#ace soap

[catandravendesigns]

Rather Eat Cake (asexual pride flag) soap

Scent: Jamaica me crazy.  Described as an explosion of tropical fruits and rum blended into an irresistible summer drink.  This is a phthalate-free fragrance.

Ingredients: olive oil, coconut oil, palm oil (RSPO), sodium hydroxide, almond oil, castor oil, glycerin soap embeds, sodium lactate, fragrance, micas, and biodegradable glitter.

Size: Aprox. 4-5 oz (113-140g).  Because our soaps are handmade and hand cut, they may vary slightly in weight from bar to bar.

Notes: All listings are for one bar, unless otherwise noted.  We recommend allowing your soap to dry completely between uses to extend their life.  Our soap decks in poplar/cedar or beech help your bars dry!

[stillinracooncity]

that feminine urge to read something that makes you cry, get angry, scream, laugh like a hormonal teenager, turn up the heat, feel like the most unique and beautiful human being on earth. *sighs*

[cheekinpermission]

Riddle Rosehearts does not approve of potty mouths >:(

You're here! | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Final

[humans-are-tasty]

based on @poneglph's post

[ghcstao3]

never having loved someone like he does soap before, ghost expects their first kiss to be the way it’s always described in books, the way it’s always shown on tv, the way it has never been with the few other people he’s been with intimately. he expects some big revelation, euphoria, an insatiable need for more.

he expects something to change about him, expects he’ll suddenly have the sexual urges he thinks he’s meant to, that he believes he hadn’t yet been incited to have just because he hadn’t met the right person.

but there’s isn’t any of that. there’s isn’t anything at all, really—no sparks flying, no fireworks. his heart doesn’t skip a beat, nor does his stomach flip. it’s just… a kiss.

ghost thinks he must be broken.

because he does love soap, he’d be a liar for saying otherwise. he fantasizes about a future with the sergeant, one beyond the plan they both had for themselves to work until they die. he likes when soap touches him, likes that soap isn’t afraid to be physical like everyone else, thinks he could be intimate with soap if he really tried.

except he now realizes that he doesn’t really want to be intimate. not like that, anyway. ghost loves the thought of kisses without heat behind them, loves the thought of curling up in bed together on rainy days. he loves the idea of always having soap within reach, of soap plastering himself to ghost’s back as he cooks, of ghost tangling his fingers in soap’s mohawk. domesticity is something he finds he craves to have with no one but soap, but any thought beyond that… he doesn’t think it’s revulsion he feels, but it still leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

but it’s hard to admit to soap he probably shouldn’t pursue this, because ghost couldn’t give him what he needs. what he surely wants. not now, probably not ever, and he understands if it’s a dealbreaker—but soap just gets this odd look on his face, a disbelieving, amused sort of half-smile like ghost had just told him the most outlandish thing.

“i don’t care about sex, if that’s what you mean,” soap tells him. “i want you, simon.”

ghost heart hammers in his chest. “but what if—“

“no what ifs.” soap’s thumbs draw soft lines across ghost’s cheeks. ghost sags at the touch, melts into soap’s warmth. “i mean it. i’m happy if you’re happy.”

“yeah?”

soap smiles bright. “yeah.”

the assurance doesn’t quite soothe all of ghost’s worries, but he’s glad to know he might at least have a fighting chance to love soap just as he wants to.

[ace-inthehole]

Tf 141 with a medic reader in which they begin making up all sorts of excuses and ailments all over the place just to be near you.

Soap is arguably the worst offender. He barges into your office just about everyday complaining about an ache here or a strain there. And every time without fail, you check him out thoroughly just to make sure. When he actually does get hurt, he milks the hell out of it. If it's something serious, he knows better than to fake it, but he will let himself be a little extra whiney.

Maybe he'll ask you to hold his hand because his wound hurts, or to sit by his bedside a little longer because he had a nightmare. Every excuse has questionable validity. Yet sure enough, you comply to just about each one. You put all your attention to care for his needs and whims, and make damn sure he'll be fine afterwards. He repays you by bothering you again the next day.

Gaz is more smooth and subtle about it, but he's just as shameless. He drops by occasionally, sometimes after a sparring session or after a mission. Tells you he's sprained a wrist or twisted an ankle. Has he? Most of the time, no. But sometimes when you check him over you find an injury he hadn't even noticed. Works out for him, another excuse to see you more often.

He comes around sometimes claiming an old injury has flared up, or maybe he's just feeling sick and under the weather. And he'll stick around even if you find nothing wrong with him, just hanging out on one of the vacant beds, enjoying your company. If he was in fact sick, he takes full advantage of it to have you take care of him. Revels in you checking up on him, giving him pain meds and ensuring he's drinking enough fluids. It makes him feel so loved and cared for, he can't help but come back for more.

Price has his pride, so he won't actively seek you out so obviously. But he does however, complain about a headache or a backache or a something or other ache just about everytime you speak. You fuss over him everytime, telling him to get more sleep and stop overworking himself. He loves hearing it, loves knowing that you care. He really does try to take your advice, he doesn't want to worry you, but this kind of lifestyle has been so deeply ingrained in him he can't shake it off.

So sometimes when he realizes he's pulled another all nighter doing paperwork, he'll drop by your office the next morning. For a little pampering, perhaps. Not because he misses you, no. He smiles to himself when you scold him and hand him some ibuprofen for his headache, quickly pushing him over to lay down on a bed. Maybe it isn't so bad to visit once in a while.

Ghost doesn't even bother to prepare any excuses. He refuses to be treated by anyone other than you if he's injured on missions. In the past he's had made a bad habit of keeping injuries to himself, he doesn't want to show that he's in pain, that he's weak. Because he couldn't afford to when he was younger. But after meeting you he's slowly falling out of that habit. For a wound he may have ignored in the past he sulks over to your office and just sits down silently on one of the beds. You ask him what's wrong, and he'll tell you exactly what happened. You don't make a big deal out of it, don't scold him for letting the wound fester, all you do is simply take care of him with the same gentle hands as always.

Of course, you'll still tell him to be more careful, and that he can come to you whenever, even if he's just got something on his mind or wants some company. It takes a long time for him to take you up on that offer, maybe months, maybe years. But he'll eventually come over every once in a while and sit with you in silence. You always ask him if he's alright, if he's injured, if he's sleeping and eating properly. The answer most of the time is yes, he's alright, no, he's not injured, and a grumble of agreement to the last question that you both know isn't true. But you don't push him, never. So he keeps coming back to you, over and over again.

[bressynonym]

suffering in this heat, so they are too!!

[lennadanvers]

His Home

Johnny Soap MacTavish x Ace!Reader

A/N: I'm a day late to Ace Week, but I really wanted to post this. I'd love to see more ace representation in fanfiction, so I'm doing my part. Plus, this kind of relationship has always been my favorite- there's something about undefined love that makes it perfect. I really like this one, so much that I wrote it while studying for my History exam. I hope you love it too, happy belated Ace Week!

Ghost is the first one to ask about it.

About you.

It’s late, you went to bed an hour ago, and Johnny offered him a beer. They’re looking at the empty front yard, a normal street in a normal neighborhood- a rare sight for soldiers of their kind. The food you and Soap made for the occasion sits warm in their bellies. The air smells of quiet and night.

Simon has known Johnny for a long time- and he has known him well. He didn’t know about this, though. He heard about you, of course. The first time Soap wasn’t sure if he’d make it back home, it was your name he mumbled. Instructions were clear: his dog tags were for you to receive. Along with everything else in his barracks. Ae dinnae care aboot all the rules. Ye gotta take me home tae ‘er.

Ghost knew you weren’t married- he would have seen it in his sergeant’s paperwork. He decided you were his girlfriend, then.

Until someone flirted with Johnny at a bar, and he happily told them he was single. Single. It didn’t lead anywhere, anyway; he came back to base with the rest of the team that night. Maybe he didn’t have a bird at home anymore, thought Simon.

But then there was the roommate. Soap was always talking about the roommate, how she would always leave hairs in the shower, how the laundry detergent smelled like flowers back home. It was said with fondness, the kind of affectionate jab one develops with family or very close friends. Ghost supposed you might be a childhood friend, then. Someone who had always been in Johnny’s life.

Come the end of their last mission, he had nowhere to stay at. His apartment was waiting for him, of course, but it was as empty and cold as any hotel room. His sergeant invited him home- tae meet ma girl. His girl. That was not a relationship status- no friend, no sister or girlfriend. Just girl, his girl.

He had to say yes.

Then there were you. Johnny’s age, bright eyes full of affection when you saw him. Small, soft hands ruffling the mohawk, saying it was getting out of hand. Nodding when he asked for another trim, bonnie, aye?

You hugged him around the neck, face under his chin. Ghost feared you would suffocate his sergeant. But Johnny’s face was pink, relaxed for the first time since before the mission. His arms were at your back, hands rounding your waist- they were used to that place. His nose deep in your hair- Simon felt like he was overstepping, like he wasn’t meant to see that. No one was.

Until you gave a step back- soft smile, soft eyes, soft Johnny- and welcomed him to your home. You called him L.T., like you knew him. Simon suspected you did. You didn’t try to shake his hand or- God forbid- hug him hello. You didn’t even risk a step into his personal space. He didn’t think it was out of fear- you didn’t blink twice at the black surgical mask. You just smiled and gave him a tour of the house.

That was another thing, the house. Tiny and tidy, cozy. Ghost didn’t have much experience with homes, but that’s what it looked like to him. A place lived in, well loved. A place with a past. Even more intriguing, a place with a future. By the way you talked, he gathered you weren’t renting. This place was owned. Something for the long run.

When you got to the hallway, though, you pointed to the last door. That’s my room! You can knock if you need anything, I’m a pretty light sleeper. Then to the one before that: That’s Johnny’s. Then the guest bedroom and the bathroom.

So you don’t sleep together.

Which would have been an answer to his curiosity, if it weren’t for the kitchen. After he left his stuff- a half-empty duffel bag- in the guest room, Simon went back to the small but charming space that is- all in one- your kitchen, living room and dining room. He was still in his soldier headspace, which means his steps were quiet. When he stepped into the kitchen, neither you nor Soap noticed him there.

You were laughing, hand on his bicep, eyes closed. Johnny was smiling. His shoulders down, his face soft. He grabbed your hand and brought you closer in a weird hug. You swayed together, and Simon almost heard the music you were dancing to. It went on for a while. Johnny went to grab a knife and you’d already placed the cutting board in front of him. You grabbed the oven mitt and he opened the oven.

You two are the perfect machine, always knowing where the other is going next. The smiles never falter. For the first time in years, Simon feels like he’s in a home. It’s confusing and startling. How come Soap has this waiting for him? How is he even able to go on deployment, knowing he might not have the chance to dance around you in the kitchen again?

The thought sparks memories. Soap’s sketchbook, a gleaming eye peeking from the page. His tactical jacket, jasmine perfume as they march through a field. A hair tie in the keychain. Gunpowder hands buying a bracelet in a faraway country. Making flower crowns while waiting for the target to show up. Dodging bullets with blue fevered eyes. Take me home tae ‘er.

He cleared his throat, and you handled him the plates to set on the table.

After dinner, you said goodnight. Johnny kissed your cheek; I left some beers in the fridge. Another kiss on the forehead. You waved at Simon, sweet and tired. Soap’s eyes followed you through the hallway.

Out in the cool night air, Simon asks.

“Tha’ ‘er?”

Soap flinches in his seat. The bottle in his hand twinkles under the stars. Doesn’t seem willing to reply. Maybe he doesn’t know how.

“The one from yer drawings?”

The nod is soft.

“Aye.”

Interrogation is an art. Ghost knows many ways to get information out of people. None of them work better on his sergeant than silence. The man has a need to fill empty spaces.

So he waits until Johnny takes the bait.

“A’v always known her.”

Another silence. Simon doesn’t need to ask the question out loud.

“We arenae datin. She isnae ma girlfriend. Or wife,” Jhonny’s voice is warm and liquid. “She's the love o ma life.”

Curiosity bubbles again. How does this life fit with the man out in the field? How come a cozy little house is home to a demolition expert?

“How’s tha’ work?”

Soap’s shoulders tighten, preparing for a defensive stance.

“She doesnae want sex.”

That’s not quite an answer, so Simon waits. Johnny’s back relaxes slowly, as if relieved by the lack of a reaction.

“But ‘a dinnae care aboot all that stuff. She's here whan ‘a come home, an she takes care o’ me. A tak care o’ her. Thare's nothin more than that.”

Nothing more he could ask for. Nothing more he’d ever want. His eyes glow blue, melting ice in the night. Ghost wonders, surprised, how he never saw it. How he didn’t realize.

After that, he doesn’t ask any more questions. There’s nothing else he’d need to know, really. When the bottles are empty and the air a little too cold, they retreat to their rooms.

The next morning, Simon stays in bed a little longer than usual. He listens to your soft steps in the hallway, the little knock on the door and Johnny’s raspy laugh. He hears the sheets and the whispers, the way he tells you stories about their last deployement- some true (only the lighter ones), the rest made up, with a handsome, Scottish hero. He pictures you tucked in Johnny’s side, his hand in your hair, easy smiles lighting up the room. And he understands. Once again, his sergeant’s words sound in his head.

A dinnae care aboot the rules. She’s ma girl, L.T.

[soapsinthebox]

Suspects [WIP]

wanted to draw smth since DRDT is back! so i drew the characters ive seen being most suspected as the culprit hehe =]

cant wait for chapter two

[jangmi-latte]

HE FUCKING BALD

[islayhawkin]

Simon "ghost" riley with ED (erectile dysfunction) and PE (premature ejaculation) due to his past.

Is extremely frustrated and embarrassed every time he fails to perfom. Can't stand the feeling of not having something, his own body, under control. Will tell you how you deserve better and won't be able to meet your eye afterwards.

Sometimes you find him in your shared room aggresivly jerking off as if force would fix him. You need to cautiously make him stop with soft words of reassurance so he doesn't hurt himself.

Will act as if it doesn't bother him and hold his stoic face on everytime you see him struggle with it. If you try to speak to him about it he will get defensive and slightly angry that you would even suggest such a thing. But you can see right through him and small parts of those feelings crack throught his wall once you hold him after a nightmare at the break of dawn.

Talked once with johnny about it when they were a bit tipsy and it was never brought up again. Simon kept the most straight face as if they were talking about the weather.

Simon riley, who wants you to touch him with your soft hands all over. Making him feel strong and grounded. But tries to cover up his private area afraid that you'll be dissapointed and will love him less. Even though he wants you to touch him there so badly. It's the most comforting touch to him.

Simon riley, who apologieses nonchalantly when he ejaculates too fast. And tries to please you in any way he can which made you stop him on multiple occasians.

He can't go throught with any treatment because he is to often away and can't continue it consistently.

It wouldn't work much anyways since he doesn't allow himself to heal from his ptsd even though he gets better at letting you help him throught time and trust.

Simon riley with a ace partner, making him feel comfortable when he can't perform. Touching him dispite his inconsistency on his wish and not needing anything else from him in return.

At the beginning he thought you only said that you didn't want sex to make him feel better and was adamant on finding out what you wanted/liked without talking about it. Because let's face it: he's not good at talking about his feelings at all.

When you react badly to his suggestions/advances he has the biggest shock and will literally not dare to put a finger on you again in case he makes you uncomfortable. Will deny it when you want to talk to him about it.

Once you did tell him everything, when you figured out how it burdned him, he would ALWAYS ask before doing literally anything. "Is this okay?" "Can I touch you?" "Are you uncomfortable?" Are constant murmurs throught his deep throat around you.

Was afraid a long time every time he did the first step at touching you that he is doing something wrong. And battled with those thoughts at night when he wanted, no, needed to touch you so he felt grounded and sure that you were safe.

When you two figure it out together after a long time you are literally the perfect sexual match.

Simon riley not being the sex beast he is often described as.

[ohlawdthebirds]

Ace In The Hole

Platonic!141 x Gn! and Asexual!Reader

Huge thank you to @groguspicklejar for letting me turn her drabble into a full fic. You can find the drabble here.

TW: Nothing huge, slight NSFW because sex is mentioned in this fic.

Synopsis: Price is fed up with how much Soap and Gaz sleep around. He's at his wits end until you come up with a solution.

And credit to @cafekitsune for these gorgeous dividers.

FREE PALESTINE FOREVER!!!!

Captain John Price was a lot of things: a respected member of the armed forces, a diligent leader, and an overall powerhouse of a man. He’d survived weeks of bootcamp, hailstorms of bullets, and targets on his life at every given turn. That all being said, he found himself wondering where he went wrong in life. When did he, captain of an elite task force, become mediator for his subordinates’ squabbles?

Soap and Gaz sat in front of him, petulant as toddlers, arguing over their latest paramour. The two of them shared a barracks room and were arguing over a “sleepover schedule” so that all of their “needs” were being met. From what Price had gathered, they currently had no set schedule, leaving them walking in on each other while with their barrack bunny of the week.

Not for the first time, John Price considered an early retirement.

“Ye cannae take the whole week, ye bampot!” Soap was indignant over Gaz’s proposed schedule, one that would give him Monday through Thursday, leaving Soap with Friday and Saturday. Sundays were off limits. Even God rested.

“Ah’m no lettin’ ye keep the lass to yerself. Isnae fair now innit?” He cried.

“Fair? You want the bird all to yourself, then? As I recall, you were balls deep in her most of last week. Nearly had to pry you out of her, you arse!” Gaz tossed back.

It was no secret that the two of them were sluts. Whores, even. John “Soap” MacTavish and Kyle “Gaz” Garrick had a penchant for sleeping around. They’d bedded no less than half their battalion, bedded a fair number of civilians during their leaves, and even bedded each other on a few occasions. Price would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. But with these conquests came the inevitable: arguing over shared partners and said partners sometimes fighting over who got to sleep with whom. It was ridiculous, really.

They continued on until Price decided he was actively losing brain cells. He slammed his hands on the desk and stood from his chair. Two of his best and brightest froze in their seats, eyes wide as they stared at him.

“Right then, is there any particular reason you lot felt the need to have this discussion in my office? Clearly you two don’t have enough to keep you busy. Seems I’ll have to change that.”

Soap and Gaz loudly protested, voices overlapping each other’s. Price was gearing up to distribute both a mountain of paperwork and multiple laps around the building when a knock came from his office door. He fixed Soap and Gaz with a piercing stare that silenced them, before calling out for whomever knocked to come in. You stepped in, brows furrowed over the yelling you heard earlier.

“Everything okay in here, sir?”

Price nodded gruffly. “These two were done anyways. Boys, you’re dismissed.”

Once Price declared something there was no pushing back on it. The man was immovable once he made up his mind.

The two sergeants decided it was best to cut their losses then and there and continue their argument back in the barracks. They greeted you on their way out, Gaz gently clapping you on the shoulder and Soap bumping fists with you. Price sat back behind his desk and retrieved a cigar from a drawer.

“I thought you were on leave today?” the captain said.

 “Still am,” you replied, “Just wanted to make sure nothing came up before I left out.”

Price shook his head. “You’re all good, kid. See you Monday.”

You grinned and nodded. You were about to move towards the door but paused, turning to face Price. “Captain, I know it’s none of my business, truly, but I overheard what Soap and Gaz were arguing about before I came in. I think I could potentially help you out here.”

Price’s brow furrowed. You continued, “You know how competitive those two get, right? Why not use that against them? Make a bet to see who can go the longest without sleeping with anyone.”

Price ran a hand over his moustache as he considered. It wasn’t a bad plan. It was certainly one that had potential.

“Could work, certainly. But you know they won’t just accept a bet without a good prize, right?”

A smirk crossed your lips. “Of course, Cap, that’s where this gets interesting.” You leaned forward, eyebrows raised. Price indulged you, leaning forward himself.

“I enter this little competition. A third person will ensure they won’t try cheating, since they’ll have to keep themselves accountable. The winner not only gets to decide on whatever weird schedule thing they’ve got going on, provided all partners consent of course, but they also get dibs on the good seat in the chopper on our next mission.”

Price sat back in his chair, mulling it over. “Knew there was a reason we recruited you. Ace, you might have just saved me a weekend’s worth of headaches. I’ll inform those two gits.”

You grinned. This would certainly be interesting, especially since no one knew you had quite the “ace” up your sleeve.

-

It wasn’t a secret that you were asexual, it just wasn’t something that came up often. You never officially came out to the 141, deeming it unnecessary. When asked whether you were dating, you’d brush off the questions by answering that you weren’t all that interested. When prompted further if anyone on base had caught your eye, you’d respond that you were too busy. These things were true in a sense; being a sniper for the 141 certainly kept you busy and even during your downtime you found yourself preoccupied with whatever hobby you’d decided to indulge in that week or hanging out with your teammates. You lived a full life and considered dating relatively low on your list of priorities. There was also something deeply hilarious about your callsign being “Ace”, though it was referencing just how skillful you were with a sniper rifle. Entering this contest wasn’t anything difficult for you. In fact, you thought it would be interesting to see how your teammates would rise to the challenge.

-

The first week after Price announced the challenge was probably the funniest week of your life. Soap and Gaz were indignant, which you expected, but they accepted the challenge, nonetheless. When Price revealed that you were also in the running, they made it a point to corner you at the shooting range. You were reloading your gun when they walked in. Soap was the first to approach you, striding forward with his arms crossed.

“So, Price told us yer the one who proposed this whole contest, aye? Fir wye?” he asked.

You placed the gun down and turned to fully face your teammates. “’Why?’” you repeated back, “Because the two of you were causing chaos on base and Price was ready to assign you cleaning duty for the rest of your careers. If anything, you should be thanking me.”

“Well, we’re letting you know that we’ve accepted the challenge. That heli seat is mine,” Gaz said. After his incident from last year, Gaz made it a point to sit as far away from the helicopter door as possible.

“That’s fine by me,” You turned and picked the gun back up, “Though, I’m sure this’ll be easy.”

Gaz cocked an eyebrow at you. “And what makes you say that?”

“Oh, nothing in particular. Just excited to see how this’ll go.” You cocked the gun and aimed it, firing off a round into the center of the target paper.

-

After finishing at the gun range, you headed towards the canteen to grab lunch. It wasn’t until you’d grabbed your food and began to look for your teammates that you heard laughter bubbling up around the canteen. You ignored it, moving towards the back table where Ghost currently occupied a seat. Ghost didn’t acknowledge you when you sat down, his eyes trained just past your shoulder. Your brows furrowed and you quickly followed his line of sight, turning back towards the door. The moment your eyes locked onto Soap and Gaz you nearly fell out of your chair in shock.

They were dressed as nuns, and from what you could tell, they were wearing legitimate nun habits instead of cheap costumes from Halloweens past. They strode forward, faces solemn and hands folded in prayer. Soap fiddled with a rosary his mother had given him on his first deployment. They approached your table, made the sign of the cross, and sat down. Ghost shot incredulous looks at the both of them.

“What’s all this, then? Halloween come early?” He asked.

“We’ve taken a vow of chastity, Lt. The ol’ Johnny and Kyle are no more. We’ve devoted ourselves to prayer and abstinence. We’re men o’ the cloth now,” Soap replied.

“Shoulda’ taken a vow of silence,” Ghost tossed out, digging his fork into whatever mystery meat the canteen had slapped on his tray.

You and Kyle didn’t bother holding back your chuckles.

“You do realize the nun habits are unnecessary, right? Price never said you had to wear them.” You said.

“Yes, but this shows that we’re serious about this challenge,” Kyle piped up.

You fixed him with a deadpan stare. “There’s absolutely nothing serious about your current get-up. But okay.”

The rest of lunch passed without much else happening, save for the occasional snort of laughter from other personnel.

-

The second week was just as nonsensical as the first. You knew the terrible two were up to no good when jangling and clanking noises came from them as they walked into Price’s office. The men sat, albeit quite stiffly, and tried their hardest to ignore Price’s hard glare.

“What’s all that ruckus?” Price growled out.

Soap had the nerve to look as though his captain were speaking in riddles. “Ah’ dunno what yer on about Cap, we’ve done nothin’ wrong. Right Gaz?”

Gaz at least had the decency to look embarrassed. You placed down the file you were examining. “What’s all that clanking you two have got going on?”

Soap wasted no time in standing up and yanking down his pants. You were met with the sight of a leather and metal thong with a padlock over the crotch. A chastity belt. The man was wearing an honest-to-God chastity belt.

The room was stunned into silence. Gaz hung his head in shame. It only took you a moment to realize he was wearing the same contraption. Ghost was the first to break the silence.

“Those come with keys?”

“Why Lt? You lookin’ to unlock me?” Soap smirked at Ghost, still a flirt despite the clear restrictions on him.

“I’m lookin’ to throw those keys out the window,” Ghost replied dryly. You caught Price trying to stifle his laughter behind his fist.

“Do those hurt?” you asked.

“Nah, but they do pinch a bit. Mostly awkward to walk around in,” Gaz said.

Price stood from his desk and passed over more files. “If you’re all well and done, Laswell’s got a few updates from last week. Give these a read.”

You had to admit, there was something comical about reading over confidential information while knowing two men in the room had actual chastity belts on. Price soon dismissed you all back to whatever tasks you had on base. You headed to the gym with Ghost right alongside you. Soap and Gaz clanked out the door and down the hall.

“How long d’you think they’ll keep this up?” You asked once you were in the gym, scooting yourself underneath the bench press. Ghost shrugged, adding more weights to the bar.

“Depends on how just how committed they are to this whole thing. Though I’m sure they’ll break soon,” he answered.

“What makes you say that?” Your hands reached up to the bar, readying yourself to lift the weights.

“Just a feeling. Adjust your grip, you’ll kill yourself otherwise.”

“No, seriously, what makes you say that?” You gripped the bar, raising up and lowering it to your chest before raising it back up again.

“On the field, those are some of the smartest men I know. On base? Barkin’ mad, the both of ‘em. Surprised they even lasted this long.”

You racked the weights above your head once your set was finished. “You’re probably right. But you have to admit, this has been a pretty entertaining two weeks.” You looked up at Ghost, who seemed to be deep in thought.

“Why’d you join this contest anyways?” He asked.

You sat up and turned to him. “Because I knew it’d be an easy win. I don’t exactly…ah, well, I figured it’d be fun to see how things played out.”

Ghost grunted in reply. “Fair enough. Now give me twenty more reps.”

You groaned as you made your way back under the bar.

-

As it turned out, Ghost was right. The third week was when things reached their breaking point. You were on the hunt for a missing knife, one you’d lent Gaz a few days back. Ghost’s words replayed in your mind; were the sergeants reaching their breaking point? Would they soon throw in the towel?

You approached Soap and Gaz’s barrack, fist raised to knock, when you heard a noise that froze your fist mid-air. There was the sound of rustling and grunting. You jumped back from the door.

There was no way…unless?

You stepped forward again, rapping your knuckles against the wood. All sounds behind the door stopped. You were about to knock again when the door swung open.

You came face to face with Gaz, his eyes blown wide and his chest heaving.

“Gaz? You alright? Why are you so flushed?”

Your eyes caught sight of a bruise on the column of his throat. In fact, there were multiple bruises. Before he could raise his shirt to cover them, you yanked down the collar.

“Hold it, what’s this? What’s this, Gazzy-boy?! You get attacked by over-enthusiastic mosquitoes?!”

Gaz swatted your hands away. “N-no, this is just-! I burned myself earlier!”

Ignoring his protests you shouldered past him into the room, where you were met with the sight of Soap trying to pull on clothes as fast as humanly possible. You paused in the middle of the room and inhaled deeply. The air stunk of sweat and lust. Soap, having wrangled himself into pants, tried to approach you.

“Listen Ace, this isnae wit ye think it is. We were just havin’ a chat, Gaz’n ah. ”

You turned to him with a grin stretching from cheek to cheek. “Oh really? Because I think you two were having more than just a chat. And I think I just won the bet. And this-” You whipped out your phone and snapped a picture of the two of them, clothes disheveled, and skin marked with hickeys, “Is enough to prove it!”

With that you turned on your heel and booked it out the door, flying down the corridor and across the building towards Price’s office. Gaz and Soap ran after you, yelling for you to stop. The door to Price’s office nearly flew off the hinges when you barged in, phone held out in front of you. Price leveled you with a glower.

“This better be good, sergeant, otherwise you’re runnin’ laps for the next hour.”

“Oh, this is better than good, Captain, this is great.” You upped your phone’s brightness and slapped it on his desk. Price leaned over, squinting at the screen. It took only a moment for him to register what he was staring at before his eyes widened. Soap and Gaz barreled into the room, out of breath and speaking over each other.

“Cap, isnae wot ye think-!”

“Ace is framing us! We weren’t-!”

Price's face darkened. He stood from his desk, your phone in his hand.

“You fools couldn’t last 3 weeks?”

The room went dead silent, and you swore the temperature dropped a little. For a moment you wondered if you made a fatal mistake.

Price stalked forward, nearly towering over the three of you.

“Ace, you’ve won the bet. But I’ve just realized that we only discussed the reward and not the punishment for this. Any ideas?” He turned to you and handed your phone over.

Gaz and Soap shot you pleading looks, silently begging for you to be merciful. And for a moment you wondered if you should make them suffer, make them writhe. But in a moment of mercy, you decided against it.

“You know, I’m impressed that these two were able to find those nun habits and chastity belts. And such high quality too! You think they can find maid costumes?”

Price’s face lit up with the sick delight. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll manage. And I’m sure they’ll wear ‘em for the next three weeks too.”

Soap and Gaz’s faces were masks of pure shock. It was at that moment that Ghost walked into the office, a cup of tea in one hand and a file in the other. He stared at the scene in front of him, turned, and walked back out.

-

You were wrong. The weeks during the bet weren’t the funniest of your life. It was truly the weeks after that took the cake.

As per your request, Gaz and Soap procured maid outfits, complete with fishnet stockings and kitten heels. They were met with raucous laughter everywhere they went. The only one with a modicum of shame was Gaz, and even then, you caught him strutting his stuff when he passed you in the halls. Soap was happy to be back to normal. He even claimed that the costume was a hit with his partners that liked role-playing.

You saddled up next to Ghost in the rec room one night, thanking him when he brought down your favorite tea from the shelf. The two of you prepared your drinks in companionable quiet. Ghost turned to you, spoon halting in his cup.

“I would say congrats on winnin’ that bet, but I figured you would.”

You huffed out a gentle laugh. “Thanks, Lt.”

Ghost paused for a moment, seeming almost sheepish.

“You, uh…you never finished what you were saying, back when we were in the gym. Said you ‘didn’t exactly' and then you trailed off.”

“Oh, I can’t believe you remembered that. Yeah, I just…um…basically I don’t experience dating and relationships the same way everyone else does.”

“What d’you mean by that?”

You stopped stirring your tea. A part of you wondered if Ghost would understand, if he’d be supportive. You knew the man well enough that he wouldn’t ridicule you, but not everyone was understanding. It often felt like being asexual was a fringe thing. You sucked in a deep breath. Regardless of anyone’s feelings, you were asexual. It was real and anyone who said otherwise could get a mouthful of your boots.

“I’m asexual. Don’t really experience sexual attraction, y’know? Like, when you see someone others deem “hot” or “attractive” or whatever and want to have sex with them? I don’t understand that, and that desire doesn’t really happen to me. It doesn’t mean I don’t have a libido, its just never directed towards any one particular person. It’s a whole spectrum.”

You ended your ramble with a sip of tea.

“Oh, so that’s what it’s called? Didn’t realize there was a name for it,” Ghost muttered. You stiffened, cup halted in midair.

“When’d you figure that out?” Ghost asked.

“Kinda knew I was different when I began faking crushes on people back in school. And anytime those “crushes” reciprocated, I was weirded out by it. I did have real crushes, but those came a bit later. I’ve dated before, and thankfully my partners were understanding. I even had sex once! Just to try it out. It was…y’know, it was fine but I’m still definitely asexual.” You trailed off with a nervous laugh. “Sorry for the ramble, but whenever people ask, I try to explain everything, so I don’t have to keep answering questions.”

“I appreciate the honesty,” Ghost said. He cleared his throat. He seemed stuck between wanting to ask more and wondering if he was asking too much. In the end, you looked over and said: “I have a few books on it if you ever want to read up more on the subject. They helped me out a lot.”

Ghost said nothing, only nodding. He gently clinked your cup with his before he turned and headed towards the door. He stopped at the door frame and looked back over his shoulder.

“Hey Ace?”

You sipped more of your tea.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

You smiled.

“Anytime, Ghost.”

[meowmeowriley]

Aro/ace Gaz.

Aro/ace Gaz who likes monster girls.

Aro/ace gaz who specifically really likes spider monster girls.

Fight me, I'll die on this hill.

Confused baby gay Soap, just trying to help his friend out: "you're straight?"

Gaz: "...technically."

Soap: "How're you single? There's gotta be a girl out there for you."

Gaz: "I have a very specific type, and uh... pretty sure they don't exist..."

Soap: "Nae, I refuse to belive that. Come one, what's your type?"

Gaz: "... You know what a monsterfucker is, Soap?"

Ghost, who just walked in: *rushing to stop Gaz from pulling out his phone* "Kyle he's not ready!!!"

[ncthandrake]

JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH ↳ Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2

[myfamilycrestisthedemonofdeath]

Because the start of Pride month is also my birthday, and I also haven't stopped thinking about it, I'm celebrating my ass with this.

Maybe a younger-looking f! reader gets flirted at in one of the bars you visited and the 141 men are jealous for a different reason.

~~

Let's say that you wanted to go out with the 141 men for drinks but because of previous problems with other men, you decide to maybe dress up like a man to not get bothered. You got a tight tank inside a loose shirt, maybe one of Gaz's caps you borrowed (begged until he gave it to you) pulled low on your head, some baggy pants and whatever oversized army jacket you find, and when you look at the mirror, you look passably like a boy pretending to be an adult.

The men, most likely Johnny and/or Kyle, tease you for your look even if you retort that it's for your comfort. John probably crinkles his nose a little as he tell you that you didn't need to do that as they are there to stop those sort of interactions for you, with Simon humming in agreement, which is great and all but they can get very suffocating in their protection.

So you all get to a nearby bar that has a decent number of people in it; a lot of folks trying to escape the boring humdrum of life by spicing it up with some liquor. Men and women alike all staring once you all walk in, not that you think they are staring at you, more than likely staring at your companions who are definitely impressive.

Big, muscular men towering over your form, concealing you from most eyes, which you are thankful for. Social anxiety is a big problem for you, and being in the limelight does you no good unless it is among people you know.

Simon probably buys the first round, while you all cram yourselves in a booth or a corner with a view of the entire place, just as a habit. Most of the people's interest and wayward stares towards your group dies down unless one of you stands up to grab another round of drinks.

On your turn to grab the drinks, you end up next to a woman by the bar stools, after more folks come in and crowd the bartender. You recognize her as the "pretty lass" Johnny had heavily gushed about, making him take a lot longer in grabbing all of your drinks, and the one Kyle had striked up a conversation too on his turn, trying to charm her with his pretty eyes.

As you wait for the bartender to be free for your order, the woman strikes up a conversation with you.

"You don't look old enough to be here in this bar. Is the mohawk and his group your brothers?", she inquires with a smile.

"You can say that," you say, adding, "although he is definitely adopted".

She giggles, and you sneak a glance over to your group to realize that they are staring at you two, Johnny frantically waving and motioning for you to get her number, pointing at him and audibly mouthing "please please please". Kyle's shaking his head trying to stiffle his laughter, and John and Simon are both looking on in amusement.

"Well," she says, "adopted or not, you all look very handsome."

"Thank you, you look very beautiful too," you shyly reply, because what are you supposed to say to a compliment like that?

The bartender finally approaches you two, and they take one look at you before asking for your ID, which you sheepishly provide. The woman beside you introduces herself as Rebecca, giggling all the while the bartender checks over your information. You hear squawks of laughter that you recognize as Johnny, and as you glance back at them, you see Kyle and him exchanging money.

"Bastards took a bet on me getting ID'ed," you mutter under your breath as you get it back and order your round of drinks.

"You should spit in their drinks," Rebecca suggests. "Or I could do it for you if you want."

"I dunno, they might like that and think of it as a reward," you snort. "They might bother you more now that they see you talking to me," you add.

"Hmmmm, I might just have the idea to mess with them then," she says, and beckons you a little closer with a conspiratorial wink.

"Let's hear it," you say, but then you are taken aback as she holds your face and gives you a kiss on your cheek, and multiple more all over your face. Your eyes widen in shock, mouth opening in surprise at her. She giggles at your reaction, still craddling your face in her hands.

"Oooooh, my lipstick looks good on you," she says, smudging some of the marks on your face.

"I-I'm a girl," you stammer out, feeling a little light-headed and out of breath, as you hear the bartender approach with your ordered drinks.

"Oh, even better," she purrs out, before pulling your face closer to hers, but this time, planting a kiss right on your open mouth, not even hesitating to reach her tongue out to yours.

Simon says it was probably about 10 seconds of kissing, before she pulls away, writes something on her napkin and hands it to you before sending you back to your table with your drinks. You don't remember, brain shutting down as soon as your lips touched, just knowing she had soft lips and that she smelled great.

You barely register Johnny and Kyle clammoring over you and fussing that you got to their choice first. What you do notice is when John and the other two give Simon some bills, as you just barely hear Simon's whisper, "Told ya she'll get someone still".

[atopvisenyashill]

aegon the uncrowned is so stupid if he would have just followed rhaena’s advice and gone to the free cities for a few years, maegor would have imploded on his own, and then he could have had his crown and not died. the men in this series are collectively so stupid.