sunareii

[sunareii]

simon who's talking to a girl that just wants to feel like she's in love.

he finds it endearing and almost too sweet. things as empathy and sympathy have been closed off from him for a long time, sometimes he can't remember how to turn on that part of his brain and heart.

there's something so subtle about the way she does it.

the look in her eyes when he notices that she really sees him. or is at least trying to. wants him to know that she can understand whatever he needs her to, just to be apart of something with him.

there isn't anything malicious about it. ever. she comes from a place of kindness that he can only recall growing in the flower patch at his childhood home.

he notices that when she thinks to herself she hides away from mirrors. she wants to see him, but hasn't accepted the act of being seen herself. and honestly he doesn't think its something hes ready to handle.

simon never wants to hurt a sweet girls feelings like that. he just . . doesn't fully get it.

the way she wants to be loved and heard and cared for. he doesn't want to be alone anymore like the way he is, but he knows it wont work. that feeling of learning to be content on your own wasn't a hard thing to grasp, its just harder to let go of that trait now that its harbored inside.

he hopes one day it can work out. but he knows he wont text or call back.

and on occasion, when his nights are restless, or the mornings are starting far too late, he'll go and read through old messages or listen to old songs she would send. but hes always careful to not press any buttons, not allowing himself of getting back into that.

shes a sweet girl. he likes thinking of her, likes to see small things in life that bring her back to him. even if he had lost the number in his phone months ago.

[sunareii]

The first time Ghost sees you, you're tending to a mangy, feral mutt that haunts the base, snapping and snarling at anyone that gets too close. The other soldiers joke about it being Ghost's spirit animal often. It bites you, even though all you're trying to do is help. But you don't lash out defensively, or turn your back on it. You see through its angry mask for what it really is--a scared, hurt creature that just needs someone to love it enough to make it feel safe again. And you do. You sit with that flea-bitten, ill tempered dog, feeding it treats and talking to it softly, until it finally calms enough to let you help it. You're patient, and kind, and gentle. Everything the dumb beast has been missing for so long.

Christ, but he wishes he was the bloody dog.

[sunareii]

simon riley claiming that you're doin' it wrong after he finds you fucking yourself on a dildo twice as small as him. you don't even know how long he's been watching but it doesn't matter. he's standing at the foot of your bed and slipping the toy out of you before yanking you closer by the ankles faster than you can blink.

your gasp is interrupted by the way he nearly rips the zipper of his jeans and flings out his cock–slapping it hard against the palm of his other hand while letting a messy glob of spit sink from his lips, right down to where you're clenching around nothing.

don' even need that shit anyways, simon mumbles, spreading the wet with his fat tip before nudging himself inside you.

he fucks you, sharp and annoyed... yet his hand still drags to the back on your neck to tug you for a messy kiss. s'dumb... wastin' a pretty hole like this on some fuckin' silicone.

simon kisses you again. tongue and teeth knocking into yours. and still stuffing you so full that you can feel him reaching all the way to your stomach.

flexing inside you, simon grunts with a frown. biting into the scar on his lip with a peek down to at how wide you stretch at the base of his dick.

ju... jus' wait for me–fuck–next time, yeah? got all the cock you need, pretty... right here.

inspired (partially) by no. 1 on this prompt list! | © 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[sunareii]

Johnny would sketch how he imagines your tits to look like in that little notebook of his.

God forbid you find it by accident one day and see the skimpy, sexy drawings of you in tiny little spaghetti strap tops that barely cover your tits spilling out of the top and sides of it. As well as detailed drawings of your bare tits smushed together…

[sunareii]

I’ve been thinking a lot about fantasy/medieval settings and arranged marriage….

Gaz is not excited for your union because he anticipates being forced to choose. He expects that only one Kyle may live— the devoted husband, or the devoted comrade. And of course, vows dictate that he choose the former. That he leave battle behind as soon as you wish it. That his brothers in blood no longer be given indefinite roam of his estate. That you will look upon them with disdain if they take his attention away from his marital duties— his duties to you, to your family and future. No wife wants her household to be as a tavern, with soldiers coming and going as they please and making merry late into the night.

He couldn’t be more wrong. You take great care in weaving a new cord— binding for his sword hilt in the colors of your family crest and his. You take up careful pride in the maintenance of his armor— scolding him in his delay to bring it to the smithy for restoration. You perch on his lap and sip mead and wine from his cup while he and his squadron tell tales late into the night— if their welcome has worn out after many weeks, you certainly don’t show it. In fact— when they all return weary and lonely of touch from the soft hands of a lady when their tour is over, you take no issue bringing them comfort. Kyle is pleased to see you on your knees, back, and stomach for men whom he would lay his life down for, and think of him in kind. His only condition being that only your lord husband can finish inside of you.

Johnny is not excited for your union because betrothal means one thing to him: chastity. He’ll not be able to wet his cock until your wedding night, and knowing his luck, you’ll be like the other prudish ladies of the court— only willing to lay supine and serious out of a sense of duty, to provide his heirs, and never purely for pleasure.

He feels his heart could burst from his chest with simmering love, heated to the surface and about to boil when he feels your fingers drift over his crotch during a dinner following your engagement. When you grope and squeeze, looking up at him from the corner of your eye. When every garden date in the rose maze ends with your skirt hiked and him on his knees devouring you while your thighs shake. When you sneak in during a long bath in the middle of the night, having just returned from a weeks-long battle, sitting to face him in his lap and grinding the lips of your hot cunt against his twitching cock while you scrub his bruised and soiled skin before angling him to enter. If you were to be blessed with a child a little early into your union… who would be the wiser?

Price is not excited for your union because he isn’t looking forward to being lovelorn in his own marriage. He’s the type of man who falls easily, he knows— but noble women are cold, especially to an older, battle hardened man they’ve never met before in their lives. He knows the love will come between you, but he anticipates months or years before he will win your unwavering trust, attention, and affection.

He finds himself pleasantly surprised when you curl into him at the feast following your wedding. Your chair moved to be as close to his as possible, leaning against him and sighing in bliss. You cutely fiddle with the rings on his hand while you wait patiently for him to feed you another bite of fruit, kissing his cheek in gratitude and nuzzling your face into his neck. He can feel your mirthful giggle vibrating your lips against his skin. The night you share is nothing short of ecstasy, and he wakes to your head on his chest, legs tangled together.

Simon is not excited for your union because he knows what he is. A low born bastard. His success in the king’s army has seen his rank rise, his title, his means— but it hasn’t changed what people see him as. A violent boar, born into mud. When Price secures a match for him and insists he accept, he has no doubt that you’ll sneer in his direction like the rest of the noblewomen.

Only for him to hear whispers on the day you arrive at court. Fitting, that they’d offer up a bastard to a beast. Suppose they were desperate to have her married off. What a perfect match. You looked down in shame, afraid to meet their gazes. You looked every part the noble lady— well groomed, good posture, dressed delicately and elegant… but nothing would outshine the circumstances of your birth. Father a noble, mother a common scullery maid. Suddenly, Simon cannot bear the thought of letting you tread these waters alone. He wants to take you from the world that judges you, and keep you tucked somewhere safe for him to admire.

[sunareii]

Get away from me. Being called downstairs for breakfast by your ma just to see that Scottish fucker standing in your childhood kitchen with a grin on his face, coming home for the first time.

Proud, 'childhood friends to lovers', Soap supporter

[sunareii]

Blowing a kiss to Johnny “Soap” MacTavish is like pulling the pin on a glitter grenade—you never know where the spark’s gonna land.

It’s always a gamble.

You think you’re being cute.

You think he’ll catch it with a wink, maybe tap his heart like a gentleman.

One moment he’s beaming, catching it mid-air with dramatic flair like it’s a bloody dove, eyes glinting like he’s just intercepted enemy comms. Smacking it dramatically onto his chest with a proud “Ach! Right in the ticker! you spoil me, bonnie.” he’ll murmur, staggering backward like you just shot him with a Cupid .50 cal.

The crowd swoons. Children cheer. Birds sing.

The next time?

Public place. Full squad around. Briefing room. You blow that kiss and he catches it with two hands… locks eyes with you… then—with full confidence and zero shame—plants it straight on his crotch. Smack. Hands on his hips. Grinning like a menace. “That’s where I felt it, lass. Don’t lie.”

Everyone turns.

Gaz groans. Ghost doesn’t even look up. Alejandro claps. And Price? He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters, “For the love of bloody God, Soap…”

Soap just winks at you across the room like he did you a favor.

It’s 50/50 chaos. You blow that kiss, you’re playing Russian Roulette with your dignity.

[sunareii]

something something Ghost getting off on being called a pervert. not because he isn't one (he is) but because no one ever seems to have the guts to do it. so when you call him a pervert and a creep to his face after he started whispering dark and dirty in your ear at the bar, oh boy he is hard as a rock and already thinking of all the ways he can show you just how bad he is. maybe he should drag you into the bathroom and make you ride his face in one of the stalls, or take you to the alley and put you on your knees, or maybe he should just bend you over the bar and bully his cock into you. if you want to be mouthy he'll let you tell the whole room what they've been too scared to say. but that would lure certain other perverts out and Ghost... well he doesn't really share.

[sunareii]

for study... of course

[sunareii]

inspired by Harry Clarke’s illustrations, most specifically his fairytale ones :3c

[sunareii]

[sunareii]

How Tf! 141 reacts to your silent treatment

John clocks it as soon as you don't laugh at his fish joke, or add anything meaningful about the weed growing in lawn. His smugness evaporates and is transformed by a bearly urge to make you speak, to make you smile, to make you fucking look at him with love and adoration. He wouldn't stop eye contact as he would slowly take your feet on his lap, massaging the ankles with his big veiny hands, your toes pushing against his blunt erection, and all the while speaking endlessly from this to that, just waiting for your defences to crumble and for the sun to break out like dawn on your lips.

Simon wouldn't say anything at first, trying to make a mental list of everything which he could've done wrong. He'll put outside his muddy boots freezing like a deer when you catch him doing so from the window, then onto clean the floor, he doesn't even pick at his acne and swallows his meds in front of you. Simon would constantly stare at you with wild-big eyes of a kicked puppy. He'd be so scared that he has fucked up bad that it would be cruel to let this silence linger on, it's not long until you clear your throat, shushing away the giggle at bottom because Simon is heating food on his own, to eat, pretty little baby. "Si, come ere' I want to kiss you, please?" and not even a moment later he's wagging his tail and hurrying to be loved by you.

Johnny is an idiot, but not for long. He tries to get you going for shopping, and nearly gets a heartattack when you shake your head and look away. Aquarium? No. Bookshop? No. Cafe? No. He's so fucked and has a standing in middle of the room with hand on waist moment. So he does what he does. He places things on top shelves and blinks as you parkour your way there, next is tightening the lids and comes the breaking of glass, ouch, after bargain comes desperation, so Johnny wears his most ridiculous tie and unbuttons his shirt to navel, then dances to love is strange until you have to give in and kiss him on the mouth in the middle of 'you're the one'. 

Kyle is one hell of a smartass, he's love guru for reason. He wastes no time putting over the pan and making you the most delicious curry you'll ever have. You love watching him cook and couldn’t help one sneak a peek, but mission fail because Kyle catches you looking and he makes a show with his hands peeling tomato skin, seductive and whore behaviour. Next nail comes down hard when the doorbell rings and you open the door to blooming red roses, and boxes of chocolates. "Oh, who send you that? Must be terribly in love with you," Kyle chuckles as you walk back in inside towards him. He only beams catching your blush behind the flowers. "Wow chocolates too, must be so whipped that guy-" "Shut up, I love you." you say softly, pressing roses on his ab, "Atleast wear apron you devil !"

Masterlist

[sunareii]

something something reader is a bartender at a popular little pub, and night after night you are hit on by men so plastered you often have to sigh and call over one of the guys you work with the idiots end up vomiting all over themselves (sometimes it’s worse than vomit but thankfully you can count those incidents on one hand)

you think by slipping on your grandmothers old wedding ring, it will sway men from hitting on you at work. And it does, there’s still some that try to test their luck, but the minute you flash that pearl on your finger they’re scurrying off to find their next target.

Cue four new regulars, four attractive military men that always flash you a polite smile and leave you a nice tip. Price comes in more than the others, claiming the stool near your register for himself, Ghost doing the same the rare nights he slinks into the pub. Soap and Gaz come in together some weekends, sitting themselves in front of you with big grins on their faces as they watch the game on the tv overhead.

They’re all sweet, a little cocky at times but nothing that one of their grins or sly remarks can’t make up for. They ask how their favorite girl is doing when they return from longer missions, genuinely listening as you fill them in on the things that have happened since they’ve been away.

Perfect gentlemen.

Until one night you forget your ring, having had to rush your shower and sprint out the door to make it to the pub before the nightly rush.

You filling glasses when you hear the chime of the bell and a familiar laugh fill the pub.

“Was wondering if I’d see you boys tonight.” You smile, motioning for them to give you a moment as you serve the other patrons.

When you slide back over to them, you immediately reach for their usual glasses, grabbing your cloth to wipe them off, when a hand clamps around your wrist and you jump, nearly dropping the glass as Ghost turns your hand over in his.

“Trouble at home pretty?” Price comments, concern etched on his face and it takes a moment for you to catch on, and you can’t help the little giggle that spills out.

“Oh! My ring… It’s kind of a funny story. I uhm.. I’m not actually married.” You laugh, expecting them to laugh along with you, but all you feel are four pairs of eyes piercing into you.

“Come again?” Gaz asks, voice a tad deeper than usual and you ignore the chills it sends down your spine.

“I started wearing it so some of the drunkards would leave me be, kind of forgot about it, just became habit.” You chuckle nervously, hand still in Ghost’s grasp and he’s eyeing you in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Hm. Interesting.”

[sunareii]

say his name three times!

[sunareii]

CANNON HUMAN FORD?? (PLEASE LIKE THE ORIGINAL BELOW )

Credits ;

if you have time, go check out the list of palestenian fundraisers! Anything counts!!

[sunareii]

Did anyone tell Ford (bonus doodles: Family Movie Night, 70s Classics)

[sunareii]

you know what? soap is the kind to use sweatpants - with no underwear - and no tee when he's at home. grey sweats and the kind that are quite thin. why do i say this? because the man's packing one hell of a dick and walks around the house parading it, the print of his thick cock showing though them and complimenting the bush that peaks out slightly when they hang low on his hips and his happy trail. even worse, he sometimes takes the trash out in those, full boner showing and the perfect view of his mushroom tip for you, his pretty neighbour, to have something to dream about later ;)