#oblivious soap

[wittymanatee]

09Ghoap

Captian MacTavish who lost his team, now pushing people away unless it's about the mission

Vs

Lieutenant Riley who had a team but they didn't like him, now trying to stick to people who show an ounce of care

If u can't tell, Riley saw MacTavish and was like, 'MY Captain, he ain't ever going to get rid of me', while MacTavish is like, 'I let this kid join my team, and he won't leave me alone-,'

100% going to do more snippets...

In my head

[skyrigel]

Simon and reader would be the last one to know they're in a relationship.

Soap would groan inwardly, when you would hop on to sit on Simon's lap because there was no 'room' on the bench.

And not the way you jittered, “Try this !” to him, holding Simon's jaw and feeding him with your own spoon. Ofcourse friend could feed one another, but Price drew the line at the intense way your thumb wiped the corner of their lieutenant's mouth and sucked it back.

Something, something about the way you kissed Simon in the middle of the room —because your chapstick's flavour was damn good and Simon ought to know that; Kyle rambled about it for two hours.

It's in the eyes, in the smiles, in the way Simon's gaze would soften up and yours would lit up like fuse. They wouldn't be surprised to find you guys married one day just because the ring looked pretty cute or whatever.

Masterlist

[tanked-up]

~~~~~~~

“Friends with benefits”

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

For vaggie that spear is her support animal/therapist

For charlie, it's a rival she'd like to throw in lava but can't cause, it's vaggies support 'animal'

silly headcanon plot twist- Charlie's jealously at the spear ISN'T silly or irrational at all, it's a subconscious manifestation of Charlie's desperation for her girlfriend to actually open up emotionally to HER instead of to a WEAPON, confide fears and problems in CHARLIE, and a very frustrated, very also-emotionally-constipated-in-her-own-way Charlie doesn't wanna pin that frustration on Vaggie directly so she deflects all her anger to the spear, which as an inanimate objects, can't get any hurt feelings over this or decide Charlie is too much and dump her

we've done it. we've cracked the silly headcanon and found the angst waiting underneath XD XD XD

or maybe the above is all just what the hazbin crew speculates together, in their weekly "there's no way those two idiots don't have shit going on in their relationship" chaggie hotel gossip meet-ups

[sgt-toasted-bug]

Need a t-shirt duo where one says "I feel the constant and desperate need to do whatever it takes all the time" and the other one says "I'm whatever it takes"

[bajoslovan]

Soap, grabbing Ghost ass: got your six

Ghost, torn between enforcing his role as the Lieutenant with "hands off, Sergeant" and flirting back by "getting his twelve": got yer off, Sergeant

Soap, running with this: tha' it did

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

Crack shipping in Once upon a time:

June x Unicron

Hear me out, this crack pairing has the potential of becoming dramatic, like a Mexican soap opera or like one of those Greek mythology’s, since there would be conflict between a god and a demi-god so let’s get cooking:

In various mythologies, not just Greek, there are warnings that catching the attention of a god is considered bad luck, since Gods become extremely possessive on the objects or people they consider as theirs and will cause calamities on the interlopers or to the people they’re possessive of. June is basically his emotional support human and the envoy he depends on the most (95% of the time). In this case, Unicron spends most of his time with her and June’s presence helps eases his mind, whether their relationship is platonic or romantic, it doesn’t matter since Unicron would consider June his.

On the other hand, Unicron gave June a purpose to continue living along new “abilities” that would help her(June has become a leader/pillar of support to other neo-humans. She wouldn’t bring herself to join Jack in the afterlife since so many people depend on her). With June’s new purpose in mind and burden, Unicron ends up becoming her pillar of support from better or worse. In addition, as an envoy, she’s connected to Unicron’s anti-spark, so any emotions she feels will be transferred and vice versa.

Those emotions are going to flare when two problems (Megatron and Optimus) arrive on their doorstep.

June has plenty of reasons to despise Megatron with her entire being (I.e. destroying her life). Unicron would definitely feel and probably be affected by it.

When Megatron arrives on Earth

Unicron: *looks concerned* June, do you want me to avenge your son? I have a lightening bolt with his name on it.

June: *Sees Javier clinging to Megatron’s leg* Not yet.

Unicron: How about we make him suffer in the meantime 😈

June: … I’m listening.

In the show I wasn’t sure if June had a crush on Optimus or if it was just admiration, but if she did those feelings she once had would turn into a resentment even worse than the hate she feels for Megatron. After all the worse feeling of betrayal never comes from an enemy, but from a person you admired since you never saw it coming. The juicy drama will start once Optimus arrives on Earth. June’s resentment for Optimus would only amplify Unicron’s distaste for him.

Meanwhile, Unicron originally didn’t hate Optimus as much as Megatron. Optimus only crime at the time was being a Prime, while Megatron committed a worse crime, stealing *HIS* blood. After the cyberforming of Earth, those feelings are going to switch.

For you see, Unicron would never share anything with anyone, even with Primus, despite his brother being his equal. He would especially never share if it was with a Prime, someone he considered a lesser. So how dare this puny Prime tries to take something that doesn’t belong to him (June’s attention, thoughts, and emotions). Optimus accomplished something no other Primes have achieved, becoming someone he wants nothing more to destroy even more than his brother.

*Unicron sensing Optimus on Earth*

Immediately sends lightning, snowstorms, a hurricane, and an earthquake for good measure to make sure he’s dead in that area of the world away from civilization.

June: *Sensing immense hate and doesn’t know what going on* Unicron, is something wrong? 😰

Unicron: Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry about it 😇

I love this so much you have no idea. I’ve been struggling with figuring out where to pick up this universe, and you have handed me genius on a silver platter. My brain is swooning.

The character study I could do with this thing! Not just Unicron, but for Optimus, oh my word.

June would definitely be a "favorite" Envoy of Unicron's, even if she isn't the strongest or particularly chaotic. Maybe she reminds him of Primus before they permanently separated and became enemies. Perhaps it's simply that her mind does contain some familiar memories to latch on to. Or maybe June does have a secret dark side that's more in line with Unicron's own spark than anyone might suspect.

Regardless that's his human now.

I think as their relationship develops, it will eventually exist in this weird limbo/cross between platonic and romantic. They'd never actually enter into a romantic entanglement, not on purpose, but there is something so intimate about sharing a mind (even partially) that certain things naturally transfer over.

Sharing each other's emotions, passing on sensations of contentment, calm, or rage to convey their own feelings or influence the others'. That in itself is so similar to a conjux sparkbond that a few more perspective individuals do mistake June as Unicron's Bride.

June doesn't particularly care. If the title that she's faintly aware of makes others more inclined to listen or pay attention to her demands, she is all for it. No confirmation nor denial. She has bigger issues to deal with.

Unicron is surprisingly pleased. There's an acknowledgment of him in the rumor. That June is his. She is not free for the taking or collection of others. Semantics mean nothing.

Possessive behavior, obviously, Unicron has issues with any Prime entering into June's space (especially one that brings emotional baggage like Optimus). However, June also finds herself having a strange level of disgust and revulsion to any Cybertronain that dabbles with Dark Energon. Megatron and Starscream are no exception.

There is something so grating about it to her. Disgraceful how Unicron is being used like nothing more than an object. She comes down harder on non-earthen users. Those not born, who have not been given that connection by circumstances beyond them but took it for themselves.

There's a distinction between the two. And if her soul sings alongside the anti-spark, a wellspring of fondness and belonging for those who have been crafted into this bloodline... well, only Unicron will know.

And he does know.

Sharing a dreamscape is a new thing. It should be offputting for both, so used to silence and standing alone, for a new consciousness to manifest within a place so private. And yet...

To touch is a new sensation, even in the first days, when his body hadn't been shut down, disconnected from him, and decaying before it was reformed into the Earth, Unicron had never felt the need or experienced something so simple. Space was a wide, vast place. His time was spent exploring, consuming, and reaching out to interact with destructive purpose. Affection is as foreign as touch is, but in the shadow of dreams, June provides both. A pat on the shoulder. Leaning into his frame. Tracing the pieces of his servos. It's innocent. Mindless.

He finds he doesn't mind it.

It's nice to have a confidant. Someone who can explain what these.... egh, feelings are when concerning Earth's spawn. An anchor in a new influx of sensations and emotions. Unicron has never been parental. Has never been confronted with life raw, unfiltered, and screaming at him. June has. As a mother with a child. As a nurse in the ER. As a leader of her people. That familiarity, what was at first a way to silence the storm of voices, becomes a translator of sorts.

June is used to a small world, a life made up of her and her son, but is not used to the concept of war. She knows of it. She can recognize violence, but she's never had to threaten it and mean it. She's spent her life preserving the welfare of others, and now she's doing the opposite. Ruining. Destroying. Killing. Not just one person but an entire civilization is marked as the enemy. It may not be all-encompassing; it may be entirely justified, but a part of her, the healer in her, is just as mournful at her part in this as she is over the kids' fate. Unicron is not a stranger to death. He is not innocent of the concept of wrath. To unmaking and betrayal and cruelty.

Unicron is not a good person. Just as June draws him out into a new side of being, hurting remade into possessive-care, so too does Unicron's apathetic dismantling draw out her protective-wrath.

They are not family. Not lovers. Not friends. Not master nor apprentice. Really, if asked to define their relationship, the answer would depend on which side is asked and what day the question is voiced. For now, they just are. Drawn together by forces beyond comprehension, a moon in a sea of asteroids all circling the same planet. June is favored, elevated, and some might call it love. Unicron is trusted, humored, indulged, and listened to as if they were equals.

June Darby is still mortal, different through that lifespan may be, and even if Unicron grows attached to the concept of having a companion, if he chooses others to replace that void or disappears into the shadows of Earth's core, there will always be a space within his mind reserved for her presence. Empty or not.

They have become entwined, he is one of two again, and Unicron would rather devour her than let her go.

[danibee33]

Part II of undercover!Ghost🩶

{Part I}

cw: nsfw at the end, no explicit smut, just Ghost on his knees for reader (he’s a giver what can i say)

++++

• You still don’t, or can’t, open your eyes- even when Ghost tilts your chin up and you can see the dim light shining behind your eyelids. Call it spite or possibly just a deeply rooted indignation that you’ve always possessed according to your father, but we won’t get into that now.

• But you just couldn’t. For the first time, you had no intention of giving him exactly what he wanted-

• “Why now?” You ask, pulling his hands away from your face. And you’re sure you look so silly, a grown woman refusing to just open her eyes and look at the face that’s plagued your thoughts ceaselessly; but he.. is just so fucking frustrating.

• You try to turn away but that only spurns him on, wrapping his hand around your elbow- you find yourself pressed against the door, a small grunt parting your lips, one he’s more than happy to swallow in a kiss.

• And it’s far too easy to melt into him again, let his hands touch you in ways you hadn’t let anyone touch you before-

• “No, no. Don’t- do that.”, you grind out the words, pushing him back once again, or well, trying to. You’re strong, but it doesn’t do much to the solid fucking wall of muscle that doesn’t want or care to move,

• “We’re not doing this. You do not get to treat me like I barely exist and then change your mind all of a sudden when you see me in a tight dress and heels-“, you shake your head as you continue, “you don’t want me.. you want this.”

• Internally, you’re bashing your head against the wall, because why the fuck can’t you stop talking?! He’s just a guy! A man- a very tall, inhumanly strong, muscular man, who looks at you like a little gnat he can’t quite get rid of.. but has been kissing you and holding you like you meant something to him. Like this wasn’t the first time he had thought about a moment like this-

• “And that would be fine.. if you weren’t.. fucking, ugh! You!”

• Your face is clasped between his hands again, thick fingers threading through your hair, and his voice calm and low- which simultaneously soothes your nerves and lights them on fire all at once, “You’re insufferable- the way you talk to us, the way you look at us, the way you just fuckin’ walked in and managed to worm your way under everyone’s skin-“

• He watches your eyebrows knit together in confusion and anger, you’re holding back so much, he can practically feel the potential energy radiating all around you- yours and his mixing together into something deliciously volatile,

•“Your existence is probably the only goddamn thing I can’t ignore, Hel.”

• Your face softens in a way he couldn’t have predicted, in a way that causes his chest to tighten and his breath to come a little shorter.

• “You do so much for us.. just because you want to, because you like seein’ people you care for happy. You don’t make any sense to me-“

• You hang on to his every word, to the rasp in his accent, and the way he holds you,

• “People aren’t just kind without wanting somethin’ in return. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out what you want.”

• Without thought, your eyes shoot open, a whole argument just waiting at the tip of your tongue-

• He thinks you want something from them? From him? That you were only kind to the Captain, and Gaz, and Soap because you wanted something in return? What you really wanted in this moment is to shake his big, stupid shoulders, and ask him how for someone so smart and perceptive, he could be such a raging idiot-

• But you do none of those things.

• No, instead of screaming or pushing him away, cursing him out, giving him a whole piece of your mind- you stand there, speechless and wide eyed because there he was. Lieutenant Simon Riley.

• You remember thinking at one time that he must be hideous or grotesque, something to match his boorish personality- but quickly swept the idea to the side. It was childish, and you had been angry with him, you’re sure. You know Soap and the others had seen his face before, but they never gave you even a crumb of detail- so, you’re mind filled in all the gaps, constructing a face around the deep amber eyes.

• And now, all of that work.. is useless. Because he’s everything you thought he might be, and nothing like it, at the same time. His brows are a bit darker than his hair, not too thick, but enough to balance the bit of scruff that covers his lower cheeks and jaw line- scars cut this way and that, some thick, others smaller, neater. One cuts right through his bottom lip, deforming it slightly- and another, deeper one across the bridge of his nose, which looks just a bit off, broken and reset incorrectly, you assume.

• He’s handsome, not in a movie star or even conventional way- but more than that, you think. Maybe it has to do with his flaws, has to do with the soft angles of his features, harsh only because of the way he’s used to constantly wearing a slight grimace.

• You reach up, leaning into him fully as you pull his lips against yours- something odd and warm burning through you, making your head spin when he reciprocates the kiss with no hesitation. If anything, it feels all the more frenzied now, like he had half expected you to run out of the room the moment you saw his face.

• “I don’t want anything from you, you fucking idiot.” You breathe out, the words and your voice mixing with the soft sounds of your tongues and mouths searching for more, your bodies yearning for more.

• Which is how you end up across the room, sat atop the beautiful, vintage oak desk, your dress hiked up around waist, watching the formidable Ghost take a knee in front of you, “Fuckin’ hell.. are you tryin’ to kill me?”

• “Don’t give me those eyes. You can’t wear underwear in a dress like this, I didn’t do it for you..”

• His eyes are inky and half lidded as he looks up, asking permission, begging for it without a single word.

• You try to shift forward, searching for friction but finding none against the smooth surface under you- only feeling the terrible dampness that’s made your thighs sticky. And all it takes is a breathy little whimper from you, his name whispered on your lips for him to move.

• He has your thigh settled over his shoulder and his face buried between your legs before the small yelp can escape- one hand smacking over your mouth and the other immediately grabbing his hair, “Jesus, Ghost- ah- fuck.”

• You hear and feel him breathe you in before a deep growl reverberates through his chest, wrapping a big hand over the thigh on his shoulder, and pushing the other open farther- another quiet groan leaving him when he finally sees what a mess you are.

• The first long stripe he makes with his tongue feels like a warning, the wet heat of him lapping at you has your cunt clenching vainly around nothing, an ache you’re not sure you had ever felt blooming deeper than you thought you possible.

• With that one taste, you’re suddenly jerked forward, your ass coming to rest right at the very edge- it forces you to prop one hand out behind you now, shakily leaning your weight into it as he begins to devour you.

• Which there’s no better word for it, he licks and nips, alternating between savoring you, eyes darting up to watch your head loll back and your chest heave before he suckles harshly at your clit- your poor little bundle of nerves already puffy and swollen, overly sensitive to his ministrations-

• “Oh, god- Simon, wait- wait-“ you swear you had only just begun to feel the pressure spooling low in your tummy before it implodes suddenly and violently.

• The radiating pleasure causes your legs to tremble and your breaths to come out as little more than pathetic pants- your fingers clutching at a handful of his hair so hard you’re surprised you hadn’t pulled it out by now.

• But he doesn’t seem to mind, his tongue still totally fixated on your weeping cunt, but instead of working feverishly, he’s back to lapping up your juices- humming into your center as he rubs his palm back and forth over the goosepimpled skin of your thigh. It’s a myriad of sensations, all of them lulling you even further the warmth of your high-

• “Been awhile, sweet girl? Or are you that responsive for everyone?” Ghost chuckles, flattening his tongue over your folds one more time before tearing himself away, unabashedly admiring his handiwork.

• You really do try to give your best glare when you manage to summon enough energy to look down at him, but it melts away at the sight of his lips pulled into a boyish grin, glistening and flushed a deep shade of pink. That’s how you watch him kiss your inner thigh, his eyes steady on yours even when he pauses to leave a little mark behind.

• “Very funny..” You bite back, a crimson blush coloring your neck and cheeks at the idea of telling him the truth-

• Thankfully, he doesn’t give time to dwell on it, standing to his full height, he gently lifts you off the desk- holding you close as he readjusts your gown to cover your lower half, though the fabric does little to fix the uncomfortable wetness that only seems to be growing.

• And the kiss he gives you afterward certainly does absolutely nothing to quell your arousal- because it’s slow and wonderful and you can’t help but to whimper at the taste of your own musk on his tongue,

• “C’mon, love.” He sweetly urges, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip before taking your hand, “before they send the whole bloody Calvary to get us.”

• You replace your ear piece with shaky fingers, thoroughly thrown off your game and glad to be going back to base- a bit of distance could do you both some good, couldn’t it? Though, he doesn’t seem to have the same sentiment, holding you closer than before until you step out into the courtyard- where you both know Johnny is still perched somewhere high above.

• “Bleedin’ Jesus, about damn time- boss is right pissed with ye for going dark like that.” Soap’s voice through comms gives you something to anchor yourself to, aside from Ghost’s lingering touch.

• He heckles you for a while longer, up until you’re in climbing into the back seat, settling yourself as much as you could- forever grateful for the darkness that envelopes you both.

• And as much as you want to stay away from him, give him space- you still find your head leaned against his broad shoulder, reveling in his immense size and warmth,

• “You did so good, Hel.”

• “Hm.. You weren’t so bad yourself, Ghost.”

+++++ bonus scene 🫢 ++++++

• Ghost had walked with you back to your rooms, not entirely unaware of the turmoil that had bloomed in your mind and refused to leave. He knew you were being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal, and he had wanted to say something, he wanted you to invite him inside, he wanted, wanted to talk to you, wanted something more than the quiet you were giving him- though he would gladly take whatever you gave him at this point.

• But, that’s not what happened. You only looked up at him with those big, bright eyes- and apologized.

• He tried to ask you why you would ever be sorry, tried to ask what you were sorry for, because he would be lying if he didn’t feel some pang of insecurity- but this wasn’t about him, and he was wise enough to see that.

• So, he let you plant a chaste kiss on his cheek, let you close the door before tugging the balaclava he had been clinging to and stalking off down the hall.

• “Simon! Hey.. where’s our lil’ LT?” Johnny had stuck his head out of the lounge doorway, a bag of crisps in hand.

• All Ghost could do is shrug, backpedaling to follow after Soap, and snagging a beer from the fridge,

• “In her room. Any news about the phone?”

• They go back and forth for while, though somehow, the conversation keeps circling back to you.

• “She’s a good one..” Johnny says between sips of beer, “Y’know what she told me one time? It was that night we all went out!” He claps a big hand down on Simon’s knee, his laughter loud and full of fondness over the memory- “We were right pissed, eh?”

• Yes, Ghost remembers that night, remembers watching you and Johnny play pool against Price and Garrick- even when you lost, you had the biggest smile on your face as you bought everyone a round.

• He remembers how you tried to help Soap up to the lounge, but you both ended up on the floor in a fit of annoying giggles-

• “I asked her, why she never went on dates, never brought a guy around- not even friends. And she said she’s never had a relationship, never been with a man, never been with anyone.”

• Ghost thinks in that moment it would be better if Johnny had just shot him point blank in the chest with how tightly his lungs contract, his grip on the near empty amber bottle growing so tight he thought he could hear the glass want to give under the pressure.

• Soap is none the wiser to his friend’s downward spiral, still chattering in that lighthearted way of his,

• “Said she never had time for it! Can ye believe that shite? Maybe I should be more like her- might not still be a sergeant if I were..”

• He goes on, but the words fade away, lost in the sound of blood rushing through Simon’s ears.

• You were right, he is a fucking idiot.

++++

>>> [part iii]

OHHH NO. If it isn’t the consequences of my own actions🥲

I’m already thinking about part 3. But, hey! Thank you for supporting my insatiable brain worm, this fandom is my home away from home at this point. ♥️

and @ajadell, your comment was all I needed to keep this going 🫶🏻🫶🏻

(Inspired by this song)

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

This has been in my head for some time, mainly because I think it would be hilarious.

We know what would happen if Graves is around Soap for too long, but what about Valeria? Surely she knows how the 141 and the Los Vaqueros are around him just by looking at him. (She finds their puppy love disgusting, but amusing.) So, the next time she meets them, her attention is purely on Soap. With her charisma and smooth talking, she manages to occupy his time and redirect his attention back to their conversation. Of course, no one (except Soap), is happy with this.

The amount of love I have for Valeria is just- 😩 she’s so fuckin hot, I cannot.

Anyway! Obviously Valeria finds everyone’s desperate attempts at trying to get Soap’s attention hilarious. Some days she likes to sit back and watch, other days she’ll instigate interactions or events just to see how everyone reacts to it.

But then she decides she’s going to gain and hold Soap’s attention for no other reason than because she can and she wants to see these men absolutely fuming but not being able to do anything about it.

So she’s always running hands along Soap’s shoulders or back, sometimes friendly and other times not as friendly. Sometimes she’s purposely slinging an arm around his waist as they talk, pulling him close and smirking at whoever tf’s closest to her.

Soap’s oblivious to it all really, is used to everyone else doing the same thing to him and relishing in the physical contact cause he’s a very tactile man. Enjoys soft touches and lingering holds from anyone.

There was this one time Valeria hoisted Soap up by the backs of the thighs for no other reason than she was trying to prove a point. But the sudden action and ease of which she had done it with makes Soap wrap his arms around her, giggling like a lunatic and blushing 12 shades of red.

The boys are fuckin clawing at the walls with how pissed off they are, glaring at Valeria as she smiles over Soap’s shoulder at them. It’s definitely one way to keep Soap’s attention, that’s for sure.

[eversnark]

I used to get all offended when people called 911 a soap opera, and then I remember what's going on with Buck-Tommy-Eddie and am like yeah, fair point.

[casualsheeteater]

The Ink Sprawled Across Your Heart (Ghost x Soap)

--

Drabble about Ghost and his tattoos. CW: None!

--

After the Chicago mission and Hassan had been neutralized by Ghost's own bullet, his own relationship with the Sergeant, Soap, bled deeper. He'd come to find the man's insistent presence his oxygen, his lifeline.

Ghost was infatuated, in every sense of the word. His eyes would linger on the man's back, as the fabric draped over his muscles, before pooling at his waist, badly tucked into his jeans with a coffee brown belt holding them up. His arms jutted out of the shirt, revealing the well-built muscle, not even attempting to hide them, as, at this point, there was no point. Unless he slapped on a hoodie. Soap profusely denying and turning down every opportunity to do so even when he needed to, complaining that he 'ran too hot'.

His gaze shifted to his own arm, his right, specifically. His own had a tattoo sleeve, whereas Soap only had a simple symbol of the 141 on his forearm. Perhaps it was time for Ghost to expand his sleeve, as it stopped, just above his elbow. Perhaps revisit a few areas.

And so, he did. Within the week, as Soap had been sent on a solo mission, he had a date set within the local tattoo shop in town.

---- Soap's POV, sometime later.

It'd been a while since he'd returned from his solo op, piled in paperwork, and practically drowning at his Mohagany desk, he needed a break. Badly.

Soap was currently vertically laid across the couch in the common area. The base had winded down, and it was silent. Which was fortunate for Soap, as a migraine wracked through his head. He'd slapped a wet rag onto his face in order to combat it, at least a bit.

"Johnny," A voice boomed from behind him.

Soap didn't even have the energy to jump, letting out a groan.

"You look like death."

Soap did chuckle at that, and he teased back, "Ironic comin' from the likes 'a you."

"Takes one to know one," He could hear the shrug in the other man's gravelly voice. Soon, the cushion next to him dipped, and a chill went down Soap's spine. Not in a bad way, no. Ghost was like a walking air conditioner. During hot days, Soap always found himself gravitating towards Ghost more than usual. If that was possible. "What's botherin' ya, Johnny?"

Soap weakly flicked his hand to the coffee table sat in front of the couch. On it, Soap had splayed several documents onto it, some clipped to a clipboard. The pen he'd tossed elsewhere, most likely on the table, if not on the floor.

The man grunted in response, before Soap heard the shift of the cushion, and then the sound of the clipboard being picked up. After a few seconds, there was a click of a pen.

He raised a corner of the soggy rag, an eyebrow raised. His eyes immediately flick to Ghost's lap. His legs were manspread, almost touching Soap's, and he was leaned back, head tilted as he read the documents. A smile curled at Soap's lips. "Go raibh maith agat." He mumbles in thanks.

Ghost doesn't bother to tell him to speak proper English. Soap figures it's because he more or less understands.

Soap lets the wet rag slap back onto his face, his arm coming back down to lay itself over his stomach as he closes his eyes once more. The scritch of the pen against paper, and Ghost's soft breaths are easily able to lure Soap into a state between conscious and unconscious. He fades in and out, at one point swearing he heard Ghost briefly conversing with a curious Gaz before being shooed away.

Eventually, Soap commits to being conscious, his head lessening the painful thrum as he tugs off the small towel. He peered over at Ghost, still busy writing away. His eyes wandered, from the paper, to Ghost, then focused in on the swirls of ink planted into the other's skin. He scoots a bit closer, wanting a better look.

His eyes roam, over the different line weights, dashing from each and every new image before pausing, staying at one spot.

In the middle of Ghost's tattoo sleeve, amidst all of the typical military symbolism, was a small soap bar. Soap's mouth parted slightly in surprise, his face going lax except for the widening of his eyes.

Ghost had gotten something for him tattooed.

He wanted, so desperately to reach out and trace it. Trace the small soap bubbles sprouting off from the bar, the shine, the shading. Soap wanted it all.

He especially wanted Ghost.

But Ghost hadn't said a word. Not since Chicago, not since that delirious time he had in Las Almas due to blood loss.

But then, why get a tattoo of, essentially, Soap?

Then, his more rational and doubtful mind stepped into the fray, quickly calming his still relatively feverish mind. He'd probably gotten in as a show of comradery. His other tattoos could just be representations of past missions, and specific things he'd seen.

That had to be it.

"Feelin' better, Johnny?"

Soap's eyes flicked to Ghost's. The other wasn't looking to him, still focused on the expanse of paper, and the droning on of words, that by now, Soap figured must just melt all-together. Least, it did for him after a while.

"Aye, much." He paused, a grin lifting once side of his face, in a half-smirk sort of way. "Drinks on me tonight?"

Ghost paused, the pen stopping it's flow, his arm overturning, showing the rest of the tattoo on his forearm. Soap's eyes quickly darted to it.

He swore his heart stopped for the second time that evening.

"Sure," Ghost graveled.

On Ghost's pulse point, in small cursive lettering was "Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish".

[tanked-up]

Price: Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel anything for Soap

Ghost looking directly at Price’s eyes: I really don’t, I dunno why your making such a deal-

Price: Last time I did this with Alejandro because of Rudy and look where they’re at now

Ghost still starring at Price: Good for them

(Soap enters the room, stops and stares at Ghost and Price)

Soap: Uh…

(Ghost still starring at Price)

Price whispers: Did you just blush?

Ghost mumbles: I will end you if you say something

Price smiles and leaves the room: My work here is done.

Soap to Ghost: What work…? Is there a mission

Ghost in a trance: Hm?

Soap: Helloooo, Earth to Ghost

Ghost stares at Soap: Are you wearing eyeliner?

Soap quickly turns his back: No… why would I be wearing…?

Ghost: I do-

Soap: Well, yeah-

Ghost: And you asked me to borrow it

Soap: Fine, but don’t tell anyone!

Ghost chuckles: You’ve got a bit messed up around this area

(Proceeds to clean Soap’s cheek)

Soap: thanks-

Ghost: Oh uh, yeah of course

———————————————————————————-

(Price starring out the window

where Alejandro arrives)

Alejandro: It was too obvious

Price scoffs: Except apparently for them

[rosehathawhey]

Siri, play ✨G L I T C H✨ by Taylor Swift

[gingerhastoomanyobsessions]

Things that actually happen in hunchback of notre dame, in no particular order

The book mostly is told from the POV of Pierre, a self-insert who is failed author and, I cannot stress this enough, utterly pathetic 

Quasimodo damaged his hearing as a teenager from years of bell ringing and now uses sign language whenever he can

There is a scene where Quasimodo and a fellow deaf guy have to have a conversation without using sign language because they’re in a courtroom and the jury doesn’t know sign. It goes about as well as you’d expect 

Frollo has a little brother, Jehan, who he raised after their parents died. Jehan is now a frat bro in college whose hobbies consist of getting drunk and being mean to Quasimodo. In his first scene Jehan complains about college DEI because an Italian guy got a scholarship he wanted. 

Esmeralda is accused of witchcraft because she taught her pet goat Djali how to do math

Djali may or may not be sapient. He can and does imitate human mannerisms to make fun of people on purpose. He does this while on trial. 

Yes. They tried the goat for witchcraft, too. 

Pierre writes a whole play riding on the pun of dolphin/Dauphin. Nobody likes it. 

Frollo is an alchemist and has a secret mad science lab where he writes on the walls

Jehan literally pulls a “buy my silence” and frollo gives him money to make him shut up

There’s a trio of catty girls who bully Esmeralda like it’s Mean Girls

Quasimodo and Frollo literally have Cryptid Status— Parisians circulate rumors that Quasimodo is either a familiar, a homunculus, or the result of demonic mpreg, and that Frollo is a wizard with wizard powers and/or a ghost

There is a little old woman who lives in a hole and shouts slurs at people. She has a tragic backstory. 

There is a homicidal con man/king of thieves named Clopin Troillefou (surname translation: The Fool of Fear) who deserves tumblr sexymanhood.

Pierre learns how to carry chairs with his teeth 

There’s an entire chapter dedicated to the layout of the streets of Paris in painstaking detail

There’s another chapter that is a rant about interior design 

Esmeralda and Pierre get platonically married due to Clopin’s murderous shenanigans. Pierre tries to make a move in her but ends up being more emotionally attached to Djali the goat than to her. I think that should be grounds for divorce

There is a scene where Pierre has to choose between helping Esmeralda escape or helping Djali. He picks Djali. 

Frollo hides from his own brother by laying face down in mud and playing dead. Somehow this works 

There is a Plot Significant Tiny Shoe. A Tiny Shoe Chekhov’s Gun. And Victor Hugo will not stop telling you just how Tiny this shoe is. 

There’s a soap opera style plot twist that involves a false accusation of cannibalism and the woman in the hole who shouts slurs

Quasimodo makes up a stupid little song that doesn’t even rhyme to confess his love to Esmeralda, who remains oblivious

He then attempts to demonstrate his affection via convoluted metaphors that involve props. She doesn’t get it. Boy please say what you mean

Frollo pulls the classic discord groomer tactic of threatening self-harm if Esmeralda doesn’t give in. 

Jehan rolls up to a party/rescue mission scheming session in Clopin’s secret hideout in full plate armor (how did he get that???), drunk off his ass, and acts like he owns the place. Everyone finds this so ridiculous that they just let him

Hugo goes on and on about how innocent and naive Esmeralda is but then casually reveals that Esmeralda carries a dagger on her person at all times to fend off assault. When Frollo attacks her and Quasi intervenes, she takes Quasi’s knife and almost kills Frollo (fair!) but he flees. She contains multitudes?

Frollo has a psychotic breakdown in the middle of a field surrounded by chickens and hallucinates skeletons everywhere 

For the first half of the book Esmeralda is like 70% sure Frollo is a ghost, not helped by his aforementioned Cryptid Status

Jehan eats a moldy piece of cheese off the ground 

Frollo tries to send Pierre on a suicide mission in drag. Pierre objects to the suicide part but not the drag part  

Clopin’s preferred weapon is a scythe, he’s very good at using it, and he sings when he fights. Again: sexyman potential. 

Victor Hugo has a foot fetish. I initially dismissed it as Frollo having a foot fetish until Victor Hugo included a foot fetish torture scene without any Frollo in it. So I can only conclude that the foot fetish is authorial in nature. Unfortunately the foot scenes are important to the plot. 

Frollo is canonically 36, he just aged like shit and is bald. The narrator will not stop telling you just how bald he is.

Despite being in full plate armor, Jehan gets splatted like a bug

Almost every named character dies. Djali the goat lives. 

[simonbrain]

you rarely call price by his first name. it's usually just a very cheery cap! or a stoic price when you need to remind him of the objective, but whenever you do call him john—you tried jonathan once as a joke, and the piercing stare he gave you made that the first and last time—it's warm, earnest. you almost seem shy uttering it, judging by the softness of your voice, but he calms your nerves with a fond look and an affectionate squeeze on the back of your neck.

getting the privilege of calling soap by his first name, let alone johnny, was an accomplishment in itself. you noticed how ghost was the only one who called him johnny, and so you took that as a sign to never refer to him as anything other than his ridiculous callsign and occasionally an incredulous bloody hell, mactavish, whenever he says something outrageous.

until you did slip up one night, but soap didn't seem to mind too much. he quite liked how his first name sounded in your voice, and when he offered you to call him johnny instead, which you mumbled under your breath to test it out, his surprised expression morphed into a genuine smile, one so pretty a rush of energy zipped through you. now, he won't let you call him anything except johnny—pretty much threatens you.

gaz was the first one on the team who allowed you to call him by his first name. hearing you mumble a tired morning, kyle or a warning but unserious kylie... when he's being a little shit makes his day a little brighter. you'd think the two of you were good mates with many years of friendship under your belts with the way you mock and poke at each other—especially when he lets you get away with calling him the most ridiculous pet names, like pookie, of all things.

while you seem to maintain good relations with your team, close ones even, there's just one person who stumps you. one big, enigmatic bastard who gives you creepy looks and speaks in nothing but cryptic language.

it honestly feels like your lieutenant dislikes you; no wonder you're still stuck with calling him by his callsign.

(poor ghost has been waiting for weeks for those plush lips of yours to utter his name. not ghost, not lieutenant or sir, but simon.

it's getting painful how oblivious you are to his attempts at giving you the green light to use his first name; the hard stare he gives you after hearing yet another formal greeting fall from your lips only seems to make you straighten up even more, and the annoyance radiating off of him every time you call him ghost scares you further away from him.

you're so formal with him, and he doesn't know what else to do—he just wants to be called a cute stupid nickname, too.)

[gloomwitchwrites]

141 when a younger recruit has a very obvious crush on you (not dating yet)

Oh, anon. I had fun with this one. Simply because it's a "we aren't dating yet so why are you jealous" scenario just waiting to happen. That's where my mind went with this. The boys have zero claim on you but they are possessive and territorial as fuck. omg. Do you hear that? It's me standing outside screaming because I need to get a fucking grip. Anyway! Enjoy!

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

Task Force 141 x Reader (gn!reader except on Simon's)

Content & Warnings (MDNI): hidden feelings, jealousy, possessive behavior, intimidation, crushes, suggestive themes, swearing

Word Count: 800

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

John Price

John is the superior here. He's the one in charge.

Yet he feels completely out of control.

This isn't happening. This isn't fucking happening. He has spent months—months gently putting himself before you. Jealousy and possession are strange to him. They don’t come easy. And yet here they are, eating him from the inside out, chewing away at his resolve.

Anger and irritation are starting to seep in.

A new recruit with an obvious crush shouldn't make him this irate. There isn't any competition, but John can't help himself. All he sees is this wanker making eyes at you, speaking softly and with such tenderness that it's driving John up the fucking wall.

Which is insane. Stupid. You do not belong to him. The two of you are not dating—not anything—but somehow that doesn't matter.

His feet are moving before he even realizes it. The recruit turns in John's direction and instantly pales.

Good. Fucking good.

You turn too, brow furrowed.

"Captain?" asks the recruit, straightening his spine.

John shoves himself between, staring the recruit down, all venom. "You're wanted elsewhere."

"Y—yes. Sir."

The recruit salutes and takes off, the primal jealousy purring softly with contentment.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is going to grind his teeth into dust if he doesn’t unclench his jaw.

What the fuck is this bloke doing over on this side of the complex anyway? He’s a goddamn new recruit. Freshly arrived and still green.

Do you even realize he’s flirting? Kyle can tell just be the way he stands far too close, or the subtle way he touches your arm. His smile is stupidly large. The man is completely struck by you. You appear completely oblivious, having a conversation with him like there’s nothing amiss.

Nope. Kyle is pissed. Furious. Which is fucking ridiculous. The two of you are not a couple, even though Kyle wishes otherwise.

“You look right scunnered.” Soap appears at Kyle’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“That,” he growls.

Soap frowns, following Kyle’s line of sight. Soap’s frown turns to a knowing smirk. He turns it on Kyle with a mischievous glint. “Want Ghost to scare the shit out of him?”

The rest of the team knows how Kyle feels about you even if they don’t comment on it.

“That would be great,” says Kyle flatly.

Soap lightly pats Kyle’s shoulder. Turning around, he cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Lt!”

John "Soap" MacTavish

"I could rig an explosive. Put it under his bunk. That’d be fucking brilliant,” murmurs Johnny.

"We're looking to scare him. Not to maim everyone in his immediate radius,” replies Kyle.

"What about a firework? Poppers? Oh! A stink bomb?"

"That’s fucking childish, Johnny,” mutters Simon.

Johnny isn't jealous. Really, he's not.

He's just...protective. That's what he tells himself anyway.

Kyle, Johnny, and Simon observe you from across the communal gym. A new recruit from the latest batch is hanging on the ropes of the boxing ring. His stance is casual, skin glistening with sweat as he gives you his best smile while he chats you up.

The lad is putting it on thick, and Johnny is having none of it.

You are not Johnny’s spouse. You are not dating. You are not his…anything.

But that hardly matters.

Because Johnny has stolen plenty of kisses from you. He’s put his hands on your body. He’s been far too close for the comfort of a coworker or friend. In that, there is a claim. Johnny can draw the line somewhere.

He is so close to making you his.

No one is getting in his way. Not even a charming new recruit.

Simon "Ghost" Riley (Female Reader)

"Don't do it, Simon. It's not worth it."

Johnny's words don't satiate the anger. Rage is boiling beneath Simon's skin. It is white hot—fierce. All of this emotion and yet Simon has no claim over you.

It still hurts. Still aches.

The two of you are not together—not dating. But it's Simon's name you scream with pleasure, and that counts for fucking something.

His fists clench, muscles coiled with wrought tension. Johnny places his hands on Simon's shoulders and shoves him back down in his seat. If Simon weren’t ready to flay his newest target alive, Johnny wouldn’t be so bold.

"Remove. Your. Hands," growls Simon, slowly.

Kyle grimaces, his gaze darting between Simon and Johnny. He looks ready to jump in if Johnny needs him.

"I'm doing this for you, Lt,” murmurs Johnny, even as his hands keep the pressure.

"She's mine."

"We know,” reply Johnny and Kyle in unison.

One of the new recruits is putting on his best performance, following you around like a lovesick puppy. Johnny is right. Simon can't go over there and knock the man to the ground, no matter how much he wants to.

"Take a deep breath, Lt."

"I'm trying."