#but aye look i'm not dead

[snootlestheangel]

Post-MW3 but Laswell had only faked Soap's death, all under the guise of it being the better thing to do.

Let Makarov believe he had actually killed one of the 141. He'd walk away from that thinking he had a small victory and wouldn't feel pressured to make his next move soon. Laswell wanted him to go into hiding, wanted the team to take the time to figure some things out.

She obviously hadn't anticipated the loose cannon of Captain Price, and him killing Shepherd threw a wrench in everything.

A few months have gone by, and Laswell gets a hit on some activity from Konni group. She tells the team they'll meet her informant there.

Obviously, there's a bit of a big blowout when they realize John 'Soap' MacTavish is the informant. Ghost takes it the worst of all of them, but he doesn't outwardly react. Not in front of Soap. But when they're alone with Laswell to ask her "what the fuck?" Ghost lets it all out.

He's cussing up a storm, saying it was all bullshit, that they should have been in on it.

"Who in this room knows what it's like to be dead better than anyone else? Bloody hell where the fuck do you think "Ghost" comes from?"

And Ghost doesn't ever talk directly to Soap or Laswell the rest of the time they're working on their latest Intel. It's upsetting to everyone, especially Gaz cause he isn't quite sure what the fuck has happened to his team. But Soap seems to be handling Ghost's cold shoulder pretty well, so Gaz keeps his distress to himself.

Finally, Ghost gets a moment alone with Soap. And Soap starts to leave, starts to give Ghost privacy because that's what Soap thinks he needs: some time and space to figure it all out in his head.

But Ghost stops him.

And the mask comes off, and Ghost slips away to reveal Simon. Simon who looks so small despite still standing over Soap.

And Soap is sorry, he's so sorry, Simon.

And he's begging for forgiveness and Simon has yet to say a word. So Soap falls quiet, lets the silence eat away at him as Simon stands there, jaw working as he thinks of something to say.

"I had lost you, Johnny."

It's such a quiet whisper, and it's so broken and it just stabs Soap through the heart. But he doesn't say anything back.

Instead he reaches for his Simon, reaches up to try and hold his head in his hands once again.

And Simon leans into the touch, allows himself a moment of softness during all this war. Allows this tender moment as he lets Soap hold him gently.

And it doesn't last long, doesn't need to. They're back with each other, in each other's hands, safe and breathing. That's all Ghost, all Simon, had ever begged for.

"The next time you die, I'm fucking going with you, you understand?"

"Of course, LT. You and me, aye?"

"Always."

[moondirti]

johnny wears his sense of duty like a gold-gleaming badge of honour. and if you were to ask any one of his doting relatives, they'd tell you that indeed, he's a stand-up lad. the best our clan’s got tae offer.

johnny hones his sense of duty like a sword of high-carbon steel. his brothers in arms each have a story to credit their continued survival to him. carried me out the crash site while under heavy fire. anyone else would have left me for dead.

johnny wields his sense of duty like a heat-resistant kevlar shield. that is to say, do enough good for God and He will align your interests.

the train is empty and the hour is late. any partner worth their salt would not let you be here alone under these conditions – in your condition. he thinks it says something about your lack of one. or he's just hoping; just testing the line that marks how far he's willing to go.

he's antsy in his seat across the car. his right leg jumping, and not for their jostling along the tracks. a weight like a stone grows heavy in his crotch. he itches to adjust it, to pull his cock up under his waistband. but he's also staring, has been staring, and while he doesn't think you've noticed yet, you definitely will when the strange man donning fatigues sticks his hands down his pants.

there's a level he knows not to reach for while this exposed. johnny would rather keep his reputation shiny in the eye of the public. likes the praise too much to consider damaging it, like a dog stowing his messes under the couch.

so he sits, twitching but patient. a good old boy. sniffs. rests his elbows on his knees and squeezes his legs together to slyly grind into himself. he imagines what you must smell like between those soft legs of yours, imagines rubbing his face against the gusset of your underwear to soak himself in the scent. he's no stranger to pussy, he wonders if it tastes any different. his stare flattens over your calves. he tries to gather some phantom estimate in the salivate coating his tongue.

he thumbs the latin cross pendant he wears around his neck. God answers with a particular rough shake of the train car.

having already been fixated on your bottom half, he's one of the first to notice. second to only you, of course. a surge of water gushes out between your legs, splattering across the floor to become a puddle underneath your feet. your darling little face drops, eyes blowing comically wide as your hand slaps over your mouth in disbelief. the man standing next to you stumbles away, lifting his shoes to check for any damage. an old lady tuts.

and then, silence. no one does anything but stare.

johnny jumps from his seat, jogging to hover over you.

"ye awright, hen? aww, aw, c'mon. it's okay, y'wee thing. shhhh," he helps you up out of your seat, smoothing one hand down your back and the other over your heavy belly. one look at his clothing, at the MTP print that could only mean one thing, and you're leaning your full weight into him, blinking back a barrage of tears.

"s-sor– i'm so sorry. i– i think... think that was– my water broke." you sniff, tucking your face into his side to hide from the useless muppets surrounding you. he feels a swell of pride stretching the walls of his chest. his cock hasn't stopped throbbing despite the commotion.

"naebody faults ye for it. a’natural. a blessin', aye?" he says, not before clearing his throat of the lust he's sure coats it. "have ye got a birth plan? any hospital ye've made preparations wi'?"

"n-no." you shake your head. your voice is muffled between his layers of clothing, and he notices the gooseflesh of your skin just then. he's slipping his coat off within seconds, draping it over your shoulders, then combs the sweaty baby hairs off your temple. his fingers look rough, too big, against the dewy stretch of your forehead.

"there’s one near the next station. we’ll get aff there. ah’ll stick wi' ye, bonnie. ye dinnae have tae worry aboot a thing but yersel'."

and you nod, because of course you do. he's got commitment practically tattooed right there on his arm, alongside the SAS emblem and the cursive 141 gaz made him get on a dare. and johnny peddles that sense of duty like the psyops they've been taught to watch out for — to cover up the fact that it's a commitment to the wrong thing.

(he'll stick with you, alright.)

[entitled-fangirl]

In the midst of death and destruction. (P2)

Summary: Cregan comforts the reader after the attack.

Warnings: panic attacks, talks of blood, talks of sex, heavy kissing, PTSD from attempted sa

Part 1

Masterlist

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

Cregan sighed as he looked over to her in the bed. 

After the incident, Cregan was unable to sleep, his body on constant alert. 

Y/n would be the same if she were not so exhausted from it all. 

He knew she would have night terrors for days after. And it filled his heart with dread. 

If he had been quicker. If he had seen it coming. 

If he had acted sooner.

Yes, Bolton was dead, but his memory was still very much alive. 

So there Cregan sat, illuminated only by the flames in the fireplace. Though he had washed his hands, he still swore he could feel the blood that had stained them only hours ago.

A small sniffle came from Y/n, and he was quick to turn to her. 

She laid fast asleep, yet tears fell from her eyes. 

A night terror, he figured. He pulled the covers to the side and laid himself down in the bed next to her, his touch careful to not startle her and worsen her condition. 

Once he pulled her back to his chest, his deep northern voice whispered sweet nothings into her ear. His hand brushed hair from her cheeks, "Nothing will touch you. I promise you, little wife."

She shifted, her back moving from his chest. He was quick to reach out and grab her, but it was too quick.

The touch woke her up. She gasped and quickly pried his hand from her. She sat up in bed, her breathing ragged as she turned to him. 

Cregan quickly held his hands out, "Easy, my girl. It's just me."

When she recognized him, she relaxed a bit, taking a deep breath and finally looking around the room.

Cregan sat up completely now, watching her carefully, "You alright?'

She pulled her arms around herself, "Not sure."

He nodded, understanding the seriousness of her terror. He reached to her and brushed the sweat stained strands of hair from her face once more, "How about a bath?"

"Cregan, I bathed only hours ago."

"Aye, I know that. But that is not what I asked."

She leaned into his hand just barely, contemplating his question. "I… I suppose that sounds nice."

He smiled, "I'll get one drawn for you. Wait here."

The second his warmth had left the bed, Y/n panicked. The sight of his pillow vacated left her colder than the snow outside. 

"Cregan, wait!"

He turned quickly to her, noticing her wide eyes. "Hm?"

"Please," her meek voice spoke, "Don't leave."

His head tilted in guilt. He hadn't thought of that. "I'll only be out for a moment."

"Don't leave at all. Forget the bath."

"Only a moment," he sighed.

Her head shook insistently, "Please."

"My love. A moment."

He moved, disappearing from her sight. 

A hiccup rose from her throat, hot tears moving into her eyes. When the shaky breath left her lips, the tears fell and the panic came to the surface. 

She reached up quickly to her face, trying to wipe them away before Cregan could return. But when they refused to stop, her incessant wiping became irritated. 

Cregan returned, her brows furrowing at the sound of her cries.

His eyes widened at her and he crossed the room, taking her into his arms quickly. 

She practically melted against him. 

"I've got you, pretty. I'm not letting go. I promise."

"I want it to go away."

He leaned back just enough to see her face, "For what to go away?"

"His… HIs hands… on me."

One of his hands reached up, brushing the tears from her face. His voice was a soft coo, "How can I help this?"

She shrugged lightly, "Hold me?"

He smiled lightly and pulled her back to him, "That, I can do, my girl."

…

Soon, the bath was drawn and Cregan cautiously helped her undress. 

The warm water drew a soft sigh from her as she sat in it. She could hardly care enough to tie her hair up, the strands getting wet as her eyes closed. 

"Have room for another?"

Her eyes opened as she looked up at him, "Hmm? You know there is."

"No. I'm asking for your permission."

Her head tilted as she looked up to him, "Oh."

He smiled lightly, "You can decline."

"No," she mused. "I… I'd like that actually."

"Yeah? You sure?"

She nodded, "Please."

"Very well."

He made quick work of undressing himself, his clothes thrown half-hazardly across the floor. He tied up some of his hair messily as he stepped into the tub on the other side of her. 

Before he fully settled, she moved herself into his lap and straddled him. Her lips caught his like it gave her oxygen and she was suffocating.

He was thrown off. It took a while, but he finally recovered from shock.

"My love," he whispered between kisses. "W… What has gotten into… into you?"

"We're making it go away."

He gently grabbed her by her biceps, pulling her away. "Hey. Hey. Stop that." He spoke again when he caught her attention, "That's not how I want to do this."

"Hmm? H… How-"

"-Let me." He pulled her chin up, "May I?"

She nodded.

He pulled her back to him, his lips gently running down her jaw to her neck, kissing as he went.

A small whimper came from her throat. 

"Tell me to stop and I will," he whispered. 

"Don't ever fucking stop."

He chuckled, "The water will lose its warmth if I continue forever."

"You'll keep me warm."

He moved back to her lips, kissing her softly, "You're right. I will."

Cregan stayed true to his words, their time together going long into the night in comfort and love.

A vast contrast to the death and destruction that had occurred only hours before.

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Cregan taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, 8812-342, @nyxbranwenn, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest,

I'm trying to figure out why they won't tag everyone. I'll figure it out eventually 🫠

[ay-asterisms]

where is my annoying cocky teasing bastard rn

[harunayuuka2060]

WHB Series #1 (cont.)

MC: *seeing all the injured devils*

MC: *looks at that one demon who only has his head*

MC: ...

MC: Get better soon.

The bodyless devil: *croaks a thank you*

MC: ...

MC: Hey, Satan. Is Belial still alive or what?

Satan: I've heard he's dead.

MC: So he's in the morgue?

Ppyong: Sir Belial is not dead, aye!

Satan: Huh? That's not what you said before, Ppyong.

Ppyong: You weren't just listening to me, aye.

Leamas and Nina: ...

Nina: Samael...

Leamas: *holds her hand* We'll be safe here, Nina.

Nina: ...

Nina: But for how long? *worried she would lose herself again*

Leamas: ...

Leamas: *smiles* The descendant of Solomon is here.

Leamas: You have witnessed what they can do.

Bimet: *approaches* In honor of our courageous Sir Belial, we kindly ask you to consider making a contribution. *holding a small, golden pot*

MC, Satan, Sitri, and Ppyong: ...

MC: *unloads their gun and drops the remaining bullets into the pot*

Bimet: Hey!

MC: 'Seeds of the Damned'.

Bimet: *his expression turned serious* Ah, it's you. Follow me.

Sitri: Solomon? You know Sir Bimet?

MC: No. It's my first time meeting him.

Satan: Hm? Don't tell me you've met him in your dreams?

Satan: We haven't done anything yet and you're already cheating on me.

MC: *looks at him with a disgusted expression*

Satan: *laughs* Just kidding.

Bimet: Can we go now? You're wasting my time.

MC: Tch.

MC and Bimet: *entered a different room*

Bimet: Your Majesty Mammon, we're here.

Mammon: Thank you for your assistance, Bimet. You can continue with your business now.

Bimet: *bows then exits the room*

MC and Mammon: ...

Mammon: *smiles*

Mammon: Are you here to make a deal with me?

MC: Nah. You said last time (in a dream) that you would do me a favor.

Mammon: *chuckles* Indeed.

Mammon: What is it that you want?

MC: ...

MC: Don't touch my butt. Never EVER touch my butt.

Mammon: ...

Mammon: I thought you would ask me to modify the seeds.

MC: Nah, I need to set my priorities straight. Plus, I can do that myself.

Mammon: ...

Mammon: *smiles* You're an amusing individual. However, have you decided what you will do with that angel and Nina?

MC: ...

MC: I promised them death and that's what I will do.

Mammon: Well then. *returns the bullets to them*

Mammon: I'm sure you're as wise as Solomon.

MC: *raised an eyebrow*

Mammon: I'm not patronizing you.

MC: Good.

MC: Nina, Leamas.

Nina and Leamas: ...

Leamas: Is it time?

MC: Yes. You have explained it to her, haven't you?

Nina: *nods* You promised Samael and I would be together.

MC: That's right.

Nina: *smiles* Thank you, descendant of Solomon.

MC: *has requested an empty room*

MC: *loads their gun*

Nina and Leamas: *quietly waiting*

MC: You can talk to each other while you wait.

Nina: It's fine.

Leamas: We only want to enjoy the peace and quiet.

MC: Is that so? Well, if that helps to calm your nerves.

MC: *points the gun at them*

Leamas: ...

Leamas: We're doing it now?

MC: Yeah? I'm finished with the preparation.

Leamas: ...

Nina: *giggles*

Leamas: *sigh*

Nina and Leamas: *both smiled, holding each other's hand*

MC: I'll shoot you straight in the heart.

MC: It'll hurt a little.

Nina: That's fine.

Leamas: Descendant of Solomon, we will never forget your kindness.

MC: Sure.

Leamas: ...

Nina: Samael!

Leamas: Is that... Nina?

Nina: Samael!

Leamas: Nina...

Nina: SAMAEL!

Leamas: *opens his eyes*

Leamas: Nina?

Nina: *who's back to being a demon* *is in tears, but smiling* Samael...

Leamas: What happened? Didn't we die?

MC: *holding the defibrillators* Yup.

Satan: How are ya' feeling, Leamas?

Leamas: Your Majesty Satan... I feel... weird.

MC: You're having some side effects, but you'll feel better after you have sex.

Leamas: Huh?

Nina: You're no longer an angel now.

Leamas: ...

Leamas: Does that mean-

MC: Yes. I've turned you into a demon.

MC: Which I didn't know I could do.

Leamas: ...

Leamas: *starts to tear up* Descendant of Solomon-

MC: No. Don't. Nina already gave me a hard time.

Nina: *who cried earlier thinking she survived but Leamas didn't* *giggles*

Satan: We should celebrate this success. What do you think?

MC: I'm not going.

Satan: You can't.

MC: The fuck you mean 'I can't'? Let me rest.

Sitri: I agree with Solomon. We can celebrate some other time, Your Majesty.

Satan: Okay. I'll just visit you in your dreams then.

MC: *unamused*

[httpsghostie]

Can I Call You Tonight?

got this silly idea from a reel, so I'm in silly neighbor ghost mood

summary: you watered simon's dying plants.

wc: 1,2k

warnings: pure fluff, ghost x f!reader

Simon was always working, either buried in paperwork or fighting for his dear life. He couldn’t complain, though, it was the life he chose to have. He’d rented this apartment because it was near his work and as he said, he could always go walking. It didn’t cost much to live in that area, and he believed he didn’t need more than that apartment could offer.

The relatively low cost was exactly the reason you chose this building, it could use some renovation but you were happy to be starting a new cycle of your life. Finally moving out, finally living alone, it was all you could’ve asked for.

Living there was great, you loved it. It was so chill it was almost boring, so when you found this silly thing to do, it became your favorite activity.

Looking diagonally down from your balcony, a neighbor of yours had a few sad-looking plants that could really use some water. That being said, you could give a little hand for them to come back to life. You grabbed your squeeze water bottle and poured down some water on the plants, trying not to wet his entire balcony as you did so.

It became your silly little thing, watering that person’s plant like you were taking care of a child, but watching as it slowly came to life again was priceless. 

And Simon, well, he did notice something was different. As he smoked his cigarette, late at night on the balcony after arriving from his three week duty, he noticed the plant coming back to life again.

“Well, this is odd.”  He said, grabbing his phone from the pocket and taking a picture of it.

“Why did you send me a photo of your plant?” Johnny called as soon as he saw the picture.

“It was dead when I left.” He said.

“Ok?”

“I didn’t water it while I was gone.”

“Ok… so, someone watered it for you?” Johnny chuckled.

“Negative. No one has my keys.” Simon said in a low tone.

“Maybe it revived on its own.” If Johnny could see him right now, he’d laugh at his deadpan.

“I don’t- why did I even text you. Someone could’ve broken in.” 

“And what? Water your plants everyday and leave your stuff behind? Seems unusual.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Go rest, Lt, you deserve it.”

Simon stood there for a while, contemplating the events and then deciding he was overreacting. It wasn’t until he woke up in the morning, having slept on his couch, and heard the noise of water running. He jumped on his feet to check if he didn’t leave the sink open, but as he came back to his living room, he was able to see a small stream of water from his balcony.

“Ay, ay.” He opened the door, looking at where the water was coming; your apartment. Your cheeks immediately flushed as you noticed you’d spilled water in not only his plants, but him. You’d been on the phone, leaning on the balcony and holding the water bottle as you scrolled on your social media, and him yelling made you lose balance and drop your phone, and the chain of events unfolded way too fast.

You quickly let go of the water bottle and ran downstairs, only to meet him in his wet shirt, looking at your fucked up phone on the concrete. “I’ll get you a new one, I’m sorry.” He mumbled, turning to face you. “Simon.” He gave you his hand.

“Y/n.” You said with a pout, shaking his hand. You crouched, grabbing your now obviously dead phone and analyzing it. “I’m sorry for… well, for this.” You pointed at the wet patch on his shirt and he smiled.

“It’s nothing, it’ll dry off.” He said, watching as you almost finger punched your clearly not working phone. “Have you tried turning it off and turning it back on?” He chuckled, following you back to the building. 

“Fuck off.” You rolled your eyes at him, but ended up laughing along. “Have you tried putting your shirt on rice?”

“Good one.” He smiled. He was so… handsome. Where was he the whole time you’ve been living there? You two got in the elevator, and he pressed the buttons of his and yours floors. “So it’s you who’s been watering my plants.”

“They were dehydrated. You’re a bad parent.” You said.

“I was at work.” He quickly said, and you mumbled a small ‘oh’. “Anyway, thank you. I was going to throw them out. They look good.”

“No, it’s fine.” You smiled.

“So, give me your number so I can let you know when I get your new phone.” He said as the elevator came to a stop. “Oh, you don’t have one.” He laughed as he watched your expressionless face. “Wanna come to my place to talk about it?”

He held the door open, waiting for your reaction, and immediately smiled as you walked out of the elevator with him. He opened his door for you, letting you step inside, then got in and closed it behind him.

“Make yourself at home.” He said as he passed in front of you, taking his shirt off. Oh, bloody hell.

Oh, fuckfuckfuck. Shit. He was so fine. No, fine was an understatement. His body was definitely sculpted by gods, definitely. He was absolutely breathtaking, he was ripped and toned in all the right places, and the scars on his torso only enhanced his attractiveness. He was the living embodiment of attractiveness.

You blinked desperately, trying to look away.

“Wow, this… this is not-” you choked out.

“What’s wrong with ‘ya?” He asked, coming back with a new shirt in hands and a really, really wide grin. Something about him playing innocent was flipping something inside of you. He made sure to stay right in front of you as he put a dry shirt on.

You looked away in embarrassment, you must’ve been overthinking.

“Want some tea?” He asked, snapping you back to reality. You nodded, and he went to the kitchen. 

You sat on his couch, looking around his apartment, finding a few pictures of people in the army. “You don’t spend a lot of time here, do you?” You asked as he came back with two mugs in his hand.

“What makes you think that?” He handed you a mug.

You pointed at the dusty frame and he walked to your side, picking it up. “Where’s you?” 

“Who do you think it’s me?” He chuckled. There was a man in a skull mask, holding a dog to his shoulder, and your little frown was adorable to his eyes. He pointed towards him, and you made an unsurprised ‘ah’.

“I knew it, the tattoos gave it away.” You smiled, watching as he put the frame down again.

“Yes, they did.” He mumbled, chuckling his way to the couch, where he gestured for you to sit.

“I have to say, you look better without the mask, by the way.” 

“Thanks. It’s uncomfortable to wear it.”

“I believe…”

The next minutes passed with an awkward silence until he finally spoke again.

“So, I don’t know a lot about phones. I suggest we go out together to get you a new one.”

That smooth bastard.

“Like a date.” You said.

“Like me taking you out to get a new phone.”

“A date.” You laughed.

He sighed, rubbing his temple.

“Yes, a date.”

[briefalpacashark]

~Drunk Boys~

The boys from 141 get drunk and you have to pick them up.

Warning: Drunk, violence.

Parts inspired from New Girl. If you know you know.

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One lovely evening you sat in your little office space. The boys had headed off quite some time ago for a few drinks. Your usual Friday night outing didn't include you that time because of a few reports you had put off. It was pulling onto 1am when your phone started to ring. It was a new number you had never seen before.

“Hello, this is Y/N speaking,” you said.

“Hey uh doc?” It was Gaz voice that came through the call. 

“Gaz?” you asked.

“Who you talking to?” you could hear Jonny ask in the background.

“I'm talking to doc,” Gaz stated.

“Oh, why?” Jonny whispered.

“I don't know,” Gaz murmured back. It didn't take a detective to establish by their slurred tones that they were drunk.

“Gaz, why are you calling me from a random number?” you asked.

“I don't know. Our phones got wet,” he explained.

“Our?” you asked.

“Yeah Me, Soap, Ghost and Price,” he stated with a sassy tone, as if it was your fault for not knowing. 

“So you fucked you phones?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Gaz nodded.

“And you called me, why?” you asked. There was silence for a bit.

“Captain, why am I calling Doc again?” Gaz asked.

“Because we lost the fucking car and we need a lift back to base,” Price snapped in the distance.

“Because we lost the fucking car and we need a lift back to base,” Gaz tone was much calmer and sweeter than Prices. A small smile worked its way onto your face.

“Alright, ill be there soon. Where are you?” you asked, making your way to the door.

“Not at the base,” Gaz said.

“I know that Gaz. Where are you now?” It was like talking to a toddler.

“Oh, We're at McDonalds,” he said before the line went dead. There were three McDonalds in the town. You thought they would be at the one closest to the bar. You were right. You were about to pull into the car park when you paused. Alittle down the street, right under the McDonalds sign sat four blobs. Driving up to it, you slammed on the brakes at what you saw. 

Price was sitting with his arms crossed. His hat looked to have been ripped in half and then shakily put back together with some staples, a tuft of his hair sticking out the top. Next to him Ghost with a traffic cone on his head and one tucked in his lap as he sat cross-legged. He was hugging it, and the one in his lap had been drawn on, and made up to look like a person, with a hat and a bikini loosely tied around it. One of his jacket sleeves was missing as if it had been torn clean off. Jonny sat next to him shirtless, with a patch of hair missing from his chest. Over it a pink glittery 21st birthday sash. His mohawk sprinkled with glitter and a kilt. Gaz had left in a pair of jeans, he was now in a pair of pink booty shorts that you would place money on that had some word like bitch or booty on the back of bedazzled gems. A crown of beer cans ducked taped around his head compelled the fit. All about them, strewn across the floor was a variety of McDonald's food, ranging from ice-creams to nuggets. They were all happily munching away. And they were all missing their left shoe?

You got out of the car phone at the ready.

“Say cheese boys,” you called. Drunkenly, they all looked up in your general direction, taking a photo. You chuckled, pocketing your phone and hands as you looked over them all. Wondering what the hell happened to them. 

“Ah, it's doc. What are you doing here, lovey?” Jonny asked in excitement, throwing his hands to the air.

“I'm here to pick you boys up,” you said.

“Pah, no we're alright. We've still got to go to another bar. Ain't that right LT?” Jonny asked, waving you away.

“Aye. I want another lager,” Ghost stated defiantly.

“I think you boys have had enough. Just look at the state of ya,” you gestured to them. 

“Wow, body shaming. Shame on you Y/N,” Gaz slurred, shaking his head disappointingly.

“Your all wet. Each of you has a piece of clothing damaged and all of you haven't even made eye contact with me yet,” you explained. Instantly, they all turned to stare into your eyes.

“Bull shit,” Jonny hiccuped before taking a bite of his burger. 

“Sargent, Report,” Price spoke up. You paused, considering his words as he stared down at the road in front of him.

“Report sir?” you asked. He nodded, tipping forward ever so slightly. Your eyes widened. He was absolutely plastered. They all were. 

“Your all drunk as fuck,” you said simply, your sentence finishing in a bewilder chuckle. The boys could hold their liquer, hell you have ever seen Gaz and Jonny drunk. 

“Am not,” Jonnys offended tone had you laughing again.

“Of sorry. My mistake, your only eating ice cream burger because you want to,” you jabbed you fingers at the burger in his hands. The ice cream was dripping down his arms and it looked like he had stacked nuggets, chips and a shit ton of cheese into the mix.

“As a matter of fact I did want to,” he said moving his hand about, the contents of the burger slopping onto the ground.

“Awww,” Jonny whined.

“Five second rule bruv,” Gaz said reaching bow to pick up a handful of the mess reconstructing the burger and handing it back to Jonny.

“Thanks Gaz,” Jonny seemed genuinely thankful. You held back a gag as he moved it to his mouth.

“Don't eat that,” you warned. You sure as hell didn't want him getting sick of all the gems that were now thrown into the burger mix. 

“I'll do what I want to do, because I can do whatever I want to do because I can do it,” he slurred.

“Jonny you eat that burger and I'll never speak to you again,” you proposed the ultimatum. He paused, pondering for a moment.

“What if I drink it?” he asked.

“Your gonna drink a burger?” you asked raising an eyebrow.

“Aye,” he nodded confidently.

“I bet you a tenner you can't,” Price spoke up. The poor man looked to be dozing in and out of sleep.

“I'll take that bet,” Jonny said.

“Jonny that was on the road,” you pleaded.

“And?” he asked.

“Put it down,” you ordered sternly. With a grumble, he chucked the burger down like a toddler throwing a tantrum. The boys held back their giggles. You heard that right giggle. And it was stared by none other than the man himself. Price. He was giggling. The high-pitched noise sounded off coming from him.

“Ohhhhhhhh mums mad at you,” Gaz joked, nudging his side.

“Sod off,” Jonny grumbled.

“Alright where’s the phone you called me from?” you asked.

“Why?” Gaz questioned.

“Because you called me from a random number, which means you had someone else’s phone. By the state of you lot I wouldn't be surprised if you stole it,” you explained.

“Right, it's over there,” Gaz grabbed his thumb to the phone booth. You first thought they had called you from it, but when you noticed the little pink box, you walked up to it to get a closer look. It was an iPhone. In a pink case, it was cracked to kingdom come and they had somehow lodged it in the credit card reader. You tried tugging it out to no avail. What you did find was Gaz’s phone propped up on the little stand with his contacts open with your name and number on it. Deciding not to question the backwards thinking that led them there you pocketed Gaz’s phone, walking back to the boys.

“Alright, I want the truth ok. What happened?” you asked a little concerned.

“Meet up with some airforce boys. They tried to act all high and mighty,” Price shrugged.

“Said they could drink more than us,” Ghost added.

“We had to prove them wrong,” Jonny explained.

“And we did. But then they brought out, Um what was it called?” Gaz clicked his fingers. 

“Abstanance,” Jonny proclaimed proudly. 

“Absinthe?” you asked in shock.

“Hell yeah, drunk those fuckers under the table.” Ghost nodded.

“Dunk yourselves under the table by the looks of it. Why are you wet? And what the fuck happened to ya shoes?” you asked.

“The ducks were drowning,” Gaz stated simply.

“And there was a bar that takes your shoe when you start a tab. It's to prevent running out without payed your tab,” Jonny added.

“So you all rescued ducks and ran out on a tab?” you asked. The boys pondered for a moment realized how bad it sounded. 

“Yes,” Ghost nodded.

“No,” the rest of them said. 

“And only Ghost rescued the ducks, I fell in, Gaz tried to rescue me but couldn't and Price saved us both,” Jonny explained as if it fixed it all.

“You shouldn't have been hanging around ponds this drunk. It's dangerous,” you murmured.

“For your information, it wasn't a pond,” Gaz stated defensively.

“Oh yeah, what was it?” you cooed back.

“It was the fountain,” he pointed across the way into the park where a fountain was lit up. A knee deep fountain. 

“Right, get in the car. Come on,” the boys groaned.

“We can't,” Gaz said.

“And why not?” you asked.

“Cause,” he trailed off. “Legs an’t working,” he finished. The boys all gave him approving nodds thinking his excuse was to tire brilliance.

“Well, I guess I'll just help you. Come on,” you helped Gaz up first, sliding him into the back of the car. 

“I don't wanna go,” Jonny whined.

“I know big guy,” you cooed. Sliding him in next to Gaz, you shook your head when they started giggling. 

“Your turn,” you gestured Ghost up. 

“Am I under arrest?” he asked.

“What? No,” you shook your head.

“Oh really. Seemed like it.” his hint of sass had you pointing to the car. With a grumble he got up and walked to the car, slipping into the middle seat. You frowned, ducking your head to see the other door open, Jonny now sitting at the far side and Gaz nowhere to be seen. Looking back to the makeshift picnic, you saw him back at the phone booth.

“For fuck’s sake, Stay,” you order the two in the car. Walking up to him, you frowned as he held the phone up to his ear.

“What you doing Gaz?” you asked.

“Ringling Doc. She needs to come pick us up,” he said whole heartedly forgetting that you were there already. With a huffed you took him by the arms, pulling him back. You sighed when you saw Ghost and Jonny sitting back on the curb happily munching away. You sat Gaz in the back of the car, deciding to lock the back door this time. You then filed in Jonny than Ghost. Closing the door behind them, you made your way back to Price.

“Come on sir,” you called softly. He looked up to you and with the biggest beaming brightest smile, and he giggled. God you had never seen anything more pure.

“Your sweet Doc,” he said. 

“Thank You sir. Now can you get in the car please,” you begged. 

“Yes Ma’am,” he nodded, suddenly shooting to his feet. And with that, he toppled back like a domino landing in the bush.

“Christ,” You scrambled to get him out, practically carrying him to the car. Putting him in the driver's seat you buckled him in. When your head rose to make sure the boys were all in you were met by empty back seats. 

“Doc, we can't leave the boys,” Price stated pointing out the window. Where the three men were gathered around a tree relieving themselves. Only Gaz seemed to just be standing there and Jonny appeared to be pissing on Ghost's boot.

“Get in the car!” You called out the window. Begrudgingly, they all piled back in. 

“Hang on, I need a piss,” Price spoke up just as they all buckled in. With a tired sigh you patiently waited. Then when he returned you drove off. 

“Wait, a minute, this ain't the way home,” Gaz suddenly pointed out.

“Yes I know. I think I know the bar you're talking about. We're going to go back there and pay your tab and get your shoes back. The higher ups would have a field day if you guys got in trouble,” you explained. Pulling up to the bar, you parked the car.

“Wait this is a police station,” Jonny pointed out. Yes, on the other side of the street, there was a police station. 

“We should go fight that police officer,” Ghost suggested.

“What? What police officer?” you asked.

“The one we stole this from,” Gaz said, pulling a taser gun that had been tucked in the back of his pants.

“You stole from a police officer!” you exclaimed.

“First of all he was an absolute piss head. A real fucker,” Price spoke up in a logical tone.

“Yeah, he tried to arrest Gaz,” Ghost added.

“Prick,” Gaz grumbled.

“Let's do this Lads,” Price grinned at the rest of them. Like a toddler hyped up on sugar.

“Actually, I think that might be a bad idea,” Gaz spoke up.

“Gaz,” Price called and Gaz hummed in response.

“I got two of these and you got two of those. And we got whatever da fuck Ghost is, lets go,” he held up two fists before stepping out of the car.

“No NO nonononono,” you reached over trying to grab at Price, but he was already gone.

“I swear to god if any of you move I'll give you tetanus shots in the morning,” you threw the threat back at the remaining men in the car. The tetanus shot was one of the worst shots you could get, and they all had bad memories of it. So at the threat, they quickly did their seat belts back up. 

“Christ,” you hissed, quickly hopping out of the car when you saw Price walk up to an officer hanging around outside.

While you were trying to deescalate the situation and explain to the cop why there was a drunk man trying to pick a fight, the boys were watching from the car. 

“She's scary,” Gaz whispered.

“What a fucking woman,” Ghost grumbled.

“I think I'm gonna ask her out,” Jonny declared. Ghost head snapped around faster than light.

“Fuck off,” he grumbled.

“Don't tell me what to do,” Jonny rumbled back.

“I bagsed her. You can't do shit,” Ghost said.

“Fucking when?” Jonny asked.

“Just then,” Ghost stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You can't bags a woman,” Gaz interjected.

“I know, women are strong beautiful beings to be respected and we are to respect their choices,” Ghost said, all the boys agreeing.

“But I still bags her,” he added at the end. 

“Fuck you Brit. If you like her, do something bout it!” Jonny snapped his blink slightly delayed. 

“Suck a cock scotsman,” Ghost snapped back.

“Do-Do you think you can beat me in a physical altercation of feisty cuffs?” Jonny fumbled with his words, raising his fists slightly. His aim was to star threateningly at his face but he missed the mark slightly staring at his knee. “I will beat you in a way you have NEver Beeenn beaten before,” Ghost stared at Jonny’s unfocused gaze. Before casually reaching over and giving him a gentle backhanded tap on his face. 

“OHHHHHH,” Gaz called from his middle seat.

“DAMMIT!” Jonny explained as if he had just received a full on punch but didn't move in the slightest.

“You just got hit in the face lad,” Gaz giggle.

“Hit me again!” Jonny dared. So Ghost did, repeating the same action. Only it didn't seem to compute in Jonny mind the second time. “I dare you, you put your hands on me one more time, Cause I swear, it will be an, I will-” Ghost reached over his wrist wrapping around the back of Jonny neck.

“Come closer so I can put you in a choke hold,” Ghost asked politely.

“No!” Jonny declared going to hit back only for his hand to completely miss and fall to the side harmlessly. The two fumbled in the back of the car not really accomplishing anything.

“Guys, look he's gettin the cop!” Gaz announced. They all looked out the car window to see the cop walk off.

You had tried and failed to calm them down. Price had demanded to see the cop that tried to arrest Gaz. The boys all piled out of the car, some more graceful than others, before rushing up to you.

“Oh god no, get back in the car please!” you begged.

“Gotta get loose,” Jonny stated, starting to do jumping jacks.

“Guys Doc is right. We should go,” Gaz stated.

“Pussy,” that one word from Ghost was all it took for Gaz to shrug his jacket off and start stretching.

“You guys are really gonna fight a cop!?” you asked, bewildered by it all. 

“Yes we are!” Jonny yelled confidently.

“No you're not!” You yelled. You couldn't believe it. It was like all common sense had been turned off in their heads.

“Ohhh Jonny’s in trouble,” Gaz grinned.

“Fuck you,” Jonny called reaching out to try and give Gaz a slight tap on the nuts.

“Dont touch my balls!” Gaz cried. 

“Yeah Jonny,” Ghost chuckled, amused by it all only for Jonny to try and hit his. Bewildered, you were utterly bewildered as you saw the group of highly trained soldiers all become involved in what you assumed was a game of hit the dick. They were all relatively bent over trying to protect their jewels while simultaneously trying to hit each other. Even price had been pulled into it.

“Guys come on,” you begged. 

“He touched my penis!” Jonny cried in a high-pitched voice.

“Don't touch my penis!” Gaz screamed right back. 

“Can I help you boys?” A cop walked out of the station.

“Officer. Hi. I am so sorry about them there just a little drunk, I'll get them home safely,” you quickly interjected yourself between them.

“It's the cop!” Jonny declared pointing at him. The cop was beyond confused. Because for one, he had never seen the boys before in his life. 

The truth of the story was that it was a comply different cop that had tried to arrest Gaz. They looked similar, and that was about it. And the only reason why he was trying to arrest Gaz was because he had stolen his taser gun.

But the boys could hardly see straight, so when they heard the cop was there, they trusted his words comply. 

“Come on, let's go!” Jonny declared as they all crowded around the poor man. Well, you tried to keep them back trying to speak over their taunts for a fight. The cop spoke into his radio, requesting backup.

“Please, this is all a big misunderstanding. They're actually really nice blokes,” your words fell on deaf ears.

“Pig!” Ghost said.

“Oh look, the little boy needs back up. We can take em,” Gaz said.

“If Laswell finds out about this, she’ll have your heads!” Your yell instantly had the boys silent.

“FUCKEN RUN!” Price ordered the fear filling them. Instantly they took off down the street.

“Serpentine!” Gaz yelled had them all running in a squiggly line. Which had Jonny and Gaz running into each other. Ghost even knocked his head on a low post not even flinching as he kept on running. That left you standing there out the front of the police station with a group of police officers. And you all watched as the boys disappeared down the street. 

“So um that,” you trailed off, pointing to them. “I uh,”

“I have no explanation for that,” you whispered in defeat. 

When you found Gaz he was still running down the street.

“GAZ GET IN THE CAR!” you yelled out the window.

“FUCK THE POLICE! FUCK POLICE WOMEN!” he yelled.

“WHAT!?” you yelled. He instantly stopped running up to the car window.

“I have nothing against women, officers. I understand how my words were terrible. I just heard you were a woman and everyone calls you all policemen so I wanted to be inclusive but I realize I was just singling you out,” he explained drunkenly.

“Gaz I'm not a police woman. Get in the fucken car,” you ordered.

“You can't fool me. FUCK POLICE WOMEN!” he yelled, taking off sprinting again. 

“Fuck this,” you grunted slamming on the breaks and jumping out he car. Gaz wasn't really sure what happened but one moment he was running down the street and the next he was in the back of the car the seat belt cut and tied around his hands and feet.

The others were a bit harder to find. Price was up a fucking willow tree. Getting him out of the tree was a fucking mission. You ended up just throwing random stuff at him until he eventually fell out. You used branches to tie him up and put him in the car as well. Finding Soap was a lucky find. You saw him stumbling down the street and when you called out to him he rushed into a club. As you walked in you realized quickly that you wouldn't have much luck finding him. It was packed to the brim and you couldn't see over anyone's heads. So you make your way up to the DJ booth.

“Hi, I'm trying to find a drunk scotsman. He's a vet. Do you mind?” you asked, gesturing to the microphone.

“Anything for our boys,” he said, handing it over.

“If you're a Scot and wearing a kilt, come up on stage for your prize!” Everyone cheered as you tucked yourself behind the DJ stand. Jonny walked up on stage basking in the cheers, raising his hands high in the air. 

And then you crash tackled him to the floor, tying him up with some power cords.

“Fucks sake Jonny,” you grunted after you had lugged his body out of the club and into the car. 

“Wow, they caught you before me, Captain. I'm surprised,” Jonny grinned smugly. You spent the next hour searching for Simon. You were about to give up when you decided to ring his phone. If Gaz’s still worked there was a chance his did too. Hearing the ringing you frowned. It wasn't just coming from your phone. Looking back to the boys, you could hear the muffled sound.

“Hello?” Ghost asked through the phone. His actual voice sounded once again from the back. Getting out of the car, you rounded it before pulling the boot open. There Ghost lay, his large body comedically tucked into the back, the Traffic cone still in his arms.

“How long have you been in there?” you asked.

“Since you caught Gaz,” he stated simply. With a deep sigh you gestured him out of the back. You knew you didn't need to tie him up and helped him to the front seat. Locking the doors, you started to drive everyone back to base.

“Boys, we've been kidnapped,” Price stated slowly. 

“Like hell we have,” Jonny whispered back.

“What are you boys whispering about back there?” You asked. With your eyes on the busy road, you failed to see them untie themselves and jimmy the lock.

“RONDEVU AT THE PUB BOYS!” Price ordered. Instantly, they all threw themselves out of the car and legged it in opposite directions. You had slammed on the brakes once they had done it. You watched them run, letting your tired head fall to the steering wheel.

“Give me strength,” you pleaded. This time you weren't so lucky in finding them. 

What happened was your phone rang again. From a new number.

“Hello?” you already knew who it was.

“Hey doc. Can you come pick us up? We lost the car,” Gaz's voice wafted through.

“Sure where are you? You asked.

“The police station,” he whispered bashfully.

So there you were back at the police station. You smiled bashfully at the officers the boys had tried to fight. Luckily for them you were a sweet talker. And the fact that they were military helped as well. They would have been charged with theft of a police officer and walking out on a tab. But you returned the taser gun, which hadn't been discharged. And you paid the tab with a generous tip getting their boots back in the process. The boys embarrassingly walked out of the station looking like puppies that had just been kicked. 

“Are you mad at us?” Jonny asked.

“Not mad, Just disappointed,” you shook your head. For the four drunk men the sentence was devastating, making them drop their head in guilt. A tiny smile pulled at your lips.

“Come on, let's get you home,” you ruffled Jonny's hair gently pulling them all out of the police station.

“Can we get McDonalds on the way home?” Gaz asked.

“I want an ice cream,” Price spoke up.

“Sure, why not?”

This time, the drive was much more peaceful. When you got back, you made sure they were all changed, well hydrated and tucked into bed. Which was incredibly hard because they had hit the pass out drunk stage. Ghost was the hardest. You managed to get him on the bed and his shirt and jacket off relatively easily. You paused momentarily as you saw his bare upper body. God damn the greek sculptures could take pointers from him. Your gaze softened as you saw all the scars and bullet holes that lined the ripples of his muscle. He's been through a lot. You felt slightly perverted as you undid his pants. Only they were wet and long, so you stood there yanking at them pulling them off inch by inch. Now you were using your whole body to get those bad boys off, so it didn't surprise you when you flew halfway across the room when you finally got them off. Breathing heavily, you gently lifted his legs back onto the bed. Grabbing the blanket, you tucked it up to his chin, your hand brushing against the wet mask. While the room was heated, it was still cold. Plus, you couldn't tell if it was water or blood from the hit that was on the top. 

“Alright Simon, I'm gonna take off your mask. But I'm gonna close my eyes so don't worry. I just don't want you waterboarding yourself in your sleep,” you whispered. He gave no response. With a deep breath, you reached up and closed your eyes. Your hands gathered the material at the bottom of the fabric and started rolling it up. In your focus you hadn't noticed Simon's eyes snap open at the movement. His hand had almost snapped around your wrist, only stopping when he saw your eyes closed. Slowly, he let his hand fall as you pulled the mask fully off. 

“Alright, now let's see if you did any damage to that head of yours?” you asked. Your hands brushed away his hair from his face, humming at the loose curls. His heart stirred as he stared at you, loving the blissful feeling your hands gave him as they moved across his face. When you were happy that it was only a lump he had sustained a small giggle left on your lips.

“That's gonna be a shiner mate,” you whispered.

He watched as your smile dropped slightly when her thumb brushed over a scar. You got a weird sense of DeJa'Vu as you thumb gently traced the scar. So many scars. Life certainly hadn't been kind to him.

"What am I gonna do with you huh?" you asked softly. Brushing his hair back once again, you stood.

“Night Simon,” you whispered before blindly making your way out the room. Simon watched the door close before looking up at the ceiling. His hand clasped over his rapidly beating heart as he came to the sudden realization. 

He was absolutely smitten for the Doc.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

================================================

=COD Master List Here=

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[alrtyhoney]

TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS 

(I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness and I have to sit down for a while– the feeling that I'm losing her forever.)

The rundown: That cake scene with Miles at his father’s bodega party but it’s with Miguel and his universe’s daughter. He’s late and it’s your quinceañera. Content: Father!Miguel O'hara x Daughter!Reader / Angst! (wc: 3844)

There was something oddly peculiar about your father. People would assume that he would be the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child; the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. You’d argue it wasn’t true– you were fed, you had the weight of what a fifteen year old should have, and education was proper. 

You love your papa with all of your heart, but there was no denying the fact that he would never be around often enough. You understood this when you were eight years old, and mornings would bring only a cold breakfast accompanied by a hastily scribbled note from him. He’d leave early– far too early. You tried staying up in an attempt to tell when he gets up and leaves the house, but you swear you don’t hear the door open every time. 

Then came twelve and the missed events. Miguel seemed to be missing in action when it came to certain school activities, not showing up for things that he had previously made commitments for. It became more and more frequent as you grew older– you wouldn’t hear from him for days.

He was a man dedicated to his profession, and although you felt pride in what he had achieved, there was this empty space in your heart that hadn’t been filled ever since you were eight. It was said that a child needed the presence of their parents to feel security– to feel important. You never truly understood it, not until you had to endure many nights at dinner alone and the numerous times you spent walking home with nothing but your own thoughts for company.

You had always pondered over the question of whether it was a common phenomenon that fathers seemed to love their daughters less once they had reached teenagehood– or if it was possible for fathers to unlearn being fathers. 

“Is your papa coming, bebita?” 

The faint notes of classical music filled the air as you sat on the wooden floor, stretching your sore limbs. You observed the ladies who were much older than yourself starting their exercise routines, having come in early before the group class began. You waited for Miguel to pick you up. 

– But that had been two hours ago. Your teacher finally worked up the courage to approach you, hesitantly looking for the right words to say. She wasn’t exactly pleased to be the one to let you down, but she’d seen you walk out the studio’s door alone time and time again after you told her that your father would bring you home himself.

“He said he’d come pick me up today.” You spoke, nervously twisting the ends of your skirt. Your teacher had most likely heard these words countless times before from you, but the faint ray of hope in your voice remained firm. “He promised.” You added quietly, praying that maybe it would be different this time. 

“Ay, bebita– you know how this ends. You tell me those exact words and you walk out here on your own anyway.” She slightly shook her head, her face softening with a sympathetic smile as she knelt closer to you. “Tell you what, how about I offer to give you a ride home today? I have plenty of snacks in my car that you can enjoy. You can take as many of them as you'd like.”

You took some time to consider it, letting her gently weave her fingers through the strands of curls that couldn't quite fit into a bun. Your lips pursued as you sighed softly, “What if he comes and I’m not here anymore?” You’d hate to miss the opportunity.

Of course you still had faith that he would come, having endured all the other times he had let you down. You were never one to quickly give up on people and your father was the only one you trusted the most— you’d hate to admit that his inconsistency was starting to hurt; digging a deeper wound to the already bleeding cut. 

“He’s not coming and I know you know that too.” 

She stands up, grunting slightly as she hefts herself up. You knew there was no more room for negotiation anymore when she urged you to come along. She carefully takes your backpack from off your back and drapes it over her own shoulders, “Come on sweetheart, let's get you home.” 

The silence in the car was palpable, with no one feeling the need to prod conversation. You hadn't stopped fidgeting with the hem of your bag since you got in, and you could feel your teacher's worried glances burning into you. Your mind was a jumble of emotions that kept bubbling away as they all competed for your attention. What could be his reason this time/?

She switched on the radio in an effort to lighten the tense mood, but when a melancholic tune filled played instead, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh.

“Is it possible for fathers to unlove their daughters?” 

It was a question that took her completely by surprise, so much so that another uncomfortable beat of silence passed before she could respond. The stillness made you regret asking in the first place. Your legs shifted nervously, an unconscious habit which you had never noticed before.

“Of course not,” She muttered, almost inaudibly. “Fathers tend to forget is all.”

But you knew that wasn’t the case. 

While Miguel was never home, something else resided on the corners of your house– someone you have never met at all. She smiled back at you from the frame sitting atop your dad's nightstand, wearing the similar blue soccer jersey your school had. She was the picture on his wallet and the little widget on his phone. It was beyond you– the few blue ribbons hidden on the box beneath his bed; the medals, the drawings you know you’ve never drawn or given him. For all you know, the kid didn’t even go to your school. 

It wasn’t anything sinister, but in a way she felt like a ghost. A child your father mourned for all his life and you had no idea why. 

This was a physical pain in your chest; one that was peeling away the very layers of your heart until it was nothing but ugly– just how could Miguel love a child more than his own? It was ridiculous to feel like you were in competition with someone you barely knew, yet somehow, you felt like you were losing. It felt even more absurd when you considered the possibility that maybe you weren't really his child at all.

“I joined our school’s soccer team today, papa.” 

It wasn’t an ordinary occurrence for Miguel to be at the dining table for lunch. But on this Saturday noon, he was there. Sitting across from you, quietly eating his food. Finally, he paused and shifted his gaze towards you, seeming to linger on you longer than normal before looking away, cracking a grin.

“Soccer? You hate sports, mija.” He says, a bit of laughter in his voice. "What made you decide to try out? I don't recall you being the least bit interested before."

Something in his eyes becomes brighter, a sense of familiarity as he eagerly awaits your response– and the thing is, you couldn’t tell him why. Not without addressing the elephant in the room. Maybe you’d hang my medals too? Maybe you’d frame a photo of me? You know well your question reminds him of someone else. 

“No reason.” 

It was no surprise that you were terrible at it. After barely two seasons, you'd already given up. However it was surprising to see Miguel in the stands during the times that you had a game, but there wasn’t much to watch anyway— not when you’d been relegated to the bench for most of the time. All you felt was shame. 

Oddly enough, he didn't question it. He remained silent during the rides back home, his gaze distant and never once looked at you. Had you embarrassed him to an extent where he couldn’t even acknowledge you? Or have you given him the impression that you were just no better than the little girl in his pictures?

You dared not to talk about it too.

Music was your passion; the pulse, the poise and elegance of it all resonating with you deeply. Ballet was something that spoke to you particularly in ways no other art form could. You found a special joy out on stage, a feeling that grew deeper and greater each time you danced.

But like every flame that you desperately try to keep alive, Miguel had a way of snuffing it out. 

You remember it all so vividly, even though you'd much rather the memory be nothing more than a faint blur. Your very first recital and yet he wasn't anywhere to be found amongst the audience.

Your focus was a tunnel-vision, only set to finding even a glimpse of him— you had been so determined to find him that you forgot about all of your own movements. Soon, the few wrong turns had turned to missed cues; as soon as the music stopped, you made a run for it.

Your teacher had done her best to console you that day, attempting to coax a smile from you in front of the vanity mirror with its bright lights. She had wrapped her arms around you, doing anything she could to draw even the faintest curve of your lips. But you stayed slumped on your seat, feeling the weight of the unshed tears on your eyes. 

The door swung open, finally revealing Miguel; he was out of breath and sweat glistened on his forehead. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his tie was undone, a clear sign that he had run all the way here. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before walking in frantically, eyes looking for you. 

His eyes softened at the sight of you in your pretty pink tutu– then the tenderness was replaced with a feeling akin to plummeting one hundred stories down. How could he miss this? How could he let his sweet girl wait? He rushed to your side, sinking down into a kneeling position. He looked upon you with lines creasing his forehead and you already knew what was to come out of his lips.

“I’m sorry muneca, I came as fast as I could.” 

The other parents of your classmates started to barge inside the very room, their children giddy with joy and excitement, running to them with beaming smiles. You could hear their loud congratulations– voices singing sweet praises and telling how they looked outstanding on stage. The noise sounded like static in your ears, like their words were unfamiliar to you. They received bouquets of flowers, sweets– gifts for a job well done. Miguel came late and only with apologies. 

“You want pretty flowers too, mijita? We can stop by the flower shop a few blocks away from here, you can pick any bouquet you want.” His lips curved into a gentle smile, desperate to make his daughter feel better– the same daughter who wouldn't even meet his gaze. “Papa had to deal with something. I’ll be sure to go to your next recital– pinky promise.” 

“But I worked really hard for this.”

You wanted so desperately to blame him; to yell at him for every mistake that you've made on the stage. You felt ashamed, humiliated, and helpless all at once- and still, you couldn’t have the heart to be mad at him.

He looked at you apologetically, "Baby, I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier. How about we talk about the flowers you want to buy instead? There are lots of restaurants nearby as well— you can pick whatever pleases you, just name it." He paused for a moment before continuing, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know how much this meant to you.”

If he did, why couldn’t he have come at all?

You let out a deep sigh, feeling completely ridiculous in your tutu. All of the sudden, the leotard appeared to be two sizes too small and utterly irritating; your tights seemed unbearably itchy. You looked down helplessly, wanting nothing more than to leave this situation behind. “I just want to go home. Can we just leave? Please?” You pleaded softly. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, a gesture that conveyed own sinking heart in a way words could not. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, breath hitching as he gave in to your request instead. 

“Of course.” 

After that very moment, you'd vowed to yourself never to wait in anticipation of something that may or may not come. You wouldn’t put your faith in any more of your father's promises spoken under the dead of night. It took a toll on you– your naivety had taught you better than before.

But when your fifteenth birthday drew near, you never expected he would go so far.

The locks clicked and whirred as Miguel fumbled with the keys to the front door. You could hear your Father's voice, clearly agitated as he jostled the keys back and forth in an attempt to fit them into the lock. Finally, he steps inside, eyes immediately darting to you.

“You’re not wearing your birthday dress, sweetie. Is something wrong?” He’s wearing a smile, struggling to keep the two boxes of cake upright as he locks the door from behind. The banner is lopsided and the balloons scattered all around seem small– like they’ve been there for days and were starting to deflate themselves. He kisses the top of your head once he gets close, getting a better view of what you were working on on the counter. Homework. “Did you have your friends over today? How was it? Wanna hear all about it.”

And he must have forgotten. You decided to pretend not to hear his question, continuing to jot down notes, only humming at his presence. He settles the boxes down, sitting on the stool beside you. 

“I know papa’s late, but you can still go and wear your dress. I want to take pictures– should we order pizza? Do you want something else?” He’s rambling, hurriedly searching for his tone to dial down a few numbers. Miguel turns frantic, looking at the closed signs under every nice restaurant. “Pizza should be fine, mijita– you’ve eaten dinner, right?” 

“Not hungry.” 

Miguel chuckled, dialing anyway. “Did school suck today, sweetie?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You know what can cheer you up? Cake. You love cake.”

“I don’t like cake anymore.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can feel frustration boiling over inside– and you fear it wasn’t the kind you’ve grown accustomed to suppressing. He was oblivious and it was killing you, hurting you in so many ways possible. “I’m not hungry.” You repeat again.

“Don’t be like that, __. Besides, it’s still tradition.” He stands up to check the drawers, only finding worn out candles from past birthdays. He takes a lighter. “Know what’s better than a cake? Two cakes! You’ll change your mind, go and open the boxes mija,”

Miguel excitedly pressed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently forward to open the two boxes of cake. The look in his eyes was that of pure anticipation as he waited eagerly for you to do so. It almost hurt you to tell him the news— that you wanted more than to just take the blame itself. It was conflicting. 

You finally got up from the bar stool, settling on your feet in front of the counter. Taking a deep breath, you carefully opened the lid of the boxes. What greeted you had made you visibly recoil– the small flicker of hope that settled in your chest gone as quickly as it came. The cakes were crumbled and the frosting was all over the box, like it had been trampled and tossed around.

Was this all a joke? Were you a joke to him? Your shoulders trembled as you couldn't bring yourself to look away from it; the letter was still visible but amongst the cake crumbs lay written a name– Gabriella. Not happy birthday to you, but Gabi. 

You didn’t know what hurt most. Your lips quivered and all you could mutter was, “Gabi?”

His eyes widened in surprise as he quickly moved to your side to take a look at the cake himself. He swiftly closed the lids, shaking his head. “Must’ve been a mistake back at the bakery. I can–” 

And you could barely catch your breath, not when the hurt piled over one another. 

“Are the medals from her? The one’s from your bed? The trophies?” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly irritated. “What did I tell you about snooping around my things, __?”

“Is this the girl–” A ragged inhale cuts your thoughts, “on your nightstand and wallet?” You didn’t even realize you had started to cry, but when another breath had caught itself in your throat, you were inconsolable– finally letting the dam break all at once.

Miguel did nothing to console you– he didn’t know how to. He knew he had messed up royally and all he could do was helplessly watch you break down. Who knows how long you’ve kept this? 

“__, come on. It’s just a simple mistake, it’s still cake–”

“And it was my birthday!” 

“Baby, what’s the big deal?” He was shocked and understandably so. His sweet, babygirl, who was usually so quiet and docile, was talking back angrily to him– but Miguel knew better than to point fingers. This was his fault– your unbecoming was his own doing.

“You just had to be late– on my birthday!” 

“I have work, baby, you know this.” 

“That still doesn’t explain anything!” You cried out, desperation flooding your voice. “Why are you never home? Where do you go? Who is Gabriella– why do you love her more than me?” You could feel your breath catch in your throat as your voice rose and trembled with every question. Your breathing grew unsteady and your throat began to close up, not allowing anymore words to come out as much as you wanted to scream. You feared there’d be no more room for air.

And there was something about Gabriella that everytime she was brought up, Miguel would be defensive. Perhaps it was the plenty of times Lyla would reprimand him when she catches him watching the few videos of them or when Jess would pity his state. “Don’t be ridiculous, __. I made a mistake– that’s it. We don’t have to fight.” He says, grabbing a spatula. “If it bothers you so much, here,”

Miguel frustratedly spreads the lettering with the spatula, leaving smudges of red on top of perfectly white frosting, resulting in a more muddled mess. He's making a complete mess of it and you can't bear to watch any longer. Your still figure finally reaches out to grab his wrist, “Stop— stop that! What are you doing?!”  

It was no use. The cake was nothing but totally ruined now. You didn’t even have the chance to read the message. He forcefully digs the candles on both, sliding it in front of you. Your eyes stayed on the cake– you didn’t have the heart to look at him. Anger boiled up within you and without a moment's hesitation, the words leaped from your mouth, "You're not listening to me! This is not what I'm so upset about—!"

But he responds in the same loudness as yours, slamming his hands down on the cold tiles of your countertop. “Okay, champ, you got it– go for it! Say what you have to say,” A sarcastic chuckle left his lips, adding insult to the already deep wound. “What do you have to tell me so bad?”

And you didn’t think it was possible for silence to be more deafening, but as you stared each other down, all you could think of was how maybe Miguel was worse than the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child or the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. 

You were right. Fathers were capable of unloving their daughters and the way his dark eyes burned into yours was all the answer you needed. This wasn’t your papa– did you ever know him?

“My birthday was two days ago.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, doubt creasing his forehead as he looked back to the calendar hung on the fridge. His gaze resting on your birthday date, the red circle mocking him in vivid reminder— two days ago. Your birthday was two days ago. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt nothing but guilt tying his stomach in knots. 

“Mijita–” He’s quick to console you, the anger in his words disappearing immediately and turning into an apologetic one– but every time he’d try to move forward, you’d only step back. Miguel couldn’t even bear to think how you’ve celebrated on your own. How you waited for him all night in your birthday dress. He subtly shook his head, trying his best not to clog his mind yet. 

He needed to make it up to you. He couldn’t lose you too.

“My birthday– why did you have to take it?” You rubbed your eyes harshly, but the more you wiped the tears away, the more they seemed to fall. “It’s mine and I still had to wait for you to be able to sing the song. It’s my day and all I could think of was what time you might come home tonight.”

You wanted nothing more than for him to run to you with open arms, to let you cry on his shoulders– but as his silence stretched on, you mistook it as nothing but ruthless. He simply didn’t care. Miguel was too much of a wall for that. 

The look you gave him was nothing but hate– a look no parent wants to ever come across and it almost makes him stagger back. It was like what he had done was the most disgusting– most inconsolable act ever beyond repair and all he could do was watch; watch as another daughter of his slip through his fingers. He’s holding you like water and he doesn’t know how to keep you in.

You scoffed, averting your gaze. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine by me.” You turned your back, letting out another shaky exhale. You couldn’t look at him the same– not after this.

“You make it really, really, hard to feel like a daughter.” 

And with that, you run to your room, leaving Miguel to stay rooted to where he stood. He thinks to himself– had he taken that from you too?

[3archangelsaints]

"Aye lass, what do you want for yer birthday?"

"A dog." You say quickly, smiling and opening up pinterest, showing pics of German Shepherds and Blegian Malinois. Johnny scrolls through it, as you laugh and giggle and reach for the phone. "Give it."

"Aye, should I tell Lt you want a dog?" He laughs and you shake your head.

"And tell him what? That I'm so fucking miserable when he's deployed and sometimes I can't do anything from crippling anxiety at the thought that he's dead. That I want a dog so I'm not lonely." You say it so quickly and emotionally, that you almost sob and tremble at the confession. "Sorry."

He tugs you into a side hug. "Lt know?" You shake your head.

"Its his life. He has you guys, I don't wanna take that from him." You say solemnly. Trembling. "Please don't tell him."

---

You slump into the sofa, feeling dazed and overwhelmed. "Did he tell you?" You ask eyes closed, but its directed to Simon.

"Tell me what?" He sounds confused. Your lips purse and you tremble scared.

"I can't sleep when you're deployed, and I get lonely, sometimes my anxiety is so bad I can only sleep until I pass out from pure exhaustion." You pause. "Simon, I don't know if I can handle it happening to you too." You breathe ragged. "That's why he's getting - got me a dog." I cry softly.

Simon looks at Kyle and John as he comforts you. Nothing they can say can be of comfort and its not like your thoughts were irrational, it could happen, Simon - Ghost could be killed. One pull of a trigger pointed at his head and then gone.

Price nods. "We're gonna get you that dog, eh?"

"We can call him Soap if you want." Kyle offers. You laugh and cry into Simon's shoulder.

"He was the only one who saw my wedding Pinterest board." You admit. Everyone goes silent. "He was gonna be the best man, he said, that he'd talk to Lt." You huff tearfully, "Maybe Price officiate, he said, Gaz would be the ring bearer." And suddenly you're laughing hysterically before wailing in utter despair.

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[just-some-random-blogger]

Yeti

Cregan Stark x Martell!Reader

Summary: Cregan takes you hunting with him and, you get caught up in a snowstorm. Needless to say, the cold is a formidable adversary to your Dornish self.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: fem!reader, wife!reader, mentions/depictions of violence/gore/horror, smut (pwp tbh, semi-public sex, breeding kink, cunninglingus, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, praise kink), cregan 'don't fuckin scare my wife' stark, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: haha head. no thoughts. only wolf hubbie. and ok just roll with the folklore i added just just Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

"WHAT?" I quip, breath condensing with the cold air.

The men around me let out deep, hearty chuckles upon hearing my concerned exclamation. Cregan chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. The fire in the middle of our group crackles.

"Aye, I saw it with my own two eyes," the oldest of the men in the hunting party says, "twas the biggest beast I'd ever seen." He scratches his white beard. A shiver runs down my spine. It wasn't just because of the wind.

"Lord Stark," a voice calls from behind, "we've finished setting up the tent."

Cregan turns to the approaching men and nods, "very good. Thank you."

"When mi cousin went missing," I turn to the man by my right as he speaks, "mi aunt saw a seer to ask if they could get 'is body back if 'e was dead," he says, "and, by the gods, instead, that night, there was a loud screech and claw marks on the trees. In the end, they erected a stone for mi cousin without 'is body."

I shudder and wrap myself tighter into my coat.

"D'ya know the story about the headless, lady?"

My expression twists, along with my insides. I shake my head.

"Well," the man continues, "long story short, an entire heard of sheep slowly started losing their heads and there were large footprints that trailed off the farm every time it happened."

I clench my jaw, "... how horrible."

"Aye. Yetis feed messily. They say that if you find sheep organs in the snow, you ought to run cause a Yeti left that there."

Cregan rolls his eyes but then catches the way my face continues to contort.

"Didn't all of the sheep on that farm have their guts gushing out of their necks?"

"I think it also happened to the cows-"

"That's enough," Cregan shakes his head, leaning on his knees, "I will not hear another word of the kills of snow figments while we're out in the snow."

"But it's not a figment."

"Milord, you know that even your father had an encounter with the Yeti-"

"The Yeti kill mi dog-"

"Enough, I said!" Cregan blurts louder than the rest. He stands from his spot, and in turn, his cloak, which he had wrapped around me, is pulled off my body. He stills, having forgotten he'd done that, and looks down at me, reaching hand, "in the tent with you."

I do not take his hand. I instead grip my furs tighter as I slowly stand. He does not fault me for it, though he does let out a grunt.

The men share another laugh. They watch as I struggle to move from my spot, as I was practically twice my size with all of the layers I had on. Cregan had even given me his outer coat, leaving him one layer less, yet still, he was unfazed where I was practically rigid with frost.

"Poor Dornish cub," one of the men mutter.

Cregan presses his lips together and adjusts the woolen hat on me. He wipes the snowflakes off my lashes before placing a hand on the brown bear fur on my back, "waddle quicker then."

I do not snark back at his remark.

One crunch in the snow after the other, my boots finally take me to the tiny, makeshift tent.

Cregan reaches out to me again, making me look back at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. When I do nothing but stare, he mutters, "the coat, love."

I furrow my brows at him like he called bloody murder, "but I'm cold!"

Cregan blinks then shakes his head, "I'm only going to dust the snow off."

I shake my head and shudder, breath condensing in the air.

He purses his lips and grabs me not unlike a rag doll. I squeak and just let it happen. He brushes the snow off me, muttering something under his breath as he did, then guides me into the tent.

When he kneels down by the makeshift bed on the ground, he and takes off his cloak, "will you be sleeping with the whole wardrobe on you?"

I plop down next to him gracelessly and pant, "if you wish for me to survive through the night."

He draws out a deep breath. It looks as though smoke left his lungs. Cregan makes a pillow out of his cloak and motions to it.

I gratefully lie down, although with all the layers on me, the cloak-pillow was a bit too low. Still, I fluff it up and it suffices well enough.

"Will your men be alright outside?" I mutter as I gaze upon the blanket and fur tent they built.

He grunts as he stands, "there've been worse winters, sunshine." He then begins to walk off.

"Wait," I knit my brows, "where are you going?!"

Cregan turns back and places his hands on his hips, "I wouldn't want to intrude on you and your fur. There's barely enough room for the two of you."

"Cregan."

"Oh, Hush, hush," he waves his gloved hand and moves to close the tent's opening, "I'm keeping watch so my bear cub doesn't get eaten by a Yeti."

"That's not funny."

I hear the sound of his boots stomping away.

It was bad enough that I was shivering intermittently in my sleep, thus why I kept waking up, but then I had an awful nightmare about the gargantuan, white-furred snow monster. Now all I could do was pray to R'hllor that I remain strong enough to get through this storm.

I further solidify when I hear a deep cry from a distance.

... no... not a Yeti. That's simply my mind playing tricks on me.

And yet my heavy eyes are now wide open.

I roll on my back and sit down as I listen to the wisp of the storm, anticipating another shriek.

I sniffle and shudder as dread bubbles in my belly.

"I am not waiting for the Yeti to creep in my tent, gods no," I mutter to myself as I crawl out of my tent on all fours.

As I emerge out of the warm cocoon, I yelp when I look up and find myself faced with a snow covered man laid back on a tree truck. He looked as though he was dead. I let out louder yelp when I realize the man was Cregan.

I run to him, no longer caring that cold was seeping through my fur and quickly brush the snow off him. Because of this, Cregan groans and finds consciousness.

"W-"

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" I rub Cregan's face with my hands.

He scowls at me, "is it morning?"

"W-what?"

He groans as he sits up, "dammit, girl, I was sleeping."

"WELL HOW COULD I HAVE KNOWN THAT!" I quip, "you look like you were about to make friends with the Stranger."

Cregan grabs my arms as his face slowly contorts, "I'll have you know I am the vision of health, bride."

I let out a sound as he leans in and wraps his arms around me, bringing his face into my neck. The feel of his cold nose against my skin makes me gasp. He mumbles, "so warm."

"Cregan," I brush the building snow on him, "let's go into the tent."

And so we did. Or at least as much as the Stark lord could fit inside.

Once we were situated in the tent, I laid next to Cregan, who kept moving because of his legs that were sticking out. After a while, he began shifting me as well. He pulls me into his chest and claws my coat off, "away with these furs, dammit."

"Cregan, I'm cold."

My words and my attempts to keep myself warm are futile as my hulking husband rips the source of his ire off me, "I can warm you better."

"Cregan, please," I grab his hands when he tries to undo more of my clothes, "it's too cold for this."

I am wholly defenseless when he shifts on his knees and shoves me on my back. He situates himself between my legs and pulls his gloves off, "I'll leave you sweating."

I whimper when I feel cold begin to seep through as he pushes my skirts up, "Cregan-"

"Shh, shh, shh," he digs his finger into my hips, " 'm just going to warm my face. You felt how cold I was."

With a rip, my pants and smallclothes were down. The yelp that leaves me is repeated when I feel Cregan's frosty lips on me.

Cregan sinks down and throws my legs over his shoulders. At this point, his bottom half was sticking outside the tent. That, added to the sounds I was making through my glove-muffled mouth, made for the most obviously obscene act you would ever witness in the woods amidst a storm.

"Come now, pretty girl," he mutters between kisses, "no one will hear you through the wind."

I whimper when he swirls his tongue around my nub.

"And even if they do, they'll know to blame it on the Yeti."

True enough, I begin to grow warmer and warmer, and louder and louder.

"Mmm, fuck, Cregan," I reach down from him and dig my fingers into his hair, "I feel warmer now. So warm."

He hums against me, eliciting a moan from my lips. He sighs hotly on my core then nips at my thigh, "so sweet and soft, and all for me."

I whimper and arch against him as he continues to lap at my increasing wetness. I bite down on my lips as the sound of his feasting fills my ears.

"Cregan," I sigh as I pull on his roots, "need more."

He barely lifts his head and whispers against me, "not warm enough?" His one brow quirks.

"Need you inside me," I mutter, seeing my breath fog up in front of my face.

Cregan chuckles then sigh, "see, you woke me up," he retorts, rubbing his cheek against my thigh, "I'm going to need you to beg for forgiveness first."

I grunt when he sinks back down on me, "please, husband. Forgive me. I'm begging you. I need you."

Cregan chuckles louder, "how wanton, not even putting up a fight--"

"Please," I pull his hair again, "please."

He shakes his head, so very clearly meaning to rub me with his nose, "I'm enjoying this enough already."

"My love, please. I want you in me," I pant."

With that, he sinks down darts his tongue into my folds, making me squeal. He continues at it then makes me yelp when he grazes my flesh. He croons, "like that, pretty girl?"

I whine helplessly as he continues. I can practically feel his grin against me. I scrape his scalp with my fingers, "Cregan."

He chuckles and relents, lifting his head, "oh, what now?"

"I need your cock in my cunt."

He laughs then clicks his tongue, "my, my, Lady Stark. How uncouth. Is how they raise the ladies in Sunspear?"

I let out a whimper when the cold bites my exposed flesh after Cregan pulls away. He presses his fingers into my thighs, "what would you give me if I fucked you, wife?"

I answer exactly as I know he wants, "an heir."

He huffs heavily through his nose and gets on his knees, "just one?" He brings both my legs into one arm as his other works on undoing his trousers.

"As many as you want, my lord."

He hums and eventually frees himself. I sound leaves me when I feel how cold but hard he is, "good girl."

Our groans mix as he sinks into me and pushes my knees into my chest. I feel warm slick on him as he rubs into my chilled cheek. "Fuck. You're so cold," he mutters. He proceeds to pepper kisses all over my face, "let me take care of you."

I reach for his face and begin to grunt when he bucks into me. If it weren't for all of the clothes still on my back, I'd surely have my skin gashed by the end of this.

"Fucking gods," he growls against my temple, "so tight and hot."

He pushes his hands behind my knees and picks up the pace.

I throw my head back and helplessly whine as he slaps into me. He pushes down on me and pins me in place. He pants against my ear, "this warm enough for you?"

"Mmm, gods, yes-"

"Gonna fill you up. Burn my come into you. Make you carry my pups," he licks my skin then nips at me, "make you heavy with my seed. Put so many pretty babes into my pretty bride."

My fingers dig into his hair as his mouth trails down my neck. He asks, "you want that don't you?"

"Yes, wolf."

He gruffs and snaps his hips rough, "good. Good."

I grow warmer as he moves quicker. Soon enough both our bodies are warm to the touch. I peck his cheek and bask in the feel of him. At a point, his movements become erratic and aggressive.

"My pretty cunt. Mine, mine mine."

"Cregan-"

"Yes, darling. I'm here," he sighs, "fucking my pups into your soft belly and warming you up. Feels better than all those fucking pelts right? Warmer. Warmer. Warmer. So fucking warm."

I squeal as I feel myself get pushed on the edge.

"Come on, love, give it up to me."

I whine erratically.

"Come on, pretty girl. Milk my cock and take my cum. Fuck, just like that. Come on. Don't be difficult. Come on, my little-- oh, that's it."

Cregan's movements do not relent as I come undone and spasm beneath him. The knot inside me breaks into a thousand pieces and I'm sure if there was a Yeti out there, they'd be running the other way after hearing me.

A few moments later, he, himself, twitches and fucks all of the smug comments he meant to say out of his system.

His movements grow increasingly languid until he comes to a stop.

He breathes against my neck and finally releases his clutch on my legs. He adjusts his hold on my thighs and makes a cushion out of me, not that I mind. In fact as I catch my breath and wrap my legs around him, I warn in between breaths, "don't you dare pull away, Stark."

He presses his lips on the top of my head, "never, Stark."

[pygmi-cygni]

hc for moonknight boys ( pigging off of the preferences hc a little..) with neighbor!reader who is thick as fuck and has a big white cat named Osiris and one day the Boys hear her opening her door in the hall and calling for her cat, the boys being like ⁉️ HUH and then they go over and meet the cat and like they have a huge big fat crush on her

AWW anon this sounds cute.

reader is fem (uses she/her) curvy, fluff, pining, dual POV. no y/n

Summary: reader moved in a week ago and her cat is adventurous. not exactly the way you asked but it mutated hehe

song recs: anything by stephen sanchez or frank ocean

Things had progressed nicely. The furniture arrived yesterday, and you'd got it done in a flash - hopefully the neighbors weren't too concerned with the loud thumps and scrapes. You were most glad that Osiris' cat tree had arrived so he'd stop shredding the carpet.

"Ozzy," you whistled. "Breakfast, bubba." You scraped the rest of the tin into his bowl and waited for the excited jingle of his collar.

Frowning, you peered into the living room. Even in dead sleep, Osiris woke at the prospect of a snack. Part of why you got along so well.

"Osiris?"

Hoping you hadn't shut him in a closet, you set down his meal and knocked on all the doors, checking the shelves and any tricky-to-reach spots. Ozzy often forgot his size and got into places he couldn't easily get out of.

It wasn't a huge apartment, only two bedrooms and a bathroom. You'd done two rounds before nervously figuring that he'd gotten out.

How? The door was closed and locked - you double checked, always.

Your hands fluttered nervously, lip stuck between your teeth. He was a lovely boy but he didn't know the area. You didn't know the area, where would you look? There was one floor below you until the busy street...

"Shit," you muttered, hurriedly pulling on your shoes. The cold air had started yesterday. I'm comin', buddy, don't worry, you thought nervously. You were dressed in a comfy sweater and sweats. Hopefully you didn't look too much like a crazy person.

Slamming your door behind you, you looked both ways down the hall, eyes squinting for a flash of white fur.

"Osiris?"

Marc had enough. Somewhere, a tiny trilling bell was jingling. It was driving him fucking insane. He'd poked through the stacks of books and under the mattress. His phone - Steven might've installed some crazy alarm - but no dice.

He peeked out his door. The hall was empty, but-

"Oh," he said, crouching. "Hey there, little guy."

Steven, now awake, snorted. Not very little, though, is he?

The roundest, whitest cat he'd seen in his life was sat patiently in front of his door. Brilliant green eyes blinked up, and a soft meow carried through the hall. Marc had never been good with cats.

His headmate shoved to the front, greedily reaching out for a pet. "He's so soft," Steve breathed, scratching under the cat's chin. A titanic purr radiated out of the fluffy monstrosity, reveling in the attention.

Steven was in love. He gently picked up the cat, snuggling its warmth. Marc grimaced, tapping on Steven's shoulder. You don't know where that's been, man. Wash your hands.

He waved him off, eyes glued to the cat. It was cold out; the poor thing was probably starving. Closing the door against the cold air, Steven happily set his new friend on the ground.

"Would you like some food, then, little man?" He cooed. The cat meowed again and ran off curiously. Steven watched as it poked and sniffed through his flat, purring the whole way. He noticed a slight jingling sound follow the furball. Aha, he was the culprit.

Means he's got a collar, Marc noted, so he's got an owner, I'd bet. Steven pouted slightly; he wouldn't mind keeping the little bugger. Jake hissed when the cat started wiggling into the closet.

Ay, if that thing steals my gloves I'm takin' it out back.

Steven gaped at the hostile behavior of his friends. "Alright, fine," he relented, "but I'd like to feed it first. It's cold out, y'know."

Whistling gently, Steven knelt down in front of the wardrobe. "Here, kitty," he said softly, clicking his tongue. A fluffy tail tickled his nose. Giggling, he caught the cat in his arms.

"Okay now, hold still for a smidge, lemme look at you-"

The cat squirmed as he felt around for a collar. Truly, the amount of hair on this thing was insane. Jake sneezed.

A little gold tag glimmered. Steven squinted. "O...Osiris? Innat funny, Marc? His name's Osiris!" He dropped the cat in favor of rambling about the deity, hands moving excitedly. Jake frowned.

Isn't that the death guy?

Steven sighed at Jake's vocabulary. "Underworld, mate, very different." The alter snorted. My bad, of course.

Could be an omen, Marc quipped.

"Why're you all being so grumpy?" Steven groaned, raking his hand through his hair, "it's just a cat."

Did the tag have an address? Jake wondered, back on track. The cat had curled up on Steven's lap, so he tried gently to get closer without disturbing him.

"Uh...yes?" The numbers were smudged to hell, so he couldn't really read it. The cat couldn't have gotten too far in the cold, his owner lived close. Steven's disappointment at letting go of his friend was quenched by the intrigue of meeting someone who was interested in Egyptology.

He fed the cat a few pieces of cheese and scooped him up. "Alright, off you pop, let's find your owner, yeah?"

The cat purred in his arms, snuffling into his jacket. Steven whistled aimlessly, locking his door and setting off.

He lived on the third and highest story - so he'd work his way downwards. He paused.

Marc sat back knowingly. See, in order for this to work you've actually got to talk to people, Stevie. Steven faltered. He looked sheepishly in the reflection of the doorknob.

"...Marc?"

Rolling his eyes, Marc slipped in to front, jostling with Osiris. The cat noticed a switch, and curiously sniffed the new alter. Jake backed out; claiming allergies. Grimacing, Marc reached for the knocker on the neighbor's door.

No luck. Nobody on his floor had seen or lost a cat named Osiris - though he did encounter a tearful little boy looking for his hamster. Internally, Marc wondered if the cat had found the rodent first. Steven would switch out every few minutes to stroke Osiris lovingly, before hiding in the headspace if someone approached.

The cat seemed to get used to the different men, eventually falling asleep.

Marc sighed, taking the elevator down to the second floor. This cat was heavy.

He nearly ran smack into someone else as he stepped out. Osiris yowled and he stuttered an apology, blinking at the impact.

A very shocked woman was staring at him, mouth open.

"You've got my cat!"

He blinked again, looking at Osiris. "Your...he's yours?"

You nodded, reaching out for him. Marc clumsily handed him over, still reeling from the coincidence. You thanked him profusely, gently scolding the cat.

You beamed at him. "Thank you so much, sir, I thought I'd never find him. Ozzy's a bit of a pill when we find a new place, I appreciate is so much."

Marc was stunned stupid. Once he'd gotten a look at you, you were really pretty. There was a nice, calming energy radiating off of you like a halo. A flush had brightened your eyes and cheeks from the cold, coloring you like a cherub. The fluffy cat rubbed itself on your legs, tail winding around your supple curves.

Ay, amigo, Jake whispered, you haven't said anything.

"Yeah," Marc stammered, wiping his brow. "Yeah, for sure, it's...it's no problem." Fuck, he sounded like Steven.

The poor brit was in the same sinking boat, brain gone offline in shock. Oi. Oi Marc, don't fuck this up holy shit do you see her earrings? She's got little moons on-

Marc had to mentally mute his friend's babbling, too preoccupied with not looking like an idiot. You were busy cooing after your pet. A cute smile adorned your round cheeks and he had the urge to reach out-

"Hey, d'you want to come in? I've got some coffee or tea inside," you offered, gesturing behind you. Marc had a feeling that was a bad idea, seeing as how fast his heart was beating, but Steven was doing flips with excitement, so he accepted.

Your apartment was lovely. You'd clearly just moved in, the furniture was clean and new. Incense burned at the window, filling the room with a jasmine scent. Marc inhaled deeply, catching whiffs of your shampoo. It made his chest feel a little gooey.

Steven needed a tranquilizer, he was so elated. A small shrine to Ra was on your vanity, with a plate of dates and gold coins. Your bookshelves, unlike his, were neat and organized. Most of the books were on Egypt or horticulture. That explained the houseplants on every flat surface.

If we were mentioning omens...Jake murmured suggestively, nodding to the abundant moon decor and Egypt references. Marc pushed him away, too enraptured with watching you.

You were humming quietly, grabbing mugs and sugar and cream. That wonderful halo was burning brighter the longer he stared. The sweater you were wearing was a lovely shade of blue that brightened your face like the sun. Fitting that she likes Ra, Steven breathed, she looks celestial.

Jake agreed silently, having swallowed his own tongue. He was excited about the coffee, smelling warm and rich from your kitchen. You handed them a cup, gesturing to the milk and sugar.

"Help yourself to either," you said cheerily, patting Marc's shoulder. holy fuck your hands were soft. He watched you disappear into the hall, mesmerized with the sway of your hips.

Don't be a creep, Steven scolded, as if he hadn't been mentally planning a wedding. Marc murmured something unintelligible, awestruck by your lovely figure.

He gulped his coffee too fast to hide the flush on his face when you returned.

"What's your name?" You asked, sitting across from him. You told him yours, voice musical and light.

"M-Marc," he said around a burnt tongue and a lovesick heart. You asked him questions about where he was from, which he tried to answer, though in truth your sparkling eyes and lovely scent were really difficult to think around.

Your curves were quite distracting, and he kept being drawn to your movement, face aflame. His dignity was in tatters now but he'd never seen a person so gorgeous before. Osiris wound around his feet, an almost-smirk on his face.

Marc's gaze was glazed as you continued talking, words going in one ear and out the other. That was okay - he could catch up once he asked you on a date. Currently he was too preoccupied with imagining your soft skin and supple hips and-

Marc.

He scowled at himself, shameful. Jake shook his head, sighing. he didn't show it, but a hot rush of desire was also snaking through his chest. Steven was sat and totally absorbed in your conversation like a child at storytime.

Before he left, he slipped his number onto your kitchen table for you to find later. You caught him as he left and pulled him into a hug.

what.

He'd completely glitched when you pulled him into your soft body. Trembling with restraint, he carefully hugged you back, nose pressed greedily into your sweet-smelling hair. You fit perfectly in his arms, waist wonderfully soft and perfect to hold. Marc's mouth was dry as the desert. His heart was thundering, and he held on for a bit longer than necessary. He couldn't let go, he just wanted to hold you and squeeze and kiss you and oh god he's gonna embarrass himself like a teenager with how hard he's getting-

You waved goodbye and shut the door, leaving him awestruck in the hall.

"I think I've been drugged," he breathed to nobody. Steven had passed out, and only Jake was left to numbly agree.

yay! join my taglist if you want, comment below

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty

[nrdmssgs]

Reacting to the reader, accidentally falling asleep on them. (Soap, Alex, König)

Masterlist

Part 2 (Price, Ghost, Gaz)

This is pure fluff. Platonic and romantic. Please, try to sleep enough, guys.

Johnny Soap MacTavish

Platonic

Let's just hope, every inch of your skin is securely covered with cloth. You've just asked why? Oh, you aren't prepared, are you, poor thing?

Too bad. Because Johnny can be infinitely proud of the fact that only next to him, you relax so much that you allow yourself to fall asleep on his lap. But he'll never turn down an opportunity to prank you.

Soap doesn't mind that he only has one arm free - you use the other as an extra pillow. He opens the marker with his teeth.

Following Johnny's gaze, Ghost hides his hands behind his back.

"Lieutenant, please! I need my references!" "I'm not taking part in this nonsense, MacTavish." "But she loves your sleeve! Why not let her wear the same one for a few days?" "A few days? Don't tell me, you're using a permanent one! And since when I have a dead rat as a part of my sleeve?" "It's not a rat, this is a skull. Ever heard of an artistic interpretation?"

Romantic

His hand embraces you the very next second, he notices, you're asleep.

Doesn't give a damn, if anyone sees you two like that. In fact, he would very much appreciate, if everyone seen, how safe and happy he makes you feel.

He will quietly murmur you lullabies that he heard as a child. If you ardently wake up and ask him, what are they about, he would apologize and confess that they are in Gaelic, and he barely speaks it.

"Oh, that's ok, don't be sorry. Could you, maybe, sing a bit more to me?" "Aye, bonnie. Now close your eyes."

Will bury his face in your hair and rub his cheek against the top of your head, while humming quietly, slowly losing himself in your heavenly scent.

Alex Keller

Platonic

Surprisingly calm about it. He will not wake you up or whisk you away from his shoulder. He won't even think about commenting on what happened when you wake up.

Alex knows perfectly well what it's like to carve out every free minute on deployment to have a little rest between missions.

He is grateful, that you were on the same team - he could not wish for a better partner than you. Therefore, he is ready to help you not only on the battlefield. If you are tired and want to take a nap, he will lend a shoulder.

If this happened in transport, Alex will cradle you so that you do not hit the back of your head against the wall at a sharp turn.

May once make you 'return the favor' passing out on your shoulder. He does not lean on you completely, plus he has the fluffiest, softest hair out there, so don't worry, it will feel nice.

Romantic

Have you ever seen a light bulb the size of a grown man turning on in a room? Because that's what Alex looks like when you don't answer his question because you accidentally fell asleep on his shoulder.

He dreamt to be your safe place, to make you feel protected, taken care of. And you've just convinced him, that he actually succeeded.

Can't help but smile, hugging you with all care and fondness, he is capable of.

If someone approaches him with a question, while you are still sleeping, he will put his finger to his lips, making it clear to this person, that now is not the best moment.

If you wake up and ask him, how long did you nap, Alex will always answer, 'oh, you've just closed your eyes a few minutes ago'. Even if you fell asleep more than an hour before.

Please, just let him stay like that with you for a little longer. These are the moments, he lives for: you in his hands, in peace, loved and loving.

König

Platonic

Oh no, this poor soul, he is completely lost. He doesn't feel, if his verbal interactions are graceful enough, and you've just accidentally initiated a prolonged touch.

His pulse is higher than Austrian mountains, as he tries to sit still and mimic the wall or couch under your head.

He hides his eyes when someone passes by you, tries to pretend that this is how it should be, thanks all the gods for not taking off his veil immediately after returning from the mission so no one sees the blush stretching from his cheeks to his neck.

"Horangi... Pssst, Horangi! W-what should I do?" "Ehm, enjoy a peaceful moment with fellow soldier? You guys look cute like that." "Wait, don't leave me here! This whole situation might be inappropriate... You must help me now! Do something!!" "You want me to wake her up?" "Yes! Wait, no! What if waking her up is actually inappropriate?"

König will sincerely want to apologize to you. He does not yet know what exactly, but he certainly did something wrong. He will suffer and spin in bed half the night, formulating a socially acceptable apology, and finally fall asleep, satisfied with the phrase he composed.

He'll come up to you in the morning, only to realize with horror that he forgot the exact wording of the apology. Therefore, he will honor you with a short nod, turn around and go in the opposite direction.

Romantic

König pretends he's asleep too. It is ok to not move, since he is asleep, yes? It is enough of an excuse to hold you in a tight embrace, since he's doing it unconsciously, is it?

It doesn't even matter, if everybody around knows what exactly is happening between you two - he still believes, he needs an excuse to touch you, even to be around you.

Due to his size, König can simply hide you in his arms. Can and will. You are after all his treasure.

He discreetly lifts his veil up just to take your hand and press a quick kiss against your knuckles. He enjoys the opportunity to touch you like that from time to time when others are not looking.

But if someone decides to interrupt this heaven - they better be prepared for the coldest, most menacing death glare. Because König won't let anyone disturb his Schatzis` moment of peace.

[entitled-fangirl]

War.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan returns back to Winterfell after the Dance of the Dragons, eager to see his wife once more.

Warnings: talks of death, fighting, blood, talk of sex

Masterlist

……………………………….

Cregan rode his horse as close to the doors of Winterfell as he possibly could, intent on getting in as fast as possible.

He had been at war for months now, almost a year, and he was ready to see his wife once more.

The nights spent by campfire in the cold would be worth every moment.

But when she was not outside waiting for him, he was confused.

He jumped from his horse, throwing the reigns to anyone who would take them and ran inside.

He was instantly met with the maester.

"Welcome back, my lord."

Cregan have a victorious smile, "Good morrow. The battle has been won. I'm curious why my wife was not awaiting my arrival? I sent a raven ahead of me."

The maester nodded, "Ah, yes. The raven. The message was received, my lord."

He completely paused, thrown off, "Then? Where is she?"

"Let us walk, my lord."

Cregan became defensive, "Where is she? I won't ask again."

"Please, walk with me."

He felt a pain in his chest but he nodded and moved alongside the maester back outside.

The maester sighed, "I was asked to be the one to tell you, and this information is not easy to tell, I'm afraid."

Cregan nodded as he took in every word fervently.

"Lady Stark found herself with child not long after you left."

He had considered this. Their last night together was a passionate one, and he often spent his nights after under the stars, imagining her swollen with his seed.

"Why did I not receive news of this?"

"I advised her against doing such a thing. You needed to remain focused on the task ahead."

He scoffed, "My wife was with child! I deserved to know!" He paused in his step with a worried gaze. "Where… where is it now? What happened to it?"

"It's a healthy boy, my lord."

Cregan let out a relieved breath, "Thank the gods. I was frightened."

The maester took a long breath in thought, "The pregnancy went quite well. She did all the right things."

"…But?"

"But…" The maester grimaced, "She was not equipped well for giving birth. We had to make a choice."

Cregan felt ringing in his ears. Like his throat had been slit from behind. No breath moved in or out of his body. "W… What?"

"I'm sorry, my lord. She did not make it."

Cregan's knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

"I understand this is hard to hear, but you have a son. An heir! You must celebrate!"

"CELEBRATE?" He roared as he looked up to the maester with teary eyes. "CELEBRATE DEATH AT MY DOORSTEP WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE?"

"My lord, please calm yourself."

Cregan slammed his fist into the ground, "My wife is dead." A look came over his face, "You said… You said you chose."

"Aye, my lord. We did."

"Who?" He growled. "Who exactly chose a child over my wife?"

"I made the final say. I considered listening to her pleas, but once I saw it was a boy, I knew it would be worth it."

She had tried to survive. To live.

"What did she say?" He asked lowly.

"That…" the maester paused. "Perhaps it is too soon to speak of these things."

He stood on shaky knees in anger. His voice was low and predatory, "You marred her perfect skin. You hurt her. You MURDERED HER!"

He rushed forward and threw a punch to the man's jaw, watching him fall to the ground.

But that did not stop Cregan.

He straddled the man, throwing punch and punch, "SHE'S DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!"

Eventually, a few men pulled Cregan away despite his fighting back.

But he quickly collapsed from grief.

…

He rocked the sleeping boy back and forth in his arms, cursing every time the babe looked up at him with the same eyes as his dead mother.

He had fought endlessly for a war that wasn't his, not knowing a war had been fought in his own house without him.

…………………………….

Cregan Stark taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, @8812-342, @nyxbranwenn, @thorins-queen-of-erebor

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I've never asked anyone in my entire tumblr presence, I'm excited you'll be the first, even if it doesn't get done 🙏☆♡🥬

Anyways, I feel like there is a very sad amount of Soap content on here so like..idk maybe pining Soap fluff??

He's totally the type of guy to follow someone around like a lovesick puppy and everyone notices except the person of interest LOL

Congrats on the milestone btw!! You deserve it 😼😼

—Oblivious Pining

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Johnny hangs off you like a silent beast. Not that you would notice, of course.] ❞

Everyone had seen it, and at this point, it had just become painful. The soft, gentle eyes—the instantaneous smile whenever your unit showed up, your form not for a second missed to those cobalt blues. The deepening color of his cheeks was another tell, along with how he would clear his throat whenever your eye caught his, quickly looking away as if a teenager sneaking glances at his crush.

Which was what precisely was happening, actually—minus the teenager part.

But the worst of it was that you had absolutely no clue.

Perhaps it was because you’d grown so used to his teasing attitude, or even his touches or his open expressions, but you, truly, hadn’t the faintest clue that those actions were Johnny’s way of saying he was interested in you. You went about your joint missions together, touching shoulders and smiling widely, and everyone was about ready to go right back to war just so the two of you could stop it with the puppy eyes already. 

“I’m losing my mind,” Gaz utters, blinking in rapid succession at the two forms as they walk side by side across the tarmac. “I am absolutely losing my damn mind.” The exasperation can be taken and scooped with a spoon. The Sergeant gestures with his hand. “Are they bloody blind? Both of them?”

“Seems like it,” the Captain grunts, eyes narrowed and arms crossed as Soap’s hand comes up and ruffles your hair, you swat him away and playfully punch his shoulder. The Scot fake balks back in imaginary pain. 

Price rubs a hand over his beard with a sigh as Ghost blankly stares from behind them, leaning back against the base’s walls. The Lieutenant breathes out, “Fuckin’ hell. Gonna be dead ‘fore these bastards figure it out.”

Your unit was sharing most of the same looks, rolling their eyes and placing bets once more on whether one of you would make a move. Across the way your face is comfortably heated, heart hammering and yearning for something more. Johnny thinks the same as he chuckles, one hand going to itch at the side of his head.

“Well, it was more than good to see you again, Dearie.” He says, and you huff a laugh. “There’s nothing better than watchin’ you work, eh?” 

It’s a tease laced with truth, and you shift your feet, trying to hide the sudden flip of your intestines.

“Quit it, MacTavish,” your smile is infectious, and you send a glance at the setting sun before your smirk gradually grows. “In my opinion, you all hot and sweaty beats that out of the park.”

“Oh, aye,” the Scot cockily tilts his head, raising a brow as his stubble moves back. “Know it does.” 

You chuff, head looking away in childish glee. “You’re impossible.” 

“Ah,” he licks his lips, leaning back on his heels. “Don’t worry now, Little Lady, I’m all yours to figure out—I promise.” The flirting was a constant from both parties, and neither of you tired of it. 

A small silence grew, and over the course of the last month or so, the pauses had become more and more frequent when the want to speak prevailed, but no one knew what exactly to say. You both blink at one another, noticing that you’ve both been staring heavily. 

Johnny’s throat clears, and he licks his lips before quickly looking away; you awkwardly chuckle and decide that his vest is the most interesting thing in the world.

Both small teams want to bash their heads into a wall. 

“I’ll be seeing you?” Johnny sighs softly, speaking as his accent grows deeper with thought. He wanted to scold himself for his cowardness but had no idea that you were doing the same. 

“Of course,” you nod firmly. “I’m not as big of a fool to ignore my favorite Demolitions Expert.”

“You’re makin’ go all shy now, ya little beast,” Johnny levels, his cheeks gaining a reddish hue. 

You spare a laugh, and that silence once more returns. He wants to tell you, but he’s not sure how, and that itself makes his body tense with indecision—tell you the truth, or live with his own hesitation on your answer. Spare the man, he was too blind to see how much you already adored him.

Blinking away, you clench your jaw and hold out your hand. “Until next time, Sergeant.”

Johnny smiles lightly, eyes going soft. There were so many things he’d accomplished in his life by running head-long into them; by barging down doors and thinking of an exit while his foot was already halfway outside. But this…this he didn’t mind taking his time with. 

You were worth every second. 

Johnny gently grasps your hand, squeezing it as he hums, lips twitching. The teams would have to wait in their annoyance for another day. 

“Until next time, Dearie. Don’t be a stranger.”

[moralesmilesanhour]

Maybe write about very protective miles?

I actually got two requests for this same prompt, so I'm gonna combine them! :D

You thought there would just be a light drizzle on the way back from the bodega when you felt two cold rain drops lightly tap your forehead. The concrete became dotted with dark spots as the rain picked up.

Alright, you'll be home in a few minutes. No big deal.

...Until it became a big deal.

In a matter of minutes, the sidewalk was completely dark with rainwater, and small puddles deepened as your sneakers splashed across them. You had asked the man behind the register to pack your lunch in a paper bag, which was now soaked to the point of nearly falling apart. You hugged the soggy material to your chest, not caring about getting your already-soaked graphic tee any more wet.

"Aye, Y/N!" A familiar voice cuts through the downpour. You realize you were about to pass by Miles' house.

"Miles!" You smile up at the 3rd-story window, squinting through the rain now pouring down your face. "I gotta get home, now, but I'll call you la-"

The boy's brown face disappears from the window frame, and you sigh as the door to the apartment bursts open.

"If my mom found out I let you walk around in the rain like that, she'd kill me, so for my own safety, you gotta come inside." Miles grinned at you, his lanky figure filling the doorway. Shivering, you weren't about to refuse.

-

The following Monday at Visions, you flung open your locker in a rush to grab your Spanish notebook. Instead you were greeted with a flash of bright yellow. It was a raincoat, haphazardly stuffed into your locker when you weren't looking.

Struggling to pull the thing out, you assume at first that it must belong to Miles. He frequently left some of his things in your locker whenever he had to suddenly take off because of "an emergency". His mom must've bought it, Miles wouldn't be caught dead in anything that looked like this.

Once you finally manage to yank the coat out, a blue sticky note flies out with it. You pick it up before it can flutter to the ground, and it reads in Miles' neat handwriting:

"For you :)"

-

"Fuck!" You yelled as you fell. Again.

"Don't say a word, Morales."

A loose shoelace had caught beneath your feet and tripped you, right after Miles had warned you that your shoelaces were untied. Just before you hit the ground, his arms wrap around you from behind and he lifts you to your feet. Laughing, you turn to him.

He wears a shit-eating grin on his face as he jogs past you.

"You would literally not survive without me!"

-

Uhhh I hope this came off as "protective" enough 😭 thank you for requesting!!

[entertainmentgirl80]

You My Storm Forever (Tyler Owens X Female Reader) 🤠⛈️🩵

Warnings: Weather phobia, little PSTD, some Angst, Some FLUFF at the End.

"Hey honey, I'ma be back, going with the crew again." Tyler has his keys & his hat on.

"Okay babe, please be careful, I love you." You say to him while you clean up the kitchen.

"Love you back." He kisses you on the cheek and heads straight to the door.

So, while your husband is out chasing tornadoes with his crew as usual, you always can't help that anxiety you felt in your stomach that your husband can gets hurt in a tornado especially this time of the year in Oklahoma, however, lucky for y'all, you two live in Atlanta since three years now after you & Tyler gotten married. But it's still didn't change the fact that he still got that wild card personality in him, regardless of who he is because of what he loves to do.

*rings, rings, rings* Your phone is ringing, and you answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hey Sierra, this is Lily, I'm calling you to form you that Tyler is injured from chasing today, and he is in the hospital right now, if you okay to see him."

"Okay, thanks, Lily. I'm otw now." You hung up and grab your keys, and head out to the hospital with no hesitation.

Afterward, you got out of the car after you arrived there. Feelings are overwhelmed that you don't know that he makes it out: alive or dead.

"Hi, I'm looking for Tyler Owens, I'm his wife." You said to the lady in the front desk with lace of concern.

"Hi, Mrs. Owens, your husband has been waiting for you, and he is in room 101." She said to you with a smile.

"Okay, thank you so much."

"You're welcome." She nodded toward you.

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Come on in." Tyler watching TV while on his hospital bed.

As soon you come in, Tyler turns around, and his face changes to a frown to a big, wicked smile because you know he is happy to see his love, especially if you made his day around.

"T!!" You walk towards him

"Baby" He cooed

"What the hell you were thinking about? I'm was so worried that you gonna hurt, especially doing storm chasing an-." Tyler, stop her from talking.

"Hey, hey, hey, shhh, it's alright, look, I'm sorry, we saw a EF2, it's was coming towards me & the crew and all a sudden we got hit by something from the tornado and the truck filp over, and we got out of there quick." He explained.

You are sitting down and processing that your husband is explaining what happened. However, all you know is that you are grateful that your husband is still here and blessed to be alive.

"Don't do me like that again, T, or I will divorce your ass, please." Your voice was stern but soft.

"Aye, aye Mrs. Owens, I love you." He tips off his imaginary hat while having a cheshire cat grin on his features that you can't help but smile at him.

"I love you too, Mr. Tornado Wrangler." You rolled your eyes, but you can't help that you love him, and he gives you a kiss on the lips.

A/N: This is my second fanfiction writing of the Tornado Wrangler, so I'm hope y'all like it. And p.s. also, forgot that I wanna to give credit to the person who made the dividers is @a-reader-and-a-writer 🤠🌪💋😌