#snippet of my work

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

Soap's second favorite way to indulge himself on you is under you. talk about a front-row seat.

nsfw, rough sex, Soap being filthy and possessive ⬇

he wants to see you touch yourself.

but, frustratingly, you use both hands to keep steady as you ride him. 

you lean back, knees up and feet flat on either side of his ribcage as you work your hips up and down his swollen cock. he's distracted watching it disappear into your hole. your pussy grips him so hard the friction gives you resistance as you bounce.

it's hot as hell. but he's impatient. he snips at you. don't you want to get yourself off already? you look as desperate as you sound, and you sound like you've half lost your mind riding him like this. you want to cum, he tells you, you know you do.

you do what he wants and you'll have no trouble. but ignore his demands and refuse, huffing out something about getting him off first? nah, not happening.

he shifts, one rough hand grabbing where your hip opens into your thigh, and grinds his calloused thumb into your clit to punish you. your legs twitch with the shock, and you let out a long, unsteady sound. with him gripping you and the pleasure making your legs rubbery, you're unable to keep up your diligent pace.

but that's fine. he thrusts up into you languidly. edges you until you're begging.

and then he keeps edging you until you push his hand away from your clit and replace it with your own, rubbing furiously.

he praises you with a mean, smug edge in his voice. you circle two fingers over the twitching bundle of nerves and down the sides of your slit, skimming his cock with your slippery fingers as you keep working him over. working yourself over. you can't quite reach that same brisk pace you rode him before, neurons fried on oxytocin as they are, but-- well. he doesn't mind much if that slows you down.

if anything it just makes him harder. drives him crazy. and when he's ready to take what he wants, to use you for all you're worth, he plants his own feet on the bed and fucks up into you again. 

he breaks your rhythm and tears a wild sound from your throat. grabs your hip as leverage and pulls you down on his cock over and over again, matches his own thrusts, fucks you so deep your vision blurs. grabs the hair at the nape of your neck, tugs down, forces your head back and eyes up, and makes you bare your throat to him. his eyes glaze, head filled with the sound of your pretty voice made wrecked and hoarse by his grip on your hair, and eyes glued to your spasming hole as you rub your clit like your life depends on it.

he eases his grip and his pace once he's fucked you through your climax. but when you come down, you'd better not stop moving that hand no matter how overstimulated you get. or else Soap will put you right back at square one.

(Soap's first favorite way to indulge himself on you is to lace your fingers with his, palm to palm, holding your hands down beside your head so he can maintain steady eye contact no matter how aggressively he fucks you. he won't cum until he knows without a doubt he's ruined you yet again for other men. that's just a silly little thing he's decided he likes hearing you say in bed <3 and no, it's not optional.)

...

more Soap / soulmate Soap / masterlist

see also: Soap is a munch, but it’s not for your benefit

[rosaacicularis]

“you want a mending book, right?” scar asked, head peeking barely above the water, the gills on his neck still submerged in the water.

“if i were to want anything, it would be a mending book, yes.” grian cast his fishing rod back out into the water, his voice was careful and hesitant.

“what if i told you i had one?” scar swam closer to grian, still keeping his distance but grian could feel the water shift from the movement.

“you’re not a mermaid,” grian said, eyes closing into a squint at scar. “you’re a siren, aren’t you?”

“i’ve been called many things,” scar dodged the question. he brought his hand out of the water, brushing shapes into the surface with his fingers. “siren has been one of them.”

“you’re trying to lure me,” grian phrased it like a question, a rising intonation at the end. he reeled his fishing rod back in, another salmon.

“that depends,” scar smirked, his eyes followed the movement of grian unhooking the fish and throwing back into the sea. “is it working?”

[demaparbat-hp]

Oh, Lala...

[wispscribbles]

I want to eat your art and writing thank you so much

Haha well I'm always happy to keep you all fed. Here, have some old sketches <33

[hrokkall]

You were created by humans to protect. They died, so you continued to protect—protect everything they hold dear. You rest in the corners of hell that make mockeries of their holy places and tell yourself that you, you are the last bastion of everything they held dear. You are more than a machine, you fight like man—with honor—as you still bow before the thing that claims to be you. It fights like a dog, and you flee. You can't bring yourself to go back and see what has become of the temple.

You have a new purpose now. If it seeks to destroy, you will give it destruction. You use everything that humanity taught you to create, study the curvatures of their statues to weld together a new arm out of the remains of a sentry you mangled (what a worthless, worthless warmachine—knowing nothing but itself) resembling their own. You settle, once again, in a faux temple—this one of golden stone—and you wait.

It arrives. Of course it does. And you rend it apart. Piece by bloody piece. You take apart everything that you hate, hate, hate. It takes until your chest is dented in for the red haze in your vision to clear, to realize the scrap lining the floor is your own.

So you flee. Not in cowardice—you are not human enough for cowardice, you have always known this—but for the most mechanical thought of self-preservation. You flee and it follows, and some sinking feeling knows that the only thing the two of you feel is hunger.

You were never human, nor did you truly seek to protect anything but yourself. You will never know peace, for you were nothing more than a leftover of war.

It hardly matters. You were created by humans to die—and you die like the machine you are.

[hisui-dreamer]

jamil, who loves showing affection by cooking food for his loved ones, making sure the curry is seasoned to perfection and your favourite dessert to go along with the meal.

and you, with zero spice tolerance but so incredibly overwhelmed with gratitude and affection for how hard jamil's worked. and with your favourite dessert right there enticing you, you're determined to finish every drop of curry on your plate.

...

it doesn't go too well.

indeed, you have finished every drop of curry. but you've also downed around 12 cups of water, and the burning in your mouth is still unrelenting. jamil visibly looks concerned with how much water you're drinking and it's unavoidable you address your non-existent spice tolerance.

jamil sighs, and his eyes show a hint of exasperation you often see when he's following kailm's whims. you avert your gaze to the floor, upset at yourself that you've disappointed him and maybe he hates you now how could you not like his fo-

flick!

ouch! your hands reach up to shield your forehead, and your eyes meet his. not exasperated, maybe slightly, but amused and... loving??

"dummy, don't go forcing yourself to eat what you don't like," he sighs

you timidly explain you could never do that with how much time and effort he puts into his cooking

his smile widens slightly.

"for now, i guess i'll be making more desserts for you then,"

he chuckles at the way your eyes light up.

"here," he feeds you a spoonful of the chilled dessert. "is your mouth still burning?"

oh. you don't think it is anymore.

but your heart sure is.

[villain-enthusiast]

Hi Hello!! Would you please continue the snippet of villain finding hero dying? A lot of whump and caretaking would be great! (By the way.. just wanted to say this...I love your work!!)

so glad u enjoyed! hope this is also to your liking ☺️

part one

.

The hero came to with a start.

They shifted, groaning as their stiff muscles and joints ached. But they noticed that their body was comfortable, sinking into a soft mattress and swaddled in thick blankets—

Wait, what?

They blinked several times as fragmented memories flashed through their head, The blinding pain of the stab wound. Their broken comms. Blood, too much blood. They were going to die without help…

The villain. The villain finding them in the alleyway, gathering them up in their arms—

“You’re awake.”

The hero jolted, head whipping to the bedside, where the villain had apparently stood up from the chair behind them.

How long had they been waiting there?

They moved to prop themselves up, but the villain’s hands were immediately on their shoulders, gently urging them back down onto the stupidly comfortable bed.

��Don’t move too much. You’ll break the stitches,” the villain warned. They pulled the blanket covering the hero’s torso away to examine the bandages wrapped around their side.

It was then the hero realized that they had been scrubbed clean and given a new pair of sweatpants, every cut and scratch from their recent altercation carefully dressed.

Their eyes met the villain’s in silent questioning.

You did all this for me?

“I swear I didn’t look,” the villain blurted suddenly. “When I was bathing and changing you. I didn’t—.” They cut themselves off awkwardly, cheeks a little pink.

Oh, that’s not… Despite themselves, the hero smiled, or what they could attempt as a smile. Their jaw was incredibly sore from being socked twice in one day.

They opened their mouth to speak, to tell the villain that it was fine and that what they really meant was thank you—

The villain shushed them. “You have some bruising on your neck. It’ll hurt to talk. You should just rest.”

The hero scowled at them. “I—,” they attempted, and immediately regretted their choice as their swollen throat flared up.

The villain gave them a "told you so" look, and the hero leveled another glare at them.

It suddenly occurred to the hero how helpless they were. Can't move, can't speak. If the villain wanted to kill them, now would be the chance. Luring them into a false sense of security, giving them one last taste of comfort before—

“I just saved your fucking life. Stop looking at me like that.”

The hero frowned. Like what? they mouthed.

“Like you think I’m gonna kill you or something. I can be a half-decent person sometimes, y’know," the villain said. Their expression softened. “I’m not a monster.”

The villain's gaze flickered with something the hero couldn't quite place as they watched each other in comfortable silence. It was an understanding, in that moment, that the villain was not going to kill them, and that they had meant everything they said and more.

I couldn’t just leave you to die in that alleyway.

The villain sighed and turned to leave the room. Panic shot through the hero—they needed to say something to the villain, damn their throat—and before they could think twice about it, they reached out and took the villain’s hand in their own. Rough calluses from what was likely decades of training scraped against their palm.

The villain stared at them, but they didn’t pull away. Their fingers wrapped gently around the hero’s, cautious. Expectant.

“Thank you,” the hero croaked, “for saving me.”

The villain was silent for several heartbeats, watching the hero with those dark—so beautifully dark—eyes.

They took a breath, as if readying themselves for whatever they were going to say. “You mean too much to me," they finally said, voice low. "I'm not ready to let you go." Their hand lingered on the hero's, as if to seal their statement, to make a promise and keep it.

Then they released their hold, and the hero wished they could tell them to stay—that they wanted them to stay—but the villain was already closing the door behind them, and fatigue overtook them before they could process anything else.

When the hero awoke the next morning, the villain was nowhere to be found. But in the chair by their bedside, they found a fresh set of clothes, a cup of water, and a note:

Be back soon. - Villain

And though their jaw still ached, the hero smiled, fully and wholly.

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

another snippet of the barbecue fic (aka another snippet of buck being horny for his boyfriend lmao I swear this is a wholesome fluffy family fic haha), this is my priority now, I wanna finish it soon so send all the motivation haha <3

prev snippet

___

“Behave.” He scolds with no heat behind it.

“Mhm, yessir.” Buck purrs, his lips moving across Tommy’s bare shoulder. 

“Fuck.” Tommy breathes out and completely stills, and Buck can’t really see his face but he knows his boyfriend closed his eyes and is trying to calm down – which can’t be easy with Buck still plastered against his back. “This food is gonna burn if you keep this up. And we have guests to feed.” He adds, and as if to make a point, he flips a slightly overdone burger, Buck hindering his movements just a little bit.

Before he can respond, he hears another voice get through the chatter and music and reach his ears.

“Buck!” Chimney calls, and Buck looks over his shoulder to find everyone’s eyes on him, amused expressions on their faces. “Don’t distract our cook, we’re starving!”

“I’m just scolding him for taking his shirt off.” Buck says easily, then adds a little louder, to Tommy but making sure everyone hears, “Babe, you’re gonna burn yourself, you’re a firefighter, you should know better.” He shakes his head, and Tommy looks back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re gonna pretend like you don’t approve?”

“Oh, I so don’t, Tommy, at all.” Buck tries to keep a straight face, but a chuckle bubbles out of him anyway. “You’re such a distraction, this is dangerous for everyone here.”

“I think you’re the only one with that problem, Buckaroo.” Hen laughs, and only then Buck remembers everyone’s still paying attention to them. It’s so easy to get lost in Tommy, to feel like it’s just them, even in a crowd of people. So distracting. It’s a hazard, really. He should keep Tommy away from everyone, preferably locked in the bedroom with him, for everyone’s safety.

___

no pressure tags (lmk if you wanna be added or removed):

@dr-shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @ladydorian05 @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @rainbow-nerdss @pirrusstuff @bucks-daddy-issues @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @diazheartsbuckley @giddyupbuck @thewolvesof1998 @underwaterninja13 @your-catfish-friend @kinard-buckley @evansboyfriend @beyourownanchor6 @weewootruck @kirkaut @jewishbuckley @loveyouanyway @daffi-990 @lonelychicago @bibuckkinard @spotsandsocks @bucked-it-up @theotherbuckley @drcloyd @bidisasterevankinard @hippolotamus @girlwonder-writes @perfectlysunny02 @dadbodbuck @kinkleydiaz @diazsdimples @aringofsalt

[philomena-famulok]

©Philomena Famulok

mixed media, 2023

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Steve being a mean girl

A snippet of what I'm working on for my next coming part of 'Bark At the Moon' though if you don't want to read it that's fine you can read this scene all by itself :) It isn't in the fic yet but will be when I'm done writing

Link to Bark At The Moon

TW; The word queer is being used in a derogatory way and is only used once and is in the first paragraph under the keep reading line.

Tonight was like any other night. Steve sitting up on the front counter, feet up reading something while he waited for his shift to be over. Robin had finished stock hours ago and was sitting far as possible from Steve. But still near him. She was doing some crossword puzzle, her hair freshly cut into a bob as they both stay in silence. Neither of them hops up when they hear the familiar bell ring. 

Steve simply glances up over what he was reading. Seeing that it was some group of bitchy girls. All of them were younger than him and he can't help but roll his eyes at the way they were acting. Silently reminding himself that they were in fact still children. Looking down at his paper he doesn't pay any more attention to them until he hears them mumbling things. His senses were heightened and he could hear everything they were saying.

"Can't believe they let freaks work here." One of them whispers to another. Steve assumes they were talking about him, he's heard far worst and didn't really care. The girls were trying to keep their words silent and hushed except for one. There was always one.

"Poor guy has to sit next to a queer all night. Honestly, they should pay him more for compensation." The girl's voice is obnoxious and Steve can hear Robin's fidgeting become far worst. Her face is red and Steve was getting pissed. His wolf was fully prepared to literally eat the brunette with horrible eyeshadow on. He could also feel the anxiety raising from Robin whose hands were starting to shake around the crossword she was working on. Not really looking down at it anymore, her eyes may be but her mind wasn't.

Steve moves sitting up as he acts casual. Humming as he acts like he didn't hear the girls. Moving and scouting them for a second, eyes flickering back to Robin who was trying to sneakily look up from where she sat to see what he was doing. Her eyes were watery and that was all he needed to commit to what he was doing. 

He watches the girls go to a blind spot, an area that the managers have been trying to get a camera on for a while. But no one was trying to steal stuffed animals. As it was far too easy to get caught. Steve gasps loudly, causing all of the girls to turn around to look at him with confusion. He knocks all of the teddy bears down on the ground on purpose. Watching them all jump back. 

"Oh my god, I can't believe you girls were trying to steal." He gasps. "And all for a teddy bear? God, I'm going to have to call the cops. Hey Robin, how fast do you think the cops can get here for shoplifting!" Steve yells loudly. Staring at all of the girls that have gone a bit pale. The one that had decided to open her mouth earlier was moving to open it again. But before she can he's gasping as he picks up one of the makeup pallets that was set on the shelf next to the teddy bear. All were outdated and from February, but the store was still determined to sell them. 

"Oh honey, no wonder you're trying to steal this terrible makeup pallet as well. It's okay, not all of us have good taste when it comes to doing makeup. I have a friend, her name is Carol. I can give you her number if you want to learn how to mask being a bigoted piece of shit better." He says with a pout of his lip. "Or did I just use a big word for you babe?" He's being dramatic in the way he talks. Cocking his hip out with purpose as a grin works its way to his face. 

Most of the girls were starting to cry, and the ring leader's face was red from what was most likely embarrassment. It's been a while since he's had to be a mean girl but damn did it feel good. He was doing it partially for himself, but mostly for Robin who didn't deserve the shit they were trying to give her. He knew that she might not like what he was doing, but he knew if he didn't do something then the silence of saying nothing was going to do more harm than embarrassing her. He runs a hand through his hair as he sets the makeup back down on the shelf as he hums. 

"So, this is how it's going to go. Either you A, cooperate and give me the stolen merchandise and give me and Buckley your names and ID's so you can be permanently banned from the store, or B, you don't cooperate and we call the cops. And trust me, I don't think Chief Hopper will be too pleased waking up just to deal with your sorry asses. If you guys haven't heard, I kind of went missing and now I have the chief's personal phone number on speed dial." he says with a cocky grin. 

Sure, he was lying. He didn't have Hopper's personal phone number but it was so worth lying over if it meant scaring the shit out of these girls. All of them look at each other before looking defeated and following Steve up to the front. Who makes sure to move and lock the front doors so they didn't try to book it. He moves pulling out his phone as he sees that Robin was no longer sitting at the front counter. Which was understandable as he begins to ruin these girls' nights just like they had his coworkers. 

[overtake]

This is a super short (550-ish words) snippet from the maxiel hockey au I got 30k into before life got in the way. I’ll probably never finish it, so have this random scene. For context, Daniel is staying at Max’s home because he has an ankle injury and the only bedroom at his own place had stairs.

Daniel hears Max before he sees him. Based on the frantic pounding down the stairs, you’d think Max was being chased by a fucking murderer.

“Daniel,” the shadowy figure in Daniel’s doorframe says in a shaky, frantic voice. Daniel hasn’t kept his door shut since the cats first started scratching at it and demanding to be let in, and he briefly wonders in the recesses of his sleep-addled mind if Max has ever Edward from Twilighted him and just watched him sleep.

“Hmmph?” Daniel manages. His brain is thick and sluggish through the foggy, sleep haze surrounding it. He tries to prop himself up on one elbow and immediately fails.

“There’s a spider in my room,” Max hisses, as if he’s scared the spider might somehow hear him and immediately attack. “Can you come kill it?”

“I am not walking up stairs right now,” Daniel groans. It was a brutal PT session, and he spent half his afternoon with his ankle wrapped in ice and elevated. Plus, he’s not exactly fond of spiders either.

“I can’t sleep in there,” Max says, and Daniel wants so badly to make fun of him, but there’s an edge of real panic in his voice. Also, Daniel is even more scared of far more embarrassing shit, so he’d never win.

“Stay in here,” Daniel says, reaching an arm behind him to flop at the empty space. “Plenty of room.”

Max only hesitates for a second before crawling in. “Are you sure?” he asks, like he isn’t already sticking his cold toes against Daniel for warmth.

“The terrors will probably kill the spider by morning for us,” Daniel says, letting his head drop back onto his pillow.

“Jimmy and Sassy are not terrors. It’s not nice how you talk about them,” Max says primly as a crash echoes from somewhere upstairs. Daniel doesn’t dignify him with a response.

He feels Max’s weight settle behind him, and a hand reaches out as his eyes drift back shut and lightly caresses his exposed shoulder. “Thank you, Daniel.”

In the morning, Daniel wakes up to find Max curled in a ball around a pillow he somehow stole from under Daniel’s head, quietly letting out cute little snores. Sassy is lying content on the floor nearby with half a dead spider dangling out her mouth.

“That’s your problem to collect and throw away,” he tells a sleeping Max. He’s got freckles on his shoulders, Daniel notices, a whole constellation of them decorating the broad, pale canvas.

He fights the urge to trace the space between them and instead collects Max’s morning Red Bull from the fridge. He leaves it to drip condensation on the bedside table closest to Max’s pillow-creased face, next to a little note that Daniel is out for his morning walk.

Max texts him twenty minutes in to his stroll.

Max Verstappen: thanks for the red bull. okay if i stay again if we don’t find the spider? It was huge.

Daniel gnaws at his cuticle, contemplating his response for half a second. It’s not like he has proof that spider was the one Max saw. Sassy probably got rid of the evidence, so he can’t ask. He doesn’t want to make Max sleep in a room that makes him anxious.

Daniel Ricciardo: Of course. Better to be safe. That spider could be deadly.

Max Verstappen: Need your Australian powers to scare it off

Daniel Ricciardo: 🤺🤺🤺

When he opens the kitchen bin later that day, he sees the body of the spider sitting on the top.

“Crazy girl. You learned how to open the bin,” he coos to Sassy, aiming for a head scratch she runs away from and pretending he doesn’t see the very human tissue wrapped around the remains.

[starlightvld]

Up in Smoke

(Also on AO3)

The first time Ghost rips the cigarette from Soap's mouth, drops it on the ground, and stomps on it as he passes by, Soap is too stunned to say anything for a full ten seconds. They've only been working together consistently for a couple of missions, and even as his superior officer, the audacity of the action floors him.

By the time his brain restarts, Ghost is long gone.

--

The second time Ghost steals Soap's cigarette, he bursts out in a string of Scottish curses and tackles Ghost from behind before the wanker can drop it on the ground. An impromptu sparring match ensues, fists and curses flying. 

Afterward, he doesn't feel much like a cigarette anymore — not with the split lip, anyway. Besides, the buzzing under his skin that usually drives him to smoke is just... gone.

Price catches wind of the incident, of course, and calls them into his office a few hours later. By that time Soap has calmed down enough to be... maybe not okay with it, but at least able to see the humor. 

"What's this about you muppets scuffling by the smoking area?"

"Just a little sparring to blow off steam," Soap says.

"Ghost?"

"Nothin' to worry about, Captain."

"No? I've got one soldier who looks like he just got back from a bar fight, and the other..." He squints at Ghost. "He get a hit in on you, too?"

"Yeah," Ghost replies in that deadpan tone of his. "Coupla black eyes."

It's a joke. 

Ghost is telling a joke. And it's objectively not funny. It's not. But Soap bursts into hysterical laughter all the same. 

The corners of Ghost's blacked-out eyes crinkle. 

Price rubs his temples before dropping his hand on his desk. Soap presses his lips together to contain his laughter.

"Sparring happens in the gym. I'm sure you know the place. It's where we have things like mats and gloves. I catch you two bare-knuckle fighting again, and you will regret it."

And it's enough to sober Soap up. He avoids Ghost as he ducks away to catch dinner.

--

The third time... well, no. He supposes that's really the fourth time. 

Because the actual third time, Soap had come back from a shit mission where everything went wrong. Intel was faulty, exfil was delayed, and people under his command died. It didn't happen as often in SAS as it had in the regulars — the soldiers here were well-trained and hard to kill — but that made it all the worse. 

When Ghost tried to pluck the cigarette from his mouth, Soap growled. 

"Back the fuck up, Lt. Or Price is gonna be disappointed in both of us."

Ghost paused, and their eyes met. Slowly, Ghost lowered his hand. 

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Fuck no."

"Thank God."

Soap didn't have it in him to even huff a laugh. He took a long drag and blew the smoke away from Ghost as a peace offering.

To his surprise, Ghost didn't leave. He spun around and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. They stood there together, utterly silent, as Soap let the heat and sting in his lungs soothe the beast inside that wanted to rip the world apart.

When he was done, though, he was surprised to find he didn't want another. Usually after shit missions, he'd stand there and smoke half a pack before his hands would stop shaking.

He finally met Ghost's eyes. The man quirked a barely visible brow.

"S'pose we should take it to the mats this time?"

Ghost pushed off the building and started walking. Soap followed like a lost child looking for a way home. 

--

The fourth time is in Chicago. His hands are shaking not from losing soldiers but from almost losing his own life. The cigarette trembles in his grip as he stands outside the bar, the biting wind turning his fingers and probably his lips blue. He lifts it to his mouth, inhaling deep—

And then it's gone.

The whine that bubbles up from his gut and bursts from his throat is nothing short of humiliating. But God. God. He needs it.

"Not now. Please, Ghost."

"Why?"

Ghost hasn't thrown the cigarette down. Yet. He cocks his head to the side and gives Soap a long look. Soap can only tremble from the cold and a need that goes deeper than a simple hit of nicotine.

"I just... I need it."

The cigarette drops to the ground, but Soap doesn't have time to lament the loss before that same hand is curling around Soap's neck and pulling him into a fucking massive chest. The other arm comes around Soap's shoulders and...

Ghost just stands there, holding him. And Soap can't help melting into the warmth and solidity of the man who saved his life just hours ago. He dares to curl in deeper. To raise his hands and clutch at Ghost's jacket. To let a few, silent tears escape his tight control.

Finally, his muscles relax. Ghost must feel it, because he turns and leads Soap back toward the bar.

"Why do ye even care?" Soap mumbles from his spot tucked into Ghost's side.

"Because those things'll kill ya."

Soap supposes the "I like you alive" is implied at this point.

--

Soap loses count after Chicago. He gets stretches of days when Ghost is on a solo op or out with one of the other operators when he can smoke in peace. So he does.

At first.

He's been hooked since he was a rebellious teen trying to make his mark on the world. He's tried to quit multiple times, but it never seems to stick. The first bad mission or adrenaline-filled near miss and he's back at whatever smoking spot he can find, puffing away.

He finds himself trying to cut back, though, even when Ghost is away.

Any time Ghost is on base, all bets are off. In addition to darting by and making a grab for it or sneaking up behind him and flicking it out of his hands, Ghost has gotten more creative. Sometimes Soap will pull out a cigarette only to find he's "lost" his lighter. Sometimes the cigarettes themselves go missing — he clutches his chest and mourns all that wasted money whenever a whole pack disappears. 

He supposes it's all just going up in smoke anyway, though.

He should be angry. But in truth, it's almost a relief to hand over the reins to Ghost. To let the man help him by annoying the shit out of him until he wants to give up on it entirely.

Which is definitely the point. Ghost has made that perfectly clear.

So, whenever he gets the urge to calm his racing thoughts or overactive mind with a cigarette, he finds Ghost and annoys him instead. They talk, or spar, or simply sit in silence together, doing their own thing. Ghost doesn't often touch him — their moment in Chicago is still the closest Soap's ever gotten to the elusive Ghost — but he also doesn't push Soap away when he slumps into Ghost's side after a hard day or leans over his back when he's sitting at the table in the 141's common area on base.

The urge doesn't go away, of course. And sometimes, when things get really bad, Ghost will just sit or stand with him like he did the third time. Still, he finds himself smoking less and hanging out with Ghost more.

--

The last time Ghost steals a cigarette from Soap, he simply stands beside Soap and holds out his hand. Soap immediately knows something has gone terribly wrong. Still, he's too invested in the game now to not hand the cigarette over.

He nearly keels over when Ghost pulls up his mask and takes a long, hard drag. Soap watches in fascination as his cheeks hollow, his neck muscles strain, his lips curve around the paper. It's erotic in a way he really shouldn't be thinking about in regards to his emotionally unavailable superior officer, but the knowledge hasn't stopped him yet. Since that day in Chicago — probably before if he's honest — he's only ever wanted to be closer.

Ghost coughs a little and hands the cigarette back.

"Fuck. Just as disgusting as I remember."

"Ye used to smoke, then?"

"Before I joined up, yeah. Hated it, though."

"The smell? Or—"

"Everything. The taste, the smell, the heat..." Ghost trails off, his hand rubbing over his bicep in a strangely specific way. He shakes his head and looks back at Soap. "Not your problem, Johnny. Forget about it."

Soap's hand is darting out, fingers curling into Ghost's jacket, before he's properly thought through the action. Ghost pauses before turning back. They stare in silence for a moment until—

Soap stubs out the half-burned cigarette and drops the butt in the trash. He licks his lips. Glances up at Ghost. The mask is still sitting on his nose, and Soap stares at his lips for longer than he should before pulling the pack out of his pocket and throwing it in the trash, too.

"Cannae have ye thinking I stink, can I?"

"Too late."

But Ghost's throat bobs with a hard swallow. Soap wets his lips, takes a step closer, and uncurls his fingers to slide his hand up Ghost's chest until his fingertips are resting on Ghost's shirt collar.

"I dinnae think it is."

Ghost turns and walks away. Soap closes his eyes and drops his hand, internally cursing his impulsive behavior. The scuffing of boots walking away from him is like nails on a chalk board.

Until they stop, and a gruff voice calls out, "You comin'?"

A slow smile slides across Soap's mouth. "No' yet."

A huff — exasperation? laughter? a bit of both? — before, "Better get movin' then."

And Soap has never been more glad to follow an order.

[timethehobo]

Offering everyone a tiny Emmrich because I think I’m too far gone.

[wispscribbles]

why are you and your drawings so cool 😭🙏

afdsasdfasg thank you !! irl ppl would laugh at me being called cool lol - Have a ghoap as thanks <33

[dirtbagdefender]

little story snippet under the cut.

"hey," steve greets him with a grin, moving aside to let him in the house like he has dozens of times. within seconds, he clues into the weird tension in the air as billy stays standing on the porch, feet planted. his smile melts away as he looks over billy's face, looking for anything that might give him insight as to why he's so tense. the only one he comes up with is that billy won't look him in the eye, his gaze focused somewhere on steve's cheek. it makes his mouth go dry instantly.

billy's got a fresh cig out and lit, a single thin finger of smoke drifting off of it. steve hates that it makes him look more dangerous. more cool. more addictive.

"what's up?" he asks, his focus narrowing. like nothing else matters, he watches billy tilt to look at the ground, pulling a thick lungful from the cigarette before coming back up to look at him - finally - in the eye.

"max told me something interesting tonight and i just needed to hear it from the horse's mouth." he starts and steve's insides all flop over at the same time, like the world has tilted.

he loses the air in his lungs, staring.

billy's talking and it feels like steve's gonna puke, but he can't look away from him. billy's eyes are dark in the night, almost as dark as his own. they remind him of a shark's, especially when billy finally grins, the tips of his teeth looking sharp as words float out with the smoke.

"so, you date me." he drawls the words out, like they've got all night to talk about this. like billy's belly isn't twisting exactly like steve's right now. "you tell me you love me." a pause and steve has to remind himself to breathe at the lightheadedness that threatens to topple him over. "and then you lie to me about it?" steve doesn't know when his eyes dipped to billy's heart like he could see he heartache for himself, as if it's not printed clear as day on billy's face.

maybe looking at a broken heart would be easier than looking at the heartbreak on his boyfriend's face.

"i didn't lie to you." he doesn't know why he says it quite like that. but it rings true. it wasn't billy he lied to. he finally moves his eyes back up to billy's, hoping he can read the truth that's at the core of him.

he can see the extra eyeliner billy had put on, covering the red that rims his eyes.

billy's an easy crier, and steve watches in horror as his eyes fill with tears, making them glisten. he's got pretty eyes, with naturally long lashes that makes steve's heart twist every time billy looks at him, and the extra wetness only makes them shine prettier, showcasing just how dark they are. he watches as billy's face scrunches up, cheeks flushing up with the tears as his voice cracks, his words barely coming out.

"yes, you—"

steve can't let him continue this line of thinking. he wants to reach for him, but he doesn't know if he could take billy flinching away from him right now, so he opts for standing firm. tall. steady. "you know i didn't." he says, billy's chin wavering in his face. he can't be the reason for billy crying. he would never forgive himself.

steve's told exactly two people that he's been in love with them. one was nancy wheeler when they had been in their sophomore year, and now, billy hargrove.

[tracle0]

hey writerblr

Snippet Sunday? Is that anything? Post a snippet on a nice Sunday and maybe pick out a few - say, three or five - other snippets from others to comment something nice on? Could be cool and groovy? Oughhh you want to do this so bad