Sergeant!Johnny "Soap" MacTavish rushes home for a birthday fuck with his secret girlfriend!reader but task force!141 end up catching catch him in the act. | ANONYMOUS REQUEST FILL
It was rare to see Johnny "Soap" MacTavish move with that kind of focus when he wasn’t breaching a door or under fire. But today was different—his birthday, for one. And he had a very good reason to leg it home before anyone could rope him into a round at the pub.
You’d promised him a “fun night in,” said it in that teasing way that had him grinning like an idiot through the whole bloody debrief. He’d been counting down the hours since wheels down, half-listening to Price talk while mentally peeling you out of whatever you said you’d be wearing.
He was halfway out of his kit before he even hit the barracks, muttering something about “needing to sort somethin’ back home.”
“Sort what, your laundry?” Gaz had called after him.
Johnny just grinned, already backing toward the exit. “Somethin’ like that, mate.”
Price frowned over his tea. “He’s never that quick to bugger off after training.”
Ghost grunted. “Aye. Probably a date with his mirror.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Gaz said, shaking his head. “He’s his own biggest fan, that one.”
But the hours ticked on, and the lads got restless. When the bottle came out, someone—maybe Gaz, maybe Price—suggested swinging by Johnny’s flat to drag him out for a proper birthday pint.
By the time they reached his building, night had set in. The street was quiet, save for the hum of the city and the clinking of the six-pack in Gaz’s hand.
Price rapped on the door. No answer.
“Maybe he’s not in,” Gaz offered.
“Window’s open,” Ghost noted, eyes narrowing at the soft glow spilling from inside. They exchanged a look.
Ghost leaned closer, listening. “You hear that?”
Gaz tilted his head. “Is that… a fuckin’ porno?”
It wasn’t.
For a moment, they all just stood there, trying to place the sound—rhythmic, low, and muffled.
Then came a groan.
Then another sound.
Price’s brow furrowed. “Bloody hell, he’s not—”
Ghost’s head snapped up. “Sounds like he’s celebratin’ just fine.”
And then—clear as day—your breathy voice broke through the quiet: “Johnny, I’m gunna—gunna cum—” followed by a low moan. The rest of the sentence drowned under the creak of the bed frame and a noise none of them could mistake. Skin slapping, wet and lewd, followed by a crack of Soap’s hand on your ass.
Gaz froze. “No way.”
Price took a slow sip from his flask. “Well, that explains why the man was in a hurry.”
For a beat, the three of them stood there—half stunned, half amused. Then Price huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he set the six-pack down by the door.
“Let the lad have his birthday,” he muttered.
Gaz grinned. “Did you know he was seein’ someone?”
Ghost gave a low grunt. “If I did, I’d’ve told her to run.”
That earned a laugh from all three as they started back down the walkway, the muffled sounds from the flat still echoing faintly behind them.
Price adjusted his cap. “Remind me to ask him about it tomorrow.”
Gaz snorted. “You think he’ll admit it?”
“Not a chance,” Price said. “But I reckon the look on his face’ll be worth it.”
A/N: This was so fun and cheeky! Thanks to the anon who requested. Keep em coming! PS: First Soap Fic!
Alright, I extremely enjoyed the silly villain reader posts, and my mind just thought about this, how would the heroes and villains react if Reader just slept on their lap?
I’m so glad you enjoyed it! I originally wrote Silly Villain! Reader as sort of a refresher, a palette cleanse. Something I could return to and daydream about to get my mind off more darker requests. So I hope you enjoy this! I’ve included a few more characters because why not?
Aquaman -[ROMANTIC]
He would freeze as you slumped into his arms, before rearranging you into a more comfortable position whilst ignoring all the jealous stares he’s getting from his coworkers. He would bundle you up and just carry you around in like a baby sling. You are encompassed by blanket and beefy muscle, where he goes you must follow. He even takes you with him on missions, but by then he’s rearranged the blanket sling to be on his back. Arthur Curry is like softly obsessed with you, not yandere, but like obsessed in the way that he just wants to be close to you and will ignore anything and everything if you so much as stir. Speaking of you stirring, this man doesn’t really care if someone wakes you up. His focus is on you, calming you with soft whispered words and gentle touches to the face, brushing away loose hair. Like I said, the man’s enamoured.
Bane -[ROMANTIC]
Would not move. He could easily bring you with him wherever he goes but to him, your comfort is his priority. And to be fair, you’ve used him like a jungle gym so this isn’t really that crazy for his goons. Bane would take all meetings and updates from right where he had sat before you climbed into his lap. Unlike a lot of the others on this list, you didn’t accidentally fall asleep on him. You did it on purpose. No one can blame you, he gives the best cuddles and is just the perfect balance between warm and firm that just knocks you the fuck out. You need sleep? Bane’s arms are already open, waiting for you. Though if anyone woke you up or was being too loud, he would kill them with one hand. Like snap their neck whilst cuddling you close to him, no one disturbs his sunshine. His goons have learnt to whisper their reports and tiptoe down corridors.
Batman -[PLATONIC]
This might upset some people, but I think Batman just has a platonic neutrality with you, not romantic. He gets a headache when he’s working with or against you because he knows he’s got to baby-proof the Batmobile and holding cell you’ll eventually go to. However, you also lower his walls which is super rare for Bruce. He is your number 1 snuggle buddy, against his will. For some reason, your yawns (perfected with the cartoonish snot bubble that pops and wakes you up) are like chloroform to him. As soon as he hears it, it takes like two seconds before he’s gone to sleepy land. This has happened so much that whenever he is on a mission concerning you, he has to have a chaperone so he doesn’t sleep. If the two of you happened to fall asleep next to each other, Bruce is most likely laying his head on yours with his arm around your shoulders. His kids try and bribe you to record your yawns so they can get him to have a regular sleep schedule.
Catwoman -[ROMANTIC]
She is the one grabbing you and putting you in her lap. Most likely you were walking past her and she just grabbed your waist before pulling you into her body. No matter how much you squirm you can’t evade her hold. She all but purrs as you give in and bask in her attention. She pinches and pokes you occasionally, just to hear your reactions. When you eventually get bored enough to sleep, she just watches you breathe. Like Arthur, she’s lowkey obsessed. Again, not yandere. But more kind of her checking you’re alive. Though her counting your breathes is a bit overkill. She doesn’t stop you from being woken up because it’s not like she’s going to let you go any time soon. Plus it gives her a chance to tease you over drooling or sleep talking. Would absolutely hold it above your head if you mumble her name whilst asleep.
Constantine -[ROMANTIC/PLATONIC]
I can kind of see this being either way, just because you would be the type of little freak that I can see Constantine being attracted to only to have his inner monologue go ‘WHY?!’. He’s just kind of confused but decides to just go along with it, he’s seen worse. He’s another member of the Chronic Insomniac Club. It’s always just another case or just another spell, wearing himself thin until he just collapses on his sofa and sleeps for like 4 days straight. Having a snuggle buddy that has physically attached themself to his body helps. It weighs him down, he can’t move off the sofa unless he wants to wake up the little clown (not Joker-adjacent) he’s basically taken in. I feel as though you wouldn’t necessarily fall asleep in his lap, but probably crashed at his place. After a long day of being a nuisance you crash at Constantine’s home, because in your words ‘it smells nice’, and fall asleep on his sofa. And not long after you turn up, an equally exhausted if not more so sorcerer gets home and collapses on top of you, asleep before he even landed. You probably don’t care, using his trench coat as a blanket and in the morning he’s probably more confused than annoyed. Anyone attempting to wake you up would be met with a very grouchy British man ready to send them to Hell for disturbing his sleep. Oh, and you’re here too.
Deathstroke -[PLATONIC]
This man hates you. Loathes you, in a mostly comical way. Any time he works with you, he is audibly complaining and groaning because he thinks you don’t take things seriously enough. You know he hates you, so you do everything in your power to annoy the shit out of him. I imagine you hug him, arms like rubber as they snake around him multiple times, every time you see him and really up the exaggeration in your emotions and reactions. It’s definitely a love-hate relationship but deep down, Deathstroke does car. Another one who wouldn’t directly cuddle. Though I imagine if you ever got super hurt to the point you needed to be hospitalised, he would fight tooth and nail to sit by your side. He would hold your hand until you woke up, not letting go even to sleep himself. He would kick out anyone too loud, including nurses and medical staff. He would vehemently deny it but can’t help himself as the worry bleeds through. Don’t go dying on him yet, he needs his daily dosage of annoyance.
Flash -[ROMANTIC]
Barry absolutely adores you. Like this man enjoys jokes and pranks so having you around is more of a blessing than a nuisance. He’s probably one of the few people that you won’t be sleeping around. Both of you are too excitable and hyperactive to really slow down and feel your exhaustion. He’s usually the first one turning up to any of your crime moments, most of the time cheering you on or just watching the chaos unfurl. If the two of you did end up sleeping together (NOT LIKE THAT), then you would be a nightmare to live near (this sounds so bad, I swear it isn’t). Both of you would snore really loud, like so loud that it can be heard through walls. And neither of you would be able to stay still as you sleep. Barry is a chronic kicker in my opinion and you would probably roll around a lot. Somehow, you both consistently wake up without the blanket, you star-fishing on an angle and Barry half off the bed. No one would be able to walk you up through the cacophony of your shared sounds.
Green Arrow -[ROMANTIC/PLATONIC]
This could either way because he would be super protective and vigilant no matter the type of relationship you have with him. If you’re romantically entangled then he would stop you from cuddling with him anywhere other than your home because when you do cuddle, he lays on top of you. This isn’t just to feel close to you but also to protect you from any intruders. If anyone wanted to get to you, they’d have to get through him first. Try to ignore the knife under your pillow, he needs it within grabbing distance just in case. If you were platonically intertwined, then I can see him indulging in hugs and cuddles so long as it doesn’t restrict his limbs. So if you wanna nap on him, go for it. He wouldn’t sleep with you, though he desperately needs it, but he would stroke your back and ensure that no loud sounds would disturb you. Oliver won’t deter anyone from coming in the room but should they start shouting or making loud noises unnecessarily, he will send them a sharp look to tone it down.
Green Lantern -[ROMANTIC/PLATONIC]
I definitely think that this man is desperate for someone to adore him. He wants to be your hero, a guiding light. He needs this, man. If romantic, then I see him super eager for nap time except he won’t shut up about how great he is. You want to sleep, he wants to yap. Two lovers doomed to fall apart. However, all it takes is a threat to go to someone else for your much needed beauty rest to get him to buck up and settle into the quiet with you. If platonic, similarly to romantic, he needs to be wanted. He wants to be that cool, older brother figure to you. I imagine you would prefer this version since he would just lift you up into a piggy back ride where the gentle jostling will lull you to sleep. Occasionally he may use his Ring to make you a blanket or a stuffed toy for extra comfort. Hal is so paranoid that someone is going to wake you up though that he becomes the person who wakes you up, leaving you to fulfil your threat and find comfort elsewhere. He is heartbroken and falls to his knees in shame.
Harley Quinn -[PLATONIC]
Do not fall asleep on or near Harley if you don’t want the life to be squished out of you. She has a case of cuteness aggression and it’s bad. You fell asleep by yourself, and woke up to be fully engulfed by Harley and her two pet hyenas, with her using you as her personal teddy bear. It’s warm, cosy and honestly addictive. Anytime you do wake up, it’s pretty easy for you to fall back asleep. Harley snores a little, and she’s quite active when she’s asleep, but if she’s rolling she’s taking you with her. Anyone who dares interrupt the smallest bit of serotonin that she holds close to her gets to meet her beloved hyenas up and close. A few poor delivery men and cold callers have been chased through the streets of Gotham multiple times. Some have tried bribing them but they’re too loyal to the cuddle pile.
Joker -[PLATONIC]
This man is not your friend. I put platonic because I don’t see him pursuing you romantically because all he’s interested in is seeing how far he can push you before you break. One of his favourite ways to do so is through sleep deprivation. Anytime you are paired together for a mission, you get no sleep. From playing trombone music, to insisting the lights stay to even shocking you with a cattle spike to keep you awake, he’s trying anything and everything. Because of this, you’ve been turning down a lot of opportunities to do crime with him so he’s been following you from place to place. Probably the number one reason why you crash at Constantine’s, you don’t want to go home to a psycho maniac clown who has a penchant for an Eminem-Metallica blend. However, I will say that in the very rare moments the Joker lets you sleep (probably like a hour or two before the mission plan starts), he will absolutely beat the person who woke you up. He beats them to a pulp with a crowbar and then hands you the crowbar as a gift. Only he can disturb you. Only he can torment you.
Lex Luther -[ROMANTIC]
Lex hates it, especially when it happens in public. He pretends he doesn’t know you and calls security to ‘take care of you’- .i.e. lock you up in your shared quarters. He questions why he’s with you every day. Similar to Constantine, he’s just in a constant state to ‘WHY THEM?!?!’. It’s almost like a blow to his ego and intelligence. The only good part is that he can show off to Superman and watch as the Kryptonian struggles with his jealously. That’s the only time he would publicly indulge your clingy habits. In private though? There are some rarer moments where he lets himself be encompassed by you. You practically bear hug each time, and each time he breathes in like he was hurt before forcing his body to relax, muscle by muscle. It’s not easy, his walls are as tall as the Great Wall of China is long. If anyone interrupts him, he’s quick to toss you off of him before addressing them, remembering their face and name so he can have them ‘dealt with’. No one should see him in his most vulnerable moments… But can you come continue cuddling him? He’s getting cold.
Martian Manhunter -[PLATONIC]
I think he’s very intrigued and amused by you. Kind of like a human to a cute puppy or frog, if that fits you more. Like he’ll indulge you here and there but is very neutral most of the time. However, he is kind of a secret sower of chaos. He would absolutely pass you candy so that you become so hyperactive, that the others are a bit scrambled. If he has the time, he will sit by you as you sleep and listen in to your dreams. With your consent, of course. It’s the best way he can learn about you since your powers prevent him from using most of his on you. A pair of oddities you are. Should anyone attempt to wake you, he just calmly says something like ‘That is not the best course of action. Please reconsider’. If they don’t, then he just picks you up and moves into the next room. Also another person to accidentally wake you up whilst chasing others away, but unlike a certain lamp guy, he learns and doesn’t do it again.
Mister Freeze -[PLATONIC]
Why are you sleeping on him? He is quite literally deathly cold. You say it’s perfect for a nest of blankets. He calls you weird. You call him old. That silences Victor and he grumbles but lets you do as you please. You know that type of dad that doesn’t express their affection through words, but rather actions? Yeah, thats Victor. The next time you come to seek refuge from a child drawing of a clown come to life, there’s extra fluffy and better quality bedding and pillows. Oh, and they so happen to be in your favourite colour. If you ask him, he’ll tell you some story about having them back in his old home and he was going to get rid of them, but if you like them so much, you can keep them. You ignore the tag still on the sheets. When he thinks you’re asleep, he brushes your hair out of your face. Sometimes as you fuss in your sleep, he hums or sings a soft lullaby. If anyone attempts to disturb you in his laboratory, they wouldn’t even make it to the inner door before one of his inventions dealt with them.
Nightwing -[PLATONIC/ROMANTIC]
Similar to Green Lantern, this man is begging you to sit in his lap for cuddles and naps. Dick is super touch starved and lacks like really good intimacy skills, both platonic or romantic. As soon as you sit in his lap and fall asleep, his whole body locks up. He freezes and has to remind himself that he needs to breathe. Dick probably shed a tear and feels blessed/chosen. He barely touches you but once he becomes comfortable enough, he’ll trace small circles on your back. Definitely one of the few who would accidentally wake you up and he feels so betrayed by his own body. If someone tries to wake you or makes noise, he instinctively grips you tighter and shoots them a glare. It’s his cuddle time, not anyone else’s! I see him as the type of person to try and plan the nap sessions though, because he can’t really deal with spontaneity quite well and after the first few random times, would want a designated time for it. He would also try and force you to wear matching pyjamas.
Penguin -[PLATONIC]
This man is so comfy to sleep on. The only issue is, he doesn’t like to sit still for long and loses his temper quickly which means he is very loud most of the time. However, should you attempt it he won’t dissuade you. He would prefer you do it whilst he’s attending paperwork with minimal distractions. Oswald just kind of sees you like a nuisance he has on a leash, almost like a pet but without the dehumanisation. If any of his goons try to interrupt or say something to him, he puts a pair of noise cancelling headphones on you or covers your ears before shouting. He wouldn’t sleep with you, valuing his time much more and would probably feel too vulnerable to do so. He would provide you with sleeping attire and would insist that you get changed before snuggling because he wouldn’t want any dirt or Gotham grime on his freshly pressed suit. You wouldn’t really visit him that often because he’s way too close to the Joker, both geographically and sometimes on missions.
Poison Ivy -[PLATONIC]
Let’s be real, Pamela probably drugged you. You are way too hyperactive for her sometimes so in order to keep you calm around her plants and not excite Harley too much, she drugs you. Nothing serious but just enough to make you sleeping. It’s probably just an intense chamomile and lavender extract. She sometimes cuddles you but it’s not really her style. She adores you but she also values her personal space sometimes. If you do it during a mission, she’ll humour you but not for long because she wants to get back to her greenhouse and lover (Harley) as soon as possible. She would definitely be the type to brag about it, subtly though. And her main victims? Batman and Nightwing. Anytime she crosses paths with them, she drops a couple of lines about you not being afraid of her and how willing you are to return to the home she shares with Harley. They don’t need to know that she drugs you for it most of the time.
Ra’s al Ghul -[ROMANTIC]
This man is babying you. If you’re napping, or even climb into his lap, he’s cancelling what he has planned for the day. He’s lived far longer than his enemies and he’ll live long after they died, so he can spare a few hours to dote and cuddle you. He definitely makes you get changed into the most luxurious sleep ware, silk with encrusted diamond and ruby enamelling as well as gold thread details. It’s probably worth the same as a small European country. If he’s feeling cocking, Ra’s will have you in his lap during meetings and overseeing training. Damien has more than once questioned why you’re there but has soon gotten used to it. Ra's wouldn't sleep with you, but he would be more than happy to just watch you doze and ensure you stay wrapped up.
Red Hood -[ROMANTIC]
The second you lay in his lap, my man is freezing up and having an inner panic attack. He's so touch starved yet touch avoident that he sort of glitches and says nothing, staying absolutely still. Its a bit difficult for you to hug him but you try to make it work. Jason feels as though he destroys everything he touches so it'll take a while for him to relax and settle. It becomes a drug to him, he needs your presence to sleep. When his goons point out you're a nuisance, he just sighs and looks dreamily at you like 'my nuisance'. He doesn't care if his goons see you cuddling, its just something they have to get used to but as soon as a family member or another rogue swings by, he's all dark and brooding. Times like these he unceremoniously drops you from his arms before acting all militant. But don't worry, he'll make it up to you with cuddles later.
Riddler -[ROMANTIC/PLATONIC]
At first Edward is fully against it. He pushes you off of him and berates you for doing something so childish and unseemly, brushing invisible dirt of his custom tailored suit. It’s fine, you get your revenge by not giving him an ounce of your attention. First, you refuse to partner up with him for missions, then you decline his calls, you ignore him when he speaks to. You do all of this before he basically begs (though he won’t ever admit to it) for your forgiveness and pulls you into his arms. Edward thought he was above it all and now he won’t make that mistake a second time. His goons aren’t allowed in the room when you cuddle though, so they have to communicate through very awkward rushed scribbles on paper that are then stuffed under the door or window. Many a times they have conducted raids like this, and it wasn’t until Batman invaded their base that someone suggested text messages or some other easy when to communicate. Riddler will actually pout if you wake up or move away before he’s had his daily dose of you and will immediately kill anyone who wakes you up.
Scarecrow -[PLATONIC]
He loathes physical touch and how silly you are in what is supposed to be a serious endeavour. Jonathan would absolutely use his Fear gas on you, just to see what happens. What he didn’t expect was for you to become extra clingy as you saw things you couldn’t explain and used him to ground yourself. He hated it, you wouldn’t let go of his arms as you sobbed. You wouldn’t let go, couldn’t. Your grip was ironclad and left dark purple bruises on his skin. At some point during your awful psychedelic trip, Jonathan Crane got used to you. It wasn’t a huge switch. It was gradual and slow, building to a neutrality. He didn’t hate you touching him, but he didn’t love it either. However, by the time he got used to your presence, you were flat out cold. The gas had scared you so much you spiralled yourself into exhaustion and fell asleep. On him. He would feel bad but you’ve basically anchored him down to one spot and now he can’t do his work.
Superman -[ROMANTIC]
First I got to say, choosing Clark Kent for cuddles and naps is the best choice here. That man is southern hospitality and sunshine all wrapped up in a beefcake who loves puppies and flowers. He is so down for cuddles, like almost desperately so. He gets so giddy and giggling when you begin to climb into his lap. Let me just say that you won’t need any blankets or pillows, this man is warm enough. If someone tries to wake you up or if he wants to annoy the other members of the Justice League, he will just make sure you’re all secure (probably as a bear hug) and then just fly in the air. He’ll use his laser eyes to cut around walls to make sure its quiet enough for you before floating high above whatever city he was in. This definitely pisses off Bruce and the Flash. He would wake you up with sweet innocent kisses across your face until you stirred and then gently fly you to Paris or Smallville for a nice ‘breakfast’. He would never wake you up accidentally because he has your heartbeat on his radar at all times.
Talia al Ghul -[ROMANTIC]
Much like her father, Talia absolutely spoils you. Matching sleeping attire? Check! 5 star facial treatments for the both of you? Check! Silk sheets in an European palace? Check! As for who falls asleep on who? It could go either way as Talia adores cuddling you, it gives her the perfect opportunity to pinch and poke you and have you whenever she pleases. She’d probably drug you a little bit, just to keep you nice and complacent. She coils around you like a snake and she’s so soft that you don’t even feel the set of daggers she’s strapped to her body in case of intruders. It’s somewhat similar when she’s the little spoon as she’s always armed and loves to just lounge on you. Talia would wake you up with sex or slow kisses across your face and upper body. She’s the boldest with her claim and would shoot someone dead for attempting to take you away from her, before cooing over your sleepy mumbles.
Two-Face -[ROMANTIC]
Harvey is a man who thrives on the chaos you bring. But rather than scold you for sleeping on the job, he would probably see it as you recuperating your energy. He would feel blessed that you, basically his God at this point, would choose to sleep on him. The very level of vulnerability you have shown him is all but a marriage proposal. He would guard you with his life and would kill anything or anyone in the perimeter, regardless if they made noise or not. To him, he can’t take any chances. He also wouldn’t sleep with you, too paranoid and alert to relax. It may even be that he puts you in a secure safe room which has been done up to be your bedroom. It has over 60 different types of locks and most of them have answers that only Harvey knows. He would stroke your face whilst you slept and whisper some sort of ranted prayer. The only way he would wake you was if the compound was under attack and he needed to move you. Any other time, he is actively trying to soothe you so you return to your slumber.
Wonder Woman -[ROMANTIC/PLATONIC]
For Diana, it could go either way as she’s going to hold you in one arm or on her hip like a baby because to her, you’re her baby. If your relationship is platonic, then she’ll indulge in your clinginess and use it to brag to Bruce. (Both her and Clark like to watch him struggle a bit). She’s another one that wouldn’t nap with you, but would stay awake just to ensure you’re safe and sound. Plus, I imagine as a demigod she doesn’t really need that much sleep. If your relationship is romantic, then she may be clingy too. If you nap together in the safe space of your shared home, then you aren’t going anywhere. Her arms are like iron bars once they find purchase around your waist. She also doesn’t really care for matching pyjamas but she does adore you when you wear her sweats. No matter your size, she has a version of hers in it. She doesn’t wake you up either. But Diana definitely wakes up before you and just stares at your face until you wake up. She likes to memorise these moments because she doesn’t know when they may end. If someone wakes you up on accident, she gently chides them before doting on you as you are extra cute to her when you’re sleepy.
Hope you enjoyed! This came out as more of sleeping headcannons but either way I hope it was a good read.
can you write a fic that is sex pollen infected peter parker who is very scared to hurt reader/stark, they’ve been best friends with tension since childhood and are adults now. when they finally do the deed, peters senses are very strong because of the pollen. thank you!
You’d seen Peter shaken before—after battles, after near misses, after losses that still lived behind his eyes—but you had never seen him like this. His hands trembled against his knees, knuckles white, his breath coming in sharp bursts like he was fighting off an invisible storm.
“It’s—it’s in my system,” he rasped, almost panicked. “I can feel it. I can’t—God, I can’t trust myself around you right now—”
“Pete.” You crouched in front of him, forcing him to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, the barest brush of air between you making his throat work in a swallow. His whole body was tight, like a bowstring about to snap. “It’s not your fault. And you’re not going to hurt me.”
He laughed, raw and broken. “You don’t get it. I can smell you. It’s—everything is—louder. Closer. I can hear your heart beating like it’s inside me. If I lose control—” His voice cracked, the fear in it cutting deep. “You’ve been my best friend since we were kids. I can’t—if I ever—”
You didn’t let him spiral. You placed your hand against his cheek, steadying. He stilled instantly, like the world had gone silent just because you touched him. His breath hitched, and when he opened his eyes again, there was fire there—want and terror twined together.
“Peter,” you whispered, your thumb brushing his jaw. “You’ve never hurt me. Not once. And I trust you more than anyone in the world.”
The pollen buzzed between you, electric in the air. His hand lifted, hovering like he was afraid to make contact, but then your lips were on his before he could overthink it. The kiss was searing—familiar and foreign all at once—and you felt his whole body shudder like the dam had finally cracked.
He tried to pull back, breathing hard, muttering, “I shouldn’t—” but your hands tangled in his shirt, anchoring him.
“Don’t fight it,” you murmured against his lips. “Not with me.”
When he finally let himself give in, the difference was staggering. His senses, sharpened by the pollen, made every brush of skin, every sigh, every tiny shift of your heartbeat feel like a universe exploding behind his eyes. He gasped into your mouth, overwhelmed, whispering broken things against your skin—how soft, how warm, how much he’d wanted this for years but never let himself hope.
And when you whispered back that you wanted him too—that you always had—his whole frame seemed to unravel. Every move he made was still careful, trembling on the edge of restraint, but you could feel the reverence in it, the awe, like you were something sacred he’d been entrusted with.
For Peter, the world had always been too loud, too sharp, too much, but in that moment, even with the pollen amplifying everything, you weren’t overwhelming. You were home.
Peter’s breath stuttered when your mouth brushed his, the smallest spark setting him alight. He froze, every nerve in his body on edge, and then he let out the softest, strangled sound when you kissed him again—deeper this time, certain.
His lips parted against yours like he’d been waiting his whole life for it. The taste of him was familiar and new, dizzying in the way only Peter could be. His hands, which had been hovering helplessly at his sides, finally found you—one trembling as it slid up your arm, the other gripping the back of your shirt like he was afraid you’d vanish.
The pollen made everything sharper for him—your heartbeat thundering, the faint shiver in your breath, the warmth of your skin under his fingertips. He broke the kiss with a gasp, his forehead pressing to yours, voice hoarse. “I can’t—God, it’s so much. You’re so much.”
“You can,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. Your hand guided his back to your waist, urging him closer. “It’s just me. Just us.”
Something in him cracked at that, and then he was kissing you like a man starved. His mouth moved against yours with growing hunger, his tongue sliding to taste you, drawing a shiver from your chest. The sound made him groan, deep and desperate, and he pulled you flush against him like restraint was slipping through his fingers.
You let yourself melt into it, tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp into your mouth. His response was instant—his lips trailing to the corner of your jaw, down to your throat, each kiss hot and unsteady. He whispered your name there like a prayer, voice wrecked.
Every brush of his lips was frantic but reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of you, every heartbeat, every breath. When you pulled his face back up to kiss him again, the world seemed to narrow to nothing but the two of you—heat, breath, hands, lips. For Peter, whose senses had always been a burden, right now they only told him the truth: you were his anchor, his match, his forever.
Peter kissed you like he was starving, and you matched him kiss for kiss, heat curling through your veins. His hands slid beneath your shirt, spreading across your bare skin, calloused fingertips brushing your ribs and making you shiver. He froze, groaning softly.
“You feel so good,” he muttered, voice cracked with need. His forehead pressed to yours like he was trying to ground himself, but his thumbs kept stroking your skin, unable to stop.
“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, tugging at his hair until his mouth was on yours again.
It grew messy fast—teeth clashing, lips swollen, breath stolen from each other. He pressed you harder into the wall, his body flush against yours, and you could feel him trembling with restraint. His hips rocked just slightly against yours before he yanked himself back with a hiss.
“I shouldn’t—I can’t lose it with you—”
“You won’t,” you breathed, catching his mouth again. “It’s me, Peter. I want this. I want you.”
The sound that left him was half-groan, half-plea, and then he was kissing down your throat, open-mouthed and wet, dragging his teeth along your skin. Your gasp made him shudder. His hands slid higher under your shirt, palms flattening against your back, dragging you closer.
“God, I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispered against your collarbone, voice wrecked. “About you. About touching you.”
You tugged at the hem of his shirt, desperate. He yanked it over his head in one frantic motion, and your hands mapped the lines of muscle beneath his skin, his body trembling under your touch. His mouth returned to yours, hungrier than ever, tongue sliding against yours, groan rumbling deep in his chest when you pressed your hips to his.
The pollen made every movement unbearable in its intensity—your warmth, your taste, your heartbeat hammering against his own. His senses drowned him in you, every gasp and sigh carving into him. He pulled your shirt off, hands roaming reverently, lips following—kissing across your shoulder, down the slope of your chest, back up to your throat, like he couldn’t stop worshiping every inch.
“Tell me to stop,” he begged against your mouth, even as his hands dragged you closer, even as his hips ground into yours with desperate friction.
“Don’t you dare stop,” you whispered back, biting his lip.
He groaned, ragged and low, and then you were both lost in the fever of it—hands tangled in hair, clothes tugged away in frantic touches, your bodies pressed tighter and tighter until there was no space left between you, only heat and want and years of tension snapping at last.
When you gasped his name again, Peter’s restraint shattered, and the world narrowed to nothing but you, him, and the inevitable.
Peter kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, like every second was a lifetime lost. His hands trembled as they slid beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips tracing reverent lines up your spine before he tugged the fabric over your head and tossed it aside.
He stilled, eyes wide, chest heaving. For a moment, he didn’t move—just stared, drinking you in like you were something holy. “God,” he whispered, voice raw, “you’re… you’re perfect.”
You tugged his shirt off in return, letting your hands explore the planes of muscle beneath his skin, feeling every shiver that ran through him. His body was wound tight, vibrating with restraint, and when your palms brushed low on his stomach, he groaned into your mouth, clutching your hips harder.
Then he was everywhere—his lips trailing down your throat, dragging over the curve of your shoulder, hot open-mouthed kisses marking your skin. His tongue traced along your collarbone, and when you gasped, his groan vibrated against your chest.
“I can taste your heartbeat,” he murmured, half-delirious, lips dragging lower. “Every part of you—God, it’s too much and not enough.”
You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, guiding his mouth wherever you wanted him. He obeyed without hesitation, kissing across your skin like he was worshiping, whispering broken confessions between kisses.
“Been dreaming about this—about you—for years.” His hands slid down your sides, thumbs brushing the edge of your waistband. He lifted his head just long enough to meet your eyes, pupils blown wide, desperate and reverent all at once. “Tell me if I go too far.”
“You won’t,” you promised, breathless, pulling him back down. “You couldn’t.”
That was all he needed. His mouth found you again, hotter, hungrier, leaving a trail of kisses that made your whole body arch into him. The pollen made every sound you made echo inside him, every shiver of your skin beneath his lips searing into his senses. He was unraveling under it, but instead of fighting, he clung tighter—worshipping, tasting, memorizing.
He whispered your name like it was both a prayer and a plea, forehead pressed to yours as though grounding himself in you alone. The pollen still made his senses scream, every sound, every heartbeat, every shiver magnified until he could barely breathe.
“Stay with me,” he begged against your lips, his voice breaking.
“Always,” you whispered back, pulling him down to you.
And when the last barrier between you fell away, when he finally surrendered to everything he’d been holding back for years, the world blurred—heat and touch and breath and whispered confessions lost in the dark.
I can easily imagine Seongje sending notes to his gf in class... I'll ask your opinion in form of a scenario 🤭
OMG ANON I JUST SAW THIS WOW YOU SENT THIS A WHILE AGOOO! Also this is a fire idea omlllll okay okay let me write this one out
You. Me. After Class.
The lecture was dull. The professor's voice bore you out, the kind that made your eyelids heavy and your brain ache. You tapped your pen against the side of your notebook, blinking hard to stay awake.
That's when the first note slid onto your desk.
Folded twice. Written on a piece of paper that looks like old homework.
You didn't need to look to know who it was from.
Still, you turned just a little. He was lounging in his chair like he had been waiting for you to turn around, one arm draped lazily across the back of his seat, his eyes already on you.
Smirking.
You opened the note.
“Skirt’s shorter than usual, are you doing this on purpose? "
Your jaw tightened. You bit the inside of your cheek, shook your head once, and didn't reply.
Another note arrived three minutes later. Slid across the narrow aisle like a secret dare.
"You look cute when you're pretending not to read this"
You sighed. Wrote back quickly.
"Seongje, stop, I could get in serious trouble"
Seconds passed. Then another.
"You're making it difficult to focus, don’t you think that could get you in trouble?”
You didn't respond this time. Threats He leaned forward, just enough to whisper behind your ear his breath warm, the hint of his cologne like a whisper in your pulse.
"Red looks good on you."
Your cheeks burned.
That’s the colour of your underwear.
Of course he noticed.
He didn't lean back right away. His fingers brushed lightly over the back of your arm, barely a touch.
Then came the final note, passed with a grin that should've been illegal in a classroom setting:
"Meet me behind the art building after this."
He didn't even look at you after that, just rested his chin in his hand like nothing happened.
But you could feel it.
That low, simmering buzz of what he meant without saying it.
You didn't pass a note back.
But you closed your notebook with five minutes left.
McKay fic where reader is usually from the night shift but it's helping out now with all the chaos and McKay just being obsessed and asking Dana to make them work together as much as possible?
A different breed
Mckay x nightshift!reader
(I am not a doctor and do not understand any of the medical jargon. I am mashing words together to make what I'm sure is gibberish in medical land for this scene lol)
Rated: M
Words: 2,376
"Incoming. L/N, need you on this-" Dr. Robby bellows through the ER as an incredibly bloodied woman is rolled in on a stretcher.
"Female. Mid-thirties. MVC, head-on collision. Found unresponsive at the scene."
The paramedics from the ambulance seem relieved at another team taking over, and you can see why when your eyes finally land on the patient. She's covered in blood and some sort of near-black, tar-like substance. Her arm is bent at a sickening angle, and her chest looks like it was hit with a tiny meteor.
"BP 82 over palp, pulse 132, respirations 28 and shallow. Sat 88 on non-rebreather."
As instinctively as getting dressed in the afternoon, you get to work. It's clear that there's internal bleeding and if you don't move quickly, she won't make it to OR.
"Alright, lets move." You motion to Whitaker, who's standing near, to assist with moving the patient, and he immediately throws the chart he's holding to the student doctor next to him. "On my count. One, two, three."
She lands with a familiar thud, though not as heavy as you're used to. When you look down at her again, you realize she's quite small, probably not more than 5'2.
"Airway?" You ask.
"Partially obstructed. Blood in the oropharynx." Comes Whitaker's reply, and while he looks a little shaky at how much blood is filling up inside the patient, his voice is steady.
"What's the next move, Whitaker?" Comes Robby's voice next you.
Suction. Prep for intubation. You think, trying to will the answers to him. Two large-bore IVs. Get O-neg ready.
The younger day-shift resident meets your gaze before giving a sharp nod and repeating nearly exactly what you'd thought.
It feels like hours are going by as you all work to keep the patient from drowning in her own blood, but in reality it's probably only about two minutes. As soon as she seems like she's stabilizing, the monitors start to beep incessantly.
"Can't even take a god damn breath." A young student doctor mutters next to you and you give a huff of a laugh in response.
"Not for twelve hours." You joke back as you slide up to where a new doctor has joined Whitaker at the patient's head, a little older than your fellow residents. Her bangs fall down over her goggles as she peels each eyelid back and shines a light, her lips parted in concentration. "Left pupil 5 and sluggish. Right 3 and reactive."
You didn't even have to ask - she just knew what you'd need next. Some sort of mind reading angel-doctor that flew down to the ER just for you. It takes you a moment to shake the surprise out of your head and continue to work.
By the time you are able to stabilize the patient (for good, this time) and OR is promising to take her, everyone is huffing like they've run a marathon. Doctors begin to split, no breaks, just heading back to other patients who are still waiting for care.
Feeling invigorated you give Whitaker a high five. He jolts a little at the contact, but gives you a tired smile in response. "Nice job, Huckleberry!"
He opens his mouth, confusion on his face, but when Dr. Santos glides by with a smirk, he closes it.
"Yeah, Santos got to me first. But, hey. I think it's a cute nickname." You shrug. "Plus, I heard Dr. Robby use it. He seems to like it."
You swear his face tints pink as he clears his throat and nods, but you let him take a breath as you peel away to go and check on a patient with a broken wrist.
Across the ER, Dr. Cassie Mckay leans against the nurses station, peeling off her gloves. "Dana."
Dana gives a half-hearted 'hmm?' without looking up from the chart in her hands, licking her thumb before she turns the page.
"Who is that?
"Who's who?"
Cassie nods in your direction before you disappear around a corner into South.
Dana peers up just in time to glimpse you. "Ah, Dr. Y/N. Third year resident. Usually on the night shift but she's covering today."
"So's Abbott, so everyone keep a look out. Send him my way when he arrives?" Dr. Robby murmurs as he rushes by, throwing another stack of papers on top of Dana's chart, giving her a prayer sign when she shoots him a Kubrick-level glare.
Cassie chews on her pen for a minute, staring off in the direction you disappeared from before she takes it out of her mouth and taps it on the counter. "Night shift, huh? Man, they really are a different breed, aren't they?"
Dana finally really looks up from her paperwork and when she takes in Cassie's distracted look, she lowers her clipboard, fixing the woman with an amused expression.
"I mean, the way she just jumped in there." Cassie gives an impressed huff. "Maybe I should cover for someone in night shift one of these days."
"Might wanna wipe that drool off your chin." The charge nurse teases, but Cassie simply bites her lip and turns to give Dana her full attention.
"Dana." She gives her trademark toothy smile as she saunters around the desk. "Dana, Dana, Dana... My favorite nurse."
Dana raises an eyebrow as she turns to face the doctor. "Whatever it is, no."
"Please, you've been the one assigning pairs today." Cassie murmurs in a low, raspy voice.
"No."
"Oh, come on." Cassie whines, quiet as a whisper. "I just want to look at her."
"She is very pretty. Funny, too." Princess pipes in as she strides into the circle, snatching the paperwork out of Dana's hand.
"Wait, you know her?" Cassie asks, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
Princess nods. "Yeah, I've covered a few nightshifts here and there. She's Abbott's little prodigy."
Cassie bites her lip again before spinning on her heel to face Dana with an expression as hopeful as a child waiting for Christmas morning.
________
"I can find our social worker for you if you'd like, and she can answer any questions you have as well as provide resources."
Dr. Mckay had been alongside you for nearly every patient you'd had today. Always prepped and ready with tests and tools you needed - half of the time without you even needing to ask. She watched you like a hawk.
It felt right. Natural. As though you'd been working together for months. She often seemed to know what you needed before you did.
Now, watching her with what came in as a undefinable cough but turned out to be an eating disorder, you can't help but marvel at her.
Your fellow nightshift residents, god love 'em, are chaotic as hell. Basically competent little gremlins who enjoy the dark. Lots of hooking up, but nothing that ever interests you.
You watch her warm, disarming eyes as she nods, listening intently as though the patient in front of her is the only person in the world that matters. You clock her soft, casual posture that allows anyone and everyone to feel at ease when they disclose their problems.
She's a goddamn miracle.
"Do you have any questions to ask Ms. Nyborg, Dr. L/N?"
You blink away your infatuation and give a mirroring smile to the patient before you. "No, I think you covered it all, Dr. Mckay."
As you both step away, heading back towards the boards to pick up a new patient, her shoulder brushes yours and it sends tingles down your arm.
"You're so good with the patients. I never would have caught that." The words fall from your lips before you give them permission to do so.
"Are you kidding? I've been watching you all day. You nightshift people are on another level." She scoffs.
"Please. Yeah, I know all the terminology and blah, blah, blah. But I don't have half your bedside manner. I think you have more emotional intelligence than the day shift and night shift combined."
Her chin falls down towards her chest, allowing her scruffy bangs to partially shield her eyes while a small smile pulls at her lips.
It's simply too cute.
Before you can even take a look at the board, the state of the ER floor catches your eye.
Attempting to scurry away is a very red-faced Whitaker, walking away from a smirking Santos, still behind the desk pretending to pay attention to her charting. Behind them both stands an astounded looking Robby, ignoring Dr. Abbott next to him who's in the middle of what looks to be a very animated story. Across the hall stands kid-wonder, Javadi, giggling like a hyena next to a curly-haired male nurse. She sucks in a sharp gasp when a wave of her hand knocks his coffee straight out of his hand.
"I know the night shift is a clusterfuck, but how is it that the day shift is made of absolute squares and you're all still so messy? Are you the only normal person here?" You question as you come to a stop.
Mckay bends over as she snorts out a laugh, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder for balance.
More tingles.
As she rights herself, she sighs a long breath. "It's a mess, I'll give you that. But I'm just as messy, trust me."
"You have such a nice laugh."
You wince as, yet again, the words come tumbling out of your mouth without permission. Cassie's head snaps to the side to stare at you, wide-eyed.
"You mean my witches cackle?"
"I like it." You shyly affirm, heat growing on your cheeks.
Her own shy smile returns as her attention moves to her shoes, and you decide in that moment to use whatever amount of time you have left in this shift to make sure you see that smile as often as possible.
_________
Your shift is over.
You should be getting in your car to go home.
You have to be back here in about four hours.
But apparently none of that matters as you plaster yourself up against Dr. Cassie Mckay in a locked supply closet, your hands tangled in her hair as you beg to touch her.
And who wouldn't beg to touch a living angel given the chance?
"Yeah?" That soft rasp in her voice absolutely kills you. "You wanna put that pretty mouth to use?"
"Yes, please- please, I wanna taste you." The whine in your tone has reached a new level, but you can't even be bothered to care when she surges forward and shoves her tongue in your mouth. The feeling of her tongue swirling around yours has you practically high, and you're grateful for her hands coming up to clasp both sides of your face because you're pretty sure they're keeping you from just floating away.
You whine again when she pulls away and the noise makes her chuckle.
"Thought you wanted to taste me?" She teases.
You drop to your knees so fast you might have cracked a knee cap.
Good thing you're in a hospital. You can deal with it later.
You waste no time yanking her scrubs down around her ankles, leaving her in dark green boy-cut underwear, and you immediately lean forward to drag your tongue across the fabric.
"Fuck- oh my god you're so hot-" She hisses as her head falls back against the wall and her hands reach out uselessly in the air, grasping at nothing.
You repeat the action a few more times before you finally peel her underwear down and give the same lick against heated, wet skin.
"Fuck-"
The soft moan that falls from her lips sends a zing! straight down to your own cunt, but you ignore it in favor of tasting as much of her as possible.
Her hands continue to flex and clench in the air, and when you reach up to grab them and bring them down to your hair, you blink up through your lashes to make eye contact. Conveniently, she's looking down at you again as you tangle her hands in your hair and give one big long swipe of your tongue.
She squeezes her eyes shut as her head falls back against the wall, her bottom lip caught tightly between her teeth as she tries not to make anymore sounds.
But her hands? Oh, the new placement of her hands has awoken something in her.
They both grip tight as you alternate between licking through her folds and sucking on them, and it isn't long before her hips are rocking against your face. Soft, high-pitched whimpers make their way out of her despite how hard she's biting her lip.
"In... inside, please..." She finally pants, and you don't tease before giving her what she wants. You point your tongue and press up into her, moaning into her skin at the heady taste. Your nose rubs back and forth over her clit.
"You're so good- so good-" She pants and you can feel her start to clench around you.
You moan into her one more time, adding to the vibrations she's feeling and that's all it takes. Cassie comes around your tongue, one hand flying from your hair to clasp over her mouth as she moans into it. Her hips rock against you for a long minute before she finally releases her death grip in your hair and instead smooths it down.
Pleased as punch, you tilt your head and give her inner thigh a kiss before you lean your temple on it and gaze up at her.
"You're so perfect." You murmur as she regains control of her breathing.
"I'm perfect?" She husks and tugs you up by her hand. You follow, more than willing to meet her up there. As soon as her lips are within reach, you are reattaching yourself to them, and she hums as she tastes herself on your tongue before she pulls back again. "Now, I really have to cover a night shift one of these days."
"As much as I wouldn't be opposed to that." You whisper against her lips. "You don't have to change your entire sleep schedule just to see me. I will gladly come to you."
....do you want another tf2 ask? 🫣🫣🫣🫣 um maybe like a (gn) reader who's asking Engi and/or Sniper (seperate) for a place to stay headcanons? Sorry for another um engi and sniper ask ig they're js popular characters 😦
of course! Engie and Sniper are on my top 3 so don't worry ^^
Got Room For One More?
Sniper/Engineer x GN!Reader who needs a place to stay.
EDIT: I just realized anon asked for headcanons Im so sorry I got carried away with this but I hope you enjoyed it either way 😞🙏🏻 heads up! kinda long.
(P. S, The mercs are red! You are orange. ¦¦ the bullet point paragraphs are hcs)
SNIPER
The barracks were a circus. You’d tried to tough it out, pillow over your head, earplugs jammed in, but nothing drowned out the thundering footsteps, cackling laughter, and someone (presumably scout) blasting music through the walls. By the time midnight rolled around, you were at your wit's end.
Which was how you found yourself standing outside Sniper's van, bag in hand, feeling ridiculous. You knocked once, twice.
The door cracked open, and Sniper blinked down at you, hair a wild mess, glasses slightly askew. "..?"
You shifted awkwardly. "Can't stay in the barracks tonight. Too much noise. Thought maybe you'd, uh—have room."
For a long moment he just stared, unreadable. Then, without a word, he stepped back and gestured you inside. "Okay wow did not expect him to let me inside so easy." you wonder to yourself.
The van was exactly what you expected,cramped, a little cluttered, but not dirty. A couch folded out into a bed along one wall, maps and shell casings scattered across the counter, a battered kettle sitting on a portable stove. It smelled faintly of dust and coffee.
"Not much", Sniper said, scratching the back of his neck, "but it's quiet."
"Exactly what I need." You set your things down and collapsed onto the couch with a groan.
He watched you for a moment, then moved around the space in that efficient, quiet way of his,tidying a pile of papers, shoving a crate of bullets under the counter, straightening a blanket like he hadn’t thought about it in forever.
"Appreciate it,"you said, breaking the silence.
He shrugged, busying himself with the kettle." Don’t mention it." The kettle began to whistle, and Sniper poured two mugs without asking if you wanted one. He handed it to you, black, bitter, but warm,and then settled in the driver’s seat, rifle across his knees.
For a while, the only sounds were the ticking of the engine as it cooled and the quiet slurp of coffee. You thought he might start talking—about the mission tomorrow, about the others—but he didn’t. And that was fine. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was… restful.
Eventually, your eyelids drooped. You set the mug aside and stretched out on the couch. Grabbing the blanket from your bag, you mutter a soft "Thanks again." before drifting off to sleep.
When you woke, the van was dim with early morning light. Sniper was still in the driver’s seat, head tilted back, hat over his face, rifle within reach. Softly snoring.
For a moment, you watched him, marveling at how someone could be so completely comfortable in their own company. Then you realized,maybe, just maybe,he didn’t mind yours either.
He automatically pours two mugs, doesn’t even ask if you want one. The drinks are always too bitter, but it’s comforting.
Sniper doesn’t force conversation, but the quiet never feels heavy. It’s a calm you don’t get in the base. Sometimes you just sit, listening to the faint hum of the desert outside.
When he does speak, it’s usually about simple things—weather, terrain, the latest mission. But every so often, he drops a line about life that sticks with you, rough-edged wisdom from a man who’s spent too long on his own.
ENGINEER
Engie technically has a bunk with Pyro, but he spends more nights in his workshop than anywhere else. A little cot and a beat-up couch tucked in the corner do the job. He shrugs it off: "Why walk all the way back when I can kip right here?"
The workshop is always softly lit, lamps and blueprints scattered about. The hum of machines and faint smell of oil/gunpowder make the place feel oddly cozy, even homey, despite all the gadgets lying around.
You opened the workshop door and were immediately met with the familiar buzz of machines, the occasional clink of metal on metal, and the low hum of a welder somewhere in the corner. It was loud, but not chaotic. Not like the barracks.
Engie glanced up from his workbench, goggles perched on his forehead. "Evenin'. what can I do you fer'?"
You sigh, rubbing your temples. "Too much racket back at the base. Thought I’d… uh… see if I could crash here for a while. Somehow much quieter here despite the machinery and stuff."
He gave a small, easy smile and gestured toward the corner. "Couch or cot. Take yer pick. Don't mind the noise."
The couch looked worn but welcoming. You sank into it, listening to the steady rhythm of Engie's work, the soft clatter of tools, the whir of a small motor, his quiet muttering as he adjusted a gadget. The noise wasn't jarring, it was predictable, almost soothing.
Engie poured two mugs of coffee, the steam curling into the air. "Here ya go. Not too strong, I promise. Just enough to keep yer eyes open if th' work bothers ya none."
You took it gratefully, letting the warmth seep into your hands. "Thanks." you smile softly.
Leaning back as the rhythmic sounds of the workshop continued. It wasn't silence. It wasn't complete peace. But it was calm in its own way, and having Engie nearby, working and humming, made it feel like the world had slowed down just for you.
Engie's talkative but never overwhelming. He'll chat about his projects, share old stories from his homwtown, or ask about your day. The conversation flows naturally.
If you doze off on the couch, he just smiles, drapes a spare blanket over you, and goes right back to his work. He doesn't mind the company, it’s nice to have someone appreciating the quiet in his space.
Sometimes he turns on the radio to an old country or jazz station. He hums along under his breath, sometimes you join in. Leading to a small kareoke session between you two.
When you come looking for quiet, he doesn't question it. Just waves you in, clears off the couch, and asks if you want something to eat. There’s usually a stash of sandwiches or a pot of chili he’ll happily share.
