Welcome to my masterlist! All works (e.g. Preferences, Headcanons etc.) for each Resident Evil character will be linked under their name. This list will be updated regularly.
List of Rules 📜 (read this first before sending a request)
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As we enter summer, here’s a reminder to anyone with visible self harm scars to let that shit out! It’s too hot to cover up. It’s just skin. Anyone who judges is an asshole. You have every right to be comfortable and cool.
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BF!Fitz is the definition of an attentive boyfriend even while running the free world. He’ll have secret service deliver your favorite takeout from that little spot in DC at 1am when you text him you’re stressed.
He calls you “baby,” “my girl,” or “love” in private, but slips in a respectful “Ms. [Y/LN]” during briefings just to watch you fight a smile.
The age gap hits him hard sometimes. He’ll randomly say things like, “I’m an old man stealing your youth,” and you have to shut him up by climbing in his lap and reminding him exactly why you chose him.
BF!Fitz gets quietly jealous when younger staffers or diplomats flirt with you. He won’t make a scene, but later he’ll pin you against the wall and growl, “They have no idea you’re already mine, do they?” before reminding you with his mouth and hands.
He’s extremely protective of your reputation. If a reporter even hints at something inappropriate about you, Cyrus gets called in at 3am. Fitz’s stance is always: “She’s not some scandal. She’s the woman I love.”
He once said during an argument: “I’ve buried too many things in my life. I’m not burying us. I’ll choose you in front of the whole damn country if I have to.”
Late nights are when he’s most vulnerable. He’ll hold you against his chest, fingers playing with your braids or curls, and confess, “You’re the first person who makes me want to be more than just President. You make me want to be a man worth loving.”
He loves tracing your stretch marks, your curves, your dark skin in the morning light. “Every inch of you is beautiful,” he whispers while kissing them. “Don’t ever let this town make you feel otherwise.”
After tough days, he becomes the big spoon, burying his face in your neck and saying, “Stay right here. The world can wait. I need my girl.”
BF!Fitz is obsessed with pleasing you. He takes his time slow, deep strokes while maintaining eye contact, whispering “Look at me, baby” as he makes you fall apart.
He loves when you ride him in his office chair. Hands gripping your hips, salt and-pepper hair messy, groaning, “That’s my good girl take what you need from me.”
The age gap kink slips out sometimes when he’s deep inside you “I’m too old for you… but I’ll ruin you for anyone younger.” Then he’ll apologize with the sweetest aftercare warm cloths, cuddles, and forehead kisses.
Quickies in the residence turn emotional fast. He’ll press his forehead to yours mid thrust and say, “I love you. I love you so much it scares me.”
He tries to cook for you on rare off days. It’s usually terrible, but the effort (and the flour on his cheek) makes you love him more.
BF!Fitz secretly saves every little note or text you send him. He keeps them in a locked drawer like they’re classified documents.
Family introductions stress him out. He worries your parents will see him as “that old white President who’s too powerful.” But once they see how gently he treats you, they warm up. He still calls your mom “ma’am” every time.
He supports your career whole heartedly. If you want to move up in politics or leave the White House for your own path, he’s your biggest cheerleader even if it makes hiding your relationship harder.
There are nights he pulls away because the guilt hits guilt about the age difference, about what this could do to your future, about his messy past with Mellie. You have to pull him back every time.
He fears you’ll wake up one day and want someone “easier.” You counter with “I don’t want easy. I want you gray hairs, baggage, and all.”
Public announcement fears: He keeps promising “Soon. I won’t hide you forever,” but the timing never feels right. When it finally happens, he holds your hand the whole time.
BF!Fitz buys you jewelry with hidden meanings (a necklace with coordinates of where you first kissed, etc.).
He’s learning how to properly care for your natural hair because he wants to be the one to help you take it down at night.
All your doing is talking, that's what you told yourself when Elliot had asked you to come out and talk. You had been ignoring him after seeing how cozy he had gotten with Rue and Jules after new years, not even bothering to hear his excuse.
You had finally decided to hear him out, stepping into his car...one thing led to another and...
You were in the back seat with your shorts and panties hung around your ankle, Elliot tucked between your shaking thighs and a halfway done blunt between your index and middle finger.
"Ellyyy- shiiitt.." you whined out when he sucked at your aching clit.
Fingers pulling at his curly hair, your hips grinding up against his mouth, Elliot pulling back to admire how slick you had gotten, taking the blunt from your hands and taking a hit.
Your eyes locked onto his as he blew the smoke onto your weeping cunt, clenching around nothing from how nasty he was, he placed the blunt neatly between your fingers and sunk back down.
"Fuck, this is addictive...why would I go to anyone else" he muttered between your legs.
You could feel the heat building up in your core, your legs locking around his head and weakly humped at his face, whining when he forced your hips down onto the seat.
"Uh-uh...let me do all the work, I wanna please my baby." His middle and ring finger slid into you and curled to find that sweet spot that had you seeing stars.
He came up again, taking the blunt out of your hands and taking a hit, moving up your body and blowing the smoke into your face before he locked his lips with yours.
The taste of your juices on his tongue as you swapped spit, you moaned into his mouth, feeling the way his fingers kept hitting your spot over and over-
"Elly- im gonna cum, ouh shittt...Elliot please.!" You cried out, tears beginning to form.
He chuckled at how quick you broke apart, looking down to see how slick and wet you made his fingers, Elliot groaned at how tightly you squeezed him. Your orgasm hit right through you, your fingers gripped tightly to his shirt while your legs shook.
Your hands let go of his shirt and shot down to his wrist, trying to slow down his movements, feeling the overstimulation beginning to creep up on you.
"Mmmnononono, Elly i cant- its too muchhh fuuckkk" your words were slured and choked out.
The heel of his hand had pressed on your clit, moving with each thrust of his fingers, he peppered kisses onto your face and caught stray tears with his tongue.
"No can do mama, I wanna make it all up to you." He whispered into your ear, tongue licking up your lobe before he softly nipped at it.
The blunt long forgotten, all you could focus on was how good he was pleasing you, your cunt clenching around his fingers yet again, juices spilling down onto the seats under you two.
"Look at that baby, you can give me another one yeah?"
''Honey I'm home!'' Manolo's voice rung through your large home, his shoes clicked with each step up the marble staircase. The closer he got to your shared room, he could hear some muffled pop song from behind the door and the strong sent of your mixed perfumes.
''I'm in here baby!'' Your sweet cherry voice over the music, Manny opened the two large doors to be met with a sight he can't get enough of.
You applying a cherry scented body oil, your hair pinned up with rollers and in that adorable pink baby doll night dress, his eyes raked over your fresh French mani pedi, finally looking up to meet those big brown eyes that he gets lost in everytime.
''Oh Doll, I don't think I'll ever get sick'a'ya.'' His voice dropping an octave as he strutted to you, hand instinctively falling to hold at your thick hips, his lips ghosting over your glossed ones.
You giggled, throwing your hands over his shoulders, getting on your tippy toes to get closer to his face, batting your lashes at how he managed to drink up your image affectionately and with lust.
''You smell like wine and whiskey, I hope you aren't driving drunk papa.'' You pouted, constantly warning him about how he shouldn't be like his brother. You saw what happened to Tony after he got busted, and it scared you shitless- not cause you had a relation to him, but cause you feared anything happening to your sweet husband.
''Never!...Tony and Elvira had a...uh argument, you know how they are now,'' He kissed your cheek, his large hand sliding down to cup and grip at your ass under the night gown, feeling him smirk on your skin when you let out a gasp.
''And besides, why would I wanna get wasted there when I got my own drug 'ere at home.'' Manolo kissed you, his tongue grazing over your gloss, humming at the strawberry-cherry flavor, He'd pick you up, as if you weighed nothing.
''S'that right?'' You giggled, legs crossed behind his back, feeling him throb against your plush stomach. He only gave you that sly smirk- that said he'd only focus on you, and you alone.
''Oh Este coño es jodidamente adictivo mamá.'' He groaned , looking down between you to see the way he disappeared inside you, the only evidence of his work was the thick cream ring right at his base.
''Mmm, right there papa- shiittt, yesyesyes!!!'' Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, your legs shook under his weight as he had them pressed up against you with the back of your thighs. Your fingers dug into the flesh of his arms.
Each thrust fucking a choked out moan from you, your hair long fallen out the clips and spread messily under you, your gloss smeared on both your lips and down his torso. Manny turned his head, kissing at your ankle, specifically on the cursive 'M' in a heart, his lips trailing to kiss the sole of your foot, getting a whine from you.
''Yeah baby? You gonna cum on my cock? Wanna make mess on papa eh?'' His accent was stronger as he coaxed you to your orgasm, removing his hand from your thigh to press his fingers to your clit, slow circles contrasting his fast paced thrusts.
''Fuck! oh god fuck- Manny, I'm cummin'- ah!'' You practically screamed, hand flying to push on his abdomen, the soft trail of hair under your palm. Your juices coating you both and down onto the baby pink silk sheets of your bed, Manny kept thrusting until he spilled into you, instantly falling over onto you, his weight pressing you further into the bed.
''Got you so full, I'm expecting some mini Manolo's around 'ere soon.'' He kissed your face, brushing stray hairs out of your face to get a good look at you, your lips in a pout with your lipstick smudged up, your neck adorned 2-3 new marks.
You let out a giggle, only to be cut off with a squeak when he pinched at your nipple, his lips wrapped around the other, his hips picking up on a slow thrust. ''Can't get 'nough 'a ya, Tan jodidamente adictiva bebé.'' He groaned onto your skin.
''Now, be a doll f'me and give me another orgasm, eh baby?''
''Honey I'm home!'' Manolo's voice rung through your large home, his shoes clicked with each step up the marble staircase. The closer he got to your shared room, he could hear some muffled pop song from behind the door and the strong sent of your mixed perfumes.
''I'm in here baby!'' Your sweet cherry voice over the music, Manny opened the two large doors to be met with a sight he can't get enough of.
You applying a cherry scented body oil, your hair pinned up with rollers and in that adorable pink baby doll night dress, his eyes raked over your fresh French mani pedi, finally looking up to meet those big brown eyes that he gets lost in everytime.
''Oh Doll, I don't think I'll ever get sick'a'ya.'' His voice dropping an octave as he strutted to you, hand instinctively falling to hold at your thick hips, his lips ghosting over your glossed ones.
You giggled, throwing your hands over his shoulders, getting on your tippy toes to get closer to his face, batting your lashes at how he managed to drink up your image affectionately and with lust.
''You smell like wine and whiskey, I hope you aren't driving drunk papa.'' You pouted, constantly warning him about how he shouldn't be like his brother. You saw what happened to Tony after he got busted, and it scared you shitless- not cause you had a relation to him, but cause you feared anything happening to your sweet husband.
''Never!...Tony and Elvira had a...uh argument, you know how they are now,'' He kissed your cheek, his large hand sliding down to cup and grip at your ass under the night gown, feeling him smirk on your skin when you let out a gasp.
''And besides, why would I wanna get wasted there when I got my own drug 'ere at home.'' Manolo kissed you, his tongue grazing over your gloss, humming at the strawberry-cherry flavor, He'd pick you up, as if you weighed nothing.
''S'that right?'' You giggled, legs crossed behind his back, feeling him throb against your plush stomach. He only gave you that sly smirk- that said he'd only focus on you, and you alone.
''Oh Este coño es jodidamente adictivo mamá.'' He groaned , looking down between you to see the way he disappeared inside you, the only evidence of his work was the thick cream ring right at his base.
''Mmm, right there papa- shiittt, yesyesyes!!!'' Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, your legs shook under his weight as he had them pressed up against you with the back of your thighs. Your fingers dug into the flesh of his arms.
Each thrust fucking a choked out moan from you, your hair long fallen out the clips and spread messily under you, your gloss smeared on both your lips and down his torso. Manny turned his head, kissing at your ankle, specifically on the cursive 'M' in a heart, his lips trailing to kiss the sole of your foot, getting a whine from you.
''Yeah baby? You gonna cum on my cock? Wanna make mess on papa eh?'' His accent was stronger as he coaxed you to your orgasm, removing his hand from your thigh to press his fingers to your clit, slow circles contrasting his fast paced thrusts.
''Fuck! oh god fuck- Manny, I'm cummin'- ah!'' You practically screamed, hand flying to push on his abdomen, the soft trail of hair under your palm. Your juices coating you both and down onto the baby pink silk sheets of your bed, Manny kept thrusting until he spilled into you, instantly falling over onto you, his weight pressing you further into the bed.
''Got you so full, I'm expecting some mini Manolo's around 'ere soon.'' He kissed your face, brushing stray hairs out of your face to get a good look at you, your lips in a pout with your lipstick smudged up, your neck adorned 2-3 new marks.
You let out a giggle, only to be cut off with a squeak when he pinched at your nipple, his lips wrapped around the other, his hips picking up on a slow thrust. ''Can't get 'nough 'a ya, Tan jodidamente adictiva bebé.'' He groaned onto your skin.
''Now, be a doll f'me and give me another orgasm, eh baby?''
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in a way, you & tyler are like cats. he's the stray cat that keeps showing up at your door, clawing and whining while all wet, grimy, and reeking of blood and dusty basement aroma. you're the princessy indoor cat, soft and well-kept. surrounded by friends who see the red flags and are begging for you to get away...
he likes to appear at ungodly hours of the night, randomly like a feral stray who's chosen you. of course, he prowls quietly before being all mischievous and wrecking havoc like a cat who has the zoomies right when u really wanna sleep…
perhaps it's brad pitt’s spiky hair or his very yummy biteable biceps, but meow! >:3
or... tyler asking his sweet girlfriend to check if the factory's still functional after a few low blows.
warnings : suggestive leaning to smut!!<3
( 🏷 @callme-holly )
♱ *ೃ.⋆
Steam coils in the small bathroom like it’s trying to suffocate the light. You’ve got a candle lit on the edge of the sink, something vanilla-scented and soft —violently out of place next to the man slouched in your bathtub.
Tyler's arms hang lazily on the porcelain edges. There’s a bruise blooming along his left ribs, a little smear of dried blood by his eyebrow, and his split lip glistens pink in the warm light. He looks like hell.
You’ve got a sponge in one hand, fingertips gentle as you trail it along the curve of his collarbone. You’re focused, dutiful even — until his breath hitches for the third time in less than a minute.
"You're starin'," he murmurs, one eye cracking open. "You like watchin' me take it like a champ, huh?"
You hum, not even indulging that line of thought. Not yet. “You’re filthy. You stink like blood and smoke and bad decisions.”
Tyler laughs, short and raspy. “Mmm. Bad decisions taste the best though.”
“Mm-hmm,” you hum, rolling your eyes. “The only thing you're tasting is blood, and we both know it.”
He grins through swollen lips. “Babe. You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
You don’t answer. You just sigh in exhasperated affection tilting your head, lips pressed together as you rinse the cloth, drag it down the line of his spine again. Tyler shudders under your touch all twitching muscle, half-lidded eyes, and the occasional groaned hum, like the water itself is some decadent sin.
You press the cloth to a bruise on his ribs, and he hisses—not in pain, no, Tyler Durden doesn’t do pain like normal people—but in something closer to amusement.
"Fuck, baby, you’re gonna rub me raw before I even get to the good part,"
You roll your eyes, running the sponge down his arm. He's got a split lip, half-healed, but he keeps licking at it like a dog worrying a wound. He groans quietly as your hand brushes a particularly dark bruise on his ribs.
You’ve seen him beaten worse. You’ve also seen him completely feral from a fight. But tonight? He’s somewhere in between —drunk on adrenaline, half-limp from satisfaction, and resting all his weight against the warmth of your body with his head tilted back against your chest.
"Fuck, that was a good one," he sighs, tilting his head back against the porcelain, eyes half-lidded. His voice is rough, wrecked from shouting, from laughing, from winning. "Bastard got me with a right hook like his wife caught him cheating. Worth it."
You laugh softly, shaking your head and dragging the washcloth over his shoulder, tracing the knotted muscle there. He’s warm under your hands, alive in that feral way he always is after a fight: electric and loose, like a live wire stripped bare.
Then, without warning, he shifts, water sloshing as he spreads his legs wider, knees bumping the sides of the tub. "Speaking of hits," he drawls, voice dropping into something lazy, dangerous, "got a few good shots to the family jewels tonight. Real fuckin’ thoughtful of ‘em."
You blink. "…What."
He cranes his neck to look at you, grin is all teeth, crooked and bloody at the edge. "Y’know. Nut shots. Dick punches. The ol’ sack-tap special." He rolls his hips slightly, water rippling, and your eyes flick down—because of course they do—before snapping back up to his face.
"You’re fine," you mutter, going back to scrubbing his collarbone like you weren’t just staring.
"Am I?" His voice is syrup-thick, mocking. "You sure? ‘Cause I’d hate to be walking around with damaged goods and not even know it."
You frown at him in the candlelight, washcloth paused in mid-air. "You’re joking."
He spreads his legs wider under the water lazyly, the movement sending a small wave sloshing over the edge of the tub. "Do I look like ’m joking?"
He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, with all the delicacy of a toddler demanding attention, he grabs your wrist and guides your hand under the water, trailing it very intentionally southward with a low, satisfied groan.
"Tyler—"
"C’mon, doc," he groans, voice dripping with exaggerated agony. "Gotta make sure the factory’s still operational."
You glare at him. “You’re not even planning to have kids.”
“Exactly,” he groans. “That’s why these two are purely recreational, sweetheart.”
You’re torn between laughing and shoving him under the water. But his skin is hot under your touch, and despite his bullshit, he’s half-hard already, because of course he is—Tyler could get shot in the leg and still pop a boner if someone looked at him the right way.
“Just—” He pants dramatically. “Just check if everything’s still… functional. For science. I’m worried.”
You can’t help the huff that escapes you, exhasperated. He’s such a menace like this: flushed cheeks, sore muscles, and still managing to grind himself slightly against the edge of the tub under your hand, half-whining with every motion.
"They seem fine," you mutter, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens.
"Gonna need a more thorough inspection," he purrs, guiding your fingers over himself, his breath hitching when you (against your better judgment) give in and curl your hand around him.
“God, you’re lucky you’re hot,” you mutter.
“Correction,” he says, eyes fluttering shut again as your fingers skim low on his abs. “I’m lucky you’re hot. And that you let me in your house. And your bath. And—fuck—your hands.”
You pull away just to mess with him. He lets out a pitiful whine.
“Hey! No, nononono—”
“You’re fine,” you say, suppressing a smirk. “They’re not broken.”
“But I might be,” he whines, shifting around dramatically in the water. “Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually.”
“Spiritually,” you echo.
“I almost died, babe.”
“You got a black eye.”
“That’s a pre-death warning.”
“Uh-huh.”
Tyler pouts. Actually pouts. Lips bruised and pink, his jaw stubbled and wet. He tilts his head back with a pitiful moan, dragging your arm hand down again.
You quirk an eyebrow and splash water directly into his face.
He howls laughing.
You glare. He just raises his brows, all faux innocence, then grabs your wrist and yanks your hand underwater before you can react. Your palm slaps against his thigh, then—oh fuck—higher, fingers brushing coarse hair, then hot skin, and—
"Tyler!"
"C’mon, doc," he purrs, guiding your grip around him, his own fingers tight on yours. "Gimme a professional opinion?"
He’s half-hard already, the bastard, thick and heavy in your hand, and when you try to pull away, he just groans, low and filthy, hips rolling up into your touch.
"Mmm, yeah, that’s it," he sighs, head tipping back, throat working. "Gotta be thorough. Can’t have my favorite medic half-assing the exam."
You squeeze—just to shut him up—and he chokes, laughing, bucking into your grip.
"Fuck! Yeah, that’s the spirit." His free hand grabs the edge of the tub, knuckles white. "Keep going. Y’know, for science."
You should pull away. You should. Like you've done twice already. But his skin is hot, the water making everything slippery, and he’s already hard just from the loose grip he's forced your hand into, the bastard.
"You’re impossible," you mutter, but your fingers curl around him anyway, giving an experimental stroke.
Tyler’s head thunks back against the tub, a loud, filthy groan ripping out of him. "Fuuuuck, yeah, that’s— mmm, right there—"
"Oh my god, you’re such a fucking drama queen," you huff, but you don’t stop, working him slow under the water, watching his hips twitch up into your grip.
"Gotta make sure the factory’s still operational, right? Gotta— fuck—gotta test the equipment—" You roll your eyes but pick up the pace, thumb swiping over the head just to hear him whine. "You’re ridiculous."
"Ridiculously hard for you, baby," he slurs, back arching, water sloshing dangerously close to the edge. "C’mon, c’mon, just— right there, just like that—" You twist your wrist just so, thumb pressing into that sensitive vein underneath, and Tyler melts.
You squeeze, just to watch his abs clench, and he snarls, hips jerking. His cock is hot in your hand, flushed dark and leaking against your fingers, the water doing fuck-all to hide how messy he is, how desperate he’s getting.
"That all you got?" he taunts, but his voice is wrecked, breath coming in ragged bursts. You know it means he's about to tip over the edge.
So you speed up, twisting your wrist just the way he likes, and god, the noise he makes—a broken, punched-out moan, his thighs trembling, his free hand clawing at your shoulder like he’s trying to anchor himself.
"Fuck—fuck—" His hips stutter, his cock pulsing in your grip as he comes, thick stripes of cum spilling over your fingers, mixing with the water in hazy, swirling ribbons. His head tips back, throat working as he gasps, his entire body tense, shaking, before he finally collapses against the tub, boneless and grinning like the fucking devil.
"Diagnosis?" he pants, cracking one eye open to smirk at you. "Still fully operational."
You flick water at his face. "You’re insufferable."
Tyler just laughs, low and satisfied, dragging you closer by the hair to lick into your mouth like he’s claiming victory.
Tom would be visibly enamored by you. It'd be pretty obvious to anyone - even strangers. You'd catch him with his eyes on you a lot - even when (to you) you're simply doing nothing at all.
He likes to give you little trinkets and baubles that he finds that remind him of you. Sometimes he'd just leave them for you to find rather than presenting it as a gift.
He'd charm your friends and/or family pretty easily. Though some more perceptive people might find him a bit creepy, if they're around him enough.
He'd inevitably mimic some of your mannerisms and speech patterns. That's common in close relationships of all kinds, but it'd be more noticeable with Tom.
He'd be attached to you at the hip like a lost puppy that you gave some scraps to. He'd want to be around you as much as you'd let him, even if you're sitting together in silence.
Can't lie to you, babe, there's gonna be some light stalking. It is what it is. Tom would try not to make it obvious so that he didn't scare you off, but eventually you'd catch on no matter how well he tried.
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so! in honor of my first "fic" (slashers that I think could pick me up) getting over 100 likes, I wanted to make this!!!
this actually ended up being more hugging centered then I had planned
cut for length! 🖤
Micheal Myers
• is picking you up by the armpits idc argue with the wall
• he does NOT give a shit if you complain, probably thinks it’s cute honestly
• like picking up a very noisy, chubby kitten
• if he’s picking you up from behind I feel like he would still go for under the armpits
• but instead, putting his arms there and his forearms under your chest (imagine a child holding their stuffed animal close to their chest, that’s what it looks like)
• you’ll have to ask nicely to be put down, he won’t do it if you’re yelling and hitting him (non violent of course, not that you would make the mistake of genuinely hitting him)
• OH I think he would also pick you up similar to the second way but with his arms over yours as well, pinning them to your sides
Thomas Hewitt
• doing the boys separate unlike last time because I think they would definitely do this differently
• I think that Tommy would pick you up and carry you in the most traditional way
• your legs around his torso, arms around his neck and head resting on him while his arms are under your thighs to hold you up
• I think he would absolutely love the closeness of it
• if he’s sitting while holding you like that, and you fall asleep he will simply die.
• he would honestly probably pick you up if you’re being stubborn or overworking yourself out in the Texas heat, bringing you inside or to a shady spot (or being your shady spot if there isn’t one)
Bubba sawyer
• my big fat husband!!!!
• oh I love him he’s such a cuddle bug
• picks you up similar to how Micheal picks you up from behind, only for Bubba it’s both lol
• I think him picking you up would always end up being a hug-pick up
• he’s literally a big bear
• mumbling and giggling while bouncing on his feet with you in his arms
• please kiss him oh my god
• PIGGY BACK RIDES
• sleepy piggy back rides if you ask nice enough
• except he is going to do it either way, he just wants to hear a "please" (who am I kidding he’ll do it even without one)
• he literally cannot say no to you, especially when you look up at him all sleepy and drowsy
Rusty Nail
(his handsss 🤤)
• my giant old man husband
• definitely the type to pick you up by throwing you over his shoulder if he personally deems your behavior "bratty" enough (and all you did was make an old man joke)
• ACTUALLY HE’D PROBABLY DO THAT TO PROVE HE’S STILL STRONG EVEN THOUGH HE’S GETTING OLD
• just give him a moment to stretch first trust 💔
• he also feels like a bridal style carry kind of man in my mind
• only to then make a dumb joke about "sweepin' ya off yer feet."
• I hate him (I need him.)
• he might give you a piggy back ride too
• just that, unlike Bubba, he actually won’t do it unless you say please first
• bat your eyelashes up at him, it gets him every time trust me
• big heavy man giving big heavy bear hugs
• he’s gonna bury his face in your neck (he’s full on sniffing you…) and never let go
Ben, walking in on (reader) getting out of the shower, looking down: See that’s how it should be.
(Reader), internally: What the fuck-
Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female Reader
Tags/Warnings: Reader has a bush, suggestive, Soldier Boy loving her bush, him being descriptive
Legal's notes: Hahaha. I can see it in my mind.
You thought you were home alone, so you went out naked, your hair loose and still damp, walking to the closet to grab your clothes when you heard someone at the door. You turned around, startled, and saw it was Ben.
“Damn, Ben, I didn't know you were home.”
But he just looked at you, slowly letting his gaze travel down your wet body until it reached your crotch.
“This.” He said, pointing at your privates. “This is how it should be.”
You looked at him, confused, and glanced down at your midsection. You weren't one to shave down there; at most, you trimmed, but honestly, you almost never touched your pubic hair.
What the fuck? You thought, looking back at him.
“You're disgusting.”
“Disgusting?” He raised both eyebrows and slowly walked toward you. “Why? Because I love a woman with pubic hair?” He pointed at you. “Look at you. A fucking beautiful grown woman, naked as God made her, with a bush on my favorite part of her body. And wet.”
“This can't possibly turn you on that much. It's just hair.”
“It's natural.” He placed his hands on your hips. “And it's fucking perfect.” He ran his fingertips through your curls and you bit your lower lip. “I imagine getting lost and choked in this jungle and not even finding your clit. But of course, I always do.” He winked at you.
You rolled your eyes.
“This is getting out of hand.”
And just as you were about to turn around to grab your clothes from the closet, Ben gripped your hips tightly, pinning you to the spot, and knelt down.
The next thing he did was bury his face in your pubic hair and move it from side to side, feeling like it was scratching his skin.
