#but ay here it is i suppose

[rimouskis]

one of my best friends is about to have a baby today........... so weird to be on the periphery of something so life changing. I want to go "life is going to change forever" as if it hasn't already

[lcpmon]

wait. if peony raised his kids in the crown tundra then.

[sollucets]

I warned you, should you open fic requests I’d be coming straight for your inbox with AkkAyan. I’m obsessed with on our way up/the sky full of stars and I wondered if you’d be willing to write something of it we didn’t get to see like their cooking date from chapter 4 or dinner at Akk’s house from chapter 3

tiis do you know i love you dearly

context from my fic on our way up:

The thing is, he and Akk had spent last night doing crimes against the culinary arts (jointly trying to make stir-fried basil pork in the tiny dorm room kitchen in a small disaster that ended in takeout) + The disaster at his dorm had been almost entirely Akk’s fault, and he’ll die on that hill.

so! as requested i took this briefly referenced incident and proceeded to project my personal (lack of) cooking skills on akk for about 1k(?? these things happen) of fluff. this ficlet brought to you by my best friend thaicookbooktv (and my milestone event. i guess)

💜

"Can I trust you with that?"

Akk glances up from the two eggs he's just started frying to glare at his boyfriend. There's a smug look on Aye's face as he leans against a counter on the other side of the cramped dorm kitchen (and thus within potential grabbing reach) and uses a little bowl to crush up some garlic and peppers (making grabbing probably a bad idea). "I know how to make eggs, Ayan."

"If you say so," Aye tells him, singsong. "I've never once seen you cook."

"That doesn't mean anything." Returning his gaze to the pan, Akk startles to see them more cooked than they should be and hurriedly, awkwardly gets them flipped before Aye gets to pretend it's evidence.

If it'd been anyone else, Akk might have admitted to the truth, which is that he does (sort of) know how to make eggs, and he can grill meat if he's invited to barbecue, but much more is beyond him. He thinks he could be good at it, with time, but he’d never learned to cook much at home, and at school he’d had so much to do that it had always been faster and easier and cheaper to have cafeteria leftovers or something instant. 

But it isn’t anyone else, it’s Aye, and when he’d asked all earnest if they could cook together when he visited, Akk had gritted his teeth and then spent most of last night and the part of the bus ride over that he had decent data on looking up recipes. 

So it’s particularly infuriating that Aye seems to have figured him out right away anyway. Akk scowls down at his eggs. 

“All set over here,” Aye says, then snorts audibly. “What’s that look for? Did the egg insult your parents or something?” 

“Shut up.”

Aye brings his bowl over to Akk’s side of the kitchen and sets it next to the other ingredients on the counter to the right of the stove. He’d only been banished over there in the first place for being distracting; Akk probably should’ve known he’d manage it anyway. 

A moment later, there’s a light breeze against the back of his neck, and Akk jerks against the tickle, barely suppressing a yelp. He’s not actually holding the pan, just his spatula, so the worst that happens to the eggs is them getting slightly jostled, but he aims a blind elbow in the direction of Aye anyway, making contact with his ribs. “Jackass.” 

“Violent authoritarian,” Aye responds, cheerful if slightly strained. “Those look good."

Once the eggs are safely off the heat, Aye hands him a larger pan, shuffling some things around on the little counter once there’s enough space. “Turn the heat up a little higher and put a little oil in there, okay?” 

Akk glances over for the bottle of vegetable oil and grabs it. His recipe-searching had turned up the idea, but Aye isn’t using one, and Akk does not know how much ‘a little’ is. He sighs, sends a sideways look at Aye where he’s putting the egg pan in the sink, and tentatively pours some oil in. 

“More than that.”

Frowning, Akk does as told. When he checks Aye’s reaction, he finds his boyfriend leaning on his hip against the counter and holding the bowl of vegetables again. 

“Were you nervous about this?” Aye asks, tone a too-familiar combination of fond and condescending.

“Why would I be,” says Akk, too quickly. Always too quickly. That’s something Aye’s pointed out before, he should know better. 

“‘Cause you wanted to impress me? I understand.” 

Akk rolls his eyes, keeping his attention on the oil where it’s heating up. “You’re extra annoying today. Is it a special occasion?” 

“Of course it is,” says Aye, tone gone painfully sincere. “My boyfriend came to see me.”

When Akk reacts far too late to keep a smile off his face, Aye pokes his cheek. “I’m happy, too,” he coos. “Now scoot, please. This next part has to happen kind of fast.”

Akk shuffles out of the way, letting Aye move in front and pour his little bowl into the pan, and sends a baleful look at Aye’s back. He’s looking far too cool in this situation; it has to be fixed. 

Decided, Akk moves until he’s right behind his boyfriend, then hooks his chin over his shoulder, looping both arms around his waist, and glances down at the pan. With the bowl poured out, something looks a little suspicious in the garlic-to-chili pepper ratio. “Aye,” Akk says, trying to make sure his breath hits the skin of Aye’s neck over his t-shirt, “Did you put enough spice in?” 

Annoyingly, Aye takes this without much in the way of reaction, only leaning back into Akk’s hold, and doesn’t even flinch. He reaches out for the bowl of meat and says, amused, “The neck is your weakness, not mine, Bigfoot.”

“That’s not an answer."

“Hey, who's the one of us that actually knows how to make it?” 

“I could figure it out,” Akk says mutinously, dropping his face all the way to Aye’s shoulder in defeat and speaking into his skin. It’s not his fault Aye is apparently some kind of cooking expert who’s never needed a recipe in his life. 

Aye laughs, just audible over the suddenly-loud sizzling sound of what Akk assumes is him adding something else to the meat. “I’m sure you could, baby, you’re smart. You just haven’t had much practice.”

“I help at home,” Akk retorts, offended. 

“I know, I know.” Aye’s shoulder moves, presumably stirring, as he continues, “You don’t need to worry about it. I’ll cook for you, so long as you always do the dishes.” 

Squeezing Aye’s waist just that bit too hard in retribution, Akk scoffs. “As if. I’ll practice more. I’m not doing your dishes for the rest of our lives.”

The sizzling gets a little louder, and Aye doesn’t respond. Akk blinks, lifts his head, and sees Aye frozen over the stove, one hand out on a bottle of soy sauce and the other not moving a spatula at all. “What?” 

“You said—” Aye starts, sounding awed. “You said ‘the rest of our lives’.”

“Oh.” Akk swallows on the impulse to deny it and just— lets it sit. Hides his face in Aye’s shoulder again and leaves it there, feels his ears heating up. What can he say? They’ve made the joke before, about their pins and wedding rings. It’s stupid, they’re teenagers, they’ve gone too fast, and he meant it, or it wouldn’t’ve slipped out.

Gratifyingly, Aye seems just as unable to speak for a moment. Eventually, he stutters, “I— that— sounds good to me,” and then, “I love you,” and then, “Oh, shit, the pork.” 

[loismagic]

on tonight’s demily discourse, this would have been a perfect moment for a kiss :)))))

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Just out of curiosity, anyone else get like elevated mood, insane evergy, or like unhinged focus while on their period?

[taemin-eternal]

they did like 15+ interviews/promo videos/and more including “to us” this day that’s fucking insane

[twasnotme]

Okay so I wanted to ask something, right? But I can't read tone very well so I can't tell if the people I've asked irl are being honest

Am I being a bad friend if i don't talk to people over text? To put this into perspective I spend 2 hours on public transport and then spend 6 hours at school so by the time I get home and do my 4 bloody hours of homework I have no energy to talk to anyone.

But this chick expects me to bloody talk to her every day after school, like we haven't just spent a full 9 to 5 together. And it has been previously established that I don't answer my phone. I feel like i should be on Reddit typing out one of those am i the asshole posts.

Being a teenager is bloody hard. I would love to leave school but I hear being an adult is worse sooo that's not an option

[skauni]

Can’t stop thinking about Soap calling himself ‘Uncle Johnny’ around your kids but they consider him a dad because that’s how he acts:

When your friend John MacTavish found out that your boyfriend dumped you after you got pregnant, he was right by your side for all of it. Saying “Dunnae worry, Bonny. Uncle Johnny’s gonna help with the wee bairns.”

And he did. He was there the whole pregnancy, even went as far as moving in so you could rest and he could keep an eye on you.

When you went into labor, he was there. He was there for everything. From the birth of your twins, Aster and Cody, to the sleepless nights after, he was there. You even heard him in the middle of the night telling them “Dunnae worry wee ones, Uncle Johnny’s here. Nothin’ t’fear.” And you loved how dedicated he was to helping you.

When the boys got old enough to talk, you were unfortunate enough to witness the fact that they spoke their first words in Scottish accents. Just like John. It wasn’t bad, it just meant you had a hard time understanding them is all.

When you couldn’t watch them, he would. Saying “Let Uncle Johnny watch the wee lads.”

But, as soon as the boys called him ‘Dad’ for the first time, he looked at you eagerly and said “I suppose Uncle Johnny is becoming the Papa of these wee lads, aye Bonny?” He said to you. You blushed at the comment and looked away in flustered embarrassment.

[grugruel]

Blue Eyes

Paurings: young!silco x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: Silco has a crush, and after bumping into her in the mines, you're invited to the last drop.

At the end of the night, you find yourself hand in hand with Silco, leading him to your home.

Wordcount: 3.2

Warnings: pinv sex, mirror sex, fingering, body worship, petnames, creampie, tiny bit of cockwarming, praise, mutual pinging, overstimulation, edging? There might be more.

AN: I want him, It's not a joke anymore. It never was, just hand him over riot.

Thump. "Oph!-" her vision darkened, the helmet suddenly thrust over her eyes. Annoyance bubbled up inside her as she pushed the headgear back with a huff. But then, her vision filled with blue, and everything on her mind trickled out of her.

Frozen, they stared at one other. "Apologies," a striking man mumbled beneath his breath.

"You'll have to excuse him." A big hand gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, the sudden touch pulling her back to reality. She looked up only to realise their awkward collision had a witness, a big burly man with a pickaxe slung over his shoulder. "Always in the clouds this one," he chuckled and shook the blue eyed man's shoulder.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile before her gaze fell back to his companion, face stinging.

It was her fault. She'd been reading the report and not paying attention to what was ahead of her, resulting in this poor, unsuspecting man as the object of collision.

He was taller than her, and a few pieces of hair hung loose from his tie-back, framing his dirtied face. Soot and dust covered his sharp features, but amidst it all were two beautiful pale blue eyes. A faint sense of recognition hung over. She she'd seen the men before.

She shook her head prematurely, lips straining to keep up with her thoughts. "No, no. It was my fault. I didn't look where I was going." Her cheeks were heating. She could only imagine the blush staining her face, inconveniencing her further.

Blue eyes exhaled a silent laugh, lips curving into a silly smirk. He seemed to be relieved the girl had not taken offense. "I should've been paying attention."

"It's fine," she mouthed to him and smiled, feeling her face heat further. Hastily, she turned her gaze toward the ground, insitent on avoiding any further embaressment.

"Have we met before?" The bigger man asked. "I recognize you."

"Well," she gestured toward the cramped tunnel that the three found themselves in, deep below the surface. "We seem to be colleagues."

"Aye, that we do," he chuckled, scratching the back of his head in thought. "But that's not-" he began, suddenly interrupted by a nudge from the blue-eyed man. The two exchanged a few looks between them in a rather clear attempt of secret communication.

She looked at them suspiciously. "No, I believe you're right, I've seen you boys somewhere, but not here. That I think I'd remember," she said, noting their polar opposite appearances.

The slim man scoffed playfully, shaking his head as if surprised by the sheer lapse in memory from the both of them. "You're Felicia's friend, aren't you? I've seen you around the Drop."

And so, it clicked. These were her bozos.

A lightbulb turned on above the big man's head as he called her name in sudden recollection. " . . . Of course, how could I forget," he said and gave the slim man a smirk.

The girl imagined the act was supposed to be concealed, but they weren't very subtle men. "That's right, Vander and-"

A slender hand reached out to her. "Silco," he introduced himself.

"Silco," she nodded and shook his hand. It was warm to the touch. Moreover, it was stronger than she expected. Impressions clearly mattered to him. "That's right," she chuckled, the out of place laughter catching the men off guard. "Or was it bozo?"

Vander's eyes widened. "Aye," he tried to repress a laugh, resulting in a hearty cough instead. Silco retracted his hand to rub at his neck, his own face tinging a pale hue of pink beneath all that grime. "She told you about that, eh?"

"Im sure I've only heard her call you by your actual names once or twice," she smiled coyly, gaze flicking back to blue eyes, only to be met by them head on.

Had he ever taken them off her?

There was a something about the smile he gave her then, something fond and safe. Had she not known him for less than five minutes, she'd describe his expression as loving.

Suddenly thoughtful, Vander rubbed his chin, a remnant of laughter still glimmering in his eyes. "That's more than I knew."

"Some things are just for the girls," the girl confirmed. "Although, It was only a matter of time before I figured you out." She subconsciously tapped her nails against the clipboard in her hands, reminding herself that she's still on active duty. "Well, boys. I have to get going." She gestured with the papers to make her point. "It was a pleasure to officially meet you, Vander-" dhe shook his hand. "Silco," she nodded, unable to keep a smile from her lips.

He returned the gesture and recalled her name aloud. " . . . , it was nice to see you."

"That it was," Vander agreed. Taking a step to the side, she allowed them space to move past her. "Hey," the bigger man stopped her. "If you're interested, we're having a small get-together tonight at the Drop if you'd like to stop by, I'm sure Felicia told you about it."

"She has, actually. Thank you," the girl began, eyes twinkling sincerely before her lips fell slanted in apology. "But im not sure I can make it."

"Ah well . . . Should your schedule clear," a well worn smile worked its way onto Vander's lips.

"You'd be very welcome to join us," Silco added and gave her extra space in the narrow tunnel, gesturing 'ladies first'.

It seemed Vander had almost expected the line from Silco, as if practiced or simply insync. "I'll see what I can do . . . See you around, Vander, Blue eyes," she nodded farewell to the duo and made her way past them, but not before she could catch a glimpse of the teasing grin cracking up the usual kindness in Vander's face.

She'd never been a brazen woman, but she felt safe to flirt with the Silco in front of his larger counterpart. They were a handsome pair, there was no question about it. But there was something about him.

And so, they went their separate ways. The men's shapes disappeared into the gloom of the tunnel, their laughs echoing along the uneven walls of the mine as Vander slung an arm around Silco's shoulders.

She smiled to herself. Brothers in arms.

-

Lather that night, the four found themselves as the last occupants in the Last Drop.

"I see why you like her."

Silco tapped the countertop impatiently and looked up at his counterpart. "Im not a good dancer."

As always, the bars lanterns emenated a warm, soft glow throughout the premises. Casting shadows and illuminating the inhabitants with a complimenting glow.

Vander shook his head and sighed, smiling a smile reserved for his little brother alone. "Take her by the hand, and the rest will come naturally."

The slender man rubbed his temples. "You're greatly overestimating my apptitude for dancing, brother."

Vander shrugged. "She's had an eye on you all night."

Just then, the Last Drop filled with music pleasantly vibrating through the open space. Bouncing on the walls and bleeding out into the streets.

"Aye, well . . . You can't back out now," Vander said and nodded toward the jukebox.

Turning around, blue eyes immediately fixed on the beautiful girl. Swaying to the music, the girl friends moved in rhythm with each other.

His gaze followed her every movement. The way her hair caressed her skin with each soft fling of her head, the way her hips and chest curved with every tune of the guitar. The way her face blushed so prettily.

Silcos body all but moved on its own.

-

Hand in hand, they walked along the Lanes, enjoying the mellow bussing of the city. The clacking of their heels and the occasional shared laughter were the only sounds accompanying them on their journey.

Most of it was spent in comfortable silence, heavy eyes wandering further than their feet. He could not take his eyes off her. Smitten would be the right word.

She released his hand to unlock the door. Yet, it found a way to her body. Without exchanging a single word, gentle fingers traced the skin bare to him, drawing patterns along her back and waist.

Once open, they barely got the door closed before crashing into one another. Silco smoothly slid his hand behind her head before pushing her up against a wall and their lips connected.

On collision, she moaned. Simply because of its unexpected nature and the joy she got from it, even more when he grinned against her.

The tips of his fingers slid beneath her shirt, but stopped, eyes connecting to hers. Heavy breathing filled the silent apartment as they spoke through their gazes.

It was not the colour of blue she noticed now, it was the shape of his eyes and the curve of emotion. She saw the blue in terms of calm and faultless reliability. She saw the lust and longing lining his eyelids, weighing them down as he looked upon her.

Patiently, he waited for her approval.

But most of all, she saw the deep dark of his pupils, expanding beyond possibility. In them was the adoration he had for her, the need for her that enlarged them so.

Silco whispered her name, and it fell from his lips like a prayer. His voice was breathless, close to a moan. All from being in her prescence, from feeling the softness of her skin. "Can I see you?" His fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, sliding the fabric between his digits, restlessly tugging and releasing.

Nodding heavily, she gave him the go-ahead. "Please take it off," she murmured, and a small appreciative hum escaped him. Fisting the fabric, he stepped back and pulled it over her head. From the strain in his fingers, she realised he'd torn it in half if he'd had her permission.

He was close to a whimper at the sight of her, eyebrows knitting together in pain. "Beautiful," he breathed, in absolute awe of her topless body. Softly, he raised his hand. The tips of his fingers coming down on her collarbone, tracing its length. He slid them lower until their weight began making indents in the hills of her soft flesh.

She manouvered her hand behind his head and hooked a finger through his hair-tie. Pulling it loose, dark brown waves surrounded his face. "Prove it to me." She cupped his cheeks and slid her hands through his hair, catching it in the movement and combing it behind his ears. "Show me," she whispered, entangling strands between the tips of her fingers and lightly tugging, gaging his reaction.

And when the desired hiss left him, she pulled him in for a kiss.

Silcos' hands slid down her ribs, thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts in the motion. One weared off behind her back while the other found purchase beneath her thigh. He hoisted her into his embrace with one easy movement, lean arms flexing around her.

"Second floor to the right," she managed between kisses and wrapped her legs around his hips. Suddenly, she felt his bulge grinding against her core.

-

The road to her bedroom was a rough one. He carried her easily, his body strong from toiling in the mines. But struggling through the dark while kissing resulted in a few corners bumped and lean shoulders bruised. But nothing would deter them, curses and laughing handled the hurt.

Entering, he looked around the room. "Mirror," he asked. It wasn't much of a question, but it got the massage across.

"Left," she answered on instinct, driven purely by confusion. "What's-"

"I'll prove it." He set her down and turned her around. His breath caressed her shoulder, warming it up for a kiss while his hands slid down her arms, causing goosebumps to cascade along her skin.

They stopped on her hips, and Silco kneeled, thumbs hooking into her skirt. Their eyes locked through the mirror, and as her hand found his head to softly scratch his scalp, she nodded.

Silco pulled it down, kissing every inch of new skin exposed to him until she could step out of it and kick it to the side. All the while she watched him through the mirror, observing how that adoring man worshipped her, how tenderly he placed each kiss.

Retracing his steps, lips brushed up her side, ocassionaly pecking her calf, thigh, and hip. His hands were already too busy working on his own shirt and pants, resulting in a state of undress by the time his lips reached her shoulderblade.

Her hand shifted, reaching back to nest in the back of his neck.

When done, a lean chest pressed itself against her back and arms wrapped around her torso like hungry snakes, pulling her against him. They skimmed in different directions as he placed his chin on her shoulder, studying her every reaction to his touch.

One travelled upward, brushing fingertips in the valley between her breasts. Grinning, he watched her skin raise goosebumps and nipples harden. "You're perfect," he breathed, hand wrapping around her breast. Humming, she reclined her head against his shoulder, fingers tugging at the hair on his nape.

But silco wasn't done, kissing the throat now available to him. "Keep watching, dove. I want you to see yourself as I do." While massaging her breast, his other hand slid down her abdomen and between her legs. She gasped, head jerking to attention as fingers dipped into her core, wetting themselves before moving up to circle her clit. "Do you trust me?" He asked, breathing hot on her neck, teeth softly sinking into her muscle.

"Yes."

. . .

"Then kneel."

So she did, and so did he. Settling down in his lap, back to chest, she could feel his erection against the curve of her ass. His arm wrapped around her waist and hovered her above his member. "Ready?" He asked, placing a soft kiss on her ribs.

She grabbed his thigh with her free hand, keeping herself steady. "Please yes," she begged, squirming against him, trying to feel ehat little she could of his inches.

Keeping their eyes on each other, Silco lowered her onto his member. A gasp released in unisome, eyes twinkling as he breached her core and filled her perfectly. A pained humming emenated from him as her core put pressure around his inches. "Am I hurting you?" He hissed, squeezing her breast tenderly. Needing to move.

She shook her head, breathlessly thinking of an answer as she watched him through the mirror. There was a desperate, carnal look in his eyes. He was hungry for her. "It's great," she whimpered. "You're great." Her fingers scratched the back of his head soothingly as she tilted her head back to kiss his jaw. "Please, please don't stop, Silco."

His member twitched inside her, and in pure reflex, she squeezed around him. Because inspite of being so desperate to fuck her, to feel and move inside her. He made sure she felt good first. She would give that man everything he wanted and more.

Silco widened his legs and hoisted her up. And just as she was about to complain, whine that she didn't want to lose the connection between their bodies. He thrust into her, smooth and deep, taking advantage of his hold on her to meet the rut with his hips. "Fuck," she cried.

"That feel good, dove?" He breathed, nipping and pecking her shoulder in equal amount. He repeated the motion, setting a steady pace while never once taking his eyes off her rocking body.

"Yes, y-yes . . . "

"Beautiful girl," he groaned, hand brushing up her chest, gently feeling her soft throat beneath his coarse skin. Moving further, his thumb brushed across her lips, tracing the smile that twitched on her lips. The muscles of her face unable to decide between displaying happiness or lust. "Look at you." He cupped her cheek, fingers gently stroking her cheekbone as his lips found her neck.

In the mirror, their bodies were gleaming with sweat as they moved together. Rocking rythmically with each thrust, her breasts bobbing and muscles flexing. Her eyes were hodded with desire as she looked at him, at them.

He was right, she was pretty, pretty as he fucked her.

Meanwhile, Silco looked dishevelled and torn apart. At the point of breaking from the godly woman in his lap. Hair hung over his forehead, and sweat lined his temples. His hands were veiny and strong, feeling her beneath his palms. One arm moved higher, circling her chest so he could massage her breast.

Watching him do this, prioratise her that way . . . It was enough to make her come from that alone.

The wet sounds of thrusting and dull thumping filled her room. In each other's ears, their breathing was strained. Filled with pleasure and effort, pumping one another full of lust.

But she couldn't tear her mind from Silco's state. He looked like he'd been ready to come for quite some time. "Are you, mmh- close?"

Silco released a breathy chuckle as he scraped his teeth along the top of her shoulderblade, attempting to stay sane. "Since I entered you," he admitted, voice close to a whimper. "Too hard not to."

He's been overstimulating himself for her sake. Driving himself to a point of insanity, for her sake. She reclined her head, hand sliding to his face, tilting it to meet hers. "You're too good to me," she whispered and kissed him.

Silcos eyebrows knitted together and released an open mouthed whine against her lips. She could feel him twitch and pulse inside her. Her words hadn't made it easier for him. "It's ok, im right behind you." Her thumb brushed his temple, comforting him in his abyss. "It's ok," she whispered again.

A shudder tore through her seat, and he spilt inside her at the validation. Hot seed filled her up and trickled out of her, coating his own member.

No longer moving, he breathed heavily against her, catching his breath. Like this they stayed for a moment or two before their lips found eachother once again and a long slender hand slithered to her clit. She'd spoken the truth, she was not far behind him.

She felt him inside her, behind her and on her. All continuously working for her pleasure alone. In spite of getting his own and already being worn out, he soldiered on. His arm around her torso was more to keep himself upright now than it was to keep her. "Perfect," he slurred. "Dreamt of this since the first time I saw you, . . . ," he whispered her name, fingers quickening their pace.

She could've finished herself of, in truth, she wouldn't have minded after the resilience and performance he'd given her. But she wouldn't, because she could tell bringing her to climax ment a lot to him, and that was all she needed.

With a final moan, pleasure surged through her body and his name fell from her lips. Praising him, thanking him.

In spite of their tiredness, he hoisted her off his member and lifted her up. Body in his arms, she guided him to the bathroom and tenderly cleaned each other off, soft eyes and shy smiles exchanged between them.

-

"They set us up," she whispered, snuggly cradled in his arm after they'd gone to bed.

Silco chuckled, giving the back of her head a kiss. "Im glad they did."

"So am I."

-

[fxllfaiiry]

─ you're the sunflower ੈ✩‧₊˚

✶ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

✶ synopsis: everyone on the team loves you, expect miguel who seems to hate you more than anyone.

✶ warnings: angst!! major angst. sunshine!reader x grumpy!miguel. reader is nicknamed sunflower, mentions of death.

✶ notes: there's one spanish sentence in this, I'm not good with spanish so if I've made a mistake please tell me so i can fix it! part two is already up!!!

Everyone on the team loved you from the moment you joined, everyone, except Miguel. 

You knew Miguel was cold towards everyone, but he was extra cold with you. Maybe it was because of how different your personalities were. 

You were the embodiment of sunshine, always positive in any situation, putting others before yourself. Hence why everyone calls you sunflower, it fits perfectly, Miles was proud of coming up with it. 

Miguel on the other hand was cold and distant but that didn't stop you from trying to get him to open up. You'd try to have simple conversations with him but nothing, all you would receive in reply was an eye roll or a slight grunt, but you wouldn't give up that easily. 

Like today, you got him some coffee. 

"Morning, boss. Got you some coffee." You said in your usual cheerful tone. 

"Why?" He raised his eyebrows, looking down at you suspiciously. That's the most he's said to you all week. 

"Because I wanted to." You shrugged, placing it down on his desk. 

He steped down walking towards his desk, you couldn't help but stare at him, unfortunately for you, everything about him was so attractive, it's such a shame he hated you. 

"This isn't how I like my coffee." 

"Huh?" You snapped out of your daydream at the sound of his voice. 

"The coffee, it tastes terrible. Get it from another place next time." 

"Well, actually I made it-" But he had already walked away from you not listening to a word you said. "Alright, never mind, I'll just go back to work." You mumbled hurt by his words. 

"Wait, hold on." You looked up, thinking, maybe he'll say something nice after all. 

"Yeah?" 

"Take the coffee with you, I won't be drinking it." 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Girl, why do you look so sad? Did Miguel do something again?" Jess asked with a frown, she did not like seeing you sad. 

"No."

"Sunflower…"

"Okay, yes." Miguel being cold towards you was normal, he never spoke to you unless necessary. Out of everyone here, he probably hated you the most, even more than Miles.  

"Sunflower, I've told you to stop trying." Jess sighed. 

"I know, I know… why does he hate me so much, Jess?" 

"That's just the way he is, don't overthink it. It's his loss, baby." She replied, gently patting your shoulder. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Today was going to be a good day, you were so sure of it. 

But, of course, you were wrong. 

Everything was going great up until a few hours ago. 

Miguel had assigned you on a mission to catch an anomaly, alongside a few other spider-people. His instructions were clear, stick to the plan and catch the anomaly. It was supposed to be simple. 

If only you didn't disobey him. You screwed up badly, and because of that, you could have been killed. 

"Why don't you ever listen?" Miguel shouted. No one had ever seen him this angry. 

"I was just tryin-" 

"¡Ay, por el amor de Dios!" Being yelled at by your boss in front of your coworkers was humiliating, everyone was looking at you with pity. 

"I'm sick of this, why can’t you follow simple instructions? Is it that hard to understand?" He barked, towering over you. 

"It's not a big deal." You tried to keep your composure, you didn't want to humiliate yourself further by bursting into tears. 

"Not a big deal? You could've died! A simple mistake would have ruined the whole mission." 

Don't cry. Don't cry. 

"But we're all fine, aren't we?" You weakly chuckled. That was the wrong thing to say because it only made him angrier. 

"Oh? If that's the attitude you have then you shouldn't even be on the team." Ouch. 

"Miguel, I think that's enough-" Hobie said, quickly jumping in. 

"Not now, Hobie." He growled. 

Never once did you think that you'd be in a situation like this. 

"If you put more focus on trying to be good at your job, rather than impressing me, we wouldn't even be here!" Oh, so he did notice that. 

At this point, tears were streaming freely down your face and you made no attempt to stop them. 

"Yep, you got it, boss." You smiled up at him through your tears. It was pathetic, but you did not care, you just wanted to leave and never come back. 

"Next time make sure this doesn't happen." 

"It won't happen next time." That's because there won't be a next time.

[entitled-fangirl]

Snowfall.

Cregan Stark x Dornish!wife!reader

Summary: the reader is feeling a bit out of place as the Warden's wife.

A/n: Based on an ask w/liberties taken!!!

Masterlist

...................................................

"Things are quite cold here," she admitted aloud as they sat at breakfast.

Cregan smiled as if the thing she stated was the most obvious thing he'd ever heard, but he would never mock her for it. "Indeed. And when summer ends, the snow will return. Have you ever seen snow, dear wife?"

She stared at him for a moment, wracking her brain at the question. "I've read it in novels, I think."

"Novels?" He chuckled. "Aye, I suppose it's nice when it's only in pages while you read it in the sun of Dorne." He takes a long sip from his cup before continuing. "When winter comes, the chill settles into your bones." He looks at her, clearly going somewhere with his choice of words. "I mean no disrespect to you, but tell me you've packed warmer dresses than the one you have on."

Her cheeks flush as she looks down at her dress. 

"It's not that it's not a beautiful dress," Cregan is quick to correct as his smile falters. "In fact, it's quite stunning on you. But it has no place here. It will not keep you warm." He sits on his words for a minute before a thought came to him, "Are you not cold now?"

She tugged at the sleeve of her dress, becoming insecure of her clothing. "It is sufficient, my lord."

His smile falls, "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Seems the cold has indeed gotten to you, for your heart is becoming chilled as well." He leans forward, placing his arms on the table, "My name is Cregan. You know that well. Do not become formal if I offend you." 

She quickly shakes her head, "You've not offended me."

He stands up, his chair forced back with a loud noise. His fingers begin to pry at the top of his cloak, pulling the strings apart that keep it on his shoulders.

She stands as well out of respect. He's confused by it- ladies don't stand for men. Quite the opposite. But he doesn't question it as he moves to her.

"Here, try this," Cregan smiled as he wrapped the cloak around her frame. Warmth enveloped her body as he tied it on her.

"You don't have to do this for me."

"I know, but I wish to." His smile turned teasing, "Will you deny a Lord his wishes?"

She grinned, "Never."

"Good." He kissed her forehead, "I wouldn't want my lady to feel the chill."

He gestures for her to sit again, pushing her chair in for her. He sits down as before. "Let us finish this meal, and I shall call for a seamstress." His grin grew. "She will have Stark patronage for a long time."

…

"Something the matter?" He asked quietly.

Y/n looked up at him, "Hmm?"

Cregan reached down and took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. "Something is bothering you. I can tell."

She shrugged lightly.

He let out a sigh, pulling her hand up and placing a kiss on the back of her hand. "When you're ready, you can speak to me. I hope you know that."

"It's just," She looked around the courtyard and leaned in, "the stares."

"The stares?" He repeated. He looked around also, his brows furrowed. "It's only the people getting used to you."

"It's been almost seven months."

"I suppose it has," He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, "Perhaps your beauty is just distracting. Surely the stares don't truly bother you?"

"It's not just the stares, Cregan. They all whisper, too."

"Well, you don't look like them. Most northerns never journey outside of their cities. You intrigue them."

"Cregan-"

"-My love, please. Don't let such a thing take up space in your mind. You're my lady of Winterfell. The rest does not matter."

"Perhaps they think me a spectacle."

"They do not think you a spectacle."

"Then why don't they speak to me?"

Cregan sighed, "I don't know, my love. I don't know."

…

Cregan made it his mission to ease his wife's worries. 

"I believe they're just intimidated to speak to her," the maester tried to ease to Cregan.

"How so? She's sweet spirited."

"Aye, but they do not know that when you're constantly casting a shadow over her." The maester chuckled. "Perhaps you're the intimidating one yourself, my lord."

Cregan grinned, "Perhaps indeed." He takes a moment to think. "What shall I do then?"

The maester thinks for a while himself before reaching a conclusion. "Show them that she is human as well," his eyes lit up, "Show them she's approachable."

"No," he quickly denied. "I don't want people just… approaching her. She's the lady of Winterfell."

The maester let out a sigh. Cregan held the same stubbornness as he did when he was young. "My lord, if she does not feel welcomed in her new home, she shall be miserable."

"The new is wearing off, and I'm afraid misery is inevitable if I don't do something." He let out a frustrated groan. "The North is cold and miserable on a good day. I'm running out of ideas."

"You cannot force the people to bend to your will, nor her. Perhaps you just… focus on your relationship with her, and the rest will fall into place?"

Cregan sighed in thought. "Yes, I believe I shall start there."

…

Luckily, their bond was quite well developed at this point, the two going as far as to say that they love one another. 

"I've been thinking about what you said," she finally spoke up.

Cregan looked up from his papers to her. "And what's that?"

"About the snow. I do truly wish to see it."

He nods, "Be patient, my dear. Winter is close at hand."

She stands from her chair, walking towards him. "But how close? How long must I wait?"

Cregan considered her question. "Less than weeks, I'd assume at this point. He eyed the warmer dress on her frame, "You've noticed the change in the air, haven't you?"

"I have," she nods. "It's quite frightening. I didn't know the air could bite so hard."

He grinned, "You will adjust, I swear to you. Your dresses are warm enough, yes?"

"Quite so. Thank you again."

"I'll make you a promise, little wife." Cregan leans back in his seat. "The first snow of winter, I shall personally introduce you to it. How does that sound?"

A bright smile came to her face, "You'd do that?"

"Of course. Consider it done."

…

True to his word, the first snow came at an unexpected moment. 

Cregan had left for the day, but the second the first snowflake fell to his cheek, he forced his horse to turn around and head back to Winterfell.

"Get Lady Stark for me," He barked at a servant as he handed the reigns off to a stable boy. "And make sure she's properly dressed."

 Minutes later, she walked through the doors of Winterfell to the Courtyard. Her eyes widened at the sight of Cregan with his hair covered in snow. 

"I had a promise to keep, my lady," he said with his hand extended to her.

She stepped out into the yard with hesitant feet, her body uncertain of what to make of this.

The people in the courtyard watched with curious gazes at their lord and lady.

When she reached Cregan, she took his hand. "It's not dangerous?"

"Not like this," he grinned. "When there's a lot of it, yes. But for now, you may enjoy it."

Her other hand reached up to his shoulder where snowflakes lay on the furs of his cloak. She paused centimeters from it, unsure. "May I?"

He nodded, "Of course."

She reached out and touched a flurry, watching it melt into liquid against her hand. Her brows furrowed. "Is it water?"

"Yes. Merely cold water."

She tried again, pressing her entire hand to his cloak and flinching back at the sudden intensity of the chill. She let out a gasp and tucked her hand back into her cloak. 

"Easy," his grin grew. "It's only the chill."

"You did not tell me it hurt."

"That is the nature of it. The more there is, the more likely it may hurt." He reached out and takes both hands now. "Do not give up on it. Try again."

She hesitantly does so, reaching out again, this time aware of the feeling that will come. The flakes melt on her palm and instead she lets out a breathy laugh. "And how long does winter last, Cregan?"

"Longer than it should, dear wife." He reaches up and caresses her cheek, "Have you had enough?"

"No, I could never!" She smiles. 

Cregan looked around, noting the people around them that tried to hide their obvious gaze. He was used to it at this point. 

…

"Cregan, you will never believe what has happened!" She grinned widely as she marched into their chambers. 

He quickly gave her his attention in worry. "What? What has happened?"

"I have been invited to eat with northern ladies tomorrow!"

Cregan brows furrowed, "Have you?" His panic turned to relief as he took her in his arms. "That is wonderful news."

"The woman who invited me was so kind! Lady M…" She tried to recall her name. "Morn…"

"Mormont?" He finished with a smirk.

"Yes! Lady Mormont! I promise, I won't forget again! She asked about Dorne as well! No one has asked me of Dorne. It was so refreshing, Cregan!"

"Lady Mormont is kind indeed, sweet girl. You are safe with her."

"So I may go?" She asked in shock.

He was stunned for a moment that she was asking his permission. "My love, your Dornish may think me a brute, but I will not hold my wife away from what makes her heart the fullest."

Her arms wrapped around his neck and her face pressed to his chest. "You are wonderful to me, Cregan," her muffled voice sounded against his chest.

He chuckled, "I've only done my best to make a home for you, my girl."

"Perhaps being northern is not all bad," she teased. 

He pulled her away from him with a confused look. "What do you mean?"

Her smirk grew, "It's not all bad. It's got… kind women… and… beautiful mountains… and… handsome men."

He pulled her to him, bending down to speak lowly in her ear, "Handsome men? Are there more men fighting for your attention?"

She giggled, "I misspoke. Handsome man. Just one. Their leader."

A low chuckle came from his throat, "Aye, there are pretty women too."

When she looked confused towards him, he grinned. 

"One, at least. And she's Dornish."

He pressed a heavy kiss to his lips, groaning when she returned it fervently.

…

He would never tell her how earnestly he had prayed to the Old Gods for that first snowfall to be a kind one for her to enjoy.

............................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

[gloomwitchwrites]

His teammates call you because he isn't handling the break up well.

I'm gonna be honest, Anon. I went a more humorous route with this (but some angst in there too because why not!) I'm just imagining all of them being completely pathetic and the one calling is on the phone like "come get your man please." So, with that being said, I hope you enjoy this!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, some angst, established relationship, breakups. brief humor

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“You have two minutes,” you say immediately after answering your phone.

“You need to call him,” comes Simon’s gruff voice on the other end.

You’ve only met Simon a handful of times, but he’s always been your favorite of John’s team. He has consistently treated you with kindness and respect, and he never oversteps boundaries.

“Why?” you ask, glancing at your nails, pretending you don’t care.

“He fucking misses you.”

“That’s not enough of a reason,” you reply.

It isn’t. Not really. Even if your heart aches and your stomach flips from hearing it.

“Captain isn’t taking the breakup well.”

You want to say that you aren’t either, even though you’re the one who ended things. In reality, you miss John. It’s agonizing.

“And?” you ask, trying to hide the slight crack in your voice.

“He has us running laps around the fucking track, love. Haven’t done that since I was a grunt who couldn’t properly tie his boot laces.”

You sigh. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“Yes.” Simon’s response is immediate.

Rubbing your temple, you decide to take a leap. It wouldn’t hurt to talk. Not really. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank fuck,” he breathes.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“This is absurd,” you mutter, rubbing the middle of your brow, irritation building in the back of your head.

“Just give us a few minutes,” comes Captain Price’s voice. It’s Kyle’s boss, but he’s not the only one on the phone.

“Oh, aye. Hear us out.” Soap is there, too.

For all you know, Ghost is lingering on the call, a silent entity listening in but not saying anything.

“Why? Give me a reason?”

“Kyle misses you,” says Price.

“He loves you, lass.”

This isn’t new information. You’re aware of how Kyle feels but that doesn’t change things. The two of you are not together anymore. He needs to move on.

“He’s not handling the breakup well.” This time it’s Ghost. The silent man speaks.

“What do you want me to do,” you sigh.

“Talk to him,” says Price.

“No.”

Your phone buzzes and you hold it away from your ear. It’s a text from Price. You click on it, revealing a photo.

It’s Kyle. He’s curled up in his bed in the barracks, clutching a teddy bear he won you at a carnival on your first date.

“We can come get you,” says Price.

“Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“I’m sorry, John. But you shouldn’t have called. I don’t want to hear it.”

There is a deep sigh on the other end of the phone. You respect Captain John Price. The few times you’ve met him, he’d been pleasant, and he was always the first one to greet you whenever you visited Johnny on base.

“I understand that you broke it off with him.”

“John—”

“Listen. Please.”

He genuinely sounds concerned, and that gives you pause.

It’s not like you and Johnny ended things on bad terms. His life is busy. It’s dangerous. You just don’t fit in it, and the stress of never knowing when or if he’s going to come home is something far to difficult a thing to carry with you.

“He’s been struggling. Had to corner him in my office to get him to talk. He’s really hurting.”

You swallow. Lick your lips. “Why are you calling me, John?”

“I want you to talk to him.”

“John—”

“Soap is currently facedown in his bed in the barracks. Sulking.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to him.”

“In person,” says John. It sounds like a command. Not an ask.

“Fine, John,” you reply, grabbing your car keys.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You need to talk to him. Simon is a bloody mess.”

“He’s fine, Johnny. He’ll get over. There was no reason for you to call me.”

Johnny snorts on the other end. “You don’t think so? I thought he was going to crush a new recruit’s skull in this morning.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not interested in talking with Simon right now.”

Is it really a breakup? No. Not really. More like a separation. Simon has your whole heart, but he’s stubborn and cold. His shell is difficult to crack.

“That’s too bad. Because I’m here.”

“You’re—what?”

“Aye. Walking up to your front door right now.”

You blink. Aghast. “John MacTavish you better not—”

There is a sharp series of knocks at your front door. “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter.

Growling, you storm to the front door, phone still pressed to your ear. You unlatch the deadbolt and yank the door open. Johnny is standing on the other side, his phone also held to his ear. He gives you his biggest grin.

You want to smack it right off his face.

“What are you doing?”

Johnny ends the call. “I’m taking you to Simon.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

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@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@whisperwispxx @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @arrozyfrijoles23

[cursedcola]

I don’t think we talk enough about Yuus who actually have lives back in their world, and are genuinely freaking out about being stuck at NRC. Just imagine them lore bombing the cast because no one ever asks about their homelife. So it’s just random moments of yearning for home until evidently Crowley gets off his rocker and does his job.

————

*having tea at heartslabyul before everyone goes on break*

Yuu: “I miss my mom. This is holiday season back where I’m from…man, this sucks” *sulks and eats tart*

Deuce: You have parents?

Cater: You miss your family???

Riddle: Must be nice.

————

Yuu: *sigh*

Grim: ….

Yuu: *siiiiigh*

Grim: ……….

Yuu: *SIIIIIIIIGH*

Grim: MRAH ALRIGHT ALREADY. WHAT DO YA WANT?

Yuu: I miss my husband. I wonder what he’s doing right now. All I have of him here is my wedding band….I just want to see him.

*proceeds to admire a wedding band they had hidden under their uniform gloves*

Ace+Deuce: YOU’RE MARRIED???? HOW OLD ARE YOU???

Grim: Aye lets pawn that for dorm funds

————

*at monstro lounge. jade’a trying to shove mushrooms down floyd’s gullet. The latter is fighting for his life*

Yuu: Slug em in the nads Floyd! Lesson one in human anatomy! Make em’ sing!

Azul: *appalled* can you not encourage them??? Aren’t you supposed to mediate disagreements?

Yuu: nah. You don’t get between siblings. That’s their beef. GET EM JADE, MAKE EM EAT HIS WEIGHT!

Azul: I take it you have siblings? - urk. Thank the sea witch I am an only child.

Yuu: *cheers when jade claims victory - at the expense of a now broken table* Be grateful it’s just the two. I have three and we once made a game out of sledding on concrete. News flash - the er visit cost quadruple that table

Azul: *proceeds to make medical investment plans*

———

Yuu: *crying*

Leona: The hell’s wrong with them now? *eyes ruggie*

Ruggie: *puts hands up* I didn’ do anything! I just swiped one of their cookies! I swear!

Yuu: *crying harder* It’s an oatmeal creme pie dammit! Y’all don’t know little debbie and it shows!

Leona: ….do i want to know?

Ruggie: *hands back the half eaten creme pie. Lowkey freaking out because Leona looks ready to whack him upside with a spelldrive disc* Here! Y’see? There’s still some…c’mon prefect. Ya can stop crying now. I’ll get Trey to make ya another. Just take a breath.

Yuu: *sobs while eating. Doesn’t know whether to be upset because the creme pie is gone, or because trey’s tastes better than little debbie. So it’s still not the same* I hate you all.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

if the military wanted you to have a wife, they'd issue you one. Soap's heard that saying once or twice.

and here you are. claiming to be his... issuance.

you tilt your head. "you don't remember signing up for the program?"

no. no, he doesn't. his eyes dart down to your lips for a fraction of a second before returning to your eyes. he'd remember that. more to the point, he'd remember whatever he did to deserve this. he looks you up and down again, disbelief and desire flashing across his face, and not in equal measure.

you’re like if someone wrung the starry slurry of thoughts constituting what makes a perfect woman directly from his brain matter, let it ferment and clarify like honey wine, put marriage papers in her hand, and dressed her in a… in a fucking… are those stockings stretching up under your skirt?

hell’s bells. you’re one part girl next door, one part muse—the one his hand can never quite shape on the page to match what’s in his head—and several shades of his favorite porn star. an old-fashioned pin-up doll in the flesh.

"you're not John MacTavish, then," you say, peering down at the papers in your hand with a small frown. "so sorry to bother you—"

“no, hold on.” he takes a step closer. “i’m him, aye. but the program...” the application questionnaire. filling it out was nothing more than a drunken bet with Gaz, but yes, he dimly remembers it. doesn't recall turning it in, but maybe he was drunker than he thought. “it's real?"

“completely real. i was selected for you based on the preferences you specified,” you tell him. you shift the clipboard into your other arm, pleasant smile turning into a frown. "but i couldn't possibly ask you to sign a marriage certificate sponsored by a program you don't even remember applying for."

oh, that is rich. you don’t seem to see the humor here. it’s absurd. have you not seen yourself? he'd be daft to pass on someone as bonnie as you.

not to mention you seem more than a little disappointed at the idea of being turned down. that fuels his ego even more.

 "you're sayin' you're a part of that military partnership program, aye? and you were handpicked as my spouse based on a few questions?"

you helpfully produce a copy of his responses in pink triplicate. sure enough, he recognizes his own drunken scrawl.

none of the questions have anything to do his preferences looks-wise. career aspirations, communication preferences, hobbies, his ideal saturday night. his sleeping habits. this is a psychological profile. CIA shite, as Gaz would say.

he doubts his drunken self read more than a few lines of this paperwork while he was constructing his dream girl in the survey blanks.

as he studies the page a little too closely, your small frown turns into a frustrated scowl. "john? um, i mean."

it instantly pulls his eyes back to your lips.

you twirl a strand of hair around your finger. "it’s nice to meet you,” you say in a tone that makes it clear what you’re really saying is ‘hey, stud, i'm looking forward to the honeymoon.’

that’s your attempt, at least. but Soap sees more than you mean to show. the way you play that card--the way you twirl your damn hair--is the clumsiest, most blatant attempt to flirt. somehow, that's what catches him off-guard the most. It makes his heart squeeze. god, are you nervous? you?

he runs over the back of his teeth in the split second before his signature lazy smirk slides back across his face. "happy you got paired up with a bloke like me?"

he hands the paperwork back to you. you take it back with great relief and nestle it securely into the crook of your elbow. you’re certain he didn’t sign every single blank he was supposed to, but he won’t remember that. you’ll check the signature lines later and forge his handwriting to finish it.

you smile prettily at him. then you make it a little more coy. you should be bashful--he's handsome. "i'm lucky. you're special forces. i’m a nobody, really. if you want, you could try filing for a spouse upgrade. if you want a really good fiancée..."

“fiancée." Soap rolls the word around his tongue. "is that what i should call you?”

"well. you saw my name on the paperwork," you point out. you know very well he didn't.

before he can ask any more questions, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek and pull away, walking down the hall with documents in tow. his gaze is heavy on your back.

the documents in your arm are real enough. Soap really did complete that questionnaire, just like how he remembers. getting the application turned in is what required a little creative effort.

but as long as nobody looks too closely at the military ID photocopied in the application file, they won't notice that the mostly-obscured face of the soldier who turned the application in doesn't look much like Soap at all.

...

more Soap / masterlist

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[shotmrmiller]

A/N: I simply had to join on writing for John 'just the tip' MacTavish so. Here goes. Unedited, its horny its explicit yall know the deal. It was supposed to be a drabble and i got completely carried away. got me out the writing slump tho. any mistakes please ignore. CBF!Johnny because I say so.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

WC: 1.6K

Flipping through Netflix, you hear a rapt at the door. You turn to look at your dad, who gets up quickly as if expecting someone. 

“Johnny, my boy! I’m glad you could make it! Had me thinking you forgot all about us. Come on in!” Your dad pulls Johnny in for an affectionate embrace that he returns immediately.

“Och, yer aff yer heid! As if I could ever forget my second family!” Giving your dad a final pat on the back, Johnny steps back. “Now where’s my girl?” 

Lifting the hand holding the remote, you call out. “Present!” 

Johnny almost trips over the coffee table, rushing to you. He doesn’t wait for you to stand up, just snatches your wrist and lifts you for a hug— your socked feet dangling by his shins. With his strong arms wrapped around you, he pulls you close, nuzzling his face against your neck. “Missed ye, bonnie,” he murmurs, “missed ye so much.” 

As you exhale a wheezy breath, you tell him, “I love you too, Johnny, but I can’t breathe.” One last squeeze, and a squealed “Johnny!” he finally relents, setting you down. 

Hands resting on your shoulders, his striking blue eyes lock onto your face, flicking across your features, as if he was re-memorizing what you look like. His intense gaze rushes blood to your cheeks, but don’t shrink under it. It wouldn’t be the first time your best friend teases you like this. “Somethin’ on my face, Johnny boy?” and bat your lashes at him, “I know I’m staggering to look at, but now you’re just being shameless.” 

He lets out a huff, a small smirk gracing his lips, and mumbles, “Don’t I know it.” Your taunting smile falls off your face at that. What? Before you can even ask him what he means by that, your dad calls him into the kitchen. 

“Johnny! Come get a beer, it’s about to be movie time!” Without breaking eye contact, he answers him, “Aye! Comin’!’ and with a finger tap to the underside of your chin, walks away. Heart pounding against your chest, you head towards your bedroom to get a blanket, hoping the little walk calms the butterflies in your stomach. 

What?

The movie is playing, and Johnny is curled up behind you on the reclined sofa, roughened palm resting on your thigh, occasionally squeezing it. You’re mortified at the slight arousal you’re feeling just at being caressed by Johnny. Johnny. Your best friend. Who has consistently had girlfriends, who will never look at you that way. You’ve never thought of him that way either, granted, but that’s what makes this so embarrassing. Maybe you’re ovulating, biology simply reacting in the presence of a virile male, or something. 

And then you feel the unmistakable bulge of his stiffening cock, faintly pressing against your arse. Gods. Heat radiating off of your face, you bite your lip and try to discreetly wiggle away, for his sake and yours. However, Johnny seems to disagree with your thoughts because he moves his hand from your thigh to grab your hips in a bruising grip, fingers digging into your hipbones, forcing you to be still.

He leans into your ear, warm breath tickling your cheek and softly whispers, “Dinnae move, hen,” and sluggishly starts to rock his hips, erection now firmly rubbing against your sleeping shorts. Johnny’s movements are imperceptible, nonexistent underneath your blanket. Not that it would matter, because the movie is reaching its climax, and all eyes are glued to the screen.

But your mind is solely focused on Johnny— the heat of his hands scorching against your skin, his prominent length hidden underneath his pajama bottoms grinding on you. 

“Lift yer leg a wee bit, hen.” Keeping a watchful gaze on your parents, you silently plead that they won’t notice as you hide your compliance under the guise of trying to make yourself comfortable. Once settled, you lowered your leg and had to bite your tongue with force, to keep the moan from slithering out of your throat. 

His cock, bare, right in between your thighs. Like warm velvet wrapped around steel, thick, heavy, tip pushing against your core with every minute thrust. Johnny moves even closer, arm tight around your waist, hand sliding into your bottoms, heading straight towards your soaked, swollen clit to rub feather-light delectable circles on it.

“I’m gonna stick just the tip in, a’right? I swear,” he says in a hushed tone, as he pulls back to lower the waistband of your shorts to rest on your upper thighs, “just,” he thrusts once, “the”, again, “tip.” and his leaking head slips into your hole— pushing it in until your walls flutter around it. 

“Ye feel incredible, squeeze that tight pus—” your dripping cunt cuts him off, drawing out a hiss of surprise from him. His subdued voice in your ear is so seductive, so bewitching, that you can’t help but clench around him. 

For most of the movie, Johnny languidly thrusts into you, truly keeping to his word. Just the tip— teasing you, making you drip onto the sofa, muted squishy, gooey noises coming from under your blanket, and you couldn’t be bothered by any of it. Flared, ridged head catching on your slippery lips with every drag of his cock. You’re drooling on your hand that covers your mouth beneath the snug blanket— struggling to hold back the mewls and whimpers threatening to escape. 

All of a sudden, Johnny mutters, “The movie’s about ta end, close yer eyes and keep completely still. Stabilize and deepen yer breathin’, hen.” Without hesitation, you do as he says, body going limp in compliance, the only tell-tale sign of your excitability being the rapid pulsing of your jugular on the delicate skin of your neck. 

The TV is turned off, and the living room goes completely silent, apart from the deafening sound of blood rushing in your ears. Johnny behind you feigns quiet snoring, so believable that if it wasn’t for his throbbing cock still at your entrance, you’d think he actually fell asleep.

Your dad’s poor imitation of a whisper cuts through the quiet. 

“They’re asleep, let’s just leave them here.” Footsteps shuffle as they tip-toe around you both, and as they get farther away, Johnny slowly moves his hand to cover yours, truly weighing down on it. The instant their door clicks shut, he uses his other hand to pick up your leg and throw it over your shoulder, and thrusts hard, deep, until his bollocks are flush against your arse. Your nails claw at the hand over your mouth as you scream, your gummy walls stretching against his assault— a burn so exquisite, pleasure teetering on the edge of pain, achingly delicious, it sends tendrils of ecstasy directly into your veins.

He lets out a guttural moan, one only you could hear, private, intimate. “It’s about time ye let me have this sweet pussy, hen.” One vicious thrust that punches the air from your lungs and rattles the sofa, and then another, when he finally speaks again. “Fuck, we hae ta do this when we are nae restricted, hm?” His hips start a slow rhythm, long, unhurried undulating thrusts, and every time he bottoms out, he grinds his pubic bone on your clit, the tip of his cock giving your cervix a lewd kiss. Every time he reaches the entrance of your womb, it feels like he wants to go in further, to go past the dead end, and your cock drunk mind only thinks about how you want him to do it, too. 

“Yer slobberin’ all over my hand, hen. S’that good, is it? Oooh, I ken it is. Only the best fer my girl, hm?” He hisses through clenched teeth, “I’m fuckin’ close. Come f’me. I’m not comin’ until ye cover my cock with yer cream, leave a white ring at the base.” His hips have been moving at the same exact speed he started at, not a stutter in his pattern. As if him fucking you into a puddle of arousal wasn’t taxing on his part. 

Then he does something different, something that threatens to snap that coil in your lower tummy, and along with it your sanity. He starts giving shallow thrusts, never pulling out more than halfway, and makes sure to rub against your clit, giving you that heavenly friction you need. It has you delirious, fervent, and you start moving your own hips, uncaring of how you must look.

Johnny moves his thumb down to your nub, drawing tight, precise, merciless circles on it, and you are thrown over the edge— more like kicked off by a spartan kick from how gut-wrenching your orgasm is ripped from you. Your pleasure is so acute, so powerful that there are needle-like pricks on the shell of your ears. Your body shakes underneath Johnny, pussy throbbing and pulsing with the aftershocks of your blinding climax. 

Drool escapes under Johnny’s palm, dripping down your cheeks and into your hair as you fall back, going completely limp, utterly spent. Finally getting back some coherency, you realize that Johnny’s gone soft inside of you, also drained, as he catches his breath holding himself over you. He removes his hand, uncaring that it’s sticky with your spit, and noses your cheekbone, nudging you to slant his lips over yours, curling his tongue against yours. He swallows the pathetic mewl you let out and presses one final kiss onto your lips. 

“I’ve missed ye, hen. I’m so happy to be here, with ye. Let’s move to your bedroom, and in 10 minutes, I’ll give ye a proper fuckin’.” 

Your eyes close shut as you let out a resigned but elated sigh. 

“I love you too, Johnny.” 

@rookiesbookies and forgive the tag but i had you in mind too @brewed-pangolin ill never do it again unprompted

part 2