#Price is a tired dad

[spookiboogi]

Why are they like this

[prouddogboi]

Stray dog (Part 2)

To find the most recent chapters, please go to @doggoboigaugau 's masterlist

Sorry it took me quite long lmao TToTT School and work deadlines are killin' me.

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Summary: Male Reader is traumatized and refuses to open up to 141. Soap found out something horrible going on with him and told Ghost about it.

Word count: 1910

Warnings: Smoking. Mention of attempts to self-h@rm.

The next morning you woke up with a throbbing headache. It was so bad that you felt like hundreds of needles were jabbed into your eye sockets and every time you blinked, those needles plunged into your brain, sending a sharp and chilling pain to the crown of your head. This was by no means a strange occurrence for you though, given the fact that every night the base celebrated a party you always indulged in this self-sabotaging habit. 

Still, no matter how bad the situation was, you still had training to attend to, tasks to get done, reports to compile, and a miserable life to live. You turned your head to look at the clock, silently praying that it wasn’t too late. 

It was 13:00 in the afternoon already. 

“Shit!” You threw an arm over your forehead. Nice, you missed the morning training session. It was your responsibility today to train the new recruits and now you messed up the whole Task Force’s schedule once again just because you could not handle your pathetic emotions properly. The thoughts of giving up flooded your mind yet again since it was no use in waking up anyway, it was too late to do anything useful. The other team members were already aware of how irresponsible you were as you continuously failed to be on time for training the newbies. And what about the newbies’ impression of you? Probably an unreliable man who was no longer fit to be a member of a special Task Force that was particularly famous for its efficiency. Or maybe you were never fit to be one to begin with. 

Why didn’t the others wake you up? You had worked here long enough to know how scary and irritated Ghost could get when people missed his training session. There were even times when he immediately had the unpunctual soldiers pack their things and get sent to another department because he couldn’t fuckin’ stand people disrespecting his schedule. 

“Maybe they forget about my existence. Maybe I wasn’t that big of a part of this Task Force.” You mumbled to yourself, trying to pull your tired body out of the heavy blanket. As much as you wanted to give up, the desire to be important to someone, something, or some organization, …just anything, urged you to wake up and keep trying. You wanted yourself to be seen.

Upon opening the door of your stuffy room, you instinctively covered your eyes as they were attacked by rays of blinding sunlight. Your room was too dark and gloomy, doors and windows tightly shut all day and night, no wonder you would react so unfavorably to the bright sunlight that is often associated with positive moods by most people. 

The base was unusually quiet. You didn’t meet a single soul on your way to the kitchen to fill your hungry stomach. No Soap cracking stupid jokes with his heavy Scottish accent and laughing loudly to them himself, no Gaz cursing at his jokes, no Roach laughing at the two dumb manchildren, no Price sighing and telling them to at least be less raucous. You tried to shrug the nasty nagging feelings off, but it soon became unbearable when you walked into the kitchen and saw all the dirty dishes in the sink. 

“They have finished their lunch.” And they had it without you. The people you considered to be your own family, much closer than the biological family that you had cut all contact with, didn’t wake you up from your drunken sleep, totally forgot your existence, and enjoyed a meal together like there wasn’t anything missing. You knew damn well that you were overexaggerating the seriousness of the situation, but you just couldn’t help it. 

‘What am I to them?’ That question kept spiraling inside your brain, worsening the headache that you were already having. In a brief second, all the nagging feelings were anthropomorphized into a disgusting creature with multiple heads and mouths by your ailed mind, shrilly screaming out your deepest thoughts that were fraught with insecurities. Your legs were rendered weak and you collapsed on the floor. Supporting your weakened body with all four limbs, you took heavy breaths, trying to calm yourself down.

A few minutes later, you managed to put yourself together enough to stand up and get out of the base, on the way you didn’t forget to grab a pack of cigarettes. You felt stupid to resort to nicotine as a way to fight against all those feelings, but you didn’t know a better way. There were times when things were so bad that you had no energy left to hide your conditions from your teammates, and Price was concerned. He used to have you talk to some therapists, and not surprisingly to you at all, they could not handle you for long. No one ever could. 

You were now standing in the parking lot with a cigarette in your mouth. You sighed, clearly satisfied with how strongly its bitter taste stimulated your taste buds. When you first arrived here as the newest member of Task Force 141, Soap and Gaz always joked that you’d become Price’s smoking buddy, but that did not happen. The image of you standing with Price awkwardly because you two couldn’t find a mutual topic for a conversation made you feel too uncomfortable to even try, so you kept avoiding the older man or pretending to not hear his offer until he just stopped inviting you. It was so obvious that the men wanted to get closer to you, they wanted to earn your trust, to make you feel at home and be yourself among them, yet you kept pushing them away. And now perhaps they had stopped trying all together. It was not their fault. It was yours. 

But why it was so painful? You were supposed to feel relieved that they had given up so that you didn’t have to blame yourself every time you turned their kind offer down and saw the sadness drawn on their faces. ‘Why do I keep feeling like shit no matter what I do?’

Feeling that the intense emotions that were barely suppressed by the nicotine started to get out of hand again, you cupped your head with both hands, the half-burning cigarette fell to the ground. Suddenly, your eyes caught the red burning tip of it, together with how the paper wrapping around the nicotine was slowly burnt to black. At that very moment, a dark but familiar thought popped up in your mind. You bowed down to pick up the cigarette, blankly staring at it resting between the two fingers of your right hand. Then, your eyes turned to your left hand, examining your spotty lower arm. It was full of the small round scars that were caused by burning your arms with the burning tip of a cigarette. You had noticed Ghost looked at these scars of yours many times; luckily he never asked about them. The army was a place filled with people who had different background stories and bore numerous scars, so it wouldn’t be abnormal for you to have some that were a bit funny-shaped.

‘Should I do this again?’ 

Maybe you should. It helped with the emotions. Well, temporarily, but that was good enough.

Just as you were about to press the burning tip into your lower left arm, someone threw their whole weight into you. You were hugged by two strong arms and the cigarette was again dropped to the ground.

“There you are! I’ve been finding you everywhere!” It was the Scot man. “Are you smoking? Gosh, I hate this smell! Price’s cigars are much better!”

‘The ones that smell good are never bitter enough.’ You thought to yourself.

“Have you had lunch, pretty boy?” Soap pinched your dumbfounded face.

“Not yet.”

“What? Unbelievable! Get to the kitchen with me right now, Sergeant.” The man literally manhandled you straight from the parking lot into the base, leaving you no time to object.

As you two arrived at your destination, Ghost was already sitting there, sipping some coffee. Soap forced you to sit down right next to him while he proceeded to walk to the fridge and pulled out a dish, putting it inside the microwave oven. 

“Here you are, babyboy~” He put the hot meal in front of you. You chose to ignore the pet name and his flirtatious voice simply because he had started doing it to you ever since you start working here. It was just one of his signature thing, you should not fall for it and mistake it as a sign of interest that could develop into romantic feelings. 

“Thanks, Soap.”

“Aw, don’t be so all worked up and formal, babyboy. Ya’ welcome~”

Silence fell over the three of you, until you just felt so awkward that you had to speak up, “So… how was this morning?”

“It was fine. Ghost stepped in your place and took care of the training.” Soap replied.

You carefully glanced at Ghost, just to find that the man already looked at you, which made you tremble slightly. The skull mask on his face made him too difficult to read, you couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or he just gave up on expecting something greater from you. 

Soap laughed at your reactions, “It’s okay. You were drunk so Price agreed to let you sleep. Also, Ghost volunteered to help you with the training so he probably doesn’t hold a grudge. Am I right, Ghostie?”

The masked man didn’t answer; instead, he turned back to his cup of coffee.

You quickly finished your meal and left, saying that you should do training by yourself. The truth was you couldn’t stay there any longer, you didn’t want to disturb Ghost and Soap’s rare peaceful time together. You had already made too terrible an impression on Ghost, it’s best that you did not mess up again. As a result, you also missed their conversation. It was not intended for you to listen to anyway.

“You’re right. He did it.” Soap’s voice was solemn, with no sign of flirt or unseriousness like a few minutes before.

“You mean the scars?” Ghost looked up at him from the cup.

“Yeah, the round scar marks that you’ve told me many times.”

“It was just my guess. How do you know he really did it?”

“I found him in the parking lot. He was holding a burning cigarette and about to press it into his left arm.” 

A few minutes of silence passed until Ghost spoke up, “Fuckin’ hell.”

“I asked Price about his past, I know it’s a nosy thing to do, but I wanted to help. Unfortunately, Price knows nothing either. Y/n… the boy never opens up to us.”

The two men sat quietly, exchanging worried looks with each other. If only you could know how much they cared for you, maybe you would find it easier to accept their love and help. Yet, even if they told you, even if they desperately showed you so many times that they cared and loved you so much, would your brain allow your heart to welcome them just like how it used to welcome other people you had met earlier in your life, the ones who left you wounded and made you the way you were today? 

If someone asked you that question, you’d just offer them a weak smile and simply say: “No”. You're now too tired to hold on to any crumbles of hope left in your broken soul. You'd like to give up.

to be continued i guess :")

Taglist: @aphroditeslovr @prestigeghoul @edgyboi10000 @c0nny3917 @peter-the-pan @lovecats123451

[fottitimioamore]

Soap, T-posing in the doorway: Greetings, Price.

Price, not looking up from his coffee: Good morning, problem child.

[harveywritings92]

Ghost to Soap in the front seat: YOU GET OUT! I'm older!

Soap: I'm younger!

Ghost: I'm Taller!

Soap: I'm shorter!

Ghost: I'm smarter!

Soap: I'm-....

Soap: Not falling for that!

Price, from the driver seat: Would you two knock it off or else I’m starting this car and driving off, then you can both walk back to base!

Gaz, to Price: do it.

[doggoboigaugau]

Stray dog (Part 3)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 / Part 5

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Long story short: my old acc got terminated for no reason so I'm reposting all this💀👍

Summary: Soap invited Male Reader to join Ghost and his favorite documentaries about dinosaur fossils :D (Ghost very loves dinosaurs y'all cannot tell me otherwise).

Word count: 1950

Warnings: Nothing. It's all fluff this time.

You lost track of time and ended up stopping only when your whole body screamed at you to rest. Looking up from the training gears, you realized that there was no one left in the room. It was a habit of you to ignore everyone and everything surrounding you when it is not necessary, or maybe it’s more like a coping mechanism, since this little tricky skill prevented you from taking in redundant information, such as a close group of men joking around with each other.

This very common sight in the military and especially in the training ground always succeeded in rendering you uncomfortable, and a vague but stingy feeling prevails over your chest, sometimes so badly that it even made breathing difficult.

No matter how hard you tried to brush it aside, dismissing it as something trivial and irrelevant, you knew damn well the cause of it: You once wished to belong to a group of friends that were so close that you all would spend time doing everything together, going on mission, training, drinking, and getting drunk together at the bar. Obviously, it had never happened. It never would, judging from how every time it was only you who got left behind, drowning yourself in overpriced alcohol and your own overwhelming emotions.

It was pitch black outside as you left the training centre. You dragged your fatigued body back to the base of your Task Force, but surprisingly, in contrast to your current physical state, your mind felt empty for now. In a good way. No burdening streams of thoughts, not a single fuck given about how others saw you. You felt kind of free.

‘Guess it’s a good point for not being around people.’ On your sweat-strained face drew a genuine smile. Some people would think that it was weird to smile over something like this, not having any close people around you and just spending your entire day loitering around, doing something you considered to be productive but by no means enjoyable. To them, you were not living a life. You were only surviving through it.

Not that you would complain though. Nor were you in the position to be able to complain about it.

Your blurred vision and the dull pain in your chest reminded you that you hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, which was almost 10 hours ago. Slowly making your way to the kitchen, you decided to turn a blind eye to the kitchen sink and approached the fridge, hoping that they’d be kind enough to leave you some leftovers.

What greeted you in the fridge confounded you as you looked at a carefully prepared dish wrapped in aluminum foil with a sticky pink note on top of it.

‘want to call ya 4 dinner earlier but ya seem to enjoy the training a lot. plz eat this when ya done with the training~’ was written on the piece of paper together with a little ugly and distorted heart shape, which made you chuckle. It was not difficult to guess who left this for you. You shook your head in amusement while putting the dish into the microwave oven.

Sitting down at the empty table in the dimly lit dining room, you slowly enjoyed the meal that Soap had saved for you. Then again, amid the quiet atmosphere that was free of any stimulations, your mind began to do the thing that it excelled in, drifting away. Your unusually calm thoughts appeared like a grainy film rolling before your eyes, replaying every delightful moment that you had shared with the Scottish and other team members, like when you, Soap, Gaz, and Roach pulled a whole prank on Price during your team’s vacation while Ghost sat behind and watched with amusement in his eyes. Or when you and Roach hid one of Price’s hats unknowing that it was a piece of memorabilia of his old teammate, and as result, making that poor old dad all stressed out finding it everywhere. Or when Price decided to catch you two and make you face the consequences of your actions that time and you were so scared that you never run that fast out of battle before. Or when you had no choice but to hide behind Ghost as he was watching his favorite boring documentaries, and he looked down at you obviously contemplating whether he should help you or not as you tried to convince him with your big puppy eyes. Or when you disobeyed Price’s orders to turn back and save Soap when he fell into the enemy’s trap and was pushed into the corner.

You laughed to yourself at this point, remembering vividly what a mess that time was. You two almost blindly fired your guns at the swarm of enemies circling you. As you barely escaped, Soap cursed very loudly in Scottish while his hand threw bombs toward your enemies. It was a mission that you would never forget, a piece of memory that you’d take to the grave, not only because of how badly injured you were and the prolonged period of time you had to spend in the hospital, but also because of how Soap looked at you. After that near-death experience, whenever your eyes and his met, his eyes evidently softened, and you enjoyed every little second of it. It made you feel like, eventually, you were special to someone, like you weren’t just anybody, but someone unique that was closely linked to a hardly forgettable remembrance. It raised your hope–something that you had thought to never regain, since at least when you died, there would still be one person who would keep the image of you inside one of their billion fragments of memory.

Of course, after the certain mission, both you and Soap were heavily reprimanded by Kate and Price, you for the obvious reason of disobeying orders, and Soap for his stupid addiction to blowing things up, which worsened you two’s already horrendous injuries because at the time of the explosion you were still too close to the spot.

“What are you smiling about?” You jumped at the sudden voice that broke the room’s silence.

Soap laughed at your reaction, “Why are you so tense?” He sat down, being so near to you that your thighs touched each other. He threw his big muscular arm over your shoulder, grinning broadly, “Temme, what is so fun that you smile like that?”

“It’s nothing.” You blushed at how close you two were, silently praying that the light of the room was too feeble for him to notice.

He pinched your face, causing you to grimace, “I don’t believe ya. It’s so rare to see ya smile so cutely like this. Must have some special reason.”

Definitely you could not tell him that you were thinking of the team, and especially him, so you decided to keep silent and enjoy your meal. Maintaining eye contact was like torture to you, so your eyes were just glued to the plate until you finished. Therefore, you also missed his eyes, along with how he looked at you.

From Soap’s point of view, all that he could see at that moment was how lovely his boy was. The way his big puppy eyes widened when he suddenly talked. The way his body which was athletic but so slender when compared to Soap’s trembled slightly as he jumped. How the faint blush quickly deepened and then spread from his handsome adorable face to his delicate neck. The nice and warm feeling that Soap’s fingers felt when he pinched the boy’s cheek. And also how his long eyelashes shadowed his eyes as he looked down at his plate of food. It was so lovely that Soap volunteered to be trapped in this moment forever.

As you’d done eating and washing the dish, you came back into the dining room and saw Soap still sitting there.

The Scot chuckled at your expression, “What is that face, Y/n? Are you that annoyed because I’m still here?”

You unknowingly pouted, which only made you look even cuter in his eyes, “No.”

“Ghost is watching his stupid boring documentaries again. Wanna join?”

“You came here from the TV room?”

“Yeah. Now do you come or not?”

You scoffed, “Are you inviting me nicely or just gonna coerce me into it anyway?”

Soap didn’t reply, just amusingly shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine, I’ll come.”

“That’s my boy!” The older man approached you, then threw his arm over your shoulder again. Judging from how you barely kept up with his pace in this awkward position, he definitely coerced you into this by all means.

When you two arrived, the light in the TV room was turned off, and the only source of light left was the TV screen. Ghost was sitting on the sofa alone, eyes glued to the screen that was playing some kind of dinosaur fossils, while Price was sleeping in his favorite spot–the single couch. You swiftly looked around to see if Gaz and Roach were here or not, only to find the two idiots hugging each other on the carpet, drooling and snoring loudly.

Ghost turned his head to look at you and Soap as you were literally pushed into the room by the Scot. His out-of-nowhere eagerness strangely made you laugh.

“Daddy chill.” You jokingly said and sat down beside Ghost, completely overlooking how Soap’s flippant expressions froze for brief seconds.

“Finished your dinner?” Ghost suddenly spoke up.

You were taken aback simply because the masked man hardly ever cared what others were doing with their life outside of missions, particularly for some trivial things like taking care of your daily needs.

“Y-yes, Sir!”

Soap burst into laughter, so hard that he fell to your side, hugging his belly.

“LMAO! What was that, Y/n??? You’re scared of Ghost that much???”

“What? What???” You frowned in confusion. You were even more confused when you heard a soft chuckle from the masked man that was sitting on your left.

“Why are you two laughing? There’s nothing funny!”

“It is funny! Do you see how you shudder like a puppy under Ghost’s glare? I wish I had recorded it!”

“Gosh! I hate you Soap!” You growled under your breath as you launched your whole body into him while Soap was still barely able to put himself together from his stupid sense of humor.

You two soon began to fight each other, giggling like two mischievous kids, completely forgetting that there was Ghost right next to you, who probably got accidental punches and kicks continuously by the unaware manchildren. However, the masked man was not mad at you two for disturbing him from enjoying his favorite show at all; instead, he often stole glances at you two with pure delight in his eyes. Seeing you finally being able to relax among the team was a sight that he wanted to witness all his life. It would take more time for you to pull down the walls you had built around yourself and let them come inside, but for now, this was already enough.

After a while, the giggling and fighting noises abated. You were sleeping soundly, face on Soap’s broad chest and arms around his waist. Soap’s eyes softened as he looked at how peaceful you were at the moment, before looking up to meet Ghost’s. The two men stayed in their position, didn’t move an inch, until Soap fell his eyelids become heavier and fell asleep as well, and Ghost turned off the TV, thereby extinguishing the only source of light in the room. He rested his head on your lower back, slowly drifting off.

To be continued...

[snootlestheangel]

COD Boys play a Board Game

*This starts with a long explanation of the game featured in this short because it's a very rare game. If you want to skip the explanation and go in unaware, skip to the squiggles*

The board game in question is a really obscure one called "Kill Dr. Lucky" If you've heard of it, we are now besties. It's from an old game company called "Cheap Ass Games" and my parents loved playing it with their friends (right before they had kids, so roughly twenty something years ago) and it's hilarious.

Basically, the game only comes with cards for weapons, these things called failure points, and move cards. You are also provided a few pieces of paper that have a mansion layout printed on them, with each main room being numbered (there's a few smaller rooms that aren't numbered and that's important information).

And that's it. You get the stuff above and the rules, but no character pieces, nothing. You have to obtain your own character pieces, which includes Dr. Lucky (this is how you end up with one person playing a cheeto and it being replaced after each turn because it got eaten). The players' goal is to kill Dr. Lucky (pretty obvious) but it's an every man for himself scenario. You cannot be in line of sight of another player, and the other players can make you "fail" your murder attempt with the failure cards. Each weapon has a given number of failure points, one of the highest being 8. Every player CAN play a failure point, but they don't have to. Sometimes, this means just letting someone win the game. No one can say how many failure points they have (at least until they're completely out) and once you pass, you cannot take it back.

Once a failure card is used, it cannot be put back in the deck. Move cards and weapon cards, once used, get reshuffled into the deck once necessary.

Sorry for the long ass introduction to this little spiel, but this game is so obscure I doubt any of you actually know anything about it, so I felt the need to explain beforehand. Anywho, enjoy!

~~~~~~~

Ghost narrows his eyes at the ratty old box Price threw on the table just moments ago. Soap instantly reaches for it, tearing the lid off and peering at the contents inside.

"What is this?" Gaz asks, picking up a cream colored paper that had been recently laminated.

"This week's team exercise. The winner gets a month without recruit duty." Soap's eyes widen at the incentive for playing, and playing well that is. Gaz lets out an evil chuckle as he continues getting the rest of the game board set up. Ghost remains leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed at Price.

"There's no character pieces." Gaz says and Price's grin only widens.

"Exactly. You guys have to pick them." Gaz and Soap frown at each other before tentatively looking over at their captain.

"What's the point of the game?" Ghost asks as he grabs the rules.

"Kill Dr. Lucky. This is an every man for himself situation. Your goal is to take out a target, unseen by anyone. Use your resources wisely, track your target, and execute without getting caught. But, you're also trying to foil anyone else attempting the very same thing." Soap and Gaz stare at each other, evil yet mildly scared grins forming.

"Where are the character pieces?" Ghost asks, throwing aside the empty box.

"There are none. You boys to get to pick them." Soap lets out a loud laugh as he suddenly jumps from the table. He disappears in search of his player piece, while Gaz and Ghost just frown in confusion.

"What the fuck am I supposed to use?" Gaz asks, searching around the room for something small to use.

"Whatever you want." Price's grin widens impossibly, prompting Ghost to sigh and roll his eyes. He remains seated, almost expecting Soap to bring him something back. Price doesn't comment, but instead grabs an unused tea bag from the cabinets.

"This will be your target, Dr. Lucky." Price sets the tea bag down on the board in the center, on the spot marked "Parlor." Soap suddenly barrels back into the room, a wicked grin glued to his face. He places a small pin of the Scottish flag on the table with a giggle.

"I dinnae have to be that, so Ghost if ye still need somethin', just say the word and it's yours." Ghost rolls his eyes, almost in annoyance but mostly in offense.

"I'm not a Scot."

"But ye are fuckin' one, Lt." Soap winks in response, to which Gaz loudly fake gags as he places a blue M&M on the game board.

"We can be food?" Soap's eyes widen at the tea bag and the candy and Price only chuckles in response.

"Be whatever you want, Soap. Ghost, you still need to pick something."

"Ye can be the Scottish flag."

"I'd rather die."

"You'd rather die than do a lot, Ghost." Gaz comments, prompting a very dirty glare from the lieutenant. With a sigh, Ghost leans over and digs into one of his pockets for something. He pulls out the shell of a rifle bullet and places it next to the pin. Price grabs the deck of cards and begins shuffling them.

"Alright, rock paper scissors to see who starts the turn order." Price says and immediately Soap and Gaz are aggressively staring at each other, fists ready for the countdown. Soap loses to Gaz, Gaz loses to Ghost, and Soap beats Ghost. Price begins to hand each person five cards before setting the deck down next to the game board.

"Okay, so Soap first, then Ghost, Gaz, and Dr. Lucky. I'll move him around to make it easy on you boys. You can move one space at a time, all hallways and nonnumbered rooms count as spaces, and you can search the room. You'll draw a card from the deck when you do so. Use a move card on yourself or on Dr. Lucky, since he only moves between the numbered rooms. Make sense?" Soap, Gaz, and Ghost are all frowning at their hands while they listen.

"What the fuck are failure points?" Soap asks and Price chuckles evilly.

"If, say for example, Ghost were to be alone with Dr. Lucky, no one can see him, and he has a weapon, he can attempt to eliminate the target. However, the other two of you can play those failure points to make his attempt fail." Silence falls on the table, mischievous grins alighting all their faces, even Ghost's from under his mask.

"Happy hunting boys. Soap, start us off."

The first couple of turns are rather boring, as the three spend most of it in silence, collecting cards and planning their target's demise. They try to separate, but akin to real life, Ghost is quietly following Soap around the mansion. It takes him longer than he's willing to admit to notice what Ghost is doing, and when he does, all hell breaks loose.

"Ghost, ya spooky bitch, leave me alone!" Soap cries out as he reaches the armory, where he and Dr. Lucky both are. Ghost, however, is in the room next door and has placed the casing in the doorway to appear like he's staring at the Scot. Soap is rightfully upset, as the best weapon in his hand is the Civil War Cannon, worth six failure points in the armory.

"Watcha doin' in there, Johnny?" Ghost lowers his voice to cheeky growl, and Soap kicks him in the shin in response.

"Away an bile yer heid, Si! I'm busy in here!"

"Doing what?"

"I'm cheating on you." Ghost dramatically gasps.

"How dare you?" Price snorts and covers his face with a hand, trying to stifle his laughter. Gaz is completely still to his right, staring at the board in intense concentration. Ghost's turn comes and goes, as he similarly cannot do anything with Soap nearby, and thus it's Gaz's turn. He places down a move card and quickly ushers the tea bag to his space. Now, Gaz is left alone with the target, no one with line of sight. He has a poor weapon, but it's the only one he has.

"I am going to use the revolver to shoot him." Gaz declares, slamming down the weapon card. Soap and Ghost exchange unspoken words in a single glance. Soap throws down a failure card worth two, and Ghost throws down the last two in individual cards.

"Fucking hell!" Gaz shouts, slamming his fist on the table. Price raises his eyebrows at his usually calm sergeant, but decides to not intervene in any way. The turns continue to come and go, Ghost and Soap eventually parting ways only for Soap to not leave Gaz's side.

"Soap, you fucker! I swear, you move another space closer to me and I'm killing you in real life!" Gaz screams, shoving a very angry finger into Soap's face as the man just cackles. Ghost has fallen silent now, and Price watches him curiously move around the mansion with no rhyme or reason.

At one point, Gaz gets a chance alone with the doctor and attempts to use the monkey paw in the parlor, worth eight failure points. Soap makes a face as he places most of the failure points after Ghost immediately drops 2. Price tilts his head at Ghost, who only blankly stares back in response.

And so, the back and forth between Gaz and Soap continues, and Ghost fades into the background, just like on the field. Price smiles, proud his lieutenant is so good at what he does he can just disappear in a board game. The game has gone on for quite some time and Price knows both sergeants are out of failure points, meaning whomever gets alone time with the target is sure to be the winner.

"I use the rope." Ghost gently places a card on the board and Price resists the urge to bust out laughing. The rope is normally a weak weapon, but is worth eight from the balcony. It's the most open line of sight place on the entire board, yet neither Soap or Gaz are anywhere nearby. Soap is already walking away from the table, cursing loudly in Scots. Gaz is frozen, mouth wide open as he stares.

"And with that, Ghost wins. Congrats, lieutenant." Price nods at Ghost, who merely shrugs in response.

"GHOST YOU FUCKER!" Gaz is now standing, reaching out to strangle Ghost.

"I played the game like you're supposed to! For anything, Soap is the one that kept distracting you!" The man shouts in defense, effectively silencing the cursing sergeant behind him.

"SOAP I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU! THIS IS THE THIRD BLOODY GAME I'VE LOST IN A ROW BECAUSE OF YOU AND YOUR DISGUSTING INFATUATION WITH THE LIEUTENANT! I'VE FUCKING HAD IT!" Soap lets out an embarrassingly high pitched scream as Gaz literally lunges over the table at him. The two run around the room before Soap takes off outside, Gaz running after him still screaming profanities.

"I think we'll take a break from games for a bit." Price comments, absently running a hand over his beard.

"You think?" Ghost responds after another loud Soap scream is heard.

"I should intervene."

"If you don't want to be buried under the paperwork that comes with one of your sergeants murdering the other." Ghost replies and Price nods.

"As well as trying to keep my lieutenant from trying to murder the remaining sergeant." Ghost lets out a huff that can be interpreted as a laugh. Soap lets out another scream from somewhere outside, and Price sighs heavily.

"Yeah, I think we're done with the games."

(Hope y'all enjoyed! Sorry if it's bad, I just wanted an excuse to write something. Also @cod-dump )

[notbooper]

Look this'll be my second post that's Price-centric but deep in my heart of hearts my fav will always be Gaz. N E WAY here's sum uh maybe AU Price thoughts, totally unrelated to my immortal!Price AU which I will expand on, eventually.

Does anyone like reading Price-centric content? Probably not but fuck it, that's my husband :3

CW: [implied temporary] Character death, Price is a father, graphic depictions of said character death + violence, angst, implied ghoap

Not edited bc I wrote this at 1am :3

Edit: pt 2/explanation ramblings

It started upon the formation of the 141. After Laswell filed everything they needed and they were all sent out on their first mission together...

It all went to shit.

How he'd fucked up this bad, he wasn't sure but at the end of it all one thing was crystal clear. He was the only one left standing.

Kyle went down first, almost as soon as they had touched down. The enemy had been expecting them, and as soon as the 141 made it into enemy airspace, they were under heavy fire. They bailed from the heli a bit early, and Price thought that that would be that. Just a terrible start to a tough mission.

His ears were ringing now. Sure, that was sort of standard when in the field, but this felt a bit excessive. It was hellishly hot as well, almost like he was actually on fire. Everything was dark, which was odd considering that this wasn’t a nighttime op. Actually, what the fuck was going on?

"Captain!"

And he was up and moving again, being pulled along by...Soap? His vision was still clearing up as he trudged along besides his Sargent. His limbs felt heavy and he was tired. Soap was speaking to him but there was no way he was making out a single word.

It took a few minutes, but Price was able to see and hear and focus properly.

"...Heli was shot down behind us..."

Price did a head count.

One.

Two.

...

Two.

Two?

He looked behind them at the flaming wreckage and then back between Ghost and Soap who immediately seemed to understand who he was looking for. Soap simply frowned and shook his head while Ghost looked straight ahead of him, focused on the task at hand.

No.

No.

No.

This wasn't happening!

This had just started, he couldn’t have already lost one. Not Kyle. Not now. (Not ever if he could help it but that's far more of an unrealistic hope.)

He had to keep on going, though. He still had two left to take care of.

Ghost was next. He took a bullet to the neck for Soap. All Price could do was watch. He wasn't close enough, couldn't pull the two behind cover just in time. He heard it before he saw. Soap's screaming and crying as soon as it happened. Once Price made his way over to where the two were hiding he saw the damage.

"We're all gonna fucking die here!"

They were, weren't they?

After a few minutes, he was able to pry Soap off Ghost's body and the two were moving on.

One.

...

One.

To Soap's credit he nearly made it. They were so close to actually getting out of there that for a brief second Price really believed he'd at least nit failed Soap. But as fate would have it , (that conniving bitch) he went down just like the others.

Soap had been clearing out the last room in the building while Price rummaged around a derelict office for the information that they had come here for when he heard it. Yelling first and then glass shattering. Price ran as fast as he could but when he got to the room Soap had been clearing, it was empty. The window closest to him broken open and upon looking out it he saw two bodies lying limp on the ground.

Seven stories below.

Price finally took a second to let everything sink in.

Fuck.

Zero.

He'd lost all of them.

All of his boys on their first mission together.

Gone.

How did this happen?

How did he fuck this up so bad?

They're all dead because of him!

Fucking hell John, you're a right screw up!

He grabbed onto the ledge of the window, shards of glass digging into his hands, and he shut his eyes tight.

This can't be happening. This can't be!

...

...

...

...

"John?"

His eyes snapped open at the sound of Kate's unmodulated voice.

His hands weren't full of broken glass.

"Are you alright? Kinda zoned out there for a second." Kate hummed as she handed a few files over to him.

Just peachy.

Price opened the file before promptly slamming it shut.

"We need a better plan."

---------------------------------------------------

Introductory bit to an idea I had where Price gets a sort of Groundhog Day time traveling ability thing where whenever one of his boys die, he gets a re-do of those events. Very emotionally damaging to the resident father of the 141, but also very convenient. Like come on it's a bit excessive how many NDEs these bitches live through. I have several more blurbs and ideas ab this that I will eventually write, but this is all i got 4 now bc this was spur of the moment and I'm eepy asf.

[floffytofu]

Gaz : We’re going to a candy store?!

Price : No! It’s nighttime, candy stores are closed.

Reader : We’re gonna ROB a candy store?!?!

Price, sighing : No-

[natelia-aldelliz]

Soap : I can't believe they did something like that in front of innocent eyes !

Ghost : I'm sure you're both GREATLY exaggerating what happened

Soap : You don't understand, he had the lighter in his hand! He didn't have to be a slut!

[marblemoovt]

Tipsy Cuddles - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Fluff with Angst, Reverse Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

You take up John's offer and show up at his door with a bottle of whiskey. Except, he doesn't seem to be doing so well....

------

“Are you ok?” you ask, and he meets your worried gaze.

“What makes you ask that?” John says. The words come out scratchy, and he takes another sip to feel the burn. 

You take the bottle from him and set it on the table. “Because alcohol doesn’t make your eyes red, John,” you whisper. His lips purse into a frown, and he looks away. “Am I moving too fast? Or maybe you realized that this isn’t what you want? Because you can tell me; it’s alright.” 

Note:

This is a direct continuation of this fic, I recommend reading it before this one but it still works as a stand-alone.

I was expecting to dip for another month or two before returning with a fic. But y'all are so fucking sweet. I appreciate all your comments so much!! It gave me enough motivation and inspiration to quickly whip up a part two.

I also was not planning for any angst at all lmao. This was supposed to be really cute and fluffy but I accidentally saddled our boy Price with some heavy stuff.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

John stumbles out of Rose’s room and shuffles to his own. A little sister. John gave up that dream a long time ago. It shattered the second he held Rose in his arms after scrambling to come home during a deployment and noticed the grim expression on the doctor’s face. He went home two weeks later with only a tiny infant in his arms and a bag of belongings he will never unpack. The dream became nothing more than what it was; a dream. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights, doesn’t want to see his reflection in the mirror anyway.

There’s a drawer in the bedside table—the one at the very bottom—where the handle has fallen off, and the wheels squeak like hell. John traces the wooden edges, jamming his finger into a crack to pry the damn thing open. The drawer stutters amid its screaming, and he has to force it the rest of the way out. He pauses and listens. No signs of activity coming from Rose’s room.

Like clockwork, he takes out the photo album first. John always made fun of her for wanting to document every moment of the journey. Now, these are among the few tangible memories he has left. A reminder that his heart did know how to beat once before it chronically ached. He flips through the pages, every image already burned into his mind, but that does not deter him from taking his time. The fetus in the ultrasounds grows, and her bump becomes more prominent. John keeps flipping until the images are blank and bites his lip because he knows only a third of the album is filled. He wipes the fresh splashes of tears off the laminated pages and puts it away on top of the other photo albums collecting dust.

John knows that he shouldn’t hide this from Rose. It’s not like she doesn’t know, but she never asks about her mother. And yes, that’s not an excuse. He’s aware that it’s his fault for not trying to keep the memory of his late wife alive. But it’s been six years, and he still struggles with how to deal with these feelings, so he doesn’t. He compartmentalizes and forgets. Forgets until he’s lying in bed at 3 am, and the bottom drawer calls his name. Forgets until he’s changing clothes, and the duffel bag in the corner of the closet mocks him.

He runs a rough hand down his face, glancing at the clock. 10:20 pm. John laughs, but it’s bitter and clogs his throat. Of fucking course. Who would be interested in broken goods? He heaves himself off the bed and accepts that he’s better off alone.

That is… until he hears a knock. It’s faint, but his sensitive ears pick up the sound. He’ll deny it if you ask, but he ‘walks’ to the door with quick steps. John turns the handle, and the world isn’t falling apart anymore. You’re standing there with a bottle in hand and a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Got caught up trying to find this,” you say, holding up whiskey. John recognizes the label. It’s a whiskey he’s been dying to get his hands on. Where on Earth did you find a bottle? He doesn’t realize he’s staring until you tap his forehead. “Are you going to invite me in, or should I invite myself while you take in my beauty?”

John stutters, but no coherent words form. Instead, he moves to the side to let you in. He follows you to the living room, where you plop on the sofa and pat the seat beside you. John doesn’t move, feet glued to the rug in the center of the room. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he confesses, and the apple of his cheeks tingle until they’re numb. 

You set the whiskey on the table with a laugh. “And miss out on spending an evening with a dill? Not a chance.” The tips of John’s ears glow red, and he rushes to take a seat. He can feel your gaze, and he tugs at the collar of his sweater. “I really do like you, John,” you say. “I don’t kiss just anybody’s cheek,” John’s shoulders slacken, and the rumblings of a chuckle build up in his chest. “Better?” you ask, taking a swig of whiskey and offering him the bottle.

John accepts, drumming his fingers against the glass as it rests on his lap. “You’re a saint, y’know that?” he says.

“I have my moments,” you shrug. John takes a sip and savours the flavour. Spices coat his tongue, and his tastebuds tingle. The whiskey burns lightly down his throat and sparks the kindling in his chest. He leans into the cushions with a sigh, pleasantly warm. “Good?” you ask.

John turns his head to you, eyes tracing the smile on your face. “Some of the best whiskey I’ve had in ages. Where did you find this?” he asks, wondering if you have personal connections in the alcohol industry. 

“Would you believe me if I said a mysterious stranger sold it to me in an alleyway?” you say. John can already tell by your grin that you’re absolutely bullshitting him. He raises an eyebrow, and you huff. “Ok, ok. I’ll tell you,” and you grab the bottle from him and take a long swig. You take a deep breath and say, “I bought it at the store,” staring him dead in the eyes.

“Darling, I know this specific brand is hard to come by. Forgive me, but you’re a terrible liar,” John muses. 

You laugh and scoot closer to him. “I’ll speak your language then. It’s classified.” Your scent tickles his nose, and he leans into your side. He takes another drink and closes his eyes, letting the fuzz blanket his mind. “Are you ok?” you ask, and he meets your worried gaze.

“What makes you ask that?” John says. The words come out scratchy, and he takes another sip to feel the burn. 

You take the bottle from him and set it on the table. “Because alcohol doesn’t make your eyes red, John,” you whisper. His lips purse into a frown, and he looks away. “Am I moving too fast? Or maybe you realized that this isn’t what you want? Because you can tell me; it’s alright.” 

John shakes his head and feels the whiskey loosen his tongue. The haze in his mind covers his thoughts with an invisibility cloak that allows them to slip through his filter undetected. “Christ, Sweetheart. You’re everything I want. Just don’t….” He pauses and stares at the rug, counting the stitches in each row. “I don’t think I deserve another chance,” and he looks at you with the eyes of a man who gained and lost everything all at once. The corners of his eyes sting, the words blubbering out of his mouth faster than he can stop them. “I’m away for long periods. I can barely take care of my daughter, let alone myself. Darling, what’s there to like about me, hm?” 

John reaches for the whiskey, but you yank it away before it even touches his lips. You screw the lid and set it on the floor far from him. “I don’t know the whole story. I’m sure you want to have this conversation sober, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you say. “You’ll come to learn that I’m incredibly stubborn. So believe me when I say I want to stay and learn more about you and Rose.”

Quiet laughter turns into sobs that wrack his chest. John knows what deception looks like. Has pried intel from countless sealed mouths. He’s aware of all the tics and signs. You aren’t lying, and a part of him wishes you were. Because then it would be so much easier to push you away, for things to remain as they’ve always been,

“Can I hug you?” you ask, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. The silence builds as John stacks one brick on top of another. An invisible barrier that will either shut you out forever or crumble enough to let you in. 

John extends an arm, reducing the wall to rubble, and pulls you into his embrace. His beard scratches against your collarbone and sniffles hiccup by your ear. You bring a hand up and run it through his hair, eliciting a rumble when your fingertips scrape his scalp. 

You squeeze him tight and kiss the side of his temple, murmuring, “I’ve got you.” Those three words make him crumple like a rag doll, leaving you to support his weight. “Did you know, John, that people are fucked up?” He snorts into your shoulder, and you continue with a grin. “The great thing about love is that it’s a choice. So guess what? My fucked up self is choosing to love your fucked up self.”

“You’ve an excellent way with words,” John chuckles wetly. 

“I know. The CIA is begging me to write their cover-up stories.” John laughs, and the vibrations shake your entire body. Tears are leaking from his eyes for a new reason now. “What do you do, John? What’s your rank?” you ask. 

“Captain—what?” John stops when he feels you tremble. 

A sharp bark of laughter escapes your lips. “Nothing. You remind me of another captain whose last name starts with a ‘P.”

John pulls back to look at your face. “How many other captains do you know?” he asks.

“Only the ones Rose has introduced me to,” you say with a shrug. John goes through a mental list of all the other captains he’s met, but not a single match. He opens his mouth, but you parry John’s next question with your own. “You’re responsible for a group of people, right?”

John sighs, but there’s an undeniable curve to his lips. “I’m the ringleader for a load of muppets,” he answers. He wonders what the idiots are up to right now without adult supervision.

“Sounds like you enjoy their company. So you have Rose and your muppets. That’s a lot of people to look out for,” you say.

John shrugs. “It’s my job to take care of them,” and he believes it wholeheartedly. He would die for Rose and his team if it ever came to that. 

You bring a hand up and cradle his cheek. He leans into your touch, losing himself in your eyes, mesmerized by the adoration reflected in them. “And who takes care of you, John? Who makes sure you’re ok?” 

“Well, I was going to put an ad in the paper, but I keep forgettin’,” John quips.

You playfully shove his face away. “Here I was, thinking you were going to offer me the position,” you tsk.

John pushes you onto your back, caging you between his arms. “Oh, it’s a rigorous interview process,” he boasts.

You smirk and poke his chest. “I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

“Anythin’?” John murmurs, shortening the gap between you two. His warm breath fans across your face. His eyes dart to your tongue that swipes across your bottom lip. He lowers himself another inch, noses brushing against each other.  

“Anything. Now can I kiss you?” you ask.

“Reckon I’ll die if you don’t,” John whispers.

“Maybe you’ll die anyway,” you retort.

“Prove it,” John says. You grab him by the collar of his shirt and crash your lips together. At first, it’s all teeth and tongue clashing—desperate. But it softens into deeper kisses, an intimate mapping of each other’s mouth until lungs burn for air. John pulls away with a groan, resting his forehead against yours. “Definitely gonna kill me if you keep that up.” He shivers at the beaming smile on your face. You look so proud of yourself. He wants to bite and kiss your lips until they’re swollen. But the alcohol is starting to make him drowsy. John pecks your lips and sits up. Your arms remain locked around his neck, so he pulls you with him. He chuckles when you tighten your hold. “You can let go of me, Love.”

Your voice is muffled by his sweater. “I have to make sure you don’t sneak any more whiskey.”

John hums, “What makes you think you can stop me?”

You raise your head and stare at him as if he’s forgotten how you nearly killed him with your mouth alone. Bringing your lips to his ear, you whisper in a low tone, “I can be quite persuasive.” He shudders, and you chuckle darkly. You notice the clock on the wall and sigh. “It’s late. I should go.”

John refuses to let you go, not this time. He repositions himself onto his back so that you’re straddling him now, and his hands grip your waist. “Stay?” he pleads, watching you with wide eyes.

You smile and nod. “Ok, but only because you’re comfortable and a natural heater.” 

Relief unwinds the tension between his shoulders. “Your pillow awaits, Darling,” John teases, patting his chest. You roll your eyes but lay down and cuddle him.

The two of you talk late into the night. John doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, only that you snuggle into him when he tightens his arms around your waist. For the first time in a few years, John sleeps for hours uninterrupted. 

The rustling of fabric rouses him awake. He winces at the sunlight streaming from the windows and tries to get a few more minutes of sleep. Soft cotton envelopes his body in pleasant warmth. His eyes snap open when a small voice whispers harshly into his ear.

“Honestly, Daddy. You need to try to be more romantic. You let them sleep on the couch and without a blanket!” Rose admonishes, adjusting the blanket she brought. John lifts his head to see you’re still asleep in his arms, face buried in the crook of his neck. He untangles your hair with his fingers and plants a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s Saturday; I’m going back to bed. I want waffles for breakfast,” she says, walking back to her room. “And try not to be loud, Daddy. I’m six, remember?”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

You know I had to do it to 'em with repurposing that line. I wanted so bad to make that the summary snippet, but I can't show off the best cards in my deck or they'll lose their wow factor.

Single dad Price steals my heart every time and I think I'm obsessed with him now. Like I keep getting random headcanons.

Exhibit A: Rose catches a fever and John paniks, so he has to rush to your apartment for help.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

[janet-the-interplanet]

dnjdhdhdhdhd my mom is gonna take me to see a broadway show of my choosing for my birthday in january and i am so tempted to just ask if we can see the outsiders again😭😭

[spookiboogi]

HEY, it’s not his fault he’s so down bad 🥺

[prouddogboi]

Stray dog (Part 1)

To find the most recent chapters, please go to @doggoboigaugau 's masterlist

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Summary: Male Reader is traumatized and forcefully refuses affection from Ghost and Soap even in his sleep.

Word count: 1852

Warnings: It's my first time posting my writing on Tumblr. There are so few CODxM!Reader fics I just want to contribute lmao TToTT. The warning is it can be shit because I'm new.

It was a successful mission. A tough one, yes, many soldiers got serious injuries and had to spend days in the hospital, but still, the mission was accomplished with minimal loss. The people at the base decided to throw a party at a well-known bar in the area. As usual, you stayed close to your team, until they left you all alone again for whatever they were up to: Ghost and Soap went into the dark corridor doing ‘secret’ business except for the fact that everyone knew what that business was; Price meeting up with the Captains of other teams, talking about the ‘kids’ in their care like the good ol’ tired dads and moms they all were; Gaz hitting up on some pretty guy or girl; and Roach just immersing himself in the music on the dance floor. 

“The usual shot?” The bartender smiled at you. He was an ordinary-looking guy, not too tall, not too short, but he was always nice to you.

“Yeah.” You replied, eyes looking down at the empty glass in your scarred hand. Your usual shot was one of the heaviest types served at this bar, you found its bitter, stinging taste and the dizziness it brought about worked wonders for you, helping to repress the strong emotions that always came up to the surface to trouble you whenever you were off the field, whenever you were not having to fight between life and death. Free time and a mind that was offered the opportunity to relax were not something you felt grateful for. Instead, you loved being constantly stimulated when being in battles, since it left your mind no time to overthink unnecessary things other than trying to keep yourselves and your teammates alive.

“A successful mission, huh? Everyone is enjoying themselves a lot tonight.” The bartender said, clearly trying to keep talking to you as he was preparing your drink.

“It was.”

“Did you get injured?” 

“Just some scratches, nothing serious.”

“You seem to do your job very well.”

You did. You were a good soldier. An excellent one even. You were showered with praise from the Captain, the teammates, the higher-ups… just anyone after almost every mission. Even Ghost himself had to admit that you were a good one. However, you didn’t know for sure what made you excel while most others didn’t. Maybe it was because every mission you paid no mind as to whether you would be alive or not. It was true that everyone in this line of work had to come to terms with the notion of death upon themselves, no one could be sure how many days they got left on this planet doing this kind of job, but you were still different. You weren’t actively trying to get yourselves in situations that would get you killed, because it often meant a great threat to your teammates too, but you were not one that would hold on to life that much. You were always ready to sacrifice.

“I notice that you’re always alone. Well, the others do join you, but after a while, they leave and you’re still here.” The bartender passed you the shot.

“They have things to do.”

“Why don’t you? Getting out there and having some fun.”

Fun? It did not sound fitting to who you were. “Thanks for the suggestion, but I prefer it this way.”

“By the way, can I ask for a guy’s number? The one with the mohawk.”

“You mean Soap?” You left out a soft chuckle, “Give up, mate. He already has a partner. A scary one.” 

“Who?”

“The fuckin’ huge one with the skull mask. I’m sure you know well who he is and how scary he is.”

“What? That guy? I’ve always thought he’s into you though.”

This time you laughed out loud. The thought of someone interested in you was just so ridiculous, it felt surreal and impossible, “Ain’t no way, why would you think that?”

“He always looks at you with those piercing eyes, as if he will eat you up in no time.”

“Probably it’s because the Soap guy is always leaning over me. He’s so mad that I dare to get that near to his precious partner that he just wants to end my life right here.” You drank up the whole glass in one breath, then smashed the now empty glass on the bar, resulting in a huge ‘thump’ sound, mainly due to the fact that it was your fist that came into contact with the wooden material. It sent a burning feeling to your skin and fresh, but it was nothing compared to the physical pain you had to endure in battles or the mental one off field, when your mind was free to drift away. 

“Could be. But I still think he is into you.” The bartender shrugged, knowing you so well that he went ahead to prepare another shot for you. Nights like this often led to you drinking non-stop until you were so drunk that you’d pass out, and that masked guy was the one who carried you back. That was another reason besides the intense glare that made him convinced that the guy was attracted to you. Well, the hot man with the mohawk was always there too, but he usually waited in distance and smiled at how the masked guy having trouble carrying you as you thrashed around in his arms, clearly too drunk to know that he was just helping you. But the bartender only thought that the mohawk and the masked guy were close friends. Now that you mentioned it, it was indeed possible that they were in love with each other. 

Wouldn’t that make a love triangle though? The bartender threw a glance at you, studying you with amusement. Everyone loved some drama in their mundane lives. You were a handsome boy with sharp facial features, those damn bright eyes that lit up the whole place when you genuinely smiled, and all those strong muscles. He would’ve asked for your number instead if that scary big masked man wasn’t into you that much.

A few hours passed and the party came to its near end. All those smiling and laughing soldiers slowly hopped on the vehicles, making their way back to the base, clearly not wanting to wake up a mess the day after. They still had training as usual after all. One didn’t seem to care though. You collapsed on the bar, your handsome face grew red with how drunk you were and how much alcohol your body had absorbed. Ghost and Soap assured Price that they would bring you back safe before the tired dad of your Task Force got in the car with Gaz and Roach. They didn’t usually drink too much when they were off base, but you were quite the opposite. The team had no idea why you would pour so much alcohol into your mouth and stomach on these occasions, it was like you were grieving over something rather than celebrating the good news of a successful mission. Everyone in this line of work had their own past and troubles, but there was indeed something different in your troubles as they never felt that you were comfortable to open up. Soap even joked a lot about how much harder it was to get closer to you than Ghost. It was true that you were always smiling, chatting, and gossiping with him and Gaz and Roach over stupid things, but there was this invisible wall that you had built around your heart, unwilling to let anyone in. 

Ghost and Soap got to the bar where you were lying. 

“Come to get him?” The bartender was cleaning all the glasses that you and some other regulars used.

Ghost looked at you as your eyes were tightly shut, clearly not happy with your current condition, “Maybe next time don’t let him drink too much.”

The bartender raised his hands, “C’mon, I’m just serving my customers. He appears to need those shots to handle whatever emotions he’s having.”

Ghost and Soap turned their head to look at each other for a few seconds before Ghost stepped up and got you off the bar. You were too drunk to know anything, but surprisingly tonight you were very silent and cooperated well with your Lieutenant. 

“Let’s take you back to your room, huh?” Ghost was content with this sudden change and Soap just casually used his strong hand to rub your neatly cut hair. 

As Soap parked the car in the base's park, Ghost threw one of your arms over his shoulder and carried you off the vehicle. However, your tightly shut eyes suddenly opened, they widened as you turned your head left and right to make sense of your surroundings. 

“You’re up early.” Soap said jokingly.

“He’s too drunk to understand your stupid sarcasm, Soap.” Ghost scoffed. 

However, it took both men aback when they heard you sobbing. Soap was quick to cup your face with his palms, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, sobbing almost uncontrollably, trying to get your face out of his grip. One of Ghost’s arms went to your waist in an attempt to hold you in place and calm you down, but you started to act the usual way when you were drunk: thrashing around hysterically, as if you were striving so hard to escape from something inescapable. 

“Let go of me!” You screamed.

“Y/n, calm down, calm down! It’s us! Ghost and Soap!” Soap tried to talk some sense into the heavily drunk you.

“Stay away from me!” You didn’t seem to listen. Feeling Ghost’s grip was still firm around your body, you got more and more violent. Screaming and kicking, you definitely hurt him in the process as you finally succeeded in getting away. You stumbled a few steps on the cold cement ground before you collapsed on it due to the perfect dizziness that you hoped the shots at the bar would gift you. You curled into a ball, trembling violently yet not from how cold the ground was. Shuddering sobs still escaped your lips, and your eyes were tightly shut again. Price and Gaz hurriedly ran to where you three were, their eyes filled with worry given how loud and heartfelt your screams were (Roach didn’t come with them because he also drank too much). The two men saw Ghost and Soap standing beside you, their arms were hanging in the air as if they were holding on to something, while you were there, laying on the ground sobbing and mumbling unintelligible words. 

Luckily you quickly fell asleep again, still sobbing but unconscious enough for the men to carry you back to your room. They tucked you nicely into your bed, watching over your now peaceful sleeping face. Soap wiped the tears left on your cheeks with his hand, his mind questioning the reasons why you reacted so fiercely to them taking care of you earlier. When you finally stopped sobbing, they carefully left your room. There were things to be discussed, but they could wait.

to be continued bc I have class tmr and I need to sleep :D

[fottitimioamore]

*Price teaching Soap to drive and taking Ghost along for the ride*

Price: That's a pothole. To the left!

Soap: Take it back now y'all *Drives into pothole*

Ghost, sticking his face into the front over the center console: Cha Cha real smooth.

Soap: I don't think that's how the song goes.

Price, crying and gripping the handle: Please just take me home.

Soap: Country Roads.

Ghost: To the place.

Soap and Ghost in unison: I Belong!

Price, crying harder: What the fuck?

[harveywritings92]

{Soap walks into Ghost’s office to drop off some paperwork, when he sees the room is empty, He shrugs and was going to just leave the papers on the desk, when he notices the laptop was is on, appeared to be paused on a game menu. On closer inspection Soap realized it was the Sims, Ghost was playing the Sims.}  

Soap: No way, Lt games? Hold on...

[Soap thought one of the girl Sims looked very familiar but isn’t quite sure, he goes in for a closer look..]

Soap, realizing who the Sim is: What the hell is this?

[Ghost comes back to his office holding a glass of water, only to drop the glass when he sees Soap looking at his computer! He rushes to his desk shoves Soap away and tries blocking the screen from view.]

Ghost, to Soap completely mortified: Ah! Wh-what why-, Johnny!! Whaddya doing in my office?!

Soap: I was dropping some papers off, Is that…Ye made a sim of R/n?

Ghost, laughing nervously: I What? Pfft, N-No! you’re crazy!

[Soap leans to the side and stares at the screen more and is further weirded out when sees a sim that looks similar to Ghost cuddling the R/n sim.}

Soap, laughing at Ghost’s misery: Ye made a sim Ghost too? What the hell bro? Are him and Sim-R/n dating or married? Hahaha...Have they woo-hooed yet? got any sim tots running about?

Ghost, embarrassed all to hell: No! Get out of my office dammit! Price!!

Price, in a tired dad tone as he passes by: *sigh* Leave your brother alone, Johnny...

Ghost:...

Soap:...What?

Price, realizes what he said: I said leave the lieutenant alone and get back to work!

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

I read something and had a brief thought of Soap being on the enemy’s side but he’s so fuckin adorable and alluring and what have you that the 141 just abandon their side for him 😂

Like they all catch one glance or have one encounter with the man and suddenly their switching sides for him. Price had switched long ago and is just an undercover dude that relays info. When he figures out his squad has switched sides he’s amused, angry and so very exasperated.

It’s funny cause he’s known Soap since the man was a kid, which means he knows how easy it is for the Scot to wrap people around his finger without him even realising he’s done it, which he’s now done with the worlds most dangerous soldiers.

It’s infuriating because these men are now drooling after his son like a bunch of mindless idiots and think Price is just an old man that doesn’t know any better.

And it’s exasperating because of how easily they all fell for Soap and how the man himself doesn’t even realise. He’s always getting calls or what have you from the man saying his 141 boys are making messes for no reason, like it’s not for the pure fact they just want to see him again.