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Kinktober 2020

7 days of ficmas

Steve Rogers

One shots

Auntie flow | 1391 words

Steve takes care of you while you're on your period. Cue some hot period sex.

White horse | 2295 words

#masterlist #marvel masterlist #steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #curtis everett x reader #marvel fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot

jewellaces

Don't look away ꨄ︎

Summary: You and Soldier boy are fucking, when insecurity starts to hit, but Ben doesn't let you hide.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, chubby reader, praise kink, rough sex, emotional vulnerability

‹𝟑 wc: 900

You’re on your back and he’s already inside you when the insecurity hits hard.

The lamp on the nightstand is too bright. You didn’t think about it when he pushed you down and shoved your legs open. Now every time he thrusts you feel the soft jiggle of your stomach, the way your thighs spread wider than you want them to, the silver stretch marks across your hips catching the light. You try to pull the sheet up over your middle. Your arm gets in the way of his chest and he makes a low frustrated sound, catches your wrist, and pins it to the mattress beside your head.

“Stop,” he mutters, voice rough from breathing hard. “Don’t do that.”

You turn your face into the pillow anyway. “The light...”

“Fuck the light.” He doesn’t slow down. His hips keep rolling, thick and deep, the wet sound of it loud in the quiet room. “Look at me.”

You don’t. Your free hand slides down and tries to cover the softest part of your belly, the place that folds when he presses in. He notices. Of course he does. Soldier Boy notices everything he decides is his business.

He lets go of your wrist only long enough to bat your hand away, then plants both of his on either side of your waist and holds you open. His thumbs dig into the plush skin there, right over the stretch marks.

“Ben–”

“I can see you,” he says, almost angry about it. “You’re trying to disappear while I’m fucking you. Cut it out.”

Your eyes burn. You hate that your voice comes out small. “I just, I don’t look like–”

“Like what? Like a fucking magazine?” He drives in harder, sharp enough that your breath catches. “I don’t want a magazine. I want this.” One hand leaves your waist and slides under your thigh, hauling it higher so he can get deeper. The new angle makes your stomach press more against his and you flinch. He feels it. “You keep tensing up every time your body moves. Like you’re ashamed of the way it feels when I’m in you.”

You bite your lip. “It’s soft.”

“Yeah.” He says it like it’s obvious. “It’s soft. It gives. It feels fucking good.” He leans down, forehead against yours, still thrusting in that steady, heavy rhythm that makes the bed creak. “You think I care that your stomach isn’t flat? That you’ve got marks? I’ve got scars older than some countries. You’re not broken.”

A small, embarrassed sound slips out of you. You try to turn your face away again and he follows, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the side of your neck, open-mouthed and a little desperate.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he mutters against your skin. “No covering. I want to feel all of it.”

You leave your hands above your head, fingers curling into the sheets. It’s hard. Every deep thrust makes your body move in ways that feel too much, too visible. The soft slap of his hips against yours. The way your breasts shift. The stretch marks on your inner thighs pulling tight when he spreads you wider. You can feel yourself getting wetter anyway, traitorous, and he groans when he notices.

“There you go,” he says, voice lower now. “That’s better. Stop fighting it.”

He shifts, hooks one of your legs over his arm, and starts fucking you properly, long, hard strokes that force little punched-out sounds out of your throat. His free hand stays on your belly the whole time, palm spread wide, not pushing down or trying to hide anything, just, there. Holding the softest part of you while he uses the rest.

“Feel that?” he asks, breathless. “How you take me? How wet you get even when you’re busy hating yourself?” He grinds deep and stays there a second, rolling his hips so you feel every inch. “That’s not nothing. That’s you wanting this. Wanting me.”

You nod, eyes wet. “I do. I just–”

“I know.” He kisses you properly then, slower than the rest of him is moving. When he pulls back his voice is quieter. “You don’t have to look perfect for me to want to stay inside you. You already are. Soft and marked up and mine right now.”

Something in your chest loosens. Not all the way. But enough that when he starts moving again you don’t try to hide. You let your hands come down and hold onto his shoulders instead. Your legs stay open. The light stays on. And every time he bottoms out and your body shifts under him, he makes a low, rough sound like it’s exactly what he wanted.

He comes first this time, deep, hips stuttering, a bitten-off curse against your throat, then keeps going until you follow, shaking and quiet and holding onto him like you might float away if you don’t. Afterward he doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays heavy on top of you, one hand still resting on the soft curve of your stomach, thumb stroking absently over a stretch mark like it’s nothing special and everything at once.

You don’t reach for the sheet.

indyredhead

Leverage Masterlist

🍒 Part 1

🍒 Part 2

🍒 Part 3

🍒 Part 4

🍒 Part 5

🍒 Part 6

🍒 Part 7

teamackles96

Hi!! I literally love reading your head cannons for jackles characters, they are the most accurate by far. To me at least haha

I was wondering what they would be like if crush!reader fell asleep on them accidentally. If you don’t take requests for the series or you’re not writing the head cannons series any longer, no worries!

Headcanon: You'll Be My Pillow

❧ Characters: Russell Shaw, Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy/Ben, Mark Meachum and Boaz Priestly

❧ Pairings: Russell Shaw x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader, Mark Meachum x Reader, Boaz Priestly x Reader

❧ A/N: I'm definitely still writing these headcanons but I'm been focusing on some long form fanfic instead. Got some plans written up!

But I'll always do these requests, I love the ideas from you guys!!

Enjoy! 🩵

biglychee

$ log - soldier boy has never had a more demanding experience than you. he doesn't know whether he's addicted to your pussy, your ridiculous ego, or those snappy command that keep him on his toes. $ warn --nsfw --dom!afab!reader --sub!soldier-boy(ben) --cowgirl --groping --clit-play --p-in-v --mocking --creampie --cunnilingus(hinted) $ cd masterlist / jensen-ackles

as you straddle him, the friction of his cock sliding home makes your vision blur for a split second.

honestly, you weren't supposed to be doing this — you were supposed to be keeping an eye on him while the others were out. but one thing led to another, maybe you just fell onto that sexy lap, and now you're riding him like you own the seat.

"yeah, just like that, sweetheart," ben grunts, his chest puffing as he tries to reclaim some semblance of control. "you're really takin' all o' me, taking every damn inc —"

god, he's insufferable.

you roll your eyes, reaching down to grab his jaw firmly. your palm smacks against his coarse stubble as you roll your hips down hard, grinding his tip against your g-spot.

"can you shut the fuck up?" you breathe in great irritation.

notmeolive

Could we get a Drabble of soldier boy being jealous🩷

(If you want to of course)

I LOVE MLT THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE AUTHORRR💗💗

⋆｡ ˚ mouth like that 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺

lowdown ☆ a routine stakeout reunites you with an old coworker, and soldier boy learns he hates the idea of you having a past that doesn’t include him. ride or die ☆ soldier boy x reader ( f ) miles ☆ 2543 ride style ☆ giggling 🤭 danger on the trail ☆ jealousy, possessive behavior, suggestive dialogue, strong language, soldier boy being emotionally constipated

liv's log ☆ this is set after chapter 18 of the mouth like that universe, but can be read as a standalone.

𐚁 .ᐟ masterlist ☆ join the taglist ☆ listen to the playlist ☆ support my work ᢉ𐭩

the stakeout has been boring for nearly three hours.

not pleasantly boring, either. there’s no coffee, nowhere comfortable to sit, and the sun’s heat has settled between the buildings with the personal determination to make new york smell worse.

frenchie’s pretending to study the newspaper in his hands while watching the entrance across the street through a gap above the sports section. hughie stands beside him with his phone held at chest height, repeatedly forgetting that he’s supposed to look casual and staring directly at the building instead.

cafe-velour

Old Habits Die Hard

summary: The one time Ben doesn’t slap your ass.

𝒘 — Soldier Boy & Fem! Reader ⟢ ( 1.1k-ish ) mostly ooc. established relationship. fluff/maybe a little angst?

Inspired by @abbotsbunnygf !! Go check out her work if you like The Pitt/Shawn Hatosy. It’s sooo good ♡

aegisrising

‿̩͙‿ ༺ slip n' slide

or; you dedicate yourself to the study of dean's back

⊱ warnings / tags: gn!reader, pre-established relationship, back kisses, vulnerable dean, tooth-rotting intimacy, fluff, faint allusions to smut

‿̩͙‿ ༺

Dean’s astray.

He can’t get a hold of himself. He’s sure of it, because it should be easy to roll sideways and let you fall onto the mattress, and when you gawk, to flash you a smile and say he can’t have you crushing one of his best assets. He’ll get an unimpressed look, but you’ll move to sit beside him and pick up the conversation in a preferably more normal way.

But what’s left of his will seems to be limp, dissolving away with the rest of his body.

You’re talking. One of your theories for the case. The only remaining tether he has to the real world, which is taking him his darndest to parse through and conjure up answers to so you’ll keep going. If you stop, his senses will take over, and they’re already clamoring for him to just let go and feel this. He frowns into the pillow as another soft quake races down the pathway of his spine, trailing after careful fingers until your palm is just inches from his waistband. The chill of your skin brings down the burn of the sun to a gentler warmth. You say something about secondary locations that slips right past him.

He’s gone loony. You’re just theorizing, and he’s dying, hyperconscious of the sound of your breathing, the way your weight is pressing on top of his ass, your thighs caging him in. Your hands; mixing in with his warmth, switching between flat presses and featherlight traces – ever so gentle.

"--y’s and a good old stake, shouldn’t be too hard for us," is the only bit he hears when your voice comes back, and his eyes fly open in alarm.

“Huh? Uh– yeah,” he clears his throat. Totally listening. He shouldn’t have taken off his shirt. “‘Course it won’t. We’ve ganked worse bastards.”

"Well, yeah. But these things can be a little sly."

“Mmh,” he grunts. “Nothin’ we can’t handle.”

He’s back to merging with his pillow, but he can sense the smile on your face. You’ve sat back up to simply rest your palms against the dips of his waist, eyes mapping out each plane, bruise, scar, and freckle into some little constellation of its own.

It’s pretty, and sort of a representative picture of Dean. Not the first time you’re graced with the sight, but not like this – hands poring over his every mark of skin, which you’ve always longed to do but deemed a long shot. Not that he’s shy – this is Dean, but you knew it was simply a sort of territory he tended to leave uncharted, and you were the last thing from a pushover. Not with him, and not when it took so much to even get here.

He seems to be letting you have it right now, though.

You’d draw it; if you could ask as such without pushing your luck. You’re still half-expecting Dean to clamber out of your grip any second, so while he’s not actively wrestling for an out, you could commit this to memory.

You’re being awfully quiet.

Dean has half the mind to turn over and figure out why the hell that is, but that position would make you slip off of him just as he’s starting to warm up to his newfound fate, and he doesn’t think he can manage a redo.

He lets out a muffled grumble of your name, and you hum, thumb tapping against him.

“Keep talkin’.”

You blink, having at some point surmised his acceptance as exhaustion. Guess you’ll have to scratch that.

“Oh,” you murmur, suppressing a smile. “Okay. Um..”

You look back down and pause over a particularly jagged line near his left shoulder blade – a knife wound from a ghoul attack you helped patch up. That was the very first time he’d given in to your aid. Your lips twitch, gently pressing it.

"You remember this?"

"Yeah," he said, angling his face sideways. "Got that in Nebraska. Stung like a bitch.”

You can’t help but sneer as you trace the scar. “Sam had to give up his new flannel,” you remind him – just because you know Sam still gives him shit for it – and it pulls a frown out of him. “And you still bled onto the carseats. Funny that you seemed pretty convinced you could’ve stitched it yourself.”

Dean scoffs, no matter that it had taken him a full hour just to get the needle through. Still. How many people can say the same?

“Because I could. I think I know what I can and can’t do, sweetheart, and that was on–”

“Apparently not.”

His eyes shoot open, and he cranes his neck enough to be met with your smug smile. He returns it with a sardonic one. “Hilarious,” he mutters before plopping back down – not his fault, your free hand started stroking his hip. “I could’ve. Only reason I let you do it was ‘cause you and Sammy wouldn’t stop pestering me ‘bout it.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

Dean’s rebuttals die at the tip of his tongue when you press a kiss over the old wound – immediately stiffening under you – and you freeze, hands flying to your sides in an instant. “Shit– uh.” Great. Good going, idiot. Of all the times you’ve been able to hold back, this is the one you can’t manage?

“Sorry, I wasn’t–”

“Do that again.”

You must be hearing things.

The surprise is palpable as your gaze snaps down to him, and Dean swallows.

“What?”

“....Do that again,” he says the words quietly. A mumble against cotton, looking almost bashful.

You remember then that this is much tougher for him than you. It should’ve scared him off. You’ve got a dozen reasons why. None of which supported the plausibility that he’d be willing to try. But here you are.

Your mouth snaps shut into a smile. Dean’s fingers twitch, about to ask why you’ve gone so silent again when he feels a peck on the same scar from earlier.

He feels you shift your weight before pressing another tentative kiss to its left.

“Is that okay?”

“..Yeah.”

Only then do you continue. His eyes flutter shut as you pepper more upon his shoulders. Across, along, then moving down. You don’t skip a thing: old burns, scratches, cuts. Every freckle, mole, and sunspot.

At some point, Dean lets himself go.

It’s difficult not to. Not when you’re taking your sweet sweet time, particularly with the scars. When a whine isn’t jumping to his throat, he makes sure to get a breath in on the intervals you place before every kiss – at times with a run of your thumb – as if recalling the memories associated with it, and wondering at the ones you hadn’t been there for.

This doesn’t mean it was easy.

He’s spent the past hour doing the opposite, after all, afraid of what it would do if he gave in – because this is a tenderness he’s longed for all his life, rushing over him on a random Thursday afternoon with no warning.

“Jesus,” he breathes out, gripping the sheets beneath him when you find your way back to his spine – languid, lingering kisses along where it curved. You had to crawl down – chest now propped on the back of his thighs, so the hand resting on his loin becomes his new tether. This time, he feels your smile when it curls up against him.

He doesn’t get why you’re like that with him. Gentle, in your quieter moments together. Eager, even with the most mundane, tedious shit he could possibly think of. Stakeouts, beer runs, waiting for Sam, sitting on the sink when he shits. His friggin back.

Well. You do like him. That’s why he’s here. That’s why you’re here, but sometimes he doesn’t get that part either. Because you seem to almost savor Dean. And he’s still learning how to take without knocking anything over.

His last spot a little further below, except this one wasn’t exactly battle-bourne. He feels you kiss where he’s pretty sure your teeth bared into him a couple nights ago.

You pat it with a contented hum, sounding way too pleased with yourself. “Still holding up.”

“‘m still gonna get you back for that.”

A snort. “And I’m still waiting,” you say, moving back up to lay atop his slack figure and rest your cheek close to his shoulder. Which part he’s groaning about, you’re not sure. Both of you seem too content to care.

“Do you really still think you could’ve sutured yourself that day?”

“What, the Nebraska thing?” he huffs, pulling at the bedsheets. “Yeah. I told ya, I was halfway through m’first stitch when y’an Sam came barreling in.”

You smirk. “You were flailing around like a highschooler with gum on his back.”

“At least gum’d be easier to get off my back.”

“And yet you didn’t when you had the exact, literal chance.”

The headboard receives his unimpressed glower.

You know something’s wrong when he doesn’t jab back, but then Dean moves. You’re tossed to the mattress with a yelp, smugness wiped clean off your face, mirrored instead on the face of a towering Dean.

He raises a brow as you catch your breath. “Looks like you spoke too soon, huh?”

“Not really. That was a reactive decision, kind of a little late for it to pr–”

Because you’ll drag this into a debate for your own cruel fun, Dean stops you with a kiss. You melt into it all the same, even if your grin refuses to cease – thankfully, it spurs him on.

“You’re a fucking pain,” he says into your mouth, pulling away only to press a kiss to your temple. “You know that?”

“I revel in that fact, actually.”

Your grin only widens when he scoffs.

One of these days, he’ll muck up the nerve to tell you to at least warn a man before you do things like that, or say that he doesn’t revel in that fact.

For now, he’ll let his face slip into the crook of your neck and let your hands lull him to sleep.

｡𓃉 a/n: i. (crawling through the dirt) fi..nally .. (wheeze of agony) got it done . dean's back is so smooth and clean in the show and to that i holler in objection. likely for the same understandable reason they didn't end up giving him tattoos but. still. enjoy the sprinkles of sub!dean.

jewellaces

Birthday present 𝜗ৎ

Summary: On Soldier boys birthday, you surprise him by dressing in his favorite lingerie set and making it the best birthday ever.

𑣲⋆ Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, rough sex, fingering, oral sex, mild choking, finger sucking, light aggression

wc: 1k

You’d spent hours getting ready for this. The white lace lingerie was sinful, thin straps framing your tits, sheer panels that hid nothing, garters snapping tight against your thighs. A little red bow sat between your breasts with a handwritten tag: Happy Birthday, Ben Unwrap me. Candles flickered across the apartment. Whiskey waited on the counter next to the steak you’d made. The second the door opened, you perched on the dining table, legs crossed, heart racing.

Soldier Boy stepped inside, still wearing his suit, shield dropped with a heavy thud. He looked pissed off from whatever shit day he’d had. “What a fucking joke of a birthday,” he muttered, flipping on the lights.

Then he saw you.

He raked his gaze over every inch of you slowly, appreciatively. “Well, damn. Look at you, sweetheart. That’s the best present I’ve gotten in decades.”

You smiled softly. “Happy birthday, Ben. Thought you could use something good after today.”

He stalked toward you, peeling off his gloves. “You thought right. Been surrounded by idiots all day. This… this is what I needed.” He stopped right in front of you, towering, and snapped one thin strap against your skin. “On your knees. Now.”

You slid down between his thick thighs without hesitation. He unzipped and pulled out his heavy cock, already hard and leaking. You wrapped your hand around the base and leaned in, licking a slow, wet stripe from balls to tip before taking the head into your mouth.

“Deeper. Don’t half-ass it. Take more, there you go. Relax that throat. You can handle it. I know you can. Good fucking girl, choking on my cock like you were made for it.”

His grip tightened and he started rocking his hips, feeding you more with each thrust. Spit ran down your chin as you gagged slightly, but he didn’t let up.

“Tease the head with your tongue. Fuck, that feels good.”

He kept up the steady stream of rough commands and praise, guiding you exactly how he wanted. After several long minutes of you working him with your mouth, he pulled you off by the hair, breathing hard.

“Up,” he ordered. He lifted you onto the table like you weighed nothing and yanked your thong to the side. Two thick fingers pressed against your lips. “Open. Suck.”

You took them into your mouth instantly, swirling your tongue and sucking messily while he watched with dark eyes.

“Get them nice and wet.” He pushed them deeper, fucking your mouth with his fingers aggressively. “...just like you were sucking my cock. Don’t stop.”

When they were dripping, he pulled them out and shoved them straight into your pussy in one smooth motion. You gasped, back arching.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he grunted, pumping his fingers deep and hard. “This pussy’s been waiting for me all night, hasn’t it? Tight as hell.”

He curled them perfectly, hitting that spot inside you with every thrust while his thumb rubbed rough circles on your clit.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers. Don’t be shy. You’re doing so good for me, doll.”

Your moans grew louder, legs trembling around his arm. He finger-fucked you relentlessly, never letting up, eyes locked on your face the whole time.

“Ben...” you whimpered.

“Not yet,” he growled. “You come when I’m inside you. Hold it together.”

He pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty and aching, and freed his cock again. He lined up and pushed in with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

“Fuck!” he groaned, gripping your hips hard. “So goddamn tight.”

He started fucking you deep and aggressive, the table creaking under you with every powerful snap of his hips. One hand stayed on your throat while the other gripped your thigh, spreading you wider.

“Eyes on me,” he barked. “That’s it. Take this cock. You feel how deep I am? This pussy belongs to me. Say it.”

“It’s yours,” you gasped, voice breaking as he pounded into you.

“Louder.” He slammed in harder, talking you through every thrust. “Relax your legs, let me in deeper.”

His pace was relentless, aggressive, hips snapping against you as sweat beaded on his chest. But between the rough commands there were those softer moments, his thumb brushing your cheek almost tenderly, the way he leaned down to growl praises right against your ear.

“You’re mine. All mine. No one else gets this. No one else makes me feel like this on my shitty birthday. Good girl, you’re making it all worth it.”

He shifted angles suddenly, hitting even deeper, and you cried out, nails digging into his shoulders.

The orgasm hit you hard, walls clenching around him as pleasure tore through you. He fucked you through it with deep, punishing strokes, groaning low.

“Fuck, that’s it. Squeeze me just like that. Good fucking girl.”

Only when you started to come down did he pull out, stroking himself fast. “Open your mouth. Tongue out.”

You obeyed instantly. He came with a deep, satisfied groan, thick ropes painting your tongue and lips. You swallowed what landed in your mouth, looking up at him with hazy eyes.

“Best birthday surprise I could’ve asked for.”

reginaphalangelobster

That Look

❆ Starring: Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader

❆ Featuring: Homelander (briefly, not involved)

❆ Summary: One look is all it takes for you to fuck things up royally just before a meeting.

❆ Warnings: smut, switch!reader, dom!Ben, name calling, oral sex (m!receiving), deepthroating, hair pulling, spit/drool, references to training, cock-warming, Homelander being a weirdo and a cockblock

❆ Word Count: 1k

❆ Requester: @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger

❆ Rating: Explicit/16+

❆ Author's Note: I'm feral, goodnight.

꧁ Read my rules and send in a request! ꧂

Masterlists | Pinned Post | Schedule | Taglist Form | Author Recs

jensenfavsimp

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ I wish I was your ‘ONLY’ girl 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𓏲ּ𝄢 Pairing: Soldier Boy x fem!Reader

˚.⋆꒰১ Word Count: ~3,200 ໒꒱⋆.˚

Summary: You thought Soldier Boy calling you doll meant you were special. You were wrong. Now you're crying in an empty hallway, hitting a chest you can't even dent, begging a man who doesn't love you to just want you.

warnings:(Reader is named Bambi 'I hate the Y/n thingy, just know it's you'), Age gap, 21 year old reader Toxic relationship, Emotional manipulation, Love bombing then ghosting, Rough sex, Choking, Biting, Crying during sex, Dirty talk, Size difference, Jealousy, Crying and begging, Soldier Boy is canonically awful, Firecracker mentioned, Dark ending, Power imbalance, Naive/desperate reader.

She was twenty-one.

That was the thing about Bambi that everyone at Vought seemed to fixate on. Twenty-one. Young. Bright-eyed. Baby fat still on her cheeks. Curves she didn't quite know what to do with yet. She'd gotten the assistant job through a family connection. Some cousin who knew someone who knew someone. She sorted mail. Got coffee. Sat in on meetings she didn't understand and took notes nobody read.

She was nothing at Vought.

And then Soldier Boy noticed her.

It started small.

She'd bring him his coffee order. Black. Two sugars. He'd take it from her hand and his fingers would brush hers and he'd look at her. Not at her face. At her. Down and up. Slow. Like he was undressing her with his eyes in the middle of a hallway.

"Thanks, doll."

Doll.

The first time he said it she nearly dropped the tray.

"Th-thank you, sir."

"Ben."

"Sir?"

"Call me Ben. Sir makes me feel old."

"You are old."

He laughed. Actually laughed. Not the mean laugh she'd seen on TV. A real one. Warm. His eyes crinkling at the corners and for a second he didn't look like a weapon. He looked like a man.

"Got a mouth on you, doll."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. It's cute."

Cute.

She walked back to her desk on shaking legs. Told herself it didn't mean anything. He was Soldier Boy. He probably called everyone doll. It was a thing. An old person thing. Like saying honey or sweetheart.

But he didn't call anyone else doll.

She noticed.

It built from there.

Every time she brought him something he'd find a way to touch her. Hand on her lower back when she set down his coffee. Fingers brushing her wrist when he took a file. Once he'd reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she'd frozen like a deer in headlights.

"You're pretty when you're nervous," he'd said.

"I'm not nervous."

"Your heart's beating so fast I can hear it, doll."

She didn't know what to say to that. So she didn't say anything. Just stood there while his fingers lingered near her ear. While his eyes dropped to her mouth.

"You ever been with a real man?" he'd asked.

"I— that's not appropriate—"

"Probably not." He smiled. Pulled back. "See you tomorrow, doll."

She went home that night and lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Thought about his hand on her back. His fingers in her hair. The way he looked at her like she was something worth looking at.

No one had ever looked at her like that.

He was older. So much older. Old enough to be her grandfather if you did the math. But he didn't feel old. Not when he was close to her. Not when he leaned down to whisper something in her ear and she could smell him. Cedar and whiskey and something underneath that was purely masculine.

The girls in the office warned her.

"Soldier Boy doesn't like people, Bambi. He uses people."

"He's being nice to me."

"That's what he does. He's nice until he gets what he wants."

She didn't listen.

Because when she was with him she felt seen. Important. Like the twenty-one-year-old assistant who sorted mail wasn't invisible anymore. She was dolL. She was the one he saved his smiles for. The one he leaned close to. The one whose coffee order he remembered without being told.

That had to mean something. Right?

It happened after a press event.

She'd stayed late to file paperwork. The office was empty. Dark. She was alone at her desk when he appeared in the doorway.

"Still here, doll?"

"Paperwork."

"At this hour?"

"Somebody's gotta do it."

He walked toward her. Slow. Deliberate. His boots heavy on the floor. She felt her heart start racing before he even got close.

"You look tired," he said.

"I'm okay."

"You don't look okay. You look like you need someone to take care of you."

He was behind her chair now. His hands on her shoulders. Big. Warm. Pressing into the tension she didn't know she was carrying.

"Ben—"

"Relax, doll. I'm just being nice."

His thumbs rubbed circles into her shoulders. Her eyes closed. Her head dropped forward. It felt good. So good. No one had touched her like this in... ever.

"You're so tense," he murmured. "Who's been stressing you out?"

"Everyone. Everything. This job."

"This job doesn't deserve you."

"What?"

"You heard me. Sorting mail. Getting coffee. You're worth more than that, doll."

She turned her head to look up at him. He was right there. Close. His face inches from hers. His eyes dark in the dim office light.

"Ben..."

"Yeah?"

"I don't think we should—"

"Think less."

He kissed her.

She should have stopped him. She knew that. Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was screaming that this was wrong. That he was using her. That she was twenty-one and he was ancient and this was exactly what everyone had warned her about.

But his mouth was warm and his hands were strong and he tasted like whiskey and when he pulled back and looked at her with those dark eyes she forgot every warning she'd ever been given.

"Come with me," he said.

She went.

His hotel room was nice. Vought expense account nice. She barely had time to look at it before he was on her. Kissing her. Walking her backward until her legs hit the bed.

"Wait— I haven't—"

"Haven't what?"

"I haven't done this in a while."

He pulled back. Looked at her. Something flickered in his eyes. Not concern exactly. More like... calculation.

"How long is a while?"

"A year. Maybe more."

He smiled. Slow. Predatory.

"Then let me remind you how it's done."

He pushed her down on the bed. Crawled over her. His body covering hers. His hands pushing her skirt up. His mouth on her neck. Biting. Not gentle. She gasped.

"Ben—"

"Shh. I've got you, doll."

He was rough. But not cruel. There was a gentleness underneath the roughness. Like he was holding back. Like he knew she was small and young and breakable and some part of him didn't want to shatter her. Not yet.

His hand slid between her thighs. She whimpered.

"That's it," he murmured against her throat. "Let me hear you."

"I'm— I'm loud—"

"I know. I can hear your heartbeat from here." He laughed softly. "It's cute."

He worked her open with his fingers. Slow at first. Then faster. She was wet. Embarrassingly wet. Her hips moving on their own. Chasing his hand.

"Please," she whispered.

"Please what?"

"I need—"

"Tell me."

"I need you inside me."

He groaned. Actually groaned. Like she'd said something that affected him.

"Fuck, doll. You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll lose control."

He undressed her. Slowly. Every piece of fabric removed like unwrapping a gift. When she was bare underneath him he stopped. Just looked. His eyes traveling over her body like he was memorizing it.

"You're so pretty," he said. And for a second it sounded real. "So fucking pretty."

He undressed too. She'd seen pictures. Everyone had. But in person it was different. He was built like something from another era. Broad shoulders. Chest covered in hair. Scars she wanted to ask about but didn't.

He rolled on a condom. Settled between her thighs. Looked down at her.

"You ready?"

"I think so."

"You think so?"

"Yes. I'm ready."

He pushed in.

Slow. Inch by inch. She gasped. Her nails digging into his shoulders. He was big. Bigger than she'd had before. The stretch burned in a way that walked the line between pain and pleasure.

"Breathe, doll."

She breathed.

He bottomed out. Stayed still. Let her adjust. His forehead pressed against hers. His breath warm on her face.

"You okay?"

"It's a lot."

"I know. I'll go slow."

He did. Slow. Deep. Each thrust measured. Controlled. His hand gripping her hip. His mouth on her neck. Biting gently. Not breaking skin. Just enough to leave marks.

"You feel so good," he murmured against her throat. "So tight. So fucking good for me."

"Ben—"

"That's it. Say my name."

"Ben—"

"Again."

"Ben—"

His hand moved. Found her clit. Rubbed circles while he moved inside her. She saw white. Her back arching off the bed. Sounds pouring out of her that she couldn't control.

"That's my girl," he said. "That's my fucking girl."

His hand slid up. Around her throat. Not squeezing. Just resting there. She felt her pulse hammering against his palm.

"You like that?"

"I— I don't know—"

"Yes you do. I can feel your heartbeat speeding up." He squeezed. Lightly. Just enough pressure to make her gasp. "You like being choked, doll?"

"I— yes—"

"Good girl."

He squeezed a little harder. Thrust a little deeper. She was close. So close. Tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Not sad tears. Just overwhelmed. Too much feeling in a body that wasn't used to feeling this much.

"I'm gonna come," she gasped.

"Then come."

"Ben—"

"Come for me, doll. Now."

She did.

Her whole body seizing. Walls clenching around him. A sob tearing out of her throat. His hand still on her neck. His mouth on her shoulder. Biting down hard this time. She screamed.

He fucked her through it. Then followed her over. His hips slamming into hers once. Twice. Then stilling. A groan rumbling out of his chest. His forehead dropping to her shoulder.

They stayed like that. Breathing. His weight on her. His hand slowly releasing her throat.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. Couldn't speak. Tears still on her face.

He looked at her. Saw the tears. His thumb brushed one away.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I don't know."

He smiled. Kissed her forehead. Pulled out. Lay beside her.

"Don't worry, doll. I'll take care of you."

She believed him.

The next morning he was gone.

No note. No text. No nothing. Just empty hotel sheets and the faint smell of cedar and whiskey.

She told herself he had meetings. Vought stuff. Important things. He'd call.

He didn't call.

Three days.

Three days of nothing. She saw him in the hallway once. Walked toward him with a smile. He looked at her. Nodded.

"Hi."

That was it. Hi. One syllable. No doll. No smile. No hand on her back. Just hi and then he was walking past her like she was furniture.

She stood in the hallway for a full minute after.

A week.

She brought him coffee. Set it on his desk. Waited.

"Thanks."

Not doll. Not sweetheart. Not even her name. Just thanks. He didn't look up from his phone.

"Ben?"

"Hmm?"

"Did I do something wrong?"

He looked up then. His eyes flat. Bored. Like he was trying to remember who she was.

"No. You're fine."

"Then why are you—"

"Gotta go. Meeting."

He left. Coffee untouched.

She went to the bathroom. Locked the stall. Cried for twenty minutes.

Two weeks.

She was at a Vought event. Some gala thing she'd been asked to help coordinate. Standing in the corner with a champagne flute she couldn't drink because she was twenty-one and terrified of everyone in the room.

Then she saw him.

Across the room. Leaning against a bar. And he wasn't alone.

Firecracker was next to him. Red hair. Red lips. Red dress. Laughing at something he'd said. Her hand on his arm. His head tilted down toward her. That smile. The real one. The one she thought was only for her.

He called her doll.

Not Bambi. Not the assistant. Doll.

The same word. The same tone. Like it was nothing. Like it was disposable. Like it could be given to anyone.

Bambi's champagne flute cracked in her hand.

She waited.

She waited until the gala ended. Until Firecracker left with a smile and a hair flip. Until the room emptied and the staff started cleaning. Then she found him.

He was in a hallway. Adjusting his cufflinks. Alone.

"Ben."

He looked up. Saw her face. Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement maybe.

"Doll."

Don't call me that.

"Don't call me that."

"Okay."

"Where have you been?"

"Around."

"Around? You've been around? I haven't heard from you in two weeks. Two weeks, Ben. After— after what we— and you've been around?"

"Bambi—"

"No. You don't get to Bambi me right now." Her voice was shaking. Tears already building. She hated it. Hated that she couldn't be angry without crying. "You fucked me and then you disappeared. You didn't call. You didn't text. You looked right through me in the hallway like I was nothing."

"You're not nothing."

"Then what am I? Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like I'm something."

He leaned against the wall. Arms crossed. Watching her. His face unreadable.

"And then tonight." Her voice cracked. "I see you with her. Calling her the same thing you called me. Touching her the same way. Smiling at her the same—"

"We were just talking."

"You were flirting."

"Jesus Christ, Bambi. It was a conversation."

"You called her doll."

"So?"

"So? SO? You called me doll and then you fucked me and then you ignored me and now you're calling HER doll like I was nothing? Like I was just— just a—"

She was crying now. Full tears. Streaming down her face. Her hands balled into fists at her sides.

"You used me." The words came out broken. "You used me and you threw me away and I thought— I thought it meant something. I thought I meant something."

She stepped forward. Punched his chest. Hard as she could. It was like hitting a wall. He didn't move. Didn't even blink.

"I HATE you." Another punch. Nothing. "I hate you I hate you I hate you—"

She kept hitting. Both fists. Over and over. His chest solid under her hands. Her wrists starting to hurt. Her tears blurring her vision.

"Why can't I be the only one?" She was whining now. Small and broken and pathetic. "Why can't you just— why can't you just want ME? What's wrong with me? What did I do wrong?"

He caught her wrists. Held them. She strained against his grip but it was like fighting steel. She couldn't move. Couldn't hit him anymore. Just stood there with her fists in his hands and tears on her face and her whole body shaking.

"Let go of me."

"No."

"Let go of me, Ben."

"Stop crying."

"I can't— I can't stop—"

"Then try harder."

She yanked her wrists. Failed. Sobs breaking out of her chest now. Ugly crying. The kind that made her whole body heave.

"I thought you loved me," she whispered.

He went still.

"I thought you loved me," she said again. Quieter. Broken.

He looked at her. Really looked. At her red face and swollen eyes and the way her lip was trembling. At this twenty-one-year-old girl who sorted his mail and brought his coffee and looked at him like he hung the moon.

Something shifted in his expression.

Not guilt. Not remorse. Something darker. Something more dangerous.

Intrigue.

He let go of her wrists. She stumbled back. Rubbed them. Looked at him with wet eyes.

"You don't love me," she said. Defeated. "You never did."

"No," he agreed. "I don't."

The words hit her like a slap. She nodded. Turned around. Started walking away.

"Bambi."

She stopped. Didn't turn around.

"That doesn't mean I'm done with you."

She turned. Looked at him. He was still leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. That look on his face. The one that made her stomach flip even though she knew better. Even though she'd just been destroyed by him.

"What?"

"You said you want to be the only one."

"I shouldn't have said that."

"But you meant it."

"It doesn't matter—"

"It matters to me."

She stared at him. Confused. Wary. Her tears still wet on her face.

"Why?"

"Because I've had a lot of women throw themselves at me, doll. A lot." He pushed off the wall. Walked toward her. Slow. "They cry. They scream. They threaten. But none of them have ever looked at me the way you're looking at me right now."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Like you'd let me destroy you and say thank you."

Her breath caught.

"And that," he said quietly. "Is interesting."

He reached out. Wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. She flinched. Didn't pull away.

"You're a terrible person," she whispered.

"I know."

"You used me."

"I know that too."

"I should walk away."

"You should."

She didn't walk away.

He smiled. Not warm. Not kind. Something sharp. Something hungry.

"See you Monday, doll."

He walked past her. Left her standing in the empty hallway. Tears drying on her face. Heart pounding in her chest.

She knew she should run.

She knew she should never go back.

But something in her— something broken and young and desperate to be wanted— told her that maybe if she was good enough. Pretty enough. Quiet enough. Maybe then she'd be the only one.

She went back on Monday.

A/N: yall got sum yall wanna tell me? Like how yall like Sam more than dean? THIS ISSS LITERALLY A JENSEN FAN ACC it’s okay I love them both though, I hope you like this I tried to get it as soldier boy as i could, don’t be a bird like Bambi yall oh wait yall name is Bambi

ackleskisser-mp4

hi could u write the reader is having a really bad day and she kinda tears up so ben (sb) comforts/babies her but he’s not gentle or soft

BAD DAY WITH BF!SOLDIER BOY

Tags: established relationship. Fluff. pure fluff. Comfort. Age gap intended. Mean Ben if you squint. No use of y/n. No description of reader. Soldier Boy just wanna take care of you. (wc: 968)

You couldn’t be having any worse of a day than the one you were having right now. You had so far locked yourself out of your apartment, lost one of your AirPods as it fell down between the platform and the train on the subway and gotten all wet from the rain as you walk to your campus, soaking up your feet entirely and most probably caught a cold. And it was only 8 a.m.

By 10 a.m., you had also failed your exam, to which you had studied for weeks. Bought a coffee that fell all over your already drenched coat.

You carried a heavy heart for the whole day, every little victory feeling to insignificant to make you feel better and every bad thing that happened just added to your bad luck streak, to the pile you were carrying on your shoulders. Even as you decided to get home at the afternoon by uber, to get there faster. But the uber driver was smelly and hit traffic.

So it was only natural for you that as soon as you got home and threw your backpack and coat to the ground, your eyes well up with tears. You’re exhausted, it took you forever to get home and everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. Ben is laying on the couch, rolling up a joint and he furrowed his eyebrows as he saw you dragging your feet and holding back the tears as you sat up right beside him.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, his tone low and lolling up on his tongue. You tried replying, saying something, trying to explain how everything in your day just went to Hell, but no word came out, only a sob and a hiccuped and small I can’t anymore before you broke, finally, crying to his side.

Ben raised his eyebrows at you, huffing a little and you threw yourself to his arms, burying your swollen face into his chest as you cried. “Wow. Easy there, sweetheart.” he whispered, his hands hovered over you for a moment, pinched eyebrows as he stared at your crying self. He finally caved in, his arms wrapping around your body and he patted your back slowly. “It’s okay, you’re fine.”

It’s not that he was ever taught to be… soft or how to bring comfort to anyone. Ever. Not even he had it. It was hard for him to know what to do exactly or how to… help? maybe? He caresses your back softly, trying to be soothing. He only lets you cry it all out, holding you in his arms.

You wipe away your tears, pulling away a little. He uses his thumb to catch a stray tear. “There you are.” he says with a small smile.

He doesn’t do gentle. He doesn’t know how. His hands just try caressing your back as you hiccup your way through your story. And of course you know he’s only half-listening to you. “C’mon, doll. You can’t be like this because of a sole bad day.” You know he’s trying, he wants to *help. But he’s coming off a little mean. You sniff, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He leans in, kissing your forehead as he believes he has given you the best advice you’ve heard in ages.

His expression is tight as you two stare at each other and he gruff. You know he’s getting annoyed by your tear-streaked face, your swollen eyes and your red nose, but it’s not like you can help it!

He huffs as he leans back on the couch, pulling your feet up on his lap. He tossed you his phone before he started taking off your shoes. “Order something in one of those things you like so much, my treat.” he grunted, throwing your shoes away on the ground. “You probably didn’t have a proper meal in all day.”

He took off your wet socks, starting to massage a little your feet to get them warmed up. You took the phone with trembling hands, ordering a pizza finally. You knew Ben would want some afterwards too. He got up and brought from your bedroom your fuzzy socks. Those he makes so much fun of but you keep saying how much you love them cause they keep you warm. As he sat up, he put them on your feet slowly, uncharacteristically careful.

He pulled the ridiculous weighted blanket you had there on the sofa and he manhandled you to make you snuggle to his side, your back resting on his abdomen. And he tucked you in —poorly— but still.

“I ordered pizza.” you say with a small voice and you gain a hum in response while he absentmindedly changed the channels on TV. He kissed the top of your head, his eyes glued to the screen.

“See, doll? You’re fine.” he said and you snuggled more into him, cuddling into his chest and seeking for the heat of his body. His heart was steady close to your ear. He keeps you close while he’s caressing your back and every now and then leaving a small kiss on top of your head.

He’s trying his absolute best to show that he cares. It’s not his fault he can’t do more than that.

He lights up his joint, holding you against him and he offers it up. You take it, just raising your head a little and taking a puff from between his fingers. He smiles. “Good girl.”

His praise makes you finally smile and you leave a kiss on his wrist before cuddling again, awaiting for your pizza.

a/n: Based the whole thing in an actual bad day I once had. How I WISH he was there to do all of this for me and baby me like this.

Requests are open!

reginaphalangelobster

How do Butcher, Hughie, Soldier Boy, Malchemical and Mr Marathon like your bush?

❆ Starring: Billy Butcher, Hughie Campbell, Soldier Boy, Malchemical & Mr Marathon x Fem!Reader

❆ Summary: Do they care about how you keep your bush? If so, what do they like?

❆ Warnings: smut, oral sex (f!receiving), slightly dark, possessive and degrading/objectifying, creampies, probably it?

❆ Word Count: 600

❆ Requester: anon

❆ Rating: Explicit/16+

꧁ Read my rules and send in a request! ꧂

Masterlists | Pinned Post | Schedule | Taglist Form | Author Recs

lestatdelioncuort

Sam Reid as LESTAT DE LIONCOURT

THE VAMPIRE LESTAT | 3.04 "THE DEVIL'S ROAD"

saiyanprincessswanie

Chrome & Leather - Chapter 11

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC, Eventual Billy Russo x OFC

Other Characters: Bucky, Nat, Clint, Thor, Tony, Pietro, Wanda, Sam, Winnie, Quentin, and Zemo.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Small Court Talk, might be others I missed

Word Count: 3933

Chapter Summary: Since the death of Becca Barnes life has not been the same for Jessie or her family. Bucky and Steve were arrested, and charged with the murder of Brock. The men maintain their innocence but life doesn’t go the way they hope. What is their future? How will Steve react to the news Jessie has been hiding?

A/N: Please keep in mind the pairings that are listed. We are going to see a shift in the story and I don’t want people mad for not realizing this. This is my first fic with an original female character, Jessie Barnes. Face claim for Jessie Barnes is model Jessy Hartel.

A/N 2: Also, Bold Italics - reminiscing of the past month. Any other grammar or spelling mistakes are my own.

To read more of my work here is my Masterlist

Thank you to my beta readers @music-culture-mythology & @pigwidgeonxo

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers ,edit of Jessie by @sgt-seabass

To stay up to date with my writing follow my side-blog and turn on the notifications for @saiyanprincessswanie-sideblog

Reblogs & Comments on Tumblr are welcomed and encouraged. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps or third party sites. If you see my work anywhere else besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts then it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

ackles-pleaser

Jealousy..?

Warnings: none really! Bit of jealousy reader.

Soldier Boy x supe/ex Payback member Reader!

AN: sorry for being so inactive! I haven’t had motivation to write. But I hope you guys like this small shot! Xoxo

siimplystupid

older bf! soldier boy x younger gf! reader headcannons

warnings: 18+ only!!! age gap, slight cursing, infantilization, fem-reader, all lowercase, pet names, and ofc ben being ben (lmk if i missed any).

a/n: this is my first drabble to make it out of my notes app and im so excited to share it with everyone!! im also quite nervous so feedbacks and asks for next time would be sososo appreciated :)

older bf! soldier boy who is obsessed with how young you are compared to him. the sight of the two of you in public turns him on like nothing else; his jaded, rugged appearance next to you sweet, delicate one parading down the hallways of Vought Towers.

older bf! soldier boy who always calls you sickly saccharine pet names. he mainly uses names like “babydoll” “darlin’” and “dollface” or anything to make it known that you are his and only his. making sure to use them excessively in meetings, where you are frequently met with wandering eyes.

older bf! soldier boy with deeply-seated jealousy issues, always keeping a hand on your body. it’s not his fault you are soooo cute and all of the “horny bastards” at Vought can’t keep their “cuck eyes” to themselves (his words). because of this, he constantly has a muscular arm looped snugly around your waist, occasionally snaking down to squeeze your ass!

older bf! soldier boy who adores the cute, girly way you dress. the first time you dragged him into your closet he was astounded by its overwhelmingly pink color and the sheer quantity of ruffles gave him a headache. after a quick coke break, he became obsessed with your clothes — all the lace, pearls, and polka dots reminded him of his past. picking out dresses for dinner dates or delicate panties to wear at work became a favorite activity of his.

a/n: thank you for reading! likes, reblogs, and asks are SO appreciated. i had so much fun sharing this with you <3

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