through him, desperate for some sort of relief. The feel of his own touch was a poor substitute for you, but it was all he had right now.

His mind drifted back to the times when things were simpler between you two, when intimacy wasn’t tainted by grief and hesitation. He imagined your soft moans, the way your body responded to his touch, the heat and closeness of your shared moments.

The more he thought about you, the more his need intensified. His thumb brushed over the swollen tip of his dick, sending shivers of pleasure through his body. He began to stroke faster and with more pressure, his hand moving with a desperate urgency.

He closed his eyes, picturing you beneath him, a moaning mess. He imagined the feel of your body wrapped around him, your skin hot and slick with sweat. In his mind, he could see the way your eyes would half-close with pleasure, the way your lips would part to let out breathless moans.

Ben’s strokes became even more frenzied as he pictured himself buried deep inside you, your legs wrapped around his waist. He could almost hear your voice, begging him to make you come, the sound driving him closer to the edge. He imagined the way you would arch your back, your nails digging into his skin as you came apart beneath him.

His breathing grew ragged, and he bit his lip to stifle the sounds threatening to escape. The pressure built to an almost unbearable peak, and with a final, shuddering gasp, he found his release. His body convulsed with the intensity of it, and he leaned heavily against the tiles, his mind still filled with images of you.

As the aftershocks of his release faded, a sense of emptiness settled over him. The physical relief was a temporary balm, but it did little to ease the deeper ache of longing and frustration. He turned off the shower and dried himself off, trying to push the conflicting emotions aside.

He wanted so desperately to help you heal, to bring back the intimacy you once shared. But he knew it would take time, and he needed to be patient, even though it was difficult.

Leaving the bathroom, he found you sitting on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in your towel. You looked up as he entered, your eyes filled with a mix of emotions.

Leaving the bathroom, Ben found you sitting on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in your towel. You looked up as he entered, your eyes filled with a mix of emotions. You knew what he had done, and you couldn’t even be mad at him. Instead, you were mad at yourself, feeling like a bad girlfriend for not being able to give him something so simple.

Ben was still tense, his body language showing he was still on edge despite his release. He hesitated for a moment.

“You okay?”, he asked, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded, but your heart felt heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry, Ben”, you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I know it’s been hard on you, and I hate that I can’t…”.

He interrupted you. “Don’t apologize”, he said firmly. “It’s not your fault”.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I just feel like I’m failing you… again”, you admitted, the words spilling out in a rush. “I want to be close to you, but every time I try, it’s like I hit a wall”.

Ben sighed deeply, running his hand through his wet hair. He hesitated for a moment before walking over to you and squatting in front of you, taking your hands in his. His grip was firm, but you could feel the desperation in his touch.

“Please, tell me what you need”, he nearly begged, his voice raw with emotion. “How can I help you? It’s been over 12 weeks, and you’re still so sad. I hate seeing you like this, and I’m trying to be patient, but I need the old you back. I don’t know how much longer I can handle it”.

You looked into his eyes, seeing the pain and longing etched there. It broke your heart to see him like this, knowing he was suffering too.

“I don’t know what to say, Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m trying to move forward, but it’s so hard. I miss the old us too, more than anything. I want to be close to you again, but every time I try, I feel this overwhelming sadness and guilt”.

He squeezed your hands, his eyes pleading. “What can I do? Just tell me, and I’ll do it. I want to help you, to make things better. I need you, more than you know”.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The idea that had been simmering in the back of your mind suddenly seemed like the only solution, even though it terrified you to voice it out loud.

“Maybe…”, you began hesitantly, your voice barely a whisper. “Maybe you should just…force me”.

Ben raised his eyebrows and he pulled back slightly, his grip on your hands loosening. “What?”, he asked, disbelief and concern mingling in his tone.

You looked away, ashamed and uncertain. “I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I’m stuck in this cycle of fear and guilt. Maybe if you push me past it, I can break free. Maybe that’s what I need to start healing”.

Ben shook his head and stood up, his face contorted with a mix of anger and incredulity. “The fuck I will!”, he exclaimed, his voice echoing sharply in the room. He raised an arm in frustration, then quickly lowered it, trying to rein in his emotions.

“If I do that”, he continued, his voice still tense, “you’ll hate me. And then what? We’ll be worse off than we are now. I can’t… I won’t do that to you”.

You stood up, clutching the towel tightly around yourself, desperate to make him understand. “Ben, please. I know it sounds extreme, but I feel like I’m drowning here. I don’t see any other way to break out of this. I need something drastic to push me through this wall I’ve built”.

He shook his head again, more vehemently this time. “No. You’re asking me to hurt you, and I can’t do that. I fucking promised you I won´t ever do that again!”.

“But it’s the only way I can think of”, you insisted, your voice breaking. “I trust you. I know you won’t really hurt me. I just… I need to feel something other than this constant sadness”.

Ben’s eyes softened for a moment, the anger melting into something more like sorrow. “You don’t know what you’re asking”, he said quietly.

You took his hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want it, Ben. Don’t you think your kisses or your touch don’t do anything to me? They do. It’s just that last bit I can’t get over”.

Ben rolled his eyes, halfway shaking his head in disbelief. He looked down at you, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. “I know exactly how this will go”, he said, his voice steady but filled with tension. “You’ll beg me to stop after just a bit, and if I keep going, you’ll hate me. Even if you’re begging me now, and even if I don’t hurt you physically, there’ll be so much emotional damage. I can’t risk that”.

By now, you had both of his hands in yours, gripping them tightly. “Please”, you begged quietly, tears welling up in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks. And there it was—the sight of you in tears, which always made Ben weak.

He stared at you, his resolve wavering. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to help you heal, not make things worse”, he said softly, his voice filled with pain.

Your tears flowed freely now, and you looked at him with a desperate plea. “I trust you, Ben. I know you won’t really hurt me. Please”.

Ben sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging under the weight of your plea. He bit his tongue, trying to contain the turmoil swirling inside him. Carefully, he pulled you close against his chest, his chin resting gently on the top of your head. The warmth of your body against his, the scent of your hair, it all flooded his senses.

He had promised himself he would never hurt you again, and now here you were, asking him to do just that, tears streaming down your face. His heart ached with the conflict of wanting to ease your pain and protect you from any harm.

His mind raced, torn between his love for you and the fear of causing irreparable damage. He wasn’t sure what was right anymore, what he should do to help you heal. His thoughts circled back to the countless conversations, the nights spent awake wondering how to bridge the gap between you.

“I…”, Ben began, his voice thick with emotion. He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I want to help you, more than anything”, he finally said, his words measured and gentle. “But hurting you isn’t the answer”.

Ben sat down on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on you. His expression softened, filled with a mixture of tenderness and concern. He took a deep breath, his hands resting on his knees.

“Take that off”, he ordered gently, nodding towards the towel wrapped around you.

You hesitated, unsure of his intentions. His voice was soft, but his request felt loaded with unspoken emotions. Slowly, you untied the towel, letting it fall to the floor beside you. You stood there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for his next move.

Ben stood up, closing the distance between you. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he traced the curve of your shoulder. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were afraid you might break.

“I can’t do this the way you’re asking”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can be with you in another way”.

With careful movements, he lifted you up and gently placed you on the bed, the cool sheets beneath you contrasting with the warmth of his touch. Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling heavily with anticipation and uncertainty.

Ben climbed onto the bed, positioning himself above you. He pulled off his own towel, letting it fall to the floor. As he settled between your thighs, you felt a rush of heat and longing. His presence was comforting yet electrifying, a mix of familiarity and the unknown.

He leaned down, his lips finding your neck. He started to kiss you softly, each touch gentle and deliberate. His lips moved from your neck to your collarbone, trailing a path of warmth and tenderness. Your body responded to his touch, your skin tingling under his kisses.

Your hands found their way to his back, feeling the tension in his muscles. Ben’s kisses became more insistent, his breath hot against your skin. He took his time, exploring every inch of your neck and shoulders, making you feel cherished and desired.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sensation. Ben’s hands roamed over your body, caressing and soothing, his touch a promise of more to come. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position to be closer to you, his hips pressing gently against yours.

"You okay?". His voice was filled with concern and tenderness. You nodded, your body craving more, yearning for his touch.

Ben's hot hardness pressed against your most sensitive spot, sending another wave of heat rushing through your body. But instead of moving forward, he continued to kiss your body, his lips tracing a path down your ribs and over your stomach. As he did, he felt you tense up, a small shiver running through you.

Without any words, he understood. He kissed back up toward your chest, his movements slow and deliberate. For him, it was pure torture. He could smell your arousal, his own need building to an almost unbearable peak, but he didn't push you. He knew how fragile this moment was, how important it was to go at your pace.

His lips found their way to your breasts, placing soft, gentle kisses around your nipples. His hands caressed your sides, moving in soothing circles, trying to ease the tension from your body. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

He paused for a moment, looking into your eyes. "I love you", he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "And I want you to feel safe with me".

You nodded again, your eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and longing. "I do, Ben. I do".

Ben resumed his kisses, moving down to your stomach again, his hands never leaving your skin. His touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as he kissed every inch of you, making you feel cherished and desired. He wanted to show you that his love was unwavering, that he was willing to wait for as long as it took for you to be ready.

As his kisses moved lower, your breath hitched, your body responding to him in ways you hadn't expected. He could feel the heat radiating from you, and it took everything in him to hold back, to not give in to his own desire.

But he did, because he loved you. And that love was stronger than any physical need.

Ben paused at the top of your thighs, looking up at you for permission to continue. You nodded, your heart racing with anticipation. He kissed your inner thighs, his touch sending shivers through you, every kiss intensifying the heat building inside you.

"Tell me if you want me to stop", he mumbled against your skin, his voice a low, soothing murmur. His lips inched forward, closer and closer to your glistening clit, each kiss bringing a new wave of sensation.

You trembled beneath him, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. "I will", you whispered, your voice shaky with a mixture of desire and nervousness.

His breath was warm against your most sensitive spot, and when his lips finally brushed against your clit, a soft gasp escaped your lips. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making you arch your back slightly.

Ben's tongue flicked out, teasing you with light, careful strokes, testing your reaction. He kept his movements slow and deliberate, reading your body, making sure you were comfortable with each step. His hands held your thighs gently, spreading you open for him, his fingers caressing your skin.

"Is this okay?", he asked, his voice barely audible between his soft kisses and strokes.

"Yes", you breathed, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you. "Please, don't stop".

Ben continued, his tongue moving with more confidence now, exploring you with a mix of tenderness and passion. Each movement was designed to build your pleasure slowly, to make sure you felt every single sensation. He wanted to bring you to the edge and back, to make you forget everything but the feeling of his mouth on you.

As the pleasure built, you felt your body responding, your hips moving instinctively against him. The sounds of your soft moans filled the room, blending with the rhythmic beat of your heart.

He didn't rush, savoring every moment, every reaction. His own arousal was nearly unbearable, but he focused entirely on you, on making you feel cherished and loved. He wanted this to be more than just a physical release; he wanted it to be a step toward healing, a way to rebuild the connection between you.

Ben's tongue circled your clit, his movements becoming more intense as he felt you getting closer. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with love and devotion, silently asking if you were okay, if you were ready to let go.

You felt yourself on the brink of climax, every nerve in your body alive with anticipation. But just as you were about to let go, something inside you snapped. Panic surged through you, and your hands found Ben’s shoulders, pushing him weakly away.

“Stop”, you breathed, your voice shaky.

Ben looked up at you, his face a mask of desperation and confusion. But he just nodded, his eyes filled with concern and disappointment, and pulled away. He sat back on his heels, breathing heavily, his own arousal evident and unfulfilled.

You felt a mixture of relief and frustration wash over you. His mouth had made you feel so good, almost too good, and your mind couldn’t handle it. The sweet release you had been on the edge of was now just out of reach, leaving you feeling empty and conflicted.

“I’m sorry”, you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. “I just… I couldn’t”.

“It’s okay”, he said, his voice strained. “I understand”. But the look in his eyes told you how much this was affecting him, how hard it was for him to hold back and not push for more.

Ben wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He lay down beside you, his body tense and his mind racing. You sat up slightly, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tried to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Your eyes met Ben’s, and you saw the strain in his expression, the way his jaw was clenched and his chest heaved with each breath. You could tell he was trying to keep it together, to be strong for both of you.

“I’m really sorry, Ben”, you repeated, your voice a mere whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you”.

He shook his head slightly, reaching out to gently touch your arm. “You’re not hurting me”, he said, though you both knew it wasn’t entirely true.

You bit your lip and lay back beside him, but as he was about to pull you close, you turned your back towards him. The guilt and shame weighed heavily on you. You felt like a tease, making him suffer once more. You couldn’t bear to look at him, afraid of the disappointment and frustration you might see in his eyes.

Ben’s hand hovered in the air for a moment before he let it fall back to his side. He sighed softly, the sound heavy with unspoken words and emotions. He wanted to comfort you, to tell you that it was okay, but he knew that words might not be enough right now.

You felt the bed shift as he moved closer, his warmth seeping into your back. He didn’t touch you, respecting your need for space, but his presence was a silent reassurance that he was there for you, no matter what.

“I’m not going anywhere”, he said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil you both felt. “We’ll get through this. Together”.

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. The shame and guilt were still there, but his unwavering support made them a little easier to bear. You knew you needed to find a way to bridge the gap between your desires and your fears.

“I just need time”, you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“And you’ll have it”, Ben replied gently. “As much as you need”.

Silence settled over the room, filled only with the sound of your combined breathing. You focused on the rhythm of it, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

Ben kissed your bare shoulder softly, his lips brushing against your skin in a gesture of tenderness. He closed his eyes, his body still facing your back but refraining from touching you further.

Minutes passed in silence, each second heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. You could sense Ben’s struggle to contain his own feelings, to respect your boundaries while yearning to bridge the gap between you.

“I love you”, he murmured softly, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his love and understanding. You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze over your shoulder. His eyes held a mixture of sadness and unwavering devotion, a silent promise that he would wait for you, no matter how long it took.

“I love you too”, you whispered back, your voice thick with emotion.

Ben nodded slightly, a faint smile touching his lips. He leaned forward, pressing another gentle kiss to your shoulder before settling back against his pillow. His hand moved tentatively towards yours, hesitating for a moment before intertwining his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think. 🥰

Part 6

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