soldier boy x fem! reader
description: when missions end and the world finally shuts up for a while, you teach americas former poster boy how to play animal crossing.
fluff ๑ period mood swings rip ๑ strong language ๑ 1.6k words
Missions like this always meant a lot of waiting around, and if you had to endure another hour of raw-dogging your period cramps with nothing but tense silence, you’d lose it.
So, you’d brought your Nintendo Switch, packed it with the rest of your mission gear because, why not? You might’ve been running with The Boys, but that didn’t mean you were part of the “I’m not like other girls” epidemic.
The soft Animal Crossing music chimed through the air, sounding hilariously out of place in the world’s most miserable warehouse.
You didn’t notice the way Ben’s shoulders went rigid by the window until his gravelly voice broke the quiet.
He was wound tight, like a drawn bowstring, finger hovering over the trigger on his pistol. “Thought I heard somethin’.”
You glanced around, but the place was empty. Just dingy walls, broken desks, and machinery scattered like debris.
He was probably high off his ass again. You shrugged and ducked your head back to your screen.
His head whipped around, green eyes narrowing, every instinct still on alert.
Then he followed the sound to you, sitting there cross-legged and absorbed in your screen as pixelated villagers scurried across it.
Ben exhaled sharply. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”
“You kids can’t go five fuckin’ minutes without gluin’ your eyes to those things,” he grumbled.
You didn’t look up. “It’s called a Nintendo Switch, old man.”
“Yeah? The hell are you doin’ on that thing?” he asked, mild curiosity breaking through his usual irritation as he turned back toward the window with his binoculars.
You focused harder on your screen.
As much as you loved Ben, and that deep, sexy, gravelly voice of his...
It was fucking grating right now.
“I’m terraforming," you explained. "Figured I’d make myself useful.”
He scoffed. “You’re about as useful right now as Cum Guzzler over there.”
You scoffed. Then, quieter, “You must be on your period too…”
His head snapped around. “What was that, sweetheart?”
You had a town to build. “Gosh—nothing.”
“That’s right. One more word outta you and I’m smashin’ that fuckin’…flip of yours.” He warned, tone sharp as he gave your hand a soft nudge with his boot.
You looked up at him, catching that playful flicker in his eyes that always betrayed him. The tough-guy act didn’t hold water when it came to you.
“Leave me and my flip alone,” you huffed, scooting away.
He hummed dismissively, but you caught the grin he bit back before he turned back to the window.
A few hours later, the mission was done, but the tension still lingered in your bones.
And to top it all off, you couldn’t find your damn charger.
All you wanted was to rot in bed, scroll mindlessly while Ben rambled as he watched TV beside you.
Instead, you’d been pacing the room for ten minutes, muttering as you tore through drawers and bags.
Ben was stretched out against the headboard, watching some war movie with the volume too low to hear. His hair was damp from the shower, a drop sliding down his temple when he turned to look at you.
“Shit…slow down,” he rasped lazily. “You’re makin’ me dizzy stompin’ around like that.”
“I can’t find my charger.”
Finally, the blessed white cord appeared, hidden under your laptop. “God—finally,” you sighed.
The relief was short-lived. You slammed the drawer shut too quickly and caught your pinky.
You hissed, bringing your finger up. Blood welled where the skin had peeled back.
“Shit, it’s bleeding,” you muttered weakly.
You yanked the drawer open again, rummaging for a bandage and tossing the wrappings and charger to the floor in jerky frustration.
“Jesus,” Ben muttered, watching you from the bed. Then, dryly, “You on the rag or somethin’?”
The drawer slammed hard enough to rattle the picture frames.
“Yeah, actually. I am, asshole.”
The smirk vanished. He leaned back, eyebrows raised in honest-to-God shock. He was expecting a snicker or a quip back, but the water springing in your eyes drove a knife through his chest.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the buzz of the TV.
“Sorry,” you murmured shakily, turning away before he could see your eyes well up. You swiped the tears fast, angry at yourself for letting him see any of it.
You heard his feet cross the floor slowly.
“Hey,” you heard from behind you, voice uncharacteristically vulnerable, uneasy like he was approaching a wounded animal. “-I was just bein' a dick, sweetheart. Shouldn't of said that...”
You shook your head, "It's fine."
He reached out, large hands wrapping gently around your waist under your sleep shirt, calluses scraping lightly against your skin. “C’mere.”
You finally let him pull you in and guide you to the bed, noticing the way he glanced at you from the corner of his eye every so often. You sank beside him, pressing your face into his chest with a sniff.
His hand hovered uncertainly before settling on your back, patting in awkward, uneven rhythms, like he was trying to remember how comfort worked.
He leaned down, trying to meet your eyes, “Wanna dope up on some Advil?”
Normally that'd make you laugh, but today you just shook your head no.
He nodded, eyes flitting around for a moment as the gears in his brain turned.
His hand then slipped under your waistband and rested there, the heat radiating from it encompassing your lower stomach, "I'll just massage you, sound good?”
“That's okay,” you murmur shakily, “I’m not really cramping—I’m just…in a shitty mood.”
After a long silence, he spoke up again. “Look, I don’t bleed outta my dick or anything,” he said seriously. “But I get it. I feel like shit sometimes too.”
You let out a weak laugh, muffled against his shirt. “I appreciate your version of empathy”
He huffed. “Hey, I’m tryin’ here.” Then, tilting his head back with a pleading look, “Christ, give me a fuckin’ manual.”
Your laugh came easier that time. His hand shifted again, tracing slow, steady circles against your stomach.
Then his gaze caught something over your shoulder, your Switch on the nightstand.
Ben reached for it, squinting. “Here,” he muttered, handing it to you. “Let’s play on your…slip, or whatever the fuck this is.
You blinked and laughed, wiping your eyes. “You don’t have to—”
“Yeah, well,” he cut in, fumbling to turn it on, “I’m doin’ it anyway.”
You showed him how to power it up and navigate the menus, knowing damn well he wasn’t really listening — just humoring you.
He frowned down at the screen, green eyes gazing down at your little villager, same hair, same clothes, pacing circles in front of a house suspiciously like yours.
For a moment, he just watched. The character stopped, waved a stubby arm. The corners of his mouth twitched upward despite himself.
He nudged the joystick, making the villager walk, turn, jump. It was ridiculous, and kind of amusing.
Like controlling a miniature version of you: bossy, restless, impossible to shut up.
“Why the hell’s the kid talkin’ to a raccoon?”
“That’s Tom Nook,” you said patiently. “He runs the island.”
“Shady little bastard’s probably pimpin’ out the town broads,” he chuckled.
You rolled your eyes. Hughie was right, everything Ben says is kind of gross, but heck, you loved that about him.
He cursed softly as he fumbled with the tiny controls, his massive thumbs clumsy on the buttons.
You bit back a grin as his brows furrowed, tongue peeking out slightly in concentration.
He jumped when the cheerful jingle of a caught fish sounded. His head snapped up, eyes bright with triumph.
“Atta boy, you’re getting better,” you teased.
“Hah! Look at that!” His grin widened, chest puffed out like he’d just won a medal. “Bringin’ food home like a real man.”
You smiled, soft and fond. “You caught a sea bass, you real-man.”
“It’s the most common fish in the game.”
His chest fell. “Ah fuck.”
You shook your head, resting against his arm as he leaned back, Switch still glowing faintly in his hands.
“Stop pressing so hard, you’ll break it.”
“You know,” he muttered, still focused on the screen, “maybe I should hand you this thing every time you start mouthing off again. Worked like a goddamn pacifier earlier.”
You huffed, smacking a hand against his chest.
“Kiki…” he read, unimpressed. “The fuck does this thing want?”
He skipped through a few lines of dialogue impatiently, but one made him pause.
“What’d she say?” you asked.
He didn’t answer right away, thumb hovering over the joystick.
You lift your head and Kiki’s dialogue popped up, her little speech bubble glowing softly against the dark.
“It’s like I gave you a little piece of my heart, and you kept it safe and warm.”
He huffed quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting something back.
You half-expected a joke about how “that cat needs a damn shrink.”
But the usual smirk never came. He just sat there wordlessly and the room seemed smaller for it.
Then, without warning, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.
It wasn’t as hungry and overwhelming as usual, but soft in a way that caught you completely off guard.
When he pulled back, the hand engulfing the side of your face remained still, finger tracing your cheek bone.
His voice was soft, almost a murmur,
“If you tell anyone this happened, I'm chucking this shit out the goddamn window.”
Of course.
"My lips are sealed," You blatantly lie, before breaking away and picking the console back up.
"...I'm serious."
"I know," you shrugged in faux innocence.
Kimiko and Annie would be hearing every detail tomorrow.
a/n: my switch is coming in a few days yerrr im so excited (≧∇≦)
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
2087
