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sprout-fics · 18 hours
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D-90 + puppy eyes 🥺
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sprout-fics · 19 hours
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tank tops and tactical gear ✨
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sprout-fics · 20 hours
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focus // aim
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sprout-fics · 21 hours
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shy boy
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sprout-fics · 21 hours
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Post-MW3 but Laswell had only faked Soap's death, all under the guise of it being the better thing to do.
Let Makarov believe he had actually killed one of the 141. He'd walk away from that thinking he had a small victory and wouldn't feel pressured to make his next move soon. Laswell wanted him to go into hiding, wanted the team to take the time to figure some things out.
She obviously hadn't anticipated the loose cannon of Captain Price, and him killing Shepherd threw a wrench in everything.
A few months have gone by, and Laswell gets a hit on some activity from Konni group. She tells the team they'll meet her informant there.
Obviously, there's a bit of a big blowout when they realize John 'Soap' MacTavish is the informant. Ghost takes it the worst of all of them, but he doesn't outwardly react. Not in front of Soap. But when they're alone with Laswell to ask her "what the fuck?" Ghost lets it all out.
He's cussing up a storm, saying it was all bullshit, that they should have been in on it.
"Who in this room knows what it's like to be dead better than anyone else? Bloody hell where the fuck do you think "Ghost" comes from?"
And Ghost doesn't ever talk directly to Soap or Laswell the rest of the time they're working on their latest Intel. It's upsetting to everyone, especially Gaz cause he isn't quite sure what the fuck has happened to his team. But Soap seems to be handling Ghost's cold shoulder pretty well, so Gaz keeps his distress to himself.
Finally, Ghost gets a moment alone with Soap. And Soap starts to leave, starts to give Ghost privacy because that's what Soap thinks he needs: some time and space to figure it all out in his head.
But Ghost stops him.
And the mask comes off, and Ghost slips away to reveal Simon. Simon who looks so small despite still standing over Soap.
And Soap is sorry, he's so sorry, Simon.
And he's begging for forgiveness and Simon has yet to say a word. So Soap falls quiet, lets the silence eat away at him as Simon stands there, jaw working as he thinks of something to say.
"I had lost you, Johnny."
It's such a quiet whisper, and it's so broken and it just stabs Soap through the heart. But he doesn't say anything back.
Instead he reaches for his Simon, reaches up to try and hold his head in his hands once again.
And Simon leans into the touch, allows himself a moment of softness during all this war. Allows this tender moment as he lets Soap hold him gently.
And it doesn't last long, doesn't need to. They're back with each other, in each other's hands, safe and breathing. That's all Ghost, all Simon, had ever begged for.
"The next time you die, I'm fucking going with you, you understand?"
"Of course, LT. You and me, aye?"
"Always."
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sprout-fics · 21 hours
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Just saw the most ghost post ever: “submissive in the way a livestock guardian dog is submissive to the sheep it kills wolves for”
(I would’ve linked but it was one of those stolen from tumblr and reposted 5 other places screenshots)
I've seen many a post like that, and get tagged on them often. Ghost is submissive like many dangerous things.
He's submissive like a shark is submissive to the remora it carries place to place. He's submissive like a wolf is to a vulture, yielding scraps from his kill. He's submissive like an alligator letting birds pick bugs off his back, that chases raiders away from the egret's nest and takes its prize in the chicks that fall from it.
Ghost is submissive the way that nature is submissive, he yields with the knowledge that he is made to kill, but also to protect. It is not submission so much as duty.
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sprout-fics · 21 hours
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Sergeant Garrick
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sprout-fics · 21 hours
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Modern Warfare (2019)
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sprout-fics · 21 hours
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People need to know that posting fic to Tumblr is way more work than posting it to Ao3. I'm working on creating a new Masterlist for an old fic I'm trying to finish. To make it reader friendly I'll be updating about 36 links, and that's just in case I have a few nice folks out there that want to read this fic. I'm doing all this knowing...very well, I may get no response and the fic will fall flat.
So when you see lists and are binging fic here, and clinking that little embedded link at the end of each chapter. On top of the hours of writing and editing, you have more hours spent on lovely banners, posters, moodboards and organization.
Creating for fandom is so fun, but there is never a guarantee people will join you in engaging with your creation...that is why creators just absolutely love any crumb of interaction, no matter how big or small. You can write us a whole 5 paragraphs or just give us a wink, we'll take anything.
So what I'm saying is...I must really really be in Love with Din Djarin...because this is nuts.
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sprout-fics · 22 hours
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just saw a booktoker say in full seriousness that we need to discuss the “absolute uselessness of spicy scenes in books” (her words, not mine) and claim that erotic content is only justifiable in literature if it “furthers the plot or character development of the book.” my sister in christ just say that you hate fun and move on. we do not need a sixty second video of you complaining that your fellow adults like adult content. fellas is it problematic to be horny without furthering your plot and character development
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sprout-fics · 22 hours
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MY MIGHTY BOYS 🥰🥰 pt 2
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sprout-fics · 22 hours
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john price and clicker training
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sprout-fics · 22 hours
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sprout-fics · 22 hours
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Frank Woods
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sprout-fics · 23 hours
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Sorry for being such a slow writer, it's because I [remembers that self-deprecating jokes are harmful to my mental health and make everyone else uncomfortable] was attacked by dark spirits and washed up on the shore of a mysterious island with no recollection of who I was
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sprout-fics · 23 hours
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ON MY MIND (Roommate!Gaz x GN!Reader)
roommate!gaz masterlist
summary; you wear kyle’s hoodie and he’s forced to confront some suppressed emotions.
[WARNINGS; gaz is a smoker & is emotionally weary, fluff!]
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“Kyle!”
His head tilts a bit from the call of his name, muffled and frustrated. His eyes focused on the glass plate in his hand, his other hand scrubbing the thing with an overly-used sponge. “Yeah?” He calls back, only turning his head by his left shoulder a tad bit so you can hear him better as he’s assuming you’re not near the kitchen.
Kyle hears you shuffling around, your shoes scuffing against the floorboards. You don’t respond for a second, but Kyle knows you’re focused on.. Whatever you were doing. He puts the soapy plate in the other side of the sink in the next tub, reaching for the next dish. However, his sleeve slips down his arm a bit, getting wet and soapy. “Ah..” He cringes out loud, his lips pulling uncomfortably as he uses two fingers to tug the now wet sleeve back into place.
Kyle hears your footsteps approach from the next room, causing him to tilt his body so he can keep his wet hands over the sink whilst also looking at you. You enter the room with a frustrated look upon your face, your eyebrows furrowed and your lip curled ever so slightly curled. Kyle chuckles, unable to help himself at how pathetic you look at the moment and he knows it’s not over anything important. “What’s wrong?” He murmurs, already amused.
You’re holding up one of Kyle’s hoodies, one the ones that has his last name sprawled across the back. He blinks for a moment before you begin to speak. “I gotta run to the corner store real quick and all of my hoodies are still damp in the dryer,” You exclaim, putting the hoodie down a bit so you can look at him. “Do you mind if I wear your hoodie to walk down there?” 
Kyle’s lips purse for a moment, a weird sensation manifesting in his chest cavity as he thinks about wearing his hoodie. “Go ahead, don’t need you getting sick, yeah?” Kyle utters as he turns back to the sink, pinching the front of his shirt and pulling it from his chest as if it’ll ease the sensation. “Sick! Thanks, Kyle. You want anything?” You ask, quickly pulling the hoodie on, adjusting the sleeves.
Kyle’s back is to you as he grabs another dish, mindlessly cleaning it. “‘Course, sweetness. Grab me some crisps, won’t you?” He says, putting the.. clean(?) dish into the other side of the sink on top of the soapy plate. “Yep, I got it. Bye, Ky!”
The door shuts.
Kyle blinks, staring at the soapy water with the tightness in his chest remaining, even after your exit. He sighs slowly, pushing his thumbs into the corners of his eyes—then he shouts, because now soap is in his eyes. “Shitshit—” He hisses, quickly turning on the faucet to wash his eyes out.
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Kyle never asked for his hoodie back—a part of him expected for it to appear folded on his bed, washed and taken care of and the other part wished he never saw it again except for you wearing it. You always seemed to lose your hoodies after that, or you went through your collection much faster than you previously had. Neither of you pointed it out, especially Kyle. He was quite alright with a couple of his hoodies disappearing conveniently right at the times you were planning on leaving for a store, or just an outing in general.
Something sickly sweet twists in Kyle’s gut when he sees you wearing his hoodie. It’s something clawing at his insides, gnawing at his bones—energy that makes him want to bash his head into the wall and he isn’t completely understanding why. The second he sees you wearing one of his hoodies, especially the ones with his name on it.. It’s like a little feral squirrel in his body goes wild. 
Kyle turns in his bed, groaning softly as he rubs his hand over his face, trying to focus on the coolness of his sheets as he rolls over. He thinks about Soap and Price, thinking about the night where you embarrassed him in front of his mates. Kyle stares into the darkness of his room as he thinks about how proud you seemed to be after making them laugh—how you seemed to beam at him after sharing a reassuring look.
“Bloody hell.” Kyle mumbles, his words muffled as he turns his face against the warm of his pillow, his breathing harsh for a moment. A pleasant warmth trickles into his chest as he thinks about his missing hoodies. How he isn’t able to help the giddy smile on his face when he sees you walk through the door, coming home wearing something with his name on it. His. His. His.
Kyle lifts himself from his bed, grunting as his feet hit the cold floor. He patters across the floor, quietly exiting his bedroom. Kyle’s heart thumps harshly against his chest. He shakes his head and gently slaps his cheeks as he walks down the hall towards the living room and kitchen, trying to rid himself of these thoughts—of thinking of you like that. He pauses for a moment when he hears the television on, playing at a low volume. Kyle slows his footsteps as he makes his way past the hall, coming into the living room.
The television is gently illuminating the room and he hears you before he sees you. You’re sleeping on the couch, your favorite blanket sprawled across your lap, your back and head supported by the stupid throw pillows Kyle insisted that you two needed for the couch. Your head is tilted down in a position that looks slightly uncomfortable, your lips parted—wearing his hoodie.
Kyle stares for a minute, his eyes softening as he leans forward, his fingers gentle as he takes your head in his hands and slowly but surely, adjusts the positioning of your head. Kyle watches the way your eyebrows furrow for a moment, your lips pressing back together closed. His lips twitch into a soft smile as he watches you shift in your sleep, your face leaning more into his palm.
Kyle’s heart stops for just a second before he brushes the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone, your skin hot under his touch. So warm and full of life.
His chest tightens again and Kyle carefully pulls his hand away from you, his feet quick as he grabs his cigarettes and lighter from the counter near the backdoor, escaping out the back to forget about what his feelings truly mean.
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🏷️; @kivino @mlmxreader @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @kimdiedlater @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @ornateorchid @missborntodiex @indefenseofkara @lieutenantlashfaz @queen-leviathan @specter319 @theunplannedvariable @spacelia @1117sblog @snoowply @dumb-fawkin-bitch @abigatorchomp @s8nsbride @talooolalolla @sstormyskyess @spicyspicyliving @nyushkawritesstuff
this is from my overall taglist which you can find here. if you would like there to be a roommate!gaz taglist, comment below! mistakenly tagged/wrongly tagged? let me know, no hard feelings.
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sprout-fics · 23 hours
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You just died. Upon entering the door to afterlife, an angel and a demon welcomes you. In front of you is a pen and a blank sheet of paper. Their only instruction was “write”.
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