The night air bit at your skin as you sat beside the crackling bonfire with Eddie. Stars blanketed the sky above the clearing where your small group had set up camp. Eddie’s broad shoulders relaxed as he poked at the logs with a stick, sending sparks upward. His dark eyes flicked toward you, warm despite the chill.
You tugged your jacket tighter. “It’s getting colder out here.”
Eddie smiled, that soft, lopsided grin that always made your stomach flip. “The bonfire’s dying. Scoot closer before we both freeze.”
You slid across the log until your thigh pressed against his. Heat radiated from him immediately. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You leaned in, breathing in the mix of woodsmoke and his cologne.
His fingers traced lazy circles on your arm. Conversation faded into comfortable silence, broken only by the pop of embers. You tilted your head up. Eddie met your gaze, then leaned down. His lips brushed yours, gentle at first, then deeper, hungrier. Your hand slid up his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt.
Eddie stood and offered his hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of the wind.”
You followed him to the tent a few yards away. Inside, the space felt smaller, more intimate. He zipped the flap shut and turned to you. His mouth found yours again as his hands worked your jacket off your shoulders. You tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head. His skin was hot against your palms.
Clothes came off in a rush: your top, his jeans, your pants, until you both knelt on the sleeping bag in nothing but underwear. Eddie’s hands roamed, cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened. You moaned softly into his kiss.
He lay you back and hooked his fingers into your panties, sliding them down your legs. His own boxers followed. His cock stood thick and hard, the tip already glistening. You reached for him, wrapping your fingers around the shaft and stroking slowly.
Eddie groaned and settled between your thighs. He kissed down your neck, across your collarbone, then lower, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his fingers found your pussy. He rubbed your clit in slow circles, then slid two fingers inside you. You arched, hips rolling against his hand as he pumped them deeper, curling to hit that sensitive spot inside.
“Eddie,” you breathed, voice shaky.
He withdrew his fingers and lined his cock up with your entrance. With one smooth thrust, he buried himself inside you. You gasped at the stretch, legs wrapping around his waist. He started moving; deep, steady strokes that dragged along your inner walls. Each thrust pushed a wet sound from your pussy as he filled you completely.
Your hands gripped his back, nails dragging lightly over muscle. Eddie kissed you hard, tongues sliding together as he fucked you. The pace quickened. Skin slapped against skin. Your pussy clenched around him with every thrust, slick coating his shaft.
He pulled out suddenly and flipped you onto your stomach. You rose onto your hands and knees. Eddie gripped your hips and drove back in, harder now. One hand reached around to rub your clit again while the other held you steady. He pounded into you, balls slapping against your skin with every thrust. Your breasts swayed beneath you.
You came first: body shaking, walls pulsing around his cock as wetness gushed around him. Eddie followed seconds later, burying himself deep as he spilt inside you. Warm cum flooded your core in thick spurts. He stayed there, breathing hard against your back, then eased out and pulled you into his arms.
You lay tangled together, his fingers tracing your spine while his cum slowly leaked from your pussy. Outside the tent, the fire had dwindled to glowing coals. Inside, heat lingered between your bodies.
Eddie kissed your temple. “Still cold?” You smiled against his chest. “Not even a little.”
is there gonna be a part 3 of “his secret family” ?? cause i would like to see what homelander does to the baby and the mom, would like to know what the baby’s power is, and how would soldier boy reac!! maybe more than 1 more part 😅😅
sorry if i’m asking much, i just love the ideas and how you write for soldier boy 💞💐
Hey! Thank you for your request!
It has been written and posted, you will find it here:
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · The One Thing He Couldn't Take · Requested by @riverjane-d
Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female Reader
Genre: Fluff, Angst
Description: Years after escaping and building a peaceful life with Soldier Boy, Y/N thinks the past is finally behind her. But when Homelander returns and threatens the family Ben fought so hard to protect, their child's hidden abilities awaken for the very first time.
A/N: Part 3 to His Son's Heart, His Wife's Ring and The Life He Chose.
The first sign that something is wrong is the silence. The beach is usually noisy. The crashing waves. The distant cries of seagulls. Your child's laughter as they race across the shoreline with a bucket clutched in their tiny hands. But this afternoon, everything feels strangely still.
You sit under a large umbrella, reading a book. You keep one eye on your child and the other on the path back to your house. Ben had gone into town earlier that morning. For a moment, you wonder if the silence feels heavier because he isn't here. That probably means he'll be back late. Again.
Your child is currently attempting to build what they insist is a castle. You smile as your child explains their big plans to a confused crab. Then the wind changes. A chill runs down your spine. Immediately. Instinctively. You look up. And your heart stops. Someone is standing near the water. Watching. Waiting.
For a moment, you think it must be a stranger. A tourist. A local. Anyone else. But then the way he stands, the subtle tension in his posture, tugs at memories you wish you could forget. The figure steps forward, and you recognise him. The blond hair. The blue suit. The same smile that once promised everything and then ruined you. He smiles, but it never quite reaches his eyes. Homelander.
Years have passed. Yet seeing him again feels just like it did all those years ago. It's like a nightmare you've tried to forget for years. Your pulse begins racing. Your child notices your expression immediately. "Mom?" You stand so quickly that your chair falls backwards. "Come here." Your urgent tone makes them freeze. Then they start running toward you. Homelander watches the entire thing unfold. His expression is unreadable. Almost sad. Almost.
"You look happy." The sound of his voice makes your stomach twist.
"What are you doing here?"
His gaze drifts toward your child. The child he once viewed as proof that he had lost you forever. You see a flicker of loss there, mingled with envy, the raw ache of regret cracking through his usual composure. Something dark flashes across his face; longing and resentment at war behind his eyes. For a moment, he seems less like a villain and more like someone searching for a life that never happened. "I wanted to see."
Your entire body tenses. "See what?"
His eyes return to yours. "What my life would've looked like."
The words are quiet. Too quiet. Your child reaches your side and immediately wraps both arms around your leg. You place yourself between them and Homelander without thinking. Protective. Instinctive. A mother's response. Homelander notices. Of course he does. Somehow, that seems to hurt him even more.
"They have your eyes."
You say nothing. His attention shifts to your wedding ring. The same ring you've worn for years. The same ring that started everything. For a moment, genuine grief appears on his face. Then it vanishes. Replaced by bitterness.
"You chose him."
You stare at him. "Yes." You answer without hesitation. You chose Ben. Every single day.
Homelander's jaw tightens. And suddenly you realise something. He never moved on. All these years. All this time. And he never let go. The realisation terrifies you. Not violently. Not yet. But it's enough for your child to notice.
"Mom?"
You slowly back away. "Don't." Homelander closes his eyes. For a brief moment, he almost looks exhausted. "I just wanted to talk." Then something cracks. Maybe it's seeing your fear. Maybe it's seeing the child. Maybe it's remembering everything he lost. Whatever it is, the fragile control disappears. The sand beneath his feet explodes outward. Your child screams. You immediately pull them behind you.
"Homelander!"
His eyes glow red. "I would've loved you." His words come out broken. Angry. Desperate. "I would've given you everything."
"You don't get to decide that!"
The ocean itself seems to tremble. Then it happens. A burst of heat vision shoots past you. Not directly at you. Not directly at your child. But close enough. Far too close. The blast strikes the sand only a few feet away. The explosion sends both of you tumbling backwards. Your shoulder slams against the ground. Pain shoots through your arm. Your child cries out. And something changes. The world suddenly becomes very bright.
For a split second, you remember the small things, the lightbulb in your child's room flickering when they were upset, the way metal objects sometimes quivered when they laughed, the strange tug in the air around them during thunderstorms. Sometimes you caught the scent of ozone, sharp and unmistakable, clinging to their skin, and you always wondered why storms seemed to stir something inside them. Lately, you had noticed they grew restless during thunderstorms, their eyes flashing just a little too bright whenever lightning struck nearby. There were questions you never had the courage to ask: about bloodlines, about what truly ran in their veins. Ben would sometimes half-joke about "not all power coming from the same bottle," and Homelander's name was never far from those late-night anxieties. Little things that never made sense until now.
The air around your child begins glowing. Not red. Not gold. A brilliant blue-white light. Pure energy. The beach erupts. A shockwave explodes outward from your child. The ocean rises. The sand lifts into the air. The sky itself seems to crack with power. Homelander is thrown backwards. Violently. His expression shifts from anger to shock. For the first time since arriving, he looks afraid.
Your child stares at their own hands. Terrified. Confused. The glowing energy dances across their skin like lightning. "Mom?" Your heart breaks. They're scared. They're just a child. A child who doesn't understand what's happening. Then a familiar voice echoes across the beach. "Get away from my family."
Every head turns. Ben. He's standing near the dunes. Frozen. Because he sees everything. You. Injured. His child crying. Homelander standing nearby. And energy pouring from the small hands of the child he loves more than life itself. The silence that follows feels worse than shouting. Ben's gaze settles on the scrape across your cheek. Then your child. Then Homelander. Something changes inside him. Not anger. Not exactly. Something colder. Something far more dangerous. For years, Ben fought for glory. For revenge. For survival. This is different. This is personal. His voice becomes terrifyingly calm. "What happened?"
Your child immediately runs toward him. Relief and panic leap in their chest. For a moment, the fear of being seen, of not understanding the bright, surging energy in their own hands, mixes with a desperate need for comfort. The moment Ben catches them, the energy begins to settle. They bury their face in his shoulder. Still crying. Still frightened. Confused thoughts swirl inside: Did I make this happen? Am I the reason Mom got hurt? "He was trying to hurt Mom." The words come out loud, but inside, your child clings to Ben like he is the only anchor they have left in a world that suddenly feels too big and dangerous. The entire beach goes silent. Ben slowly looks up. Toward Homelander. The look on his face makes your blood run cold. Because there was no hesitation. No conflict. No lingering attachment. No trace of the complicated father-son relationship that once existed. Only certainty. Only fury. Only love. The kind of love that makes people dangerous.
Homelander sees it too. For the first time, he takes a step backwards. Ben's arm tightens protectively around your child. His other hand reaches for yours. Making sure you're safe. Making sure you're real. Then he looks at the family standing beside him. His wife. His child. His entire world. And finally understands something.
He spent most of his life chasing power. But power was never the thing that mattered. This was. You were. And anyone who threatened that would find out just how far Soldier Boy would go to protect the people he loves. Especially now that it seemed his child had inherited something even more frightening than strength. The surge of raw, uncontrollable energy: glowing, untamed, and powerful in ways neither human nor supe had ever shown before, was something entirely new.
For the first time, the world wasn't looking at Soldier Boy. It was looking at the next generation. And judging by the fear in Homelander's eyes, even he knew they had awakened something extraordinary. But as the wind carried away the last echoes of the confrontation, it was clear that the world would not stay quiet for long. Whatever power had emerged on this beach would not go unnoticed. In the distance, within boardrooms filled with shadowy executives, Vought's analysts were already replaying blurred security footage.
A sharp-eyed woman with a scar twisting down her jaw, Madelyn Stillwell's successor at Vought, leaned forward, already dialling a number that would reach the mysterious Project Paragon. In darkened cells, old enemies stirred at the mention of a new name. Even Edgar, exiled from power but not influence, allowed himself a cold smile as he read the first decrypted reports. The Crimson Countess, still nursing old wounds and older grudges, began to assemble her allies. Even the rumours whispered in Supe circles had begun to circle back to this family. Somewhere out there, others were already watching, and new threats, some with corporate agendas, some fueled by revenge, and some bearing names like Black Noir and Payback, were beginning to stir.
Hello. For #summer2026, what would you think of “This festival would be more fun if you stopped trying to win every game.” for Pietro Maximoff? He just strikes me as the fun, competitive type, especially with his speed 😆
Hey! Thank you for your request and for joining in with my event!
It has been written and posted, you will find it here:
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · Requested by Anonymous
Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader
Summer Event
Summer Event Masterlist
-------------------------
The annual summer festival seemed like the perfect event for Pietro Maximoff. He had always loved festivals, and spending the day with him here felt both exciting and nerve-wracking. I had looked forward to this for weeks, almost counting down the days, all the while wondering if the night would turn out as magical as I imagined. Something about the chaotic energy, the quick pace, and the chance to dive into everything all at once made him feel right at home. There were bright lights, loud music, big crowds, and food that probably broke a few health codes. But what mattered most to Pietro were the games. The only problem was that Pietro treated every festival game like it was the Olympics.
"You cheated."
Pietro placed another giant stuffed bear on top of the already ridiculous pile in his arms. "I did not cheat."
"You moved faster than the guy running the booth could see."
"That is called talent."
"That's called being enhanced."
He gave you an innocent grin. His grin turned sly as soon as he noticed another game stand across the path. "Oh, ring toss." Before you could stop him, he disappeared in a blur. You sighed, but couldn't help smiling a little. Five minutes later, Pietro came back with three more prizes, looking extremely pleased with himself.
"Look."
"I see."
"No, really look."
"I am looking."
"I won all of these."
"Yes, Pietro. I know. I was there."
"You weren't."
"Emotionally, I was."
He laughed, nearly dropping one of the stuffed animals. You both walked on through the festival. The air smelled of caramelised sugar and sizzling popcorn, and you could catch a hint of hot dogs laced with spicy mustard drifting from the food stands. Children ran between booths, sticky-fingered from cotton candy, while couples strolled hand in hand under glowing lanterns that flickered red and gold against the dusk. Somewhere in the crowd, you caught a glimpse of someone in a red cape who looked suspiciously like Thor, busy signing autographs for a gaggle of excited kids. In the distance, a tall building with a familiar sparkling A gleamed above the skyline, quietly reminding you that New York was never just any city. Beneath the chatter and laughter, the thrum of music played from a nearby stage. The grass was cool and slightly damp beneath your feet, mingling with the crunch of confetti and the hum of a million festival sounds. It really was beautiful. It would have been easier to enjoy if Pietro wasn’t always looking for his next challenge.
"Ooh."
"No."
"I didn't say anything."
"You made the 'ooh' noise."
His eyes darted toward a basketball shooting game. "You heard that?"
"Pietro."
"You know me too well."
"I have to. It's a survival skill."
He clutched his chest dramatically. "You wound me."
You grabbed his sleeve before he could sprint off again. For once, he stayed put. The teasing smile faded slightly as he looked down at your hand still holding onto him. For a second, you felt your heart thump louder, uncertain whether to let go or hold on tighter, caught somewhere between embarrassment and hope. A hundred hopes seemed tangled in that small, brave gesture: the hope that he might be feeling the same flicker of something new, that he might want to stay close, that this tug was not just physical but something deeper, a line thrown out toward possibility. At the same time, a hush of fear pressed against your excitement, fear that maybe you were imagining the way his hand lingered, that he would slip away too quickly, leaving the moment unspoken and fragile. It was ridiculous, how just holding his sleeve could make the rest of the world dissolve for a moment.
You remembered the first time your fingers brushed by accident and how the sensation lingered long after, sending little sparks through your skin. Touching him now felt like another quiet dare, a silent promise that maybe something was changing between you. You wished he could feel your pulse, bright and jittery, hoping he understood that it mattered more than you knew how to say. All you wanted, really, was for him to choose you on purpose, to see beneath all the lightness and speed and recognise how much this moment, this beginning, meant.
The festival lights reflected in his silver-blue eyes. "What?" he asked. You gestured broadly toward everything around you. The lights. The music. The people dancing. The fireworks begin to colour the darkening sky. "This festival would be more fun if you stopped trying to win every game."
Pietro blinked. "You think I'm ruining it?"
"No." The answer came quickly enough that something warm appeared in his expression.
"You just keep missing everything else."
He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
You released his sleeve. "I mean, you've spent the last two hours trying to beat every game here."
"Because I'm winning."
"Exactly."
"I don't see the problem."
"You haven't watched any performances. You haven't listened to the music. You haven't even tried any food besides stealing my fries."
"They were our fries."
"They were my fries."
"Our relationship with ownership differs."
You rolled your eyes. Pietro's smile stayed, but then his eyes turned thoughtful as he looked around. Then he really looked around. He actually took it all in. The stage. The lanterns. The fireworks. The festival. For the first time all evening, he seemed to slow down. His smile softened, and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. You saw something flicker in his expression, like maybe he suddenly realised how much he missed just experiencing things instead of rushing past them. For once, it looked like he was letting himself feel a little of everything, just as everyone else did. "Huh."
"Huh?"
"Maybe you're right."
You stared. "Pietro Maximoff just admitted I was right."
"Don't get used to it."
"I need photographic evidence."
"Delete it immediately."
You laughed. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. Long enough to make your stomach flutter. You felt every heartbeat sharpen, uncertain if you dared to speak. Was he about to say something, something neither of you wanted to risk voicing yet? The silence sat between you, trembling with the possibility of a confession, as though the world around you might dissolve if either of you broke it. Maybe he felt it too, that bright, uncertain pause where so much could be said or lost. The feeling made you both nervous and hopeful all at once.
Then Pietro cleared his throat. "So."
"So?"
"What would you rather be doing?"
The question surprised you. Because Pietro rarely stopped moving long enough to ask. You glanced toward the Ferris wheel rising above the festival grounds. Its lights sparkled against the evening sky.
"There." Pietro followed your gaze.
"The Ferris wheel?"
"Yeah."
"That's not a competition."
"That's kind of the point."
He pretended to consider this. "Hmm."
"You hate the idea."
"I absolutely hate the idea."
You nodded. "As expected."
"But." His grin returned. "I suppose I can survive one non-competitive activity."
"How generous."
"I know."
The line for the Ferris wheel moved quickly. Mostly because Pietro somehow convinced everyone around you that they were in a hurry to let him pass. You suspected speed powers had been involved. Again. A few minutes later, the two of you were seated together in one of the gondolas. As it climbed higher, the festival spread out beneath you. Lights glittered like stars. Music floated upward on the evening breeze. The city stretched beyond the festival grounds, illuminated against the darkness.
For once, Pietro was quiet. Not completely quiet. Just... calmer. You glanced at him. He was already looking at you. "See?" you asked softly. His expression warmed. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"This is nice."
You smiled. "Told you."
"Don't ruin the moment by gloating."
"Me? Gloating?"
"You're insufferable."
"Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you."
He laughed. The sound was bright and genuine. Then, more quietly, he said, “I think I like this better."
You looked at him. "The Ferris wheel?"
His eyes met yours. "No."
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world below continued spinning with music, laughter, and lights. But up there, everything felt still. Pietro's smile softened into something almost shy. Which might have been the rarest sight at the entire festival. And somehow, you found yourself thinking that no prize he'd won all night could compare to that.
Because for once, it felt like you were both winning something far more rare, the quiet closeness that only happened when he chose to be truly present with you. In that stillness, high above the festival’s chaos, you realised this mattered so much more than any game or trophy ever could. Maybe what you really wanted all along was not to collect stuffed animals or to chase every thrill, but to share a moment that made you both slow down, together.
As the Ferris wheel drifted lower, Pietro nudged your shoulder gently. "Same time next year?" he whispered with a crooked smile, as if promising there would always be another night like this. You grinned, feeling a new thrill at the thought of all the moments still waiting for both of you, just beyond the festival lights.
For a heartbeat, you wondered what the next time would look like, if he would still choose you, if you would be brave enough to say what you were really feeling. Some small, stubborn hope grew inside you, tangled with a whisper of worry that a moment like this could slip away if you were not careful. Maybe next time, you silently promised yourself, you would find the courage to reach for even more.
Hey Kayleigh for your new #summer2026 event, you please write a fic with the prompt “I thought you hated dancing.” With Thomas from maze runner? Thank you!
Hey! Thank you for your request and for taking part in my event!
It has been written and posted, you will find it here:
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · Requested by Anonymous
Pairing: Thomas (The Maze Runner) x Reader
Summer Event
Summer Event Masterlist
----------------
The music was far too loud. At least, that was what Thomas kept insisting.
You stayed close to the edge of the group, feeling tense as you watched the Gladers laugh and stumble through the rough celebration. You were not one of the original Gladers, but you had become part of their world after arriving in the Box three months earlier. Most saw you as just another runner, though you knew you were still something of an outsider compared to Thomas and the others. Frypan had somehow managed to scrounge up a feast of grilled beetle-blade legs and mashed tomatoes, with Newt passing out slivers of stale but precious chocolate to anyone who won a dance-off.
It was the first night after a successful run; everyone was out by the fire, celebrating making it through another week with no casualties. Winston had built a wonky lantern tower from spare machine parts, sending mismatched beams over the clearing, while someone else had put together a basic speaker system from old wires and metal plates. The music was loud, too loud, probably, and you watched as Gally challenged Chuck to a worm-eating contest, much to everyone’s disgusted amusement. All of it, the weird food, the shouting, the cobbled-together decorations, felt so perfectly Glade, and for a second, you were swept up in the feeling of being right where you belonged. The pounding music made your chest flutter, not just because it was noisy, but because it meant you were here, surrounded by friends and laughter, alive after another hard week. The sound pressed in on you, thrilling and overwhelming at once, and somehow the loud music made your heart skip a beat.
Thomas sat on a wooden crate nearby, arms crossed tightly, jaw set, and eyes scanning the crowd like he was looking for a way out. "You could at least try to look like you're having fun," you teased. "I am having fun." You raised an eyebrow. "Thomas, you look like you're preparing for battle." He frowned. "Maybe I am." A laugh escaped you.
The music shifted to something slower, and several people paired off in the centre of the clearing. Even your friend Minho, usually the life of the group, looked vaguely embarrassed as he got dragged into it.
You nudged Thomas with your shoulder. "Want to dance?"
"No." His answer was instant, cutting off your question.
"Thought so."
Thomas loosened up a bit, thinking you were done talking. Then you stepped forward and offered him your hand. His eyes dropped to it.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
“You know I don't dance." He looked away, jaw tightening again. Dancing always felt too public, like everyone was watching for him to mess up. As music drifted around him, Thomas remembered the old shuck banter in the Maze, the way the Gladers used to tease each other after every close escape, and how every movement or mistake out there carried weight. He remembered running through the shifting walls with nothing but the pounding of his heart and Minho's shouts for company, carrying responsibility that felt heavier than any bad dance in a gym. There had even been that night after their first escape from the Grievers, when the group tried to teach Newt a silly campfire jig to keep spirits high, everyone shouting out moves with wild laughter. Thomas had hung back then, too, pretending to check maps, but secretly wishing he could join in without messing it up. That was always the hardest part: letting down the guard he built in the Maze, even now, surrounded by friends.
Even now, the thought of being out in front of everyone made his skin prickle. But he caught the way you looked at him, steady and patient, not mocking or insisting, just waiting. It was different from before, the kind of quiet encouragement that made failing seem less scary. Here, under lantern light and surrounded by makeshift decorations, the old nerves felt both closer and somehow further away, tangled with memories of safety and fear. Maybe, for once, this was a moment he could let himself try.
"That's not what I asked."
A few seconds passed. Thomas sighed and stood, surprising you. "Fine."
Your eyes widened. "Wait. Really?"
"Don't make me regret this."
You took his hand before he could change his mind.
The centre of the group had cleared out; most people were swaying slowly under lanterns hanging from the trees. Thomas followed you, clearly not eager. His hand hovered for a moment before resting, a little shaky, at your waist. You couldn't help but grin, feeling your cheeks grow warm.
"Oh, my God."
"What?"
"I thought you hated dancing."
Thomas groaned. "I do."
"Then why are you here?"
He looked at you, searching your face for something, his eyes suddenly open and honest. For a brief moment, memories tangled between you: the night by the garden, when you both tried to cook over an open flame and nearly burned your hands, laughing so hard you forgot where you were. You remembered the time Thomas dared you to climb the old watchtower at midnight, the two of you whispering jokes and holding your breath whenever the boards creaked.
There was the time you both got caught sneaking late-night tomatoes from Frypan's stores, scrambling away from the kitchen still grinning. Sometimes, you knew, the others noticed these moments. Frypan would roll his eyes, but always save you an extra bite. Minho would catch your gaze after some shared mischief and shake his head, warning you to be sneakier, but with a knowing smirk that said he liked being in on the secret. Even Newt, who saw everything, would sometimes chime in with a dry comment just loud enough for only you two to hear, making both of you hide your grins. As the memories washed over you, you felt your chest tighten with a kind of aching happiness, the warmth of those moments threading through the nervousness and excitement of now. It made everything around you glow a little brighter, and your heart felt full and fragile all at once. All of it flickered between you, unspoken, and you wondered if he was thinking about it too.
For a moment, all the noise around you seemed distant. The laughter. The crackling fire. None of it mattered. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Because you asked."
A sudden flutter made your heart skip. "That's incredibly cheesy."
"Yeah, well." He shrugged. "Don't tell anyone." You laughed and rested your forehead against his shoulder. "No promises." Thomas rolled his eyes, but his arm tightened around you. "You know," he said quietly, "if anyone asks, you're forcing me to do this."
"Of course."
"And I'm miserable."
"Clearly."
Another song began. Neither of you moved away. Thomas hated dancing. But as he swayed with you under the lanterns, smiling when he thought you couldn't see, you started to think that wasn't completely true. In this small, borrowed moment, you realised Thomas was letting go of fears he rarely voiced and trusting you to see him as he was. There was something new in the way his fingers settled at your waist: a choice, a step forward, the sort of tiny bravery that fans would always remember about him. You felt it in yourself, too, that something had changed between you, quietly and profoundly. Maybe it was just one dance, but under the warmth of the lanterns and the music, it felt like a promise you both carried into whatever would come next. Later, you would look back on this night and realise it was a beginning, the sort of shift that made the future feel uncertain but wide open.
For the first time, you wondered what it might mean to be more than just friends, and if this was the night things quietly started to change. You found yourself wishing for another moment like this, a hope you tucked away beneath your ribs as the laughter faded into the night. Whatever tomorrow brought, you couldn't shake the sense that something important had started between you and Thomas, and that soon, both of you would have to face where it led.
The night air was sharper than anyone had expected. The bonfire crackled in the middle of the beach. Sparks flew while friends laughed, talked, and handed out marshmallows, their sweet toasty scent mingling with the tang of salt on the cool sea breeze. Beneath you, the sand was cold and a little damp, shifting with every move. The air carried a hint of smoke and ocean, and the sugary taste of marshmallow lingered on your tongue. Soft music blended with the sound of waves coming in.
You sat on a driftwood log, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself. You had fun at first, but as the fire burned lower, the night grew colder. A shiver ran through you. "Cold?" You looked up to find Robby standing beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. "A little," you admitted. He smirked. "A little?" Another gust hit, and you hugged your arms around yourself. "Okay, maybe a lot." Robby laughed quietly before dropping onto the log next to you. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
You and Robby had been avoiding your feelings for weeks. It was almost ridiculous, especially after nights like the one you spent watching the Perseid meteor shower together, sharing a blanket and making wishes you never said out loud. Sometimes you remembered exactly how his shoulder felt pressed next to yours, the hush between the shooting stars, wondering if he was making the same silent wish you were. Every now and then, you caught him looking at you, and your heart would surge with hope, only to be chased off by the fear of ruining everything.
After the messy ending of your last friendship-turned-romance, you weren't sure you could handle losing Robby, too. If you confessed and he laughed it off, or worse, looked at you with confusion or pity, you'd not only lose the way he always shared the first burnt marshmallow with you, or the easy jokes, but the sense of family you had built in this group, and the safety you felt beside him. Meanwhile, Robby had told you stories about his parents' rocky marriage, how he never wanted to risk something precious on a chance and see it fall apart. Maybe you were both afraid of what might happen if you finally said something, afraid of hearing the other say no, or of how everything could change. It seemed like everyone else noticed, except for the two of you. Maybe neither of you wanted to speak up first.
The bonfire popped. You stared into the flames. Robby stared at you. Then, after another chilly breeze swept through, he nudged your shoulder with his. "The bonfire's dying," he said casually. "Scoot closer before we both freeze." Your heart skipped. You glanced at him.
"Both freeze?"
"Yeah."
"You seem fine."
"I'm suffering internally."
A laugh escaped you. "Sure you are."
"Terribly."
He edged closer. He moved just a little, not enough for anyone to notice. It was just enough for his arm to brush against yours. Your stomach fluttered. "You know," he continued, looking toward the fire, "it's kind of rude."
"What is?"
"Making me come all the way over here when there are plenty of empty spots closer to the fire."
You raised an eyebrow. "No one told you to sit here."
"Didn't have much choice."
"Oh?"
His gaze finally met yours. "Someone I like was sitting here."
The world suddenly felt very quiet. The waves. The music. The conversations around you. Everything else faded away. Your pulse pounded in your ears, and you became aware of your hands trembling slightly in your lap. Warmth flooded your cheeks, making them feel prickly, while your breath caught in your throat. Robby's expression softened. For once, he wasn't trying to be cool or sarcastic. His foot tapped lightly in the sand, and he fiddled with the zipper on his jacket, eyes darting away for a second before meeting yours again. He just looked nervous. That small, anxious movement made your heart melt even more.
"Someone you like?" you repeated.
A faint blush appeared across his cheeks. "Yeah."
You smiled. "Do I know them?"
He groaned. "Don't do this to me."
You laughed, and the sound seemed to relax him instantly. Without thinking, you leaned against his shoulder. Robby froze for half a second. Then he carefully rested his head against yours. You could feel the warmth from his jacket through your hoodie. It was much better than the bonfire.
"You know," he said softly, "this is probably helping with the freezing situation."
"Definitely."
"Scientific proof, actually."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah."
You tilted your head up. "And what science is this?" Robby smiled. "The kind where I get to sit next to you."
Your cheeks heated immediately. "That's not science."
"It is if I say it confidently."
You shook your head. "You're impossible."
"Maybe." His hand slowly found yours. Tentative. Giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you intertwined your fingers with his. His smile widened. The fire kept burning low, but neither of you noticed.
Sitting there under the stars with Robby, everything already felt warm enough. But inside, warmth mixed with nerves, making your heart beat just a little faster. You couldn't help but wonder if he felt this tangled rush of hope and worry, too. What if this changed everything between you? What if it didn't, and things just went back to the way they were? As you gazed up at the thin crescent moon, a small, restless hope flickered inside you, uncertain but insistent, whispering that maybe something in the air might shift before the night was over.
Almost without thinking, you found yourself opening your mouth to speak, words forming quietly on your lips, ready to bridge the space between you as the fire sputtered and the night waited, patient and full of promise. This time, you let the words escape, just a soft confession, simple and honest, carried by the salt-and-sugar air between you. For a breathless moment, Robby's eyes widened, and then a slow, relieved smile crossed his face. He squeezed your hand, and somehow, all the worries melted away, the uncertain future shining just a little brighter. The bonfire crackled, the waves rolled in, and for the first time all night, you both let yourselves believe in something new.
The summer evening wrapped the neighbourhood in warmth, turning the sky deep blue and gold. It had been only a couple of weeks since the big call downtown, but tonight felt like a welcome break; everyone was grateful for a little normalcy. The barbecue at Chimney's was over, and people slowly headed home until only you and Eddie were left in the backyard.
For a moment, you remembered how different things felt just a year ago, when you and Eddie still tripped over each other, both unsure and dancing around the edges of something neither wanted to name. How, after every shift, you found yourselves lingering a little longer at the station or on Eddie's porch, your conversations getting deeper, laughter softer, secrets slipping out in the dark. You remembered how, at last year’s barbecue, you and Eddie tried to grill marshmallows and accidentally set off the smoke alarm, an inside joke that still made you both grin whenever someone mentioned dessert.
Somewhere between then and now, your connection had shifted: late-night talks, shared silences, standing up for each other when things got hard. It was easy tonight, just the two of you, the unspoken understanding running beneath every word. Christopher went inside to help Buck set up a movie marathon, leaving you and Eddie alone as the sky grew darker.
"You know," Eddie said, nudging your shoulder with his, "I think we officially stayed longer than everyone else."
You smiled. "That's because neither of us wanted to do dishes."
"True."
You walked together toward the edge of the yard, enjoying a comfortable silence. Crickets buzzed in the air, and a sprinkler clicked nearby. Then something flickered near the bushes. You paused. "Was that-?" A tiny flash of gold blinked again. Eddie followed your gaze. "A firefly." Another appeared. Then another. Soon, dozens of tiny lights moved through the darkness, drifting slowly through the grass like fallen stars.
You immediately smiled in delight. "Oh, my god."
Eddie laughed. "What?"
"I haven't seen fireflies in forever." Without thinking, you stepped forward and reached for one. The tiny insect floated just out of reach.
"Oh, you're not getting away that easy."
"You planning on interrogating it?" Eddie asked.
"Maybe."
The firefly blinked and darted away. You gave chase. Eddie watched you for a few seconds, then sighed and followed.
"You're impossible."
"And yet you love me." You said it teasingly, but there was a hint of challenge beneath the words, like you both knew exactly where you stood and neither of you seemed quite ready to say it out loud. The thought made your heart beat just a little faster, because the possibility of naming what was between you felt both exhilarating and terrifying. Part of you wanted to close the gap, to blurt out the truth you had been carrying for months, but doubt caught at the edges of your hope. What if saying it changed everything? What if he didn't feel the same way, or if the delicate balance you shared slipped out of reach? You held your breath, teetering between wanting more and fearing what more might bring.
"Unfortunately." Eddie's reply was dry, but his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than a friend's would.
You gasped. "Wow."
"Tragic, really."
Despite his teasing, Eddie was smiling. It was the kind of smile that always made your heart skip a beat. You spotted another firefly and carefully cupped your hands around it. "Got one!" Eddie stepped closer. Slowly, you opened your hands. The tiny light blinked against your palms. For a moment, both of you simply stared. The firefly glowed softly, lighting up the lines on your skin and shining in Eddie's dark eyes.
"It's beautiful," you whispered.
His gaze lingered on you instead. "Yeah."
Heat crept into your cheeks. The firefly eventually floated free, disappearing back into the night. Neither of you moved. Suddenly, the space between you felt smaller. Softer. Eddie cleared his throat.
"So."
"So?"
"You still trying to catch more?"
You grinned. "Absolutely."
The next twenty minutes devolved into complete chaos. The soft, cool grass brushed against your bare ankles as you chased fireflies. Eddie chased you, his laughter ringing out and mingling with yours in the warm, muggy air. The sweet scent of cut grass and barbecue smoke still hung in the air, heavy and familiar, while your footsteps made barely a whisper over the earth. It was impossible not to laugh, breathless and lightheaded as you darted between shadows and sparks of gold, each giggle catching in your throat as the evening filled with the sound of your joy. You could feel the prickle of grass under your palms when you stumbled, the sharpness quickly forgotten in the electric, sun-warmed hush of summer evening. Your heart pounded for reasons that had nothing to do with running. Being silly together, running wild like kids with fireflies blinking all around, made something loosen in your chest; you felt so open, so easy, so close to him. At one point, he caught one and looked very proud of himself. "See?" he said, holding out his hands. "Professional."
"You caught one."
"Exactly."
"One."
"That's a perfect success rate." You laughed so hard you nearly fell over. Eddie caught your arm before you could. His hand lingered. The laughter faded. The night around you felt very quiet. Fireflies drifted through the darkness, tiny lights floating between the two of you. Eddie's eyes softened. You never thought you’d get used to the way he looked at you. Like you were someone precious. Someone worth protecting. Someone worth loving.
His thumb brushed lightly across your wrist. "I like this." You tilted your head. "Being attacked by bugs?" He chuckled. "No." His gaze moved to the fireflies dancing around you. "Just... this." The evening. The quiet. Being together. Your chest warmed.
You glanced around at the glowing lights surrounding you. The air smelled like summer. The stars were beginning to emerge overhead. And Eddie was standing close enough that you could feel his warmth. A laugh slipped from your lips.
"What?"
You shook your head. "I didn't know catching fireflies could feel this romantic." The smile that spread across Eddie's face was immediate. Warm. Tender. It felt completely unfair.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He stepped closer. Close enough that your shoulders touched.
"Good."
"Good?"
"That means I don’t have to think of a better date idea."
You laughed. "Eddie Diaz, was this a date?"
"I mean..." He glanced around at the glowing fireflies. "Look at this. Nature did most of the work."
"You are unbelievable."
"I know." You rolled your eyes affectionately. Then leaned your head against his shoulder. Eddie immediately rested his cheek against your hair. No teasing. No jokes. Just him. The fireflies continued their lazy dance around you, blinking like tiny lanterns in the dark.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stood there together beneath the stars. With Eddie’s arm around your waist and the quiet of summer all around, it felt like the most romantic night you’d ever had. You glanced up at Eddie and saw a soft, unguarded smile on his lips, his eyes shining with something that looked a lot like hope. He squeezed your waist, just a little, as if he was anchoring himself in this moment with you. In that moment, you found yourself hoping this would be the start of something lasting, that nights like this could become your new reality.
But under that hope was a thrum of fear, too. If you reached for more, if you named what was quietly blooming between you, everything could change. You risked the friendship that had gotten you through so many storms, the easy laughter, and the safe haven you both built together. Yet you also knew the cost of holding back, of always wondering what if. As you looked at Eddie, the warmth in his gaze told you he was hoping for it too. Your heart ached with how much you wanted it.
Not because of the fireflies. But because he was there, and judging by the gentle kiss Eddie pressed to your temple, he seemed to be thinking exactly the same thing.
AGH I love the recent soldier boy fic! Is it possible for me to request a part 2 of possibly the after effects landing to episode 7 then to 8? Ben manages to knock out Homelander before he takes reader away into a secret location before finding the boys. At the end of episode 8, we see reader waiting for Ben to come home and he does. Now they live in the coast where the baby is playing with both of them on the beach making sandcastles. Idk how long the timeskip will be so I was going to say reader popped there baby before they made their escape or she is in her final trimester and the day homelander died she goes into labor and is waiting for Ben. In the end they’re finally away and planning their next babies cause why stop at one (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)
Hey! Thank you for your request!
It has been written and posted, you will find it here:
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · The Life He Chose · Requested by Anonymous
Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female Reader
Genre: Angst, Fluff
Characters: So
Description: After discovering the truth about Soldier Boy's secret family, Homelander becomes obsessed with taking back what he believes should have been his. As events spiral toward the final confrontation, Ben is forced to choose between revenge and protecting the woman and child he loves.
A/N: Part 2 to His Son's Heart, His Wife's Ring
You realise something is wrong long before Ben actually says it aloud.
In the months after Homelander found out about your marriage and pregnancy, tension fills every moment. It hangs in the air like an approaching storm, impossible to ignore. No matter how hard you try, you can’t escape it. At first, you tell yourself it’s just paranoia, just nerves after everything that happened. Homelander hadn’t taken the news well, and the memory of that conversation still lingers in your mind.
You remember the look on his face when Ben showed him the wedding photograph. You remember the disbelief. The hurt. The devastation. You had never seen Homelander look so genuinely wounded before; it had not been rage that frightened you most, but the sadness.
The realisation that he had spent years building a fantasy in his mind, only to discover that reality had moved on without him. But as weeks passed, a subtle shift occurred: that sadness gradually darkened, transforming into something heavier, something you couldn’t name but felt everywhere.
Ben notices it too. Every time Homelander enters a room, Ben’s entire body seems to tense instinctively. His arm finds its way around your waist. His hand settles possessively against the curve of your stomach, anchoring you. His eyes never leave Homelander for very long, always watchful. At first, you think he is simply being protective because of the baby.
You are nearly due now. The pregnancy has changed everything. Ben pretends to complain about your cravings, but he’s always the first to head out whenever you mention wanting something. He grumbles about carrying bags, yet he never lets you carry anything yourself. Every night before bed, he spends a few minutes talking to your stomach, as if the baby can already understand him. One evening, the two of you sit together on the couch in your apartment.
The television plays quietly in the background while your head rests against Ben’s shoulder. A sudden kick makes you gasp softly. Your hand immediately flies to your stomach. “There you are,” you murmur. Ben’s attention shifts instantly. “What happened?”
“The baby kicked.” His expression changes immediately. In that instant, the hard, intimidating Soldier Boy the world fears disappears completely. All that’s left is Ben. Just Ben. Your husband. The father of your child.
He places his hand over yours, waiting patiently. A few seconds pass. Another kick presses against his palm. His entire face lights up as he feels the kick. “There you are, kid.”
The baby kicks again. You laugh softly. “I think they like hearing your voice.”
“Damn right they do.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe.” His gaze remains fixed on your stomach. “But they’re still taking my side.”
The warmth of the moment settles around both of you. For a little while, everything feels normal. Then, without warning, Ben’s light mood fades. You notice the moment his jaw tightens and his eyes grow distant, shifting from safety to worry.
It happens so quickly that most people would never notice it. You do. His eyes narrow slightly. His shoulders tense. The smile disappears. The familiar feeling of being watched crawls down your spine. Slowly, you turn your head toward the window. There’s nothing there. No movement, no sound. Only silence greets you. At least, nothing you can see. But you already know. Homelander. Again.
The next morning, Ben wakes you before sunrise. You blink sleepily as he moves around the room, stuffing clothes into several bags. The rustle of fabric fills the quiet space. It’s too early. Your mind races. For a moment, you simply stare at him. Then concern begins to settle into your chest.
“Ben?”
He doesn’t stop packing. “We’re leaving.” You sit upright immediately. “What do you mean we’re leaving?” His jaw tightens. “I mean, we’re getting out of here.” The seriousness in his voice sends a chill through you.
“Did something happen?”
“Not yet.”
That answer terrifies you far more than if he had said yes. Ben finally turns toward you. For a moment, you see something rare in his eyes. Fear. Not fear for himself. Fear for you. Fear for your child. And that’s enough. You trust him completely.
By noon, you’re both gone. You vanish without a trace. Hours later, civilisation starts to fade behind you. Skyscrapers become small towns. Small towns become empty roads. Eventually, even the roads seem to vanish. When you finally arrive at your destination, the sun is beginning to set. The coastline stretches endlessly before you. Waves crash against rocky cliffs below. The air smells like salt and seawater. The nearest neighbour is miles away.
For the first time in months, you feel like you can breathe. Ben wraps an arm around your shoulders as the two of you stand overlooking the ocean. “It’ll do.”
You smile. “It’ll do?” He shrugs. “It’s got an ocean.”
You laugh. “Such high standards.” He presses a kiss against your temple. “Got the only thing I really care about already.” His hand settles over your stomach. The baby kicks immediately. Ben grins. “There they are.” For a brief moment, everything feels perfect. But perfect moments never seem to last.
A week later, Homelander finds you. The moment it happens, you know. It begins with a low roar, the kind that shakes the house to its bones. Every window in the house rattles violently. Glass sings, and walls seem to hum. Pictures shake against the walls. Your breath catches in your throat. You freeze, heart slamming so hard it feels like another quake inside your ribs. The baby twists anxiously inside you, responding to your fear. For a split second, Ben's hand grips yours like a lifeline, both of you bracing for what is coming. The unspoken terror between you is thick, choking. Somewhere in the house, a cup crashes to the floor. Shadows flicker on the walls, and the silence between each rumble feels razor-sharp. Both of you know: Homelander is here.
You can see his shadow drift past the window, impossibly fast, and then a whoosh overhead as Homelander lands hard in the front yard. He stands just beyond the porch, eyes burning, cape fluttering in the wind. There is menace in the sharp set of his jaw, and for a moment it feels as if the world itself is holding its breath.
Ben rises from his chair instantly. He steps between you and the door, shoulders squared, jaw clenched so tightly you can hear his teeth grind. Words are exchanged outside: low, furious, but their meaning trembles through the walls. You glimpse Ben in the doorway, fists clenched at his sides, facing down Homelander as if nothing in this world could make him back away. Shadows flicker across Ben’s face, stony and determined.
The air crackles between the two men as Homelander hovers inches off the ground, eyes alight with barely restrained anger. Ben is the immovable force, refusing to yield. Each of them, in their own way, is dangerous, undaunted and desperate.
Your heart begins to pound. Ben crosses the room and kneels in front of you. His large hands gently cup your face. His voice is calm. Too calm.
“You stay here.”
“Ben-”
“You stay here.”
The firmness in his tone makes your eyes sting with tears. You hate this. You hate knowing what he’s about to do. You hate not knowing if he’ll come back. His gaze softens. Then his attention shifts to your stomach. A smile appears. The smile is small but genuine.
He places one hand against the baby bump. “Listen up, kid.” The baby immediately kicks. Ben laughs. “Good.” Another kick follows. “You take care of your mom while I’m gone.” Your chest aches. Because beneath his gentle teasing, every word shows how truly afraid he is right now. He’s scared. Not of fighting. Not of dying. Of losing you. Of losing the family he spent his entire life believing he’d never have. And in that moment, as he stands, Ben’s mind is a torrent of fear and hope. He tries to remember every detail: the warmth of your skin beneath his hand, the soft flutter of his child's kicks, the way your eyes meet his with so much love and worry. He wants nothing more than to stay, to protect you both. Each step away feels like tearing himself in two, but he has to go. He tells himself he must be strong for you. When he finally stands, he kisses you deeply. His forehead rests against yours. “I’ll come back.” You nod. Trying to believe it. Trying not to cry. Then he leaves. And all you can do is wait.
Hours pass. Then more. Night falls. The contractions begin shortly afterwards. At first, you think they’re false alarms. Then another one hits. And another. Pain shoots through your body. Your breath catches. Time stutters. The realisation settles over you all at once. The baby is coming. Tonight. Of all nights. The fear becomes overwhelming. Not because of the labour. Because Ben isn’t there.
While the world outside erupts in chaos, the city gripped by the clash between Homelander, Vought, and those still brave enough to resist, you are in a hospital bed, bringing your child into the world. Through the windows, distant sirens echo. You know you would not have made it this far without help: Starlight covering your escape route through the city, MM driving you through back streets in the middle of the night, Frenchie and Kimiko doubling back to throw off anyone who might be following. Even now, you imagine all of them out there, risking everything to keep you safe and doing everything they can to survive and fight back. All around you, the fate of countless lives hangs in the balance, but your world narrows to the silent delivery room, the steady beat of your own heart, and the new life about to begin.
Every contraction feels endless. Every minute feels like an hour. The clock barely moves. Sweat forms on your forehead as the pain builds. You keep checking the door. Hoping. Then finally, a baby’s cry fills the room. Your child. Your beautiful child. The nurse carefully places the tiny bundle into your arms. Tears immediately blur your vision. The baby is perfect. Tiny fingers, nose, and cries. You can’t stop smiling.
For a moment, everything else disappears. The fear. The battle. The uncertainty. Nothing matters except this little life. Then the door opens. You look up. And there he is. Ben. Bruised. Exhausted. Covered in cuts. But alive. He stands in the doorway, breathing hard, bits of dust and scorched fabric clinging to him, a look of stunned disbelief still lingering in his eyes. You search his face for answers, for any sign of what happened. For now, all he says is, "It's over. He won't be coming back." Yet even as he sinks onto the chair beside your bed, you know there is more to the story, something fierce and terrible survived out there, but in this moment, Ben is the one who walked away.
Relief crashes over you with such force that it nearly knocks the breath from your chest. All at once, the ache and worry and fear you had been holding inside release in a torrent, and you start crying all over again; louder, harder than before. The tears are unstoppable, pure and shaking, washing away the terror of waiting and making room for joy. He is here. Ben is alive. Finally, you feel safe enough to let go.
His eyes immediately find you. Then the baby. For several seconds, he simply stands there staring. Completely speechless. Then he slowly approaches the bed. The strongest man in the world suddenly looks terrified. Not because of any enemy. Because he’s afraid of holding his own child.
You laugh through your tears. “Ben.” His eyes never leave the baby. “They’re ours?” Your smile widens. “They’re ours.” His hand trembles slightly as he reaches forward. The baby immediately grabs one of his fingers. And in that moment, Soldier Boy falls completely in love.
Years later, the three of you are sitting together on a quiet beach. The child runs through the sand with a bright bucket in hand while Ben chases after them. The ocean sparkles beneath the afternoon sun. Laughter fills the air. No Vought. No Homelander. No battles. No cameras. Just family. Just peace.
The child drops into the sand beside you and immediately begins demanding help with a crooked sandcastle. Ben sits beside you moments later. His arm wraps around your shoulders. The years have softened him. Not completely. He still complains constantly. Still grumbles about everything. Still insists modern music is terrible. But he’s happy. Truly happy.
As you watch your child play in the sand, Ben presses a kiss against your cheek. Then he smirks. A familiar look appears in his eyes. One you know far too well. “What?” He nods toward the child. “I think we should have another.” You laugh. “Another?”
“Maybe two.”
“Ben.”
“What?”
His grin widens. “We’ve got plenty of beach.”
You shake your head, laughing as he pulls you closer. The ocean stretches endlessly before you. The future stretches even farther. And for the first time in your lives, neither of you is running from anything. The shadows of the past have finally faded, and there is no longer anyone left to threaten the peace you have built. Here, you are truly safe, free to watch your child grow in a world where nothing can touch you.
It all feels almost impossible when you remember all the roads that brought you here: the fear, the escape, the years spent looking over your shoulders. Now, the quiet is not empty but full; each gentle wave, each childish laugh is proof that you endured. This peace is something hard-won, shaped by every sacrifice and every dream you thought would never come true. In this moment, you realise what it truly means to have a home. Not just a place, but a promise, kept at last.
I’m feeling funny today with a hint of smexy. Can I request a soldier boy x reader smut? It’s Halloween time during this whole season 5 and reader tells Ben they should do a couples costume, her idea is cowboy with his cow. Now Ben was looking up costumes and found multiple sexy cow costumes for couples, but he’s only suppose to order his cowboy costume. Here comes Halloween and he expected reader to be in a sexy cow costume only to see her come out with an inflatable cow all giggle. Goes to show Ben is disappointed but he doesn’t show it to her because she looked happy.
Once they got back to his appointment she tells him not to change and she needs help to get out of the costume because she has a gift for him. Once he helped her out her realizes she’s wearing a sexy cow costume underneath just for him and yeah they go crazy. A cow with her cowboy. Next thing ya know a photo on readers Instagram page is trending with a censored photo of the aftermath of her riding Ben saying happy Halloween because she doesn’t care.
Hey! Thank you for your request!
It has been written and posted, you will find it here:
Description: There is a costume communication mix-up between Ben and Y/N, which leads to a steamy reveal and an Instagram post.
Ben scrolled through the costume sites, his eyes narrowing as he listened to you bubble over with excitement. "Cowboy and his cow," you had chirped, giggling at the sheer playfulness of it. He had nodded, clicking 'purchase' on a rugged leather vest, chaps, and a wide-brimmed hat, but his gaze had lingered on the 'Cow' category. He’d seen the options: sheer fabrics, cut-outs that left nothing to the imagination, and bells that promised a rhythmic chime with every movement. He kept his mouth shut, playing the part of the oblivious partner, though the images of you in something skimpy were already searing into his mind.
When Halloween night finally arrived, Ben was ready. He looked every bit the outlaw, the leather hugging his frame, his boots clicking on the hardwood. Then, you stepped out. His heart sank, not out of lack of love, but out of sheer absurdity. You were encased in a giant, round, inflatable cow suit. You looked like a parade float, udders bouncing ridiculously as you waddled toward him, beaming with pride.
"Cute, doll. Real cute," he managed to choke out, his jaw tight. He wanted you, but it was hard to get worked up when you looked like a plush toy.
The moment you both stepped back into the apartment and the door clicked shut, the atmosphere shifted. The playful energy turned electric. "Don't change yet," you whispered, your voice dropping an octave. "Help me out of this thing, I've got a surprise for you."
Ben reached for the zipper at your back. As he yanked it down, the air hissed out in a long, slow wheeze. The suit deflated, collapsing around your ankles like a fallen tent. As you stepped out of the plastic shell, Ben’s breath hitched.
You were wearing a cow-print bikini that was more a suggestion than a garment. The top was two tiny triangles of fabric that struggled to contain your heavy tits, the undersides spilling out, your nipples straining against the thin material. The matching micro-skirt was barely a belt, riding high up your ass and exposing the soft curve of your cheeks. Thigh-high white stockings were held up by lace garters, and around your neck sat a thin black leather collar with a small, polished gold bell. You turned around, a fluffy cow tail attached to the back of the skirt, swishing provocatively, and gave him a look of pure, unadulterated lust.
Ben didn't say a word. The restraint he’d maintained all evening snapped like a dry twig. He lunged forward, grabbing you by the hips and slamming you back against the wall with a thud. He crushed his mouth to yours, his tongue invading your mouth in a hungry, desperate claim. His hands didn't stay still; they slid down to your ass, squeezing the flesh hard, kneading you like dough.
He reached down, yanking the micro-skirt up to your waist. His fingers found your pussy, and he groaned into the kiss—you were already soaking, your juices slicking his fingertips. He didn't waste another second. He ripped open his fly, freeing his cock, which was throbbing and rock-hard, leaking a bead of pre-cum. He hooked one of your legs over his hip, exposing your dripping slit to the cool air, and drove himself inside you in one violent, deep thrust.
You let out a sharp, loud gasp, your head snapping back against the wall. The gold bell around your neck jingled frantically as he began to hammer into you. Clink-clink-clink. The sound synchronised with the wet, slapping noise of his pelvis hitting your thighs. He fucked you with a primal intensity, his leather chaps rubbing against your skin, the friction adding to the heat. He pulled back until he was almost out, then slammed back in, burying his cock to the hilt, hitting your cervix and making your toes curl.
"You little slut," he growled, his voice a low rasp in your ear. "Look at you, dressed like a little cow for me."
He carried you to the couch, never breaking the connection, your bodies glued together by sweat and lust. He dropped you onto the cushions, but you weren't finished. You pushed him back, forcing him to lie flat, and scrambled on top of him. You sat up straight, your tits bouncing wildly, the bikini top barely clinging to you as you sank slowly, inch by inch, onto his length.
"Ride your cowboy, cow," Ben commanded, his hands gripping your waist to guide you.
You obeyed, arching your back and bouncing hard. You began to ride him with a frantic pace, your pussy clenching around him with every downward plunge. The bell on your collar was ringing nonstop now, a manic soundtrack to your encounter. Ben reached up, grabbing your breasts and squeezing them, his thumbs rubbing over your hard nipples through the fabric. He shifted his grip, sliding his hands down to your ass and delivering a stinging slap to your right cheek.
"Ah!" you cried out, the sound mixing with a moan. The slap only fueled you; you leaned forward, your tits pressing against his chest, your mouth finding his as you ground your hips in a circular motion, milking him for everything he had.
Ben couldn't take the teasing anymore. He gripped your hips and flipped you over in one fluid motion, pinning you to the couch on your back. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, opening you up completely. He stared at the sight of his thick cock disappearing into your pink, swollen folds, the juices foaming around the point of entry. He began to pound you again, faster and harder, his movements rhythmic and punishing.
The friction was overwhelming. You began to shake, your breath coming in short, jagged sobs. "Ben! Oh god, Ben, I'm—!"
Your walls suddenly clamped down on him in a series of violent, pulsing contractions. You screamed, your body arching off the couch as you hit a shattering climax. The feeling of you pulsing around him pushed Ben over the edge. He let out a guttural roar, thrusting one last time, burying himself as deep as possible, and flooding your womb with thick, hot ropes of cum. He stayed buried inside you, both of you panting, the only sound in the room the fading, intermittent jingle of the bell.
As you lay there, glistening with sweat and spent, you reached for your phone. You shifted slightly, staying perched on top of him with his cock still plugged deep inside you, the cow-print fabric rumpled and soaked. You snapped a high-angle photo—the image capturing the raw, explicit aftermath of your session.
You posted it to Instagram instantly. The caption read: "Happy Halloween from this cow and her cowboy 💦🐄🤠"
You didn't care about the rules or the risks. Within minutes, the notification bell on your phone began to scream. The image, blurred just enough to be tantalising but explicit enough to be scandalous, went viral overnight. As the comments exploded with thirst and shock, Ben reached up, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you down for a deep, slow kiss.
"Round two," he whispered, his hand sliding down to find your still-wet heat. "And this time, I'm taking that collar off with my teeth."
