#soap is simping over male reader

[doggoboigaugau]

Stray dog (Part 7)

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Summary: Male Reader apologizes to Ghost after the incident. The two men confess.

Word count: 1516

Warning: Slight description of violent thoughts.

And here he is. Without the skull mask. The face of the man that has appeared so many times in your dream. Blond hair, long and perfectly curling eyelashes that slightly shadow his brown eyes. A long scar that starts at the corner of his left eyebrow, pretty near to his piercing, and runs down to the corner of his mouth. He looks even prettier than you could ever imagine. But you would never wish that you’ll see his real face for the first time in such a scenario like this. You gulp, trying not to stare at the three red scratches on his right cheek.

“I– I’m sorry…” Finally, you muster enough courage to say the words. Your mind thought of what had brought you here, into this embarrassing situation. You and the first man you’ve ever had a real crush on, Fyodor, met again after years of no contact. You lost yourself and found a place to fall into your old habit of burning your arm with cigarettes. Ghost found out, people started to surround you, and you got mad and attacked him like a rabid dog before running away. Then, Soap showed up in front of your door, and stayed with you in your room for a while, helping you to mentally prepare for this difficult ‘speech’ of apology.

Ghost looks at you, his brown eyes narrow, probably to gauge how sincere you are with your apology. The three scratches on his cheek that no one but you caused during the motion glow so bright to your eyes that it makes you feel even more guilty and horrible than you already were. 

“Y/n, did you know you strip my mask off during that little act of yours? In front of everyone?” Ghost hisses, obviously very angry and disappointed.

You widen your eyes, feeling a lump in your throat as you try to say something. Anything. But you know nothing can fix what you caused. It’s because of you that everyone there has seen Ghost’s face, the thing that he has put effort into to hide from people. 

Soap says, “Look, I’m not trying to underestimate the severity of this situation, but I just wanna say that I did step up and help Ghost to hide his face in time before anyone can have a good look at its prettiness.”

Now Ghost’s burning eyes turn to Soap and the Scottish man chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry… You two continue, I won’t butt in.”

Again, the man of your dream turns his attention back to you, and you have to embarrassingly admit to yourself that he still looks so hot being angry like this. You turn your head slightly to the side with the hope that none of the two men will notice how blushingly red your cheeks and neck have gotten. 

“Look straight in my eyes, Y/n.” The man roars.

Tremblingly, you turn your head back to look him in the eyes as he demands.

“Why did you do that to yourself?” Ghost asks, as he grabs your left arm and lifts it up to emphasize his point. His fingers squeeze around your flesh so tightly that you unknowingly grimace.

“I– I don’t really know…” You stutter. The Brit is furious, his aura is powerful and intimidating, and you can do nothing but shrink in his raged presence. 

“You don’t know? YOU DON’T KNOW??” Simon grits each word through his teeth.

Tears brim in your eyes again, “I don’t know! Alright? It’s just… I just felt this burning anger inside my body, my stomach, and I wanted to… do something… to hurt someone! I wanted to punch someone really hard in the face multiple times! And then when they fell to their knees, I’d kick them really hard in the face. Then– then I’d peel their skin off! But I cannot hurt anyone but myself, so I did it! I burnt my arm and it made me feel better!”

Simon stares blankly at you, saying nothing but breathing heavily. Soap observes you two carefully, his eyes move between you and Simon.

You expect Simon to scream back at you, calling you ugly names, like a failure, a monster, a psychopath, a liability, or just a crazy, unloveable dog. But all his reaction is a surprisingly soft, trembling voice, “This is the first time you’ve ever opened up to us…”

Your big puppy eyes widen again at the man, as never in your dream would anyone respond this way to such bloody, concerning words.

“W-what?”

“I said, this is the first time you’ve ever opened up to us.” The man ‘kindly’ repeats the sentence for you, and Soap almost bursts out laughing. The Scot is notorious for laughing in unfitting circumstances.

“Well, actually he opened up to me just a few minutes ago.” Soap jokes.

“Shut up, Soap.” Simon rolls his eyes annoyedly. 

“Sorry, sorry…” Soap giggles and then does the ‘zipping’ motion across the line of his mouth to indicate that he won’t butt in again and he’s serious this time.

“Y/n, why is it so hard for you to open up? To trust us?” Simon proceeds, his brown eyes glittering in the dim sunlight that manages to pass through many layers of blinds into his own dark room as if he’s crying. But he is not, because there is no tear. 

Seeing that you’re not replying, he pries further, “Why??”

It’s quite ridiculous to think that it turns out Simon is the one who has this kind of talk with you. About ‘Why don't you just open up?’. Admittedly, no one will expect this seemingly emotionless man under that legendary skull mask and with the thickest shell ever to be forcing this conversation onto you. You thought he must’ve known why. You thought you two are somewhat similar, and he’ll understand why you do the things you do. Two wounded children who have to spend a lifetime trying to find ways to ease the pain engraved so deeply in their souls. He should’ve known…and helped you to avoid opening up about it. Instead, unfortunately, he’s here, making you pour your heart out.

“Alright! I’ll tell you why!” You shout, and the mountain of a man flinches, obviously not expecting you to be so harsh, “I’m just– not really good at maintaining relationships, OK?” Your brain starts playing tricks on you again, as Fyodor’s face pops so vividly inside your mind, along with the memories between you and him, and between you and some other people whom you wish things could’ve been different… 

“I don’t understand how relationships work. I don’t understand how other people do it so easily. I don’t know, they just… they send each other stupid messages, stupid little jokes and memes, and then they hang out with each other,... I try to do the exact same things as them, but still I can’t. Everything that has me in it is just meant to end sooner or later. No matter how much effort I put into a relationship, it still ends in one way or another. It’s just– I’m just– different.” You stop to catch your breath. It feels like your heart can jump out of your ribs at any moment now and it’s hard to breathe. Then, you realize your vision is blurry, and that you’ve been crying this whole time.

Simon is silent for a while, before speaking again, “So… you don’t believe any relationship will work for you, so you just don’t open up to avoid…”

“Attachment.” You say. Breathlessly. “I will never be who I want to be.”

“What do you mean?” Simon is right in front of you. You two are so close now that you can feel the heat of his body radiating around you, as if it’s wrapping you up in the warm cloth of a blanket. He lifts his hand and wipes your tears rolling down on your rosy cheek with his rough thumb.

“I want to be…a happy, humorous, and likable person. Someone who can crack funny jokes. Someone with a positive and attractive aura. Someone who can make people immediately like them and want to be around them. Someone who has a lot of friends, knows a lot of people,... Someone is able to give love in return…”

“I’m pretty sure you’re already such a person.” Simon speaks gently, his voice is soft and warm.

“No. It’s just a facade. A mask. The truth is I’m a despicable person filled with ugly thoughts and jealousy.” You shake your head.

“What’s so fun wishing to be someone else?” Soap suddenly speaks up after being silent and observing you two for so long. He moves closer to you too, and now you realize you’re being cornered by both of the men. As you instinctively take a few steps back to maintain a ‘safe’ distance, the Scot smirks dangerously, amused at how scared you appear to be and how your adorable puppy eyes nervously dart between him and Simon.

“We love you for who you really are.”

*

To be continued... (Our men finally confess...)

Taglist:@justdawn @killmeprettypleasee @livelaugh-light @therealppboy @arthurmorgansballsack @redjeanjacket @gay-as-hell-blog @b0g-b0y @somothegraffitiartist @kodasstar @teippirulla @aphroditeslovr @peter-the-pan @wvandahoe@c0nny3917@talia-the-gemini

[delirious-donna]

Who? [Kiba Inuzuka]

an: this is a repost of an old story I wrote for @tired-biscuit who we all know is the biggest kiba girlie on the planet. I've reworked it and added an extra 2k (sorry not sorry). Hopefully, it gets a few reads.

pairing: Kiba Inuzuka x female reader

warnings: NSFW, modern AU, friends to lovers trope, characters in late 20s, angst, toxic males (sorry Asuma, Obito, Itachi and Hidan simps!), pussy eating, blowjob after sex, unprotected sex, cum swallowing, biting and marking.

Masterlist

He eyed you with the utmost disdain.

Glowing amber eyes raked from the toes of your scuffed Converse to the brim of the baseball hat that peeked from under your hoodie. A sleek dark eyebrow rose, stern in admonishment of your haggard appearance and you could scream at him for it.

You knew you looked god awful—felt it too—but did he need to sneer quite so fucking openly? Even from the door of the coffee shop, you knew he was going to give you absolute hell, motherfucker couldn't help himself at the best of times. Some best friend he was.

Kiba Inuzuka appeared his usual well-put-together self, the epitome of the aloof bad boy that most girls had that annoying phase of wanting more than reason should allow. Sickening really, but you loved him regardless. Platonically, of course… of course.

He sat with arms crossed at your favoured table in the back corner, his arms tightly crossed over his wide chest and forcing the cotton of the black tee he wore to work to its limit to contain the muscles beneath. You spied his foot stretched out as he practically manspread in his chair, and the ominous tap of his heavy biker boot sounded like the tolls of a church bell as you walked toward him and your doom.

The strands of his chestnut brown hair were tousled in a sexy 'I just got fucked' style that was meant to look like he had rolled right out of whatever bed he had spent the previous night in. However, you knew the truth of it. That particular look took him a straight forty-five minutes to perfect each morning, and you were tempted to ruffle your hand through it just to piss him off more but you didn’t have a death wish–not today.

You always gave him shit for how long it took him to get ready in the mornings, many a time in your college years you had screeched about him being worse than the girls, and you were not wrong. If any of his floozies were to find out about his skincare regime their little airhead brains would likely implode from shock. Perhaps you should never have taught him that he needed to use more than bar soap on his face each morning, for the man owned more luxury beauty products than you did now.

"You look like shit," he offered with a shit-eating grin on his annoyingly handsome and punchable face.

The onset of summer highlighted the fresh dusting of freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and his usual sun-kissed skin darkened further from the abundance of scorching sunlight. Kiba was a true summer child, not something you shared with him as you opted to hide from the dangerous rays of the sun until the weather cooled into a more agreeable autumn temperature.

"Well, fuck you too, dickhead!"

You threw yourself haphazardly into the opposite chair, face screwed up from the squeal of metal on the polished floor and pouted.

"Could've at least bought me a drink. Not like you don't know what I like," you moaned sullenly.

Glancing over your shoulder you could see the line was almost at the door, and the thought of standing in it to get your much-needed fix of caffeine sounded like hell on earth. With your best puppy dog eyes, you rounded back to Kiba who was watching you fixedly, jaw set in a firm line.

"Oh no. I already stood in that queue, had to almost sell my soul to Satan himself to get the last apple danish. It's not my fault that you're so hungover that you can't face standing up for longer than a minute," he all but yelled at you.

Kiba was more pissed than you had expected, you must have really caused a scene for him to be this level of mad at you. Caffeine was your biggest weakness, and he knew it. Groaning loudly as you rubbed at your aching temples, you tried to replay the snippets of what you remembered from the previous night.

Anger snapped at your fingers. The burn of absolute fury had you rubbing at your chest in discomfort, and you well remembered the slap you had landed with the stinging pain that still lingered on your palm. A face you would much rather forget loomed into your mind's eye, tall and dark-haired. A cocky lopsided smile on his face as he tried to wave away your well-founded accusations.

Goddamn Obito Uchiha, he was the devil incarnate. Nothing but a cheating scumbag that had promised you the world but in the end gave you only hell and one heck of a headache.

You could recall the heated whispers of your girlfriends, the words that had curdled your stomach and caused your pulse to pound in your ears. Your boyfriend had been seen by multiple reliable sources engaged in acts that should solely be reserved for you. He had fallen back into the arms of his ex, and he didn't even have the decency to end things before he went and stuck his dick in her.

Sure, you could have handled things better, you knew that, but he had it coming to him.

"Kiba," you whined, "I know that I probably didn't do myself any favours last night, but you can't tell me that he wasn't asking for it? The bastard cheated on me! A slap to the face was hardly the end of the world..."

You fell silent whilst his stare iced over instantly.

The warmth of his amber-flecked eyes was gone in a heartbeat, cold fury descended over his face as he leant forward with his arms braced on the table. You couldn't help but admire the black ink that ran from his left elbow and slipped beneath the sleeve of his fitted t-shirt. His bicep flexed as he pointed a thick finger in your face.

"Are you serious? You think I'm pissed at you for throwing a piss poor slap at that self-centred prick?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Be quiet," he added as your mouth popped open to shoot back your reply.

"Course he deserved it, and the rest of what he got..."

You frowned at the ominous statement in confusion, suddenly eyeing his hands intently, and as you had suspected, the knuckles were raw and split open in places. That only ever happened when… Icy dread whispered down your spine at the unwelcome thought.

"What I am downright furious about is the scene you made after that slap. Don't you remember shouting your damn head off, screeching like a fucking banshee for 'that bitch' as you called her? Must have slipped your mind that you stormed right across the bar, literally pushing over your friends that just wanted to help and then threw up all over the pinball machine, yeah?"

You blanched, literally feeling the colour drain from your face as you did indeed recall flashes of what he spat at you so venomously. All you wanted was for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, instead, you raised your hands to cover your face, or at least, you tried.

A rough hand wrapped around your wrist and forcefully removed it from your mortified face.

"Uh-uh, I got more to say and you are gonna listen, so perk those little ears up mama. I could forgive you yelling like a lunatic and spewing your load, god knows I'm more than aware you're such a damn lightweight. What I cannot forgive is you running out the door and going fuck knows where!"

He was getting louder and you cringed.

It felt like a thousand eyes were on the pair of you, and it made the introvert in you crumble like a sandcastle being overwhelmed by the ocean. You had wondered why you'd awoken in your childhood bedroom, why the window was wide open and your dad was holding a baseball bat over his head as you emerged from the cocoon of bedsheets. Old habits die hard and sneaking in and out of your bedroom window proved to be one of them even though you had long moved out of your parents’ home.

Your mouth was drier than a desert, tongue heavy in your mouth as Kiba finished his tirade. He huffed through his nose like an angry bull, and with only the jut of his jaw, he silently demanded a response. The problem was, you didn't know what to say, surely you were out of excuses for the poor choices you had made. It seemed like this was a cycle you were meant to repeat from now until the end of time.

Step One – find a new boyfriend who would quickly become your obsession.

Step Two – Kiba would either know them already or meet them only to immediately disapprove and ask you to end things. Ask was putting it mildly too.

Step Three – you and he would argue like squabbling schoolchildren until one of you stormed out, resulting in a period of silence.

Step Four – said boyfriend would reveal his true colours in the most atrocious of ways and annoyingly prove Kiba right time and again.

Step Five – Kiba picked up the broken pieces of your heart and soul, glueing them back together with an ever-patient hand. Although he never failed to tell you, ‘I told you so.’

Repeat.

Shame burned in your chest, the feeling filled you from head to toe and it was enough to intensify the headache that crested through your brain like waves on a turbulent sea. All this and you had no damn coffee to at least take the very edge off your misery.

What could you say?

You had acted like a selfish brat with those actions, your friend had every right to be angry at you and it was only then you noticed the dark shadows that lingered beneath Kiba's eyes. You grabbed his hand and held it tightly in your own when he tried to withdraw, pulling it toward you.

"Please don't tell me you've been up all night cause of me?"

He shrugged and again tried to pull his hand free, but he didn't truly fight you. It was evident to both of you that if he wanted to retrieve his hand, he would be able to do so with ease. He grunted in reply and looked pointedly over your shoulder.

Fuck!

"I'm sorry," you whispered with a slight hiccup, fighting the flow of tears that threatened to spill upon the bougie-looking rustic tabletop. A fingertip traced a gnarled knot, it grounded you and kept you from completely losing it.

"Kiba, please. I'm sorry, it won't happen again. I know I've said that before but I mean it, I do, I promise. No more idiots and no more making an absolute fool of myself."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

His tone had returned to a more amicable level, with a smirk unfolding on his lips and you knew that the worst of the storm was over.

Worry had been at the core of his fury, not knowing where you were until you had texted him upon waking at your parent’s house. Frantic fingers flew across the keys whilst listening to your dad's yells of indignation about how you should have used the damn front door instead of climbing in through your old bedroom window.

This really was the straw to break the camel's back.

It was exhausting, the emotional toll enough to have you curled into a tight ball on most nights. True that the highs were intoxicatingly good, but the lows were soul-suckingly abysmal. It was time that you stopped endlessly chasing around after men who were never worth your time and effort. Maybe if you stopped searching, the right man would find you instead.

"I'm done, I promise," you reiterated with a steely determination in your eye.

Kiba tipped back in his chair, assessing your words and finding them to be genuine. His normal goofy smile manifested and it was like the first ray of sunshine you had seen in weeks. He truly was the best friend you could ever ask for, and when he stood with a sigh, you realised you couldn't love him anymore.

"Caramel macchiato?"

Or could you?

–

Kiba had known it wouldn't last, it never did, so why would this time be any different?

The trouble was that he adored you from the tip of your sharp tongue right down to your uncoordinated feet that stumbled and fumbled no matter how hard you tried to keep your balance. The pair of you had been friends since your schooldays and you were both prominent figures within your wider social group. What he didn't like about you, and was not quiet about, was your god-awful taste in men.

You couldn't help it, you were downright adorable so of course, men were always gonna be drawn to you, but did you have to pick the worst scumbags imaginable? He had never believed that one person could get it wrong over and over without at least learning some kind of lesson. It must be some kind of imbalance in your brain and it was astonishing, to say the least.

Over the years you had gone through phases, such as the bad boy stage where you swore blind that you could reform idiotic womanizing players like Asuma Sarutobi. Everyone and their grandmother knew that Asuma could not keep his eyes, and hands, off the ladies. It was never going to matter how many times in a day you fucked him, he was destined to stray and stray he did.

Kiba was there to pick up the pieces, to reassure you that it was most definitely his loss, and no, he didn't think you needed to lose any fucking weight! Why would you even think that? He didn’t always understand women and the fascination with weight was his biggest bugbear. 

Then there was the sophiscated phase which he referred to as the smugly quiet phase. Itachi Uchiha was only a few years older than you but damn did he act like he was a motherfucking elder. The condescending smiles, the little tuts and eye rolls at what he deemed to be childish acts and that low almost monotonous tone that spoke volumes about his feelings, or lack thereof.

Again, Kiba had warned you off but you chose to ignore him as usual.

Instead, he waited until Itachi sat you down and told you abruptly that you were too immature for him, effectively breaking your heart in all the time it took him to blink those feminine-looking long dark eyelashes of his. Kiba was there for you to cry upon his shoulder, to wipe your snotty nose and assure you that you were not immature, that dude was just an old ass fuddy-duddy.

Obito had simply been the latest in a long line of utter morons, and part of him had desperately hoped you would keep your word this time. The one thing he was glad about was that you had never dated within your friendship circle, though it hadn't stopped some of the guys from trying.

You would never know about the times he had forcibly taken aside the likes of Naruto and Shikamaru, the muttered threats of mortal wounds and outright death if they so much as dared to touch you. Kiba was always met with nervous chuckles, reassuring pats on the shoulder and hastily sworn oaths that they would keep their distance. Shikamaru had even looked downright pleased with himself, as if he knew something that Kiba didn’t and that encounter had lingered with him for a long while.

It had been a good month since you swore 'til you were blue in the face that you were done chasing men, a record for you but it had all come tumbling down when Hidan entered the fray.

Hidan–a dude who swore he had no last name. Seriously, who did he think he was, the goddamn pope? Perhaps he should have taken that final step much like Prince had done and changed his name into a symbol, it certainly wouldn't have made him any more pretentious.

The man clearly thought he was the next messiah and Kiba had taken an instant dislike to him. This time it was different and he couldn't shake the fear that gripped his heart. Worry gnawed at him, the sense that his guy was more than capable of drawing you into things that could endanger you. The saying goes that you should listen to your gut and Kiba took that very literally. His every instinct screamed of danger and put him on high alert for trouble.

Weeks had passed since you two first started dating and although he desperately wanted to teach you a lesson by giving you the usual silent treatment until you snapped, he refrained. Something stopped him, a niggling doubt that poked him at the most random of times. He wasn’t about to let something befall you on his watch, he’d never forgive himself if it did.

Instead, he watched much like a predator would, assessed this cocky-ass male and learned his weaknesses. Kiba knew Hidan hated to be called out on things, his word was law in his mind and that just grated on the Inuzuka to the worst possible level.

He remembered well the night that Hidan had cornered him as he left the bar restroom, his fist thundering into the wall next to his head in an attempt to intimidate him. It didn't take much for Kiba to snap, yet he managed to hold on to his composure this time. Fought to retain his sanity tooth and nail because he would not play into Hidan's hands, for this was a game to him.

"You wanna fuck her, dontcha?"

"Killing you to know that it's my dick that she sits on each and every chance she gets, huh? Cock hungry little slut that she is."

The inflammatory words had been like grenades exploding behind his eyes, what an utter cunt he was for speaking about you in such a derogatory manner. Kiba had stuffed his white-knuckled fists deep into his pockets, biting his tongue and pushing away from the sneering male without further incident.

In hindsight he was shocked that he had managed to keep it together and not outright punched the fucker–he wanted to���but then again so had Hidan. It was a part of his plan to isolate you, to keep you from your friends and family so that he could steal all your time and attention. He was the definition of a toxic male.

Manipulative fucker!

The Inuzuka drained his beer and let his head fall back against the couch cushions. He was at his wit's end, there was no plan to swirl inside his rampant brain that seemed likely to work.

How long had he ignored his feelings for you?

Too long was the answer. He doubted you were ever going fall into his arms as he wished, but he satisfied himself with being your ever-constant rock. If he could not have you, he would make damn sure that whoever was lucky enough to steal your heart treated you like a princess.

It hurt his heart, but it was better than the emptiness that came with the alternative.

Tired eyes looked towards his phone that was buzzing incessantly on the couch beside him, he palmed the device and looked at the screen to find your name illuminated like a beacon in the darkness of his lounge. He schooled his features although he knew you could not see him and answered the call.

"What's up?"

–

You were a dumbass.

There was no other way to describe how dense you were when it came to your love life. You had to wonder if you had a sign above your head that attracted the absolute worst of mankind to swarm you like insects. Was there something wrong with you? Were you actually a bad person who didn't deserve to be loved?

You made your way to the apartment you knew as intimately as your own.

Feet carrying you ever forward, speeding you towards comfort in the arms of Kiba. He would make it all better, wouldn't he?

For once, you didn't know if he could. There were only so many times you could be knocked down before you could no longer get back up and it was getting harder and harder to find your feet.

Tears threatened to fall but you refused. Curling your hands into tight fists until your nails sank into the flesh, close to puncturing the skin but not quite. It grounded you and kept the tears at bay. How long it would last, you weren't sure.

The ache in your chest eased as Kiba answered the door with worry prominent on his features. Pinched brow and pristine white teeth gnawing his lower lip in earnest. Even before you could step inside, he was reaching for you, dragging you into his strong embrace and wrapping you in his essence.

You sank into him willingly, inhaling his musky spice-infused scent until you were filled with it. It felt like stepping into a perfectly hot bath after a long exhausting day, the tension from your muscles draining away whilst you sagged against the chest that rose and fell in harmony with your own. Kiba wrapped one arm wrapped around your lower back, a thumb rubbing against you in soothing motions whilst the other cradled your head and let you settle into his broad shoulder.

Why couldn't all the men in your life be like this?

Kiba accepted you for who you were and had no interest in changing you into something that would better suit him. His soul was filled with warm light, you saw it through the amber flecks in his eyes, the adorable dimple appearing on his right cheek when he smiled broadly and through his caring actions.

"Tell me everything babe," he cooed softly into your mussed hair, ruffling the strands with his breath.

Where to begin?!

You spent the next hour filling in your longtime friend with every dreaded detail from this afternoon, sipping cautiously on a beer that he offered you once seated on his squishy leather couch. The last thing you wanted to do was succumb to alcohol, but one would settle your nerves you reasoned.

"I knew that guy was a motherfucker," Kiba hollered from the kitchen.

Rolling your eyes at the sheer joy that laced his gravelly tone, you turned to find him bent over searching the fridge aimlessly. His tight butt swayed in the hold of his black jeans, it was such a nice backside and if you were in a better mood you might have tiptoed closer to give it a good hard smack. He’d deserve it.

"Mr Kiba 'I knew he was a motherfucker' Inuzuka. Can't you ever give me a break?"

It hadn't bothered you this much when he first said it, but the more you repeated the words, the more fury infused your veins. It hit you like a tidal wave, turning you from weepy sadness to burning anger in less than a minute.

You popped to your feet, pacing back and forth whilst your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides. Wary amber eyes followed your movements, closing the fridge door with a hard thud that made the magnets rattle. Magnets you had gifted that asshole. The grim set of his jaw was back, irritation so quick to line his features until you were both scowling at one another.

"The fuck? Why have you always got to be so fucking high and mighty? You ain't perfect either, you know!" You were yelling now, raw emotion burning your throat and turning your body into a literal inferno.

"High and mighty? You gotta be joking me. Watch your damn mouth, my patience will only remain for so long. I suggest you calm the fuck down and sit down as well!"

He was making it worse, where was his usual compassion when you stormed like this?

"Or what Kiba? You gonna chuck me out?" You snorted through your nose and missed the flash of pure rage that flitted through his blown-wide pupils.

All six foot two of him towered above you, so close you could feel the heat roiling off his body and licking at your flesh. The back of your legs caught the edge of the glass coffee table and he was grabbing at your upper arms in an instant.

You gasped when his fingers dug into the meat of your arms until you almost yelped out for him to stop. Head tipped back and heart thundering from an evil cocktail of anger and bitterness, you straight up growled at him like a dog ready to lunge and attack.

"When are you going to open your fucking eyes?" he whispered, low and so very dangerous that the hairs on the nape of your neck prickled to attention.

Too wrapped in your own negative emotions, you failed to comprehend his words fully. Oblivious to the storm of desire that was rapidly rising to the surface in the male fixing you in place. You ignored his words and spat more venom at him in an attempt to get him to release you.

"When was the last time you even got laid Kiba? Haven't seen any of your airheads flouncing about in forever. They made me sick to my stomach with their simpering eyes out on stalks, drooling over you like you were some kind of fucking god."

He let go in a moment of startled surprise as your words found their mark, and you stormed towards the door only to have your wrist captured in a rough hand. Kiba pulled you back to him, the tug was so forceful that your chest bumped into his and your free hand flew to the wall of steel that was his chest in an attempt to balance yourself.

"Jealous?" he seethed, lowering his face until you were practically nose to nose

Had you been in your right mind, you might have taken a moment to process that incredibly loaded question and see it for what it actually was. Instead, your primal instincts found themselves firmly in the driving seat as a war cry pounded in your ears and a tightness grew heavy in the pit of your stomach.

You snatched your hand back and grabbed two fistfuls of his stupid tousled chestnut hair, pressing yourself onto your tiptoes to reach his wickedly curled lips.

This was no soft kiss, it was cruel and punishing.

Lips met, teeth gnashed and snarls sounded from both of your throats as Kiba reacted in kind. His hands were not gentle as he cupped your face, one hand stealing into your hair and wrapping it around his fist. He pulled, forcing your throat to strain taut and ripping your mouth away from his with a hiss.

White-hot fury veiled your vision in red. His sharp almost fang-like incisors sank into your vulnerable neck, harsh and selfish as he marked you for his own. Greedy lips followed the exquisite sting of pain, sucking at the skin indented by his teeth until the entire area would be bruised and tender to the touch when your sanity returned.

You didn't know what made you say it, the words were out of your mouth before you took note of them.

"Seems like you've been the jealous one.” Kiba froze against your frantic pulse point.

His eyes were positively feral, the pupils almost entirely swallowing his normally warm amber irises. Cheeks dabbled in rough whiskers from the late hour and the tendon from neck to collarbone straining from exertion. Kiba levelled you with a dangerous stare and you couldn't help but look away to admire his forearms instead of succumbing to his piercing gaze. The sleeves of his open shirt rolled to the elbows–a look that had you weak at the knees at the best of times–and the strength in those corded muscles was obvious to your appreciative eye.

"That’s right, m’gonna make you forget about those stupid assholes that didn't know what a treasure they had. Their loss is my gain. If you want this," he pointed to himself to emphasise the point, "if you want me, then come get it."

Without a backwards glance, he stormed to the island in his kitchen and left you there… alone and bereft of his overwhelming heat. Kiba stood with his lower back resting against the counter, one ankle crossed over the other and his arms folded as he watched you. His muscled chest heaved with every laboured breath, cheeks ruddy from the kiss you’d shared and there was a more than subtle bulge on the front of his jeans.

Did you want him, your best friend Kiba?

Hell yeah, you did!

Annoyed by your own oblivious stupidity, the puzzle pieces clicked together in your head. Kiba was downright sexy, his physique godly and a face that was both rugged and angelic depending on his mood. He was funny, a total goofball who made it his mission to keep you laughing until you were clutching your stomach and begging for mercy. A social butterfly who ensured he gave his friends equal attention, he knew every birthday and often was the ringleader of group outings and meetups.

He was your Kiba.

The person you relied upon most in the world, your constant and when you tried to imagine a world without him, it stole your breath until you were crippled by the agony. Had you been jealous of his idiotic little girlfriends? Yes, you always wanted to be the centre of his universe and they distracted from that. You had tried to mask it as a dislike for his taste in women but most of his exes had been perfectly nice if you had given them the time of day to get to know.

It was clear, that you wanted him.

You ran.

Four long strides and you threw yourself into his quickly outstretched arms. He caught you –of course, he did –bearing your weight with practised ease as you wrapped around him like climbing ivy. Hands fisting into the t-shirt that lay beneath his shirt as you found his mouth once more, sought to reclaim it and make your intentions crystal fucking clear.

This time the kiss was more tender, yet the passion was still as ardent and heady. His wide hands roamed your hips until he was kneading the meat of your ass through your pants and making your lower half grind against him in sinful bliss. The zipper of his jeans pressed against your centre through the layers of clothes and you moaned openly into his mouth.

Kiba was famished, he swallowed your lewd noises and was quick to incite more as he turned to perch you atop the counter. His hips rolled into you, languid but forceful whilst he explored the wet cavern of your mouth. Your tongue rolled over his in an erotic dance that had no end in sight. If not for your necessity to breathe, there would be no parting you and only the shared oxygen in the space created by two friends that finally breached a line that had been long held and now threatened to either tie them together or pull them apart.

You tugged expectantly at his clothes, desperate to strip him to your gaze and finally, he relented. Kiba pulled back long enough to tug off his shirt and tee, discarding them haphazardly. His warm breath fanned your cheek, stuttering when your cool fingers stroked and detailed the definition of his torso.

"Eager little thing," he growled. The smile he sported only served to highlight the ego that was often to focus of your teasing. Yet, this time no humourous jabs came to mind. For once you were glad of his self-confidence and eagerness to move things along.

He divested you of your oversized hoodie, thankful you had taken the time to put on a nice bra beneath it despite the mess you had been in earlier. His groan was heaven to your ears and when he dove to kiss you through the sheer material of your bralette you thought you had died right there and then.

Saliva dampened the already thin fabric, those dangerous wolfish teeth nipping at your pebbled buds. With your head tossed back, he used that wicked mouth of his on your breasts and you were unprepared for the piercing rip that flooded the hushed space. Kiba had torn clean through the garment, the halves falling down your arms to lay destroyed on the floor.

"Kiba!" you half yelled, half squeaked as he took that exact moment to suckle your nipple between his plush lips. Your belly quivered, the pulling sensation more intoxicating than the most potent alcohol and the feeling echoed far more intensely between your trembling thighs. Your fingers carded through his lush hair, nails scraping against his scalp and smiling indulgently at the rumble deep in his throat.

"I'll buy you more, promise baby. Lay back, need to get you naked," he said sounding entirely as drunk as you felt.

For once you were eager to follow his instruction, a novelty for Kiba who merely watched with a knowing look that promised he would deliver of your wildest fantasies if you’d just fucking listen to him, at long last. His eager fingers hooked into the waistband of your leggings and were quickly dragged down your supple legs. Slowly, he eased his calloused fingers back up your bare legs, stopping to toy with the back of your knees and listen to the subtle gasp caught tight in your throat.

Funny how you had thought he would be rough and impatient, the deed almost over with and the finish line hurtled towards at inhumane speed when here he was taking his sweet time. It was maddening when all you wanted was for him to feel the searing heat that was radiating from between your thighs, to dip his fingertips against your panties and know how drenched they already were from the mere prospect of being with him.

As if sensing your thought process, Kiba finally parted thighs whilst you rested backwards on your elbows. A low appreciative hum caught your ear and you shifted your focus to the tight grip he had on his bottom lip, teeth sinking deep and the wide flare of his nostrils like he was scenting you as an animal would do. He planted your feet and pushed your knees to the sides until you were splayed out like a cat in heat. It was vulnerable and so exhilarating you couldn't help but wriggle.

His eyes were glazed over when he, at last, moved to touch your panties, zeroing in on the obvious damp patch and letting his head roll along his neck for a second as a visible shiver passed up the length of his spine. You’d swear he appeared like those cartoon characters that have zapped with electricity, near every hair on his body rippling from the sensation.

"Have to taste you, sweetheart. My pretty fuckin’ girl."

A chaste kiss fell to your lips before he began a slow tortured path down your body, stopping here and there as he learned the spots that made you tremble and shake, noting carefully when you would whine and try to cling to him. Smug smiles and smears of his saliva were painted upon your heated skin, and he let loose a triumphant bark of laughter when you whimpered your impatience.

"Please," you mewled, a hand pressing atop his head to hurry his descent. Forward was not something you were familiar with, shyness always overtaking your urge to express your wants, but with Kiba, you knew there was no need for any such concerns.

"Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll deliver."

You could cry at the bubble of pressure that was desperate for release, sitting just below the surface, if he would just touch you.

"Wan’ you to fuck me with your mouth, need it so bad Kiba! Please–"

The last syllable had barely left your mouth before he was diving for your centre, underwear pressed aside as he nudged your clit with his nose and inhaled deeply. One roughened pad explored your slick folds, collecting the nectar and pressing it into his mouth.

His sigh was purely reverential and he settled down to devour you like a starving man sat before his first meal in weeks. It was all too much, the immediate stimulation intense enough to have your toes curling where they now rested down his broad back.

Kiba laid languid swipes of his molten tongue along your slit, alternating between flickering motions against your engorged pearl and slow circular patterns around your sopping hole. The walls of your cunt fluttered, desperate to be filled and clench around something–anything–and when his finger slipped easily inside you bucked wildly.

“Shh, keep still. Lemme hear your pretty voice but gotta hold still, yeah?” He encouraged, mouth only moving far enough way for you to hear his heated request.

It took mere minutes for you to come apart on his mouth, his digit sucked deep as he stroked your slick, spongy walls and suckled at your clit to almost pain. Your legs were limp from the unrelenting waves of euphoria that raced throughout your body and if not for the grounding palm caressing your thigh then you might have passed out there and then when white sparks shot straight through your vision.

Kiba didn’t spill a single drop of your nectar, the wet insistent muscle rolling into your cunt over and over to simply dig more of the delicious juices from your quivering body before he stood with the lower half of his face glistening in your essence. It felt… empowering. The intense lust that blazed in his eyes, a lust that was for you and no one else. Fuck. You loved him. Had for a long time. Why had you taken so long to see it for what it really was?

It wasn’t the time to get stuck in your head like this, there would be moments for these thoughts and what lay beyond but right now, you weren’t entirely satisfied and you wouldn’t be until you had milked the man looming over you for every drop he could deliver.

With renewed vigour and determination, you propped yourself on your elbows and then lunged forward towards the buckle of his belt. You’d never worked so deftly as you worked to unbuckle him, moaning at the loud metal clattering loose. Buttons worked free and zipper pulled down, the waistband of his underwear came into sight and your fingers curled around that final barrier and released with him an audible gasp mingled with his sigh of relief.

You had known he was going to be well endowed, could feel it from the press of his body only earlier, but it was still a shock to see him in all his glory, and what a glory it was. His length was impressive, but it was his girth that was the true beauty–if you could even call such a monster a beauty. Kiba's cock could barely support its own weight, the angry length tipped to a deep purple with precum leaking from the slit under your scrutiny.

It looked enormous in your petite hand, managing to encircle the shaft but only just did your fingertips meet. You stroked his velvety soft skin, paying attention to the stark veins that stood to attention and how Kiba reacted when you traced over the most prominent with a salacious smile. You scooted towards the edge of the counter, eyes locked with him with every deliberate move you made.

The head kissed against your glistening folds and you teased both of you by running the blunt tip along your slit until it bumped against your clitoral hood. His fingers were gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you feared he would crumble the marble under his strong hands if he wasn't careful. You notched him at your slowly pulsing entrance, and on a breathy keening noise, you pleaded. 

"Fuck me Kiba."

You knew that he had snapped when an animalistic noise roared from his throat and the death grip moved from the counter to your hips as he pushed into your cunt. Kiba eagerly watched your walls suck him in, utterly drunk on the silken feel of you in much the same way that you were drunk on him. Every drag of his shaft rubbed delicious friction into your most intimate areas with a precision he shouldn’t yet possess. He was made for you and you were made to take him.

There would be a time for slower moments and tender loving making, for you were sure that Kiba was not going to escape from you, not now. He was yours, and you his. This alone had you urging him on, driving that feral side of him to act and do it hard and fast with nips at his lips and nails clawing down his back. 

His hips pistoned like a well-oiled machine, and sweat clung to his forehead as he set a pace that saw him pounding into your pussy. A relentless rhythm that matched the pound of your heart, clammy skin on skin and kisses that acted better than any drugs ever could.

"This what you wan’? Hungry for my cock, huh?"

His words were staccato with every thrust that he delivered, your body jerking with the wild and powerful movements. Your head fell back against the counter as moan after decadent moan left your throat. Kiba's tight grip moved to your waist and he began to pull you onto his length, your back sliding against the marble top making your tits bounce and your ass slap against his pelvis. Every drag of his shaft against your walls made you keen for him, full to capacity but craving more nevertheless. He was using you like his own personal fucktoy and you were creaming around him at that knowledge, the lewd squelches of your bodies joined in this way growing louder and louder.

"Tell me. Need to hear you say it, kitten."

"Oh… fu-fuck! Need your dick, feel so good–ah!" You screamed when Kiba leaned over you and altered the angle of how he was driving into you. His mouth sucked possessive marks onto the sides of your breasts as you used the last of your hastily retreating sanity to again fist his hair and force him even closer to you.

"Tell me I'm better than those other motherfuckers. No one can fuck you like this, nobody else is worthy of this beautiful pussy," he growled, breaking from your hold to allow him to press his thumb against your clit and making you jerk at the sudden unsuspecting touch.

"Kiba–best. Gonna, oh god–m’so close. No one but you."

Your brain was a puddle, the ecstasy too much for full coherent thoughts as you felt the gush hit against his groin. You soaked him in your juices, the wet noises crescendoing whilst stars winked into your vision.

"Such a good fuckin’ girl, oh shit. What a beautiful mess you've made on me," he cooed in praise, slowing his pace but never stopping. He had to be close; your walls desperately trying to milk him, to force his release in kind.

Slowly, you returned to the earth, oversensitive from each measured stroke that he delivered until he pulled from you and wiped the sweat from his brow. He fisted his shaft as you watched, tears springing to your eyes at being denied his release.

"Wanna come down your throat, think you can manage?" he asked, his eyes burning into yours as he pumped himself.

Your thighs were shaky, the skin slick with the spill of your arousal but you managed not to fall to the floor. Kiba steadied you with his free hand, groaning in his throat as you knelt before him. His head fell back when you parted your lips and accepted him into your wet mouth.

The taste of his essence mingled with your own, sweet and bitter but definitely not unpleasant. You had never done this before and it felt so wicked as you watched Kiba come apart above you. He could barely maintain his eye contact with you, heat surging to his cheeks and his hands cradling your head in gentle reverence.

His hips jerked, your fingers sinking into his ass that flexed beneath your touch as he kissed against your throat. The muscles constricted and he faltered. "Oh fuck, so close sweetheart."

Your teeth unsheathed carefully, tongue running the length of the litany of veins that ran his shaft and teeth grazing his sensitive flesh until his fingers seized and you felt the hot spurts of his release. It poured down your throat until you pulled back, the rest pooling on your pink tongue.

Kiba panted and whined, losing himself in the moment and the feel of your scorching mouth, chest heaving with each laboured inhale. You showed him the milky seed that coated your tongue, watching his eyes roll to the back of his skull the second after you swallowed audibly and opened up to show your now empty mouth.

The seconds ticked by and neither of you moved as your breathing slowly returned to normal. How gorgeous he looked to you, spent and blushing. The massive frame of his body–Kiba’s body–completely undone by your actions and your body.

"That's one way to get over Hidan," he groused, trying to turn from you.

You were not going to allow him to step away from this, two hearts were on the line and you refused to see him in pain. You stood abruptly, possibly a mistake given how your thighs quaked but not giving a shit at the moment. You pulled him back to you, arms resting over his wide shoulders and placing a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. Pouring every bit of love and desire into your expression, you fixed him with a sincere smile and watched his eyes widen and soften, the creases smoothing out to reveal his true self, the one you were intimately familiar with.

"Who?"

[lehguru]

SATURDAY NIGHTS + NAGI SEISHIRO

'cause i care, i care about you

there's nowhere i'd rather be

than right here right around you

i care, i care about you

nagi loves to play games until late during his break, but he loves you more

word count: 803

warnings: thank u @mars-yknow for beta reading! ily bby ♡♡; gender neutral reader, slight best friends to lovers, nagi is a lil simp + requests are open ! check pinned post for requesting rules

‘you up?’

the text lit up his phone screen and made a loud ping echo through the speaker. his dark eyes switched quickly from the game in front of him to the device, your contact name making him want to grab the phone immediately. the game turned red, his teammates complaining about his death. after muting himself and taking his headphones off, seishiro opened up your text. as nonchalantly as he could, he typed back.

‘yea. u good?’

he noticed the time. 2AM. if you were texting him, something bad must’ve happened. he came back to playing, but his eyes often flicked to his phone again, anxiety building up in his chest. at the exact moment he won the match and the player of the game started to appear, you replied:

‘i’m good. had a nightmare tho’

that was everything he needed to hear. he got up from his pink chair – chosen by you – and picked up his coat, running from his bedroom and into the living room. while he was putting on his shoes, he texted you that he was coming to your house.

and he did.

less than ten minutes after he last texted and saw your messages, the white haired male was in front of your door, knocking softly on the wood. you opened it, your sleepy eyes meeting his own; as you allowed him inside your home, you murmured.

“you didn’t have to come.” he let out a soft hum while taking off his shoes. “i didn’t want to disturb your gaming, i know you missed it.”

he wanted to tell you that you were more important than any videogame. he wanted to tell you that you were more important than his job as a professional soccer player. he wanted to tell you that he would leave anything and anyone for you, but everything that came out of his mouth was a weak “‘s cool”.

as if it was almost automatic, from the many many times he went to your place, his feet dragged him to your bedroom, you following him close behind. when he entered your room, a soft smile appeared on his lips. one of his hoodies was thrown on your bed – he assumed you were wearing it before he came – and the perfume you wear daily entered his nostrils; it was relaxing and he adored the soft scent. he threw his body on your chair, making you chuckle while you sat down on your bed.

“do you wanna talk ‘bout your nightmare?” he asked you, his black eyes scanning your expression. you blinked at him, your eyes heavy and slightly puffy, and shook your head. “aight. move over.”

he got up and kicked your leg with his foot, to emphasize his words. you moved to the side, expecting him to just sit down on your bed with you, but the boy pulled you to lay down with him. his arms quickly wrapped around your body, holding you close; he threw his leg over your hips as soon as you tried to squirm away from his grasp. even if he felt his heart racing at the thought of you that close, nagi managed to remain calm on the outside, his face looking at you with his usual neutral expression.

“sleep.” he murmured, his lips a little too close to your ear. you put your face against his neck, feeling the smell of his soap and his cologne slowly put you to sleep again.

you tried to deny it; you recalled reo saying that you and seishiro would get married in a couple of years, but you played it off as just a joke. you two were just really good friends. the way he looked at you told you something else.

his hand softly rubbing your back brought you back to reality. his fingertips softly traced your spine on top of the shirt you wore, rubbing circles when he got tired of the up and down movement. giggling, you whispered against his skin:

“what are you doing?"

with a chuckle of his own, seishiro answered: "what are ya doin'? sleep.”

you didn’t even know what got into you, but the words went past your lips before you could stop them.

“why did you come?” a sigh left your mouth and you pulled away from his neck. “‘m very grateful you’re here, but… we could’ve stayed texting. why did you come here?”

he looked into your eyes, an unreadable expression on his face. even if you couldn’t predict what he was thinking, there was something inside his raven irises that deeply shook you; your hand instinctively came up to hold his face and nagi leaned into your touch, closing his eyes.

“i will be here for anything you need. anytime.” with a soft yawn, he finished “i love you.”

2023 © content belongs to lehguru, but the characters used on them belong to their respective creators!!

[fxdizz-y]

Dreamer, aren't ya?

Part 2 of my last fic *wink wink*

Well yk what we're in peeps!

Simon Riley x Gen Z! GN! Reader

Soap burst out laughing at the stun Lieutenant, absolutely thinking about how hilarious his face probably is without the mask.

Gaz could of sworn he could shit himself if anyone made a sudden move that could set ghost off, still as a statue.

And Price? He's quite impress you aren't dead by now.

Well you are a really daring rookie, you probably didn't even know that the scary man people gossip about in the hallway is the guy you're on top right now.

You shift around, trying to get down from the stun lieutenant, only for him to firmly grip your legs so you didn't fall. You both were caught of guard with his actions.

Your thighs kinda squeeze his face a bit, and god he would love to have his mask off right now, along with your pants.

You could of sworn his breath is heavy under the mask for a split second before he collect himself again.

Fucking simp.

– "Ye enjoy 'tis a bit too much, aye L.T?"

Soap decided to tease. Gaz visibly choke on his saliva and slowly back away from the faux mohawk man.

Ghost glare dagger at the shorter male and respond with a firm 'No'.

Soap, having a bit too much fun, decide to pull the poor rookie off and wrap his arms around their waist.

– "Then s'alright with you if I borrow them a bit?"

Ghost is silent before grumble "fuck off" under his breath. He glance at you before walk away. His heavy stomps clearly means he's not happy.

– "Big ass baby"

Soap mutters under his breath before letting go of you as he laugh.

Gaz just shook his head and start to cackle alongside with soap. Fucking idiots.

Price scoff before roughly hitting your back, making you choke on your own saliva.

– "Si- SIR-"

You gasp out, coughing while Price just keep hitting your back trying to help you.

It took a moment for you to finally stop coughing, while staring at Price with silly stare.

Not gonna lie, the way Ghost tells you off stings a bit. It shouldn't be new to you but oh man.

You shook your head and excuse yourself out, wanting to lie down.

You yawn so you didn't saw a giant silhouette in front of you as you bump into it.

You curse as you rub your nose before looking up to see the one and only, Simon Riley.

He stare down at you startle but soon relax as he see that it's just you.

He apologize as he ask if you're okay.

Now that give you an opportunity to play around.

You whine as you rub your nose.

– "It hurts.."

Simon looking directly pass that act, he just shook his head and apologize one more time.

– "Sorry. Didn't see you there."

He add. The audacity.

You glare up at the man and pout, sticking your tongue out in a childish manner.

He bend down and you could feel him blowing gently on your nose through the balaclava, his eyes slightly squint implying that he smirks under the mask.

– "Bro bouta have me folding.."

You automatically mutter. Simon hear that and stare at you before standing up straight again.

– "Ah shit, you're not one of 'em weirdo arent ya.."

He groans out.

What? You're weird but you don't know what he meant by that.

It took all the energy to not start singing that one song from The Book of Life.

You shook your head, grinning from ear to ear as you lean yourself towards Ghost, not touching each other but it was enough to cause that tension around you both.

– "Be specific, L.T."

You practically purred out. And oh god. Simon could of sworn that just.. He decided to tower over you, making you lean back.

– "Speak English, Spring."

– "You have me on a chokehold, sir."

You giggle when you saw how taken aback he was due to you being straightforward.

Oh god this is gonna be fun.

[roadkillxd]

if you’re still looking for requests could i please ask for smutshot of price w power bottom m!reader and price being a subby hubby just an absolute simp for reader like the kind of simping that he’d kneel before him if asked, he worships the ground his husband walks upon and obviously worships his body during the dirty, please just.. i’ve got a thing for big, strong and capable men kneeling at the feet of their partner, it’s a dynamic that got me by the fucking throat— thank 🫶

This got out of control honestly... it's kind of sad so I apologize for that. Hope you enjoy either way!

Price x M!Reader ↪ 1844 words — 18+ / SMUT & ANGST.

Content tags — cis male power bottom (combat medic) reader, cis male service top/dominant Price, unsafe sex, referenced/implied Ghost x Soap, crying, hospitals, description of injuries, referenced/implied character death, established relationship, penetrative sex, anal sex, fingering, oral sex, hand jobs, semi-public sex, tantric sex, body worship, probably inaccurate medical stuff. 

Soap’s stuck in the infirmary. Unconscious half the time and miserable. Fucking sepsis, blood poisoning, from toxic shock—some gas he inhaled too much of when his mask got shattered in CQC. Idiot didn’t remember the wet cloth advice you’d given him, obviously. You have nurses on shifts giving him blood transfusions every hour on the dot. The bloody bastard hates needles.

Ghost won’t leave his side—not since you told him the mortality rate for sepsis is anywhere from 30% to 50%. You had to pull the shrapnel from his leg and ribs while he sat in the bedside chair, hand twitching on the bed like he was keeping himself from grabbing for Johnny.

Gaz is the most well off. Just a nasty concussion from having his shit rocked by a juggernaut, though you still had to sit and check him over for wounds with how he was caked in mud and still high on adrenaline. He was more than happy to go take a hot shower and collapse into a medical bed (softer than the quarter’s beds) to let the nurses watch over him.

Price hasn’t spoken to you outside of barking orders since he pulled Soap heaving and choking out of the helo, Gaz barely supporting Ghost’s limping weight behind him. Since then you’ve caught glimpses of him moving around the infirmary like a shadow, watching over his team but never sticking around long once you catch his eye. 

He had a gash on his forehead leaking blood into his eye when he got off that helicopter. It was stitched up by the time you saw him again. You could tell from the shoddy craftsmanship that he did it himself, probably in one of the bathroom mirrors.

You gently swipe your thumb over it now, as he stands in front of you, looming ever so slightly. He winces at the sting, but doesn’t move away. You’re frowning, staring at the scar, and he won’t stop looking at you.

“I wouldn’t have changed your orders,” he says, voice firm.

“John—” you huff out, eyes rolling.

“Not for any of them.”

He’d made you stay. For the first time since you’d join the task force as the combat medic, he’d made you sit this mission out. Because it was too dangerous he’d said. Well, that was the bloody point, wasn’t it? If you’d been there you could’ve treated the sepsis earlier, reduced the severity, or you could’ve patched Ghost up properly so he wouldn’t have lost so much fucking blood, half-dazed as he was in that chair. Christ, you could've at least have given Gaz some ibuprofen, the poor fuck.

But Price made you stay.

“You would’ve been killed,” Price says, sounding almost offended as you glare at him.

“I would’ve been hurt, like them, but they’d be better off. That’s my job, Captain.”

The vitriol behind the title has Price caught off guard. You only ever call him by rank in private moments like this lightheartedly. 

“You almost got Johnny killed,” you whisper, and Price’s eyes squeeze close for a mere moment. When he opens them again he’s not looking at you anymore. He takes your hands in his and stares at them instead.

“I don’t want to argue,” he says, sounding so soft. So defeated. 

You don’t need an apology, or an admittance. You know that tone is as good as it gets with him, pride wounded as it is. Heart too. He knows he made a bad call, and yet you know he still wouldn’t have changed it. Not if it met sacrificing you.

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping his cheek to get him to look back up at you. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes for a short moment, searching. You don’t find anything other than blue. His eyes flutter shut and he leans in to kiss you. So, so soft. Chaste, almost, and slow. 

You know what he needs. What you both need.

You move your hand from his cheek to his short hair, petting him lovingly, encouragingly. He trails gentle kisses to the corner of your lips, your cheek and jawline, down to your throat and shoulder.

"Kneel," you whisper.

He lowers slowly with a low groan, knees resting carefully on the fatigue mat beneath you, looking like he’s about to pray. His head is level with your stomach, and he buries his face against the softness there. Both your hands comb gently through his hair now, nails scratching at his scalp, his noise of contentment so deep and rumbly like a purr.

His thick arms move from wrapped around your waist, loosening so he can glide his big hands up and down your legs, spreading wide over your thighs and squeezing before he leans back enough to unbutton your fatigue pants and zip them down.

He lowers to nuzzle against your bulge, pressing kisses through your boxers until he can feel you half hard and twitching beneath his lips. Your soft, rattling breaths above him make him content, humming and sending soft vibrations through your crotch. 

You lean back against the desk behind you, ass perched on the edge of it. You fumble through the drawers as he frees your cock and takes into his hot, wet mouth with another hum. You moan, fingers wrapping around a half-empty tube of lube that you set into his waiting hand.

He so slowly bobs up and down your prick, eyes caught between staring up at you half-lidded and fluttering shut in focus. He doesn’t even have his hands on you, both of them working open the lube with a click before squirting some onto his fingers. You push your pants further down your legs, careful not to jostle him, allowing him the access he works towards.

His thick fingers tease between your cheeks and against your hole. He stops moving his head, just acting as a gentle suction as he works the first slick digit into you. You moan softly, aware you’re still both in the infirmary—in your office, sure, but it’s thin glass and drawn blinds separating you from your nursing staff.

He pulls off of you completely, the cold air of the room causing you to gasp as his saliva rapidly cools around your cock. He sucks kisses into the fat of your thighs, nuzzling his furry cheek against you like an affectionate cat whenever he gets the chance. 

He slips a second finger into you, the angle too awkward for him to focus on your prostate, but pleasurable nonetheless, the feeling of being filled. The stretch feels good, grounds you like your groans do to him. Remind him he’s alive after the day he’s had, that he’s living and breathing and you’re still a warm body waiting for him to come home.

“Where do you want me?” you ask lowly, getting impatient. You can feel his smile against your thigh before he looks up at you, scans the office a bit before slipping his fingers free.

You let out a soft breath at the emptiness as he stands, his hands, one still slick, resting on your hips as he kisses you slow and deep, tongue licking into your mouth to explore. You moan around him, sucking on the intruding muscle. 

He helps you to kick the rest of your pants off before lifting you ever so slightly further onto the desk, and you don’t miss the way he winces. You break the kiss, eyeing him warily.

“Don’t—” he starts.

“Take your shirt off,” you cut him off, already pulling on the hem. He sighs, raising his arms with a grunt so you can slip it off and over his head.

He’s got bandages wrapped around his upper chest, looping over his shoulder. The center of the cloth is stained a light pink from what blood still waits to clot. You let a breath out through your nose, hands so gently skating over the covered plains of his chest.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he rumbles, pressing closer, picking your legs up to wrap them around his wide waist as your crotches grind slowly against each other. You are worried, but the blood doesn’t leave the south. 

“Who fixed you?” You ask, and Price sighs again.

“Love—”

“Who?”

“Monroe, I think.”

You nod approvingly. You trust Monroe, he knows what he’s doing. There’s no point in arguing, not when Price is pulling his cock free, hanging heavy, blood flow not enough to keep it tall and proud like usual. He strokes himself a few times with his lubed hand, pressing the tip to your pucker and rubbing as he kisses you again. 

You want to cry, want to pull him close and never let him leave again. You want to tie yourself to him so he can’t go without you again. You wish you outranked him or, something, something. You know it’s too much for you to ask for him to be safe, but you wish he’d let you be there to keep him safe. That’s your entire goddamn job.

He can feel how tense you’re getting, hole resisting against him trying to slide in, your arms tight around his neck. He kisses the corner of your mouth, and realizes at the taste of bitter salt that you’re crying. 

“Breathe for me, love,” he swipes his thumb across your cheek and trails soft kisses along your neck.

You do so, and he slips into you on the exhale, making you moan and cling tighter to him. 

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, holding you close to him as he slowly rocks his hips, making you whimper, “I love you,” he says, and you sob.

“Love you—love you,” you say back, rambling, rocking your hips down onto his cock as he slowly takes you apart. Neither of you are going to last long, not with how pent up you both are, and the heartstring vibrating between you two—deep, deep connection.

"Harder," you growl, and he complies with only the slightest hesitation, hips slamming into you.

You pant against each other’s mouths, breathing each other’s air. He smells like smoke and lavender and whiskey and a fire in the summer and it feels like coming home. 

His big hand wraps around your dick, pumping you in time with his thrusts. It doesn’t take long for him to get you there, his thick cock grinding so perfectly against your prostate. You cum, wet hot splatters onto his stomach and dribbles down his fist. 

You clench so tight around him, flexing in waves around his cock. He groans so loud as he cums, grabbing the back of your head to pull you into a heated kiss, desperate and heavy as he fills you up, makes your insides all warm and sticky.

You whimper against his mouth, the two of you breaking free for air, catching your breaths. His head is on your shoulder and you try not to think about how his shoulders are shaking as you pet through his hair, the two of you still connected.

You’ll both be okay.

[dumbbvnnyboy]

So um I hope this is good lol

Male reader fdni

I honestly don't know how I ended up here.

We were at ghosts place, me, soap, and a few other friends.

We smoked a bit and played some music when the topic of truth or dare came up.

We went through a few, starting to have fun with it.

I was even dared to throw it back getting the entire room to laugh, though ghosts eyes seemed to linger for a little longer than everyone else's.

Finally soap of course dared ghost to take off his mask, getting a "get fucked mate" in reply.

"Fine fine, then I dare you to do seven minutes in heaven with..."

He paused for a second thinking before pointing to me.

My eyes widened a bit in shock, I mean I wouldn't lie ghost was hot as fuck, even if I hadn't seen his face.

His personality and voice were enough to have me simping, plus the way he had always been so sweet and protective towards me,but he's straight right?

God it's just gonna be silent, and embarrassing, and sweaty...

Finally I noticed I'd been paused there the entire time with no reply...

My hesitation spoke volumes,I shook my head and blinked.

"Sorry, I zoned out, uh what were we talking about?"

Unsurprisingly everyone except for ghost was dumb enough to believe it and soap told me the dare again.

I shrugged with a calm face.

"Alright."

I had gotten pretty good with putting on a face for awhile, but the way ghost looked at me seemed like he had picked up on my nervous mannerisms.

Soap opened the closet and instructed for us to get in with a smirk.

I again tried to keep my composer, walking over calmly with my hands in my pockets and a blank face.

"Alright, see you love bugs soon"

He made a smoochy face before shutting the door and everyone laughing.

I stayed quiet trying best to keep calm, but he was just so-

"You know, I can tell your nervous."

"What do you mean?"

Shit...

"Your little 'sorry I zoned out" His low laugh was like rich honey as my face started to flush.

He stepped closer and I backed up into the wall.

"See, like that, you know I've always known you have a little thing for me" He again took a step closer

"And you know I like you too, right?"

Now his hands rested on my hips.

"You don't have to be nervous with me darling."

My face heated and my breath quickened.

"You do like me, don't you?"

I took in a sharp breath before nodding and he smiled looking down at me.

"Would you like me to kiss you?"

My entire body was on fire as he loomed over me and rubbed my hips.

I nodded meekly again as he chuckled.

He used a hand to push up his mask a bit and kissed me.

I whimpered as he took control, one hand on my neck pulling me deeper into the kiss, while the other slipped up my shirt squeezing and pinching my nipples.

I moaned and he slipped his tongue in my mouth making my face heat more, my pants getting tighter.

I rested my hands on his shoulders while he started to fumble with my belt.

He kissed down my jawline and neck, leaving a few hickeys here and there.

I honestly couldn't find myself to care as lust clouded my mind.

I would let him do anything to me, and I wanted him to do anything to me.

He pushed up my shirt shoving it into my mouth as I bit onto it.

He trailed kisses down my abdomen, and I couldn't help but let out little huffs and whimpers Here and there.

He left marks almost anywhere he could as I bucked my hips, the anticipation building up.

He laughed lowly again making my cock twitch.

Ghost hooked his teeth on the hem of my boxers, about to pull them down when the door swung open.

"Alright it's o- ghost slammed the door shut quietly instructing me to go into the corner where they couldn't see me.

He opened the door again and looked at soap "get the fuck out."

"What?"

"I told you, get the fuck out of my house, the lot of you, now."

His blunt and calm tone had me spinning.

Finally I heard ruffling and everyone leaving with little laughs and comments.

He shut the door with a sigh before looking back at me.

"Would you like to continue sweetheart?"

I nodded as he walked back over and leaned over me.

He pulled my pants off me and hooked his teeth on the hem of my boxers again before pulling them down and helping me get my shirt off.

He kissed me again starting to fumble with his own clothes.

He disconnected and spit on his fingers before plunging the digits inside me.

I whimpered feeling him stretch me out. Ghost letting out another one of his face heating chuckles as I moaned out biting my lip and grinding back into his fingers.

"So sensitive, am I the first guy to play with you like this?"flushed again nodding gently as he smirked.

"Don't worry, I'll go easy on you, or I'll try too" He laughed lowly again as he started to thrust a bit harder pulling broken moans and whimpers from me.

He leaned up to my ear licking a stripe along my neck and whispering.

"So hard to keep my self control when your so very pretty like this."

It sent a shiver down my spine as I arched my back and he hit something, it made me scream and shake as I unraveled under him.

"There we go."

He started to hit that spot again and again while drool fell from my lips.

"You know, if you look so pretty now, I wonder what you'll look like on my cock."

The vulgar words making my stomach drop in the most pleasurable way as I let out a pathetic whimper.

Ghost pulled out his fingers making me whine and push back for more. 

"Easily corrupted too, God you get cuter and cuter."

He flipped me over easily, though it kinda scared me he was able to, I'd be lying if it didn't make me even more excited.

I heard a loud click making me try to turn back when he shoved me down to the floor.

"Ah ah ah, stay, gooood puppy."

My cock twitched again as I bit my lip hard.

He lined up with my hole before slipping in slowly.

I moaned out arching my back desperately trying to find anything to grab onto.

Ghost grabbed my wrists and pinned them to either side of me as he thrusted in at a slow pace.

My mouth fell open as more drool spilt down my chin.

My moans loud and needy as I pushed back into him more.

He slowed his pace and held my hips in place.

"Use your words."

It was unbearable at this point.

He cock filled me so nicely as it slowly thrust into my hole.

"P-please s-speed up."

"Say it clearly baby, I can't understand what your saying."

His voice taunting as I tried to gather any composure as he hpynotically thrust into me.

"Please speed up."

He chuckled lowly again as he gripped my hips holding me down and thrusting faster.

I started to scream again my fingernails digging back into the palms of my hands as I bit my lip hard.

"F-fuck ghost."

"Good boy, say my name."

He started to thrust harder, his grip on my hips would be sure to bruise by tomorrow.

"Ghost a-ah"

My head spinned as the pleasure rushed through my body.

A pit building in my stomach.

"Ghost i-im, i-"

He cut me off as he reached under me to jack me off.

Gibberish and moans falling from my lips as my body started to tremble and shake.

"Don't stop don't stop don't st-ahh"

A loud moan interrupting me as my orgasm finally reached its edge, my body jerking from the overstimulating feeling.

Tears fell from my eyes as he continued stroking me through the orgasm, his pace still not slowing.

"F-fuck, and I thought you were tight before."

His thrusts became erratic and sloppy as he finally came inside of me.

The warm liquid filled me as I whimpered at the feeling.

He pulled out and placed a few kisses on my neck and shoulders down my back.

He rubbed my hips as I sighed contently.

"Let's get you cleaned up hmm?"

I nodded tiredly hugging into his chest as he picked me up and carried me out of the closet, with me half asleep in his arms.

[pendragon-writes]

Hello! 🌌 here!

I was was thinking about some Soap X Male Reader where the male is just a simp over Soap's forearms because GYAT he got some nice ass forearms....

Yk he trusty does have some nice ass forearms 🌌 ! Thank you for the request

[soulariarym]

I am the Trapper simp. Can I request hcs for the Trapper with Male!Reader that try to be a traditional wife for him? Like support him and his work, help with laundry, cook for him, something like that. I mean, he comes from around 1900s, so he must be quite conservative. Extra points if there are nsfw story as well. Thank you so much!

I love this idea sm, I tried to keep it as "housewife" as possible on the nsfw so sorry if its not the best, Though I did add some things I think people would fuck in the 1900's if that's ok <3

Trapper // Male Housewife // Sfw 

Evan absolutely adores you with a passion, when he sees you  cleaning or cooking he’ll come up by your side, pulling you by your hip for a kiss on the cheek.

Evan will come up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, telling you how much he appreciates you, how much he loves you.

Every Time you do his laundry, clean his dishes he’ll ask if you want help. He feels a little responsible and cant help to peep in the room, asking you.

He’ll help you with the dishes, often more than not. He’ll joke with you about the neighbors and their flaws as you both laugh, getting the dishes done rather quickly.

Once you come in with his laundry he’ll quickly put on a warm sweater, giving you a bear hug while pinning you down to smother you in kisses, giving you the sweetest compliments like “you smell like a garden of the most beautiful flowers in the world”, “You're the most prettiest man I've ever laid my eyes upon”

He’ll joke with you about you wearing a dress, and if you do he’ll pick you up, Twirling you around, calling you the king of all things beauty.

He loves playing classical music as you clean, watching as you sway your body with the music

When you're doing the dishes Evan loves squeezing the soap bottle, making the bubbles come up and tickle your face, making you giggle from the feeling.

Evan just smiles, staring at you in complete adoration

Trapper // Male Housewife // Nsfw

If you just get done cleaning a counter off he’ll come behind you, grinding against you as you bend over, fucking you on the counter, insisting he’ll clean it again later

Evan's favorite thing is you riding him in the bathtub, watching as you cutely bob in the water, moaning like there's no tomorrow

Loves tying ribbons, bows around your neck, tugging them as he holds your body against his own while he fucks you

Once you're done cleaning the whole house Evan will come up you to you, whispering in your ear "you deserve a reward hm?" this escalates to him having you tied to the bedframe, rubbing your cocks together as he praises you for everything you do for him.

Loves using vibrators against your dick, sticking it inside you as you cry of pleasure underneath him.

The dress earlier? he'll fuck you senseless if you're wearing that. Seeing his beautiful husband being fucked in a dress makes him want you more then ever, burying his cock as far as possible. Making you weak in your legs for a few days.

[icarushasfallenfromthestars]

hi!! do u mind if i request? maybe a tommy x reader who’s been struggling recently, with like getting out of bed, doing homework and stuff, and one day she doesn’t respond all day (probably just lying in bed all day or sm) and tommy goes to her house to see what’s up and comforts her and tries to help (even tho he’s lowkey bad at it he can always make u laugh that’s fax) and they kinda have like a ‘self care/help day’ with face masks and movies and unending laughter? thank u so much!!

Oooooo my first writing request! By the way it's written, I assume the reader is a female so that's what is gonna be written! Thanks for requesting!

I accidentally made this a little more dramatic than intended...

I Don't Know What To Do (So I'll Make You Smile) (Plat!Tommyinnit x F!Reader)

He didn't quite understand why you became so... Unmotivated lately. You briefly mentioned that you couldn't drag yourself over to your desk, let alone bring yourself to do the homework your teacher assigned.

Normally he didn't care too much and always said (jokingly) about how you should drop out of school and become a minecraft streamer. He got heavily scolded by Philza for suggesting it though. Normally, though.

Lately he's been taking glances at your report cards when you weren't looking and saw you mostly has C's and D's down the board. You were failing.

At the time, he didn't know how to bring it up or whether or not he should, and asked Philza Minecraft for help on what he should do. Phil explained to him that your mental situation was actually looking pretty bad and he suggested that Tommy go check up on you as soon as possible.

So, like any modern day teen, he texted you way more often than before, anything from asking if you wanted to hang out or stream with him, or sending you some stupid tiktok he found.

At first it was working and Tommy couldn't help but feel proud of himself. But then one day you didn't text him back.

His brain just told him you were busy at that time and left it at that, but then it struck 6pm and he still recieved no response.

A little annoyed by being ignored, Tommy threw on a quick sweater and his shoes before heading to the door. After a quick shout to his mother, explaining that he was heading to your house, he stepped out and walked across the pavement.

Within a few steps, he was standing at your door awkwardly. Normally he would've just burst in with a lame yet some how dramatic greeting to your parents before storming to your room (it happened at least four times a week. They got used to it within the first month.) but now... Something held him back.

Were you okay? Were you ignoring him on purpose? Maybe he was being a bit too dramatic?

Ah. Since when has that ever stopped him?

With a sudden burst of confidence, he grabbed the doorknob and let himself in. Your parents were at work so he made sure to be extra annoying this time, pay back for ignoring him! "I'm breaking into your home!" He yelled dramatically after reaching out and pressing the doorbell a few times to alert his existence even more.

He took his shoes off and made his way to your room, the pathway ingrained into his mind at this point.

When he reached the door, he gave a brief knock (he had manners. Sometimes.) Before turning the knob. "You better be decent for both of our sanity!" He called before finally opening it.

Your room looked... Empty... at first. In the beginning, he thought you weren't home, that is until the blankets began to shift and there was an annoyed groan.

"Soooo dramatiiiiic..." You huffed, unfurling yourself from your cocoon of blankets to glare at him jokingly, but he looked more surprised.

"You look like you got hit with a bus!"

"Well screw you too..."

Tommy snorted before awkwardly sitting on the edge of your bed. "So.. why haven't you been up today? Or... Well.. Passing your classes?"

You were definitely shocked that Tommy noticed, and part of you wanted to joke to ease the tension, but you figured that would make it harder on him. "Well... See... I've been struggling a lot with my mental state and everything just became really stressful, but even then I couldn't do it... And.. Well still can't.."

"Why... Not?" He looked at you in confusion and you just shrugged slightly, running your hand through your bedhead... Which you could see Tommy trying his absolute hardest not to snicker at.

"I don't really feel motivated... I can't even really get out of bed.."

The blond boy gave you an awkward pat on the arm, making you roll your eyes. "Uhhh.. You.. wanna watch a movie? Or... Oh! Maybe we could go egg Wilbur's house while he's off being a simp for Nikki!"

You scoffed and began to laugh into your hand which caused Tommy to greatly relax. "That's hours away, Tommy... We'd never get there before my parents get back. But we can watch a movie?"

"You're no funnnn!" He whined dramatically with a slight hint of a smile before shaking his head, "Go at least brush your hair while I find a movie, it looks like a porcupine got struck by lightening."

You rolled your eyes and slowly began to shuffle out of bed to make your way to the bathroom while Tommy turned on the TV in your room, having been here enough times that he knew how to use it.

When you came back, mostly cleaned up with a sweater thrown over your pajamas, you saw Tommy putting on one of his favourite comedy movies. There was also some snacks he had probably raided your kitchen or secret candy stash for, but you didn't mind. You flopped back down into your bed, while Tommy hit play.

"I never under stand why women always make such a bit deal over pulling those face mask things off of their face!" Tommy gestured to the scene that was playing in the movie. "Also why do they need so many face products? Doesn't water and dish soap do the trick?"

"You do NOT use dish soap on your face!" You gaped at his response to the movie. "And trust me... Those peel masks hurt." You saw Tommy roll his eyes for a moment before you got an idea. "Wanna try?"

The teen looked at you as if you were high on glue, but then he saw the challenging look in your eyes, and everyone knows that Tommy Big Man Innit NEVER backs down from a challenge. Or maybe he knew it would make you happy? "It can't be that bad!"

You knew he was gonna regret that.

You paused the movie while you scrambled to get your skin care products ready. First you made him wash his face, moisturize, etc etc, which he complained about non stop, but you always told him to quit whining or he was admitting to losing against the woman in the movie. He instantly quit complaining, calling the actress and pansy and hell bent determined to prove himself as an alpha male.

You made him put his hair back with a cheap headband you had, which caused his blond locks to practically flare out in every direction. After laughing about it for a minute, you made him sit down so you could paint the mask on.

"Sit still!"

"But it feels weird!"

"Keep quiet or this brush is going up your nose!"

"You wouldn't DARE."

"Wanna bet on it?"

After about five minutes of even more whining, you finally got the masks painted on you both as Tommy decided to take a picture of himself for Twitter to meme about.

Tommyinnit

Women are weird with their face skin care stuff...

While you both waited for the masks to dry, you had some how convinced Tommy to let you paint his nails but ONLY if he could do yours as well. We all know Tommy isn't about that toxic masculinity.

Once it was dry, you could see Tommy scrunching his face repeatedly, most likely not used to the unusual feeling. "Can I take this off now? I'm determined to prove myself better than those actors!"

You bit your lip to hide your grin as you gave a nod. Because yours was also dry, you showed him how to find an edge and how to pull it off.

"Ow! What the hell!?"

You snickered as you watched Tommy begin to yelp in pain as he began to pull the mask off, only able to do tiny tiny little bits at a time before needing a moment to gather himself, eyes watering.

You, being a boss, were already majority of the way done pulling the face mask off causing Tommy's jaw to d r o p. "You're a literal hell spawn! How are you not bawling your eyes out from the pain?!"

"I've done this quite a lot of times honestly. It's not that bad." You lied through your teeth. Honestly it hurt quite a lot, but you were just enjoying seeing Tommy gawk at you before trying to peel the mask off more, only to yelp and whine.

It took twenty minutes, and eventually, he got the product off and stared at his reddened face in the mirror. He decided to take another picture (with permission) for Twitter with you being a smug little shit while his eyes were still watery and his skin still irritated.

Tommyinnit

I respect women even more now...

(Yourusername)

@/tommyinnit Wimp.

[doggoboigaugau]

Stray dog (Part 6)

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Summary: Soap goes to see Male Reader after the incident between him and Ghost.

Word count: 2033

Warning: none.

You know you’ve fucked up. Losing control over your own actions and unleashing your emotions on your L.T. in front of everyone. Now you’ll be seen as a liability. If they’re kind enough, they may cross your name out of the upcoming mission and will take care of you later after the mission is over, and if not, they can get rid of you, making you transfer elsewhere and then you will have to start from scratch again, trying to build relationships with new faces while coping with the strange circumstances. Not that you are anything near as close with the other men of the 141 as they are to each other, but at least they’ve been around you enough to understand you to a certain extent and will let you have a leeway occasionally with the meetings or the paper works when they notice you’re not really OK for those seemingly effortless errands. With new people? You probably will have to shut your mouth and forget about your own emotional needs pretty usually so as not to be the center of disdain and labeled as an incompetent outcast.

As these thoughts run through your mind like midnight trains that seemingly carry with them the hope and dream of a lone onlooker into the pitch darkness, you sit in your room, door is locked, all windows are closed shut, with hands covering your face. You dread the thought of having to adapt to a new environment with new people so much that you think if the worst-case scenario ever happens, you will just end it all to save yourselves from further suffering and your stupid, unrealistic expectations. 

What kind of expectations specifically? Well, you’ve never created a positive impression on any other teams before the 141 since you’re always that timid, reversed, and obviously mentally struggling pathetic wet blanket that stayed in the corner every meeting. No one wanted to talk to you or spend their precious leisure time with you because no one wanted to waste their time on a depressed little shit, or get heavily attached to by a crybaby that demanded their attention 24/7 or else he’d think he was worth nothing to them. Therefore, whenever you received the news that you’d be transferred to a new team, you always expected a new chance to be a different person. You would always try to muster all your courage and all the…qualities closest to extroversion inside you (if it ever exists) with the hope that this new team could be different. You would present them with a more optimistic, outgoing, and attractive picture of yourself, and they would remember to include you in everything, like some silly card games, some sparring bets, or simply just listing your name along with theirs when they plan to do something. You thought the feeling of loneliness and isolation that you used to feel among your old teammates would end. You thought you would stop feeling so invisible. 

Technically, you do achieve these things while being with the 141, although you’re still the depressed, pathetic boy that refuses to open up for fear of your expectations not being lived up to; it’s your coping mechanism: you’d rather have nothing after all than risk being hurt. The 141 consists of kind and considerate men; they all have their secret, traumatic background stories so they understand that sometimes you need your time alone to process your own emotions without even having to know the exact reasons why; they always include you in everything they do, and it warms your heart every time they call out your name and insist on you going with them to different places. Still, one problem persists though, which is the inevitable fact that you have grown so attached to them that you feel impossible to ever have to leave. Even the thought of it makes your heart sink and your stomach lurch. It makes you feel physically sick. What’s worse is you probably mean nowhere near as significant to them as they are to you, which is a truth you cannot escape but still try so hard to ignore.

It was about some hours after the incident when someone knocked on your door. You try to stay as quiet as possible, even going as far as holding your breath so that whoever is on the other side of the door will think you’re not inside or you’re sleeping and will go away. 

“I know you’re inside, and I know you’re not sleeping, Y/n.”  Soap says with an unusually stern voice.

You groan loudly and stand up. Upon opening the door, you’re greeted with the sight of a big, angry Scottish man crossing his arms in front of his chest, his arm muscles stiffening. Apparently, he is here because of the stuff between you and Ghost. A thought suddenly crosses your mind, as you wonder what it would feel like if you also had someone who cared about you that much. It must feel nice. You think despairingly to yourself, though on the outside, you still keep that expressionless face before Soap.

“What do you want?” 

“What do I want?” Soap scoffs, “Do you realize the dire situation you’re in right now?”

“Of course I do, you think I’m an idiot?” You grimace, feeling the indignation building up inside you again while the jealousy is burning your organs.

“Then why did you ask me that question?” Soap almost screams at your face.

Something suddenly snaps inside you, and you growl like a hurt animal, “YOU ALL WILL KICK ME OUT ANYWAY, SO WHY BOTHER?”

The Scott is obviously taken aback by your emotional explosion, his eyes widen and he takes one step back, “What do you mean by…kicking you out?”

“What’s else besides kicking me out of this team? Isn’t it obvious?” Your chest rises and falls noticeably as you feel like a combination of violent emotions is choking your throat. Anger, jealousy, despair, regret, hopelessness,... the worst-case scenario is so close to stopping being a scenario as you are actively making it truly happen. You scoff at yourself when the Scott is still trying to come up with the right words, a term that you despise so much suddenly pops up in your mind. Self-fulfilling prophecy. You despise that term with all your heart because you feel like whoever coined it and whoever uses it is blaming you, the person who has suffered so much in the past and is the victim of his own circumstances, for not being able to break the cycle yourself. How can anyone expect a deeply wounded soul to save itself? How can they expect right from the start that the soul knows how to achieve such a feast? 

“Y/n…we’ve never planned to kick you out…” Soap carefully speaks with his softest voice possible, aware that acting impulsively right now will probably result in catastrophic consequences that can never be undone.

“It’s either today or some day in the future. It’s inevitable.” You coldly say.

“Why? Why are you so sure that we’ll get rid of you sooner or later?” Soap asks, clearly puzzled by your certitude. 

“BECAUSE I’M REPLACEABLE!” You scream again, this time your heart feels like it’s being ripped open by all the overwhelming emotions which have been bottling up inside you ever since you, as a little boy, became known of what loneliness was. All the questions ‘why no one wants to play with me?’, ‘why am I always alone?’, ‘what do they have that I don’t?’,...‘what is wrong with me?’ and all the memories of how you always stood from far away, watching the kids laughing and playing with each other, or when you were on the street getting to your destination, and you suddenly stopped just to look at a group of young people sharing with each other about their normal days and talking about the new cool song they came across on a social app. The feelings that dominated your senses at those time are hard to describe. They are a mix of jealousy because you knew those people had what you’d never have, despair because you realized who you inherently were was the reason why you’re never meant for such relationships, hopelessness because you had come to terms with that loss, and, strangely, nostalgia. Nostalgia because you used to be in a couple of relationships that could’ve become the same as theirs, like what was going on between you and Fyodor, and you missed those feelings. You missed the touch, the care, and the fire. You missed the person you could’ve become.

“I am replaceable, alright? It has always been like this! Always! I’m nothing to any of you. I’ve always been nothing to every. Fucking. One!” Before you know it, tears are welling up in your eyes and your tough, emotionless facade collapses in front of Soap, revealing the broken, sensitive, and wounded boy behind. You collapse on the floor as well, your legs and one of your arms support to prevent you from hitting yourself against the cold cemented surface, while your other arm cover your shameful face as you cry like a baby in front of one of the greatest soldiers of the base. 

“Just go.” You say between your pathetic cries as you try to swing your door shut when still crawling on the floor. 

To your surprise, however, the man grabs the door to prevent you from closing it, he does this with so much force that the veins bulge on the back of his hand.

“What the–?”

“Listen to me, Private Y/n.” Soap grunts through his clenched teeth. “We have never thought of you that way. You’re not replaceable to us. You. Are. Important, alright? We can never get rid of your ass because we love you so much, like a real family. Am I understood??”

You looks up at the angry Scottish with your widened brown eyes, still the same innocent, puppy eyes that followed his every step when you’re first transferred to the base of the 141. Soap looks at those eyes and immediately the rage ignited inside him dies out. How can he be angry at you? How can he be angry at those eyes? The man kneels down and pulls you into a big embrace. His warm, large hand rub your back and you can feel his heart beats wildly as your chests touch each other. 

“This is how you have been feeling all this time?” Soap asks, his voice rumbles. You flinch a little as his warm breath tickles the sensitive skin on your neck. It feels so strange to be this close to someone.

“This is how you felt that night, after we arrived at the base from the bar? When you stood alone in the parking lot? When you spent the whole day training without eating? This is how you feel all the time with us?” 

You cannot reply. Instead, you are clinging on to him as if you’re clinging for your dear life, screaming into his shoulder. Your fingers sink deeply into his clothes, wanting to make use of any other ways to release the powerful tensions within yourself besides screaming your heart out.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you feel this way. It’s okay, I’m here now, baby. I’m here now.” Soap keeps pouring sweet words of solace and affirmation into your ears as you let all of the suppressed emotions out. Both of you know that this isn’t the end, your pain and deep-seated traumas will not be magically healed right after this embrace just because you finally have the courage to talk about it with someone. But it is enough for now. Soap is proud of you. He is proud because, either deliberately or not, you have decided to open up. Maybe getting help wasn’t what you thought you’d gain when you screamed words deep inside your heart to him a few moments earlier, but this presents a new beginning, a beginning to a life where you believe that you can actually have what you thought you’d never have. And you deserve it. All of it.

To be continued... (dang, when will I be able to finish this?)

Taglist: @justdawn @killmeprettypleasee @livelaugh-light @therealppboy @arthurmorgansballsack @redjeanjacket @gay-as-hell-blog @b0g-b0y @somothegraffitiartist @kodasstar @teippirulla @aphroditeslovr @peter-the-pan @wvandahoe @c0nny3917 @talia-the-gemini

[doggoboigaugau]

Stray dog (Part 5)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male reader

Summary: A person from the past appeared in front of Male reader, and they would have to work together on the new mission. It was not a comfortable reunion.

Word count: 3323 words

Warning: Mention of self-h4rm behaviors.

Price had announced that on the next mission your team was going to collaborate with another team from Russia, mainly because the location of the mission would be a little bit challenging, and you would need assistance from people who were accustomed to that kind of condition for safety and efficiency. Informed that the new mission would be a tough one, you and the other men of the team had been training especially hard to prepare for it. Ghost’d been helping you and Roach with improving your close combat skills against big men as your enemies would be the Russian “bears”–a nickname given to them due to their considerable height and exceptionally powerful physique. 

Soap was standing from afar, watching you and Ghost on the sparring ground with amusement as the smaller you tried to pin the towering Brit down. It was then that Price approached him and said, “The Russian team who we’ll work with will arrive at 1400. I have a meeting with the higher-ups concerning the mission at that hour, so you tell Ghost and Y/n to go greet them.”

“Can I tag along, Cap’?” Soap smirked.

“Do whatever the hell you want, just don’t act stupid like usual. Save me some face.” Price shrugged and hurried to leave the room, not allowing Soap a single chance to bite back.

Soap was about to curse at the older man when a roar of applause attracted his whole attention. He turned his eyes back to the sparring ground, and his mouth lifted in a broad, proud smile the moment he saw you sitting on top of Ghost, your hands gripping him by the wrists and your legs pinning those of his own. The recruits were screaming, whistling, and jumping in excitement, which was an understandable reaction of them given all the fear and respect Ghost had earned from the sparring ground during the training. Every time new groups of recruits arrived, in the very first training, that masked man always made sure to literally kick some newbies’ asses in front of everyone as a way to warn them and keep them in the right place. Sometimes some men of higher rankings would challenge Ghost as well, but of course none of them ever won. 

“You won.” Ghost looked up at you, his eyes, which were the only thing not covered by his skull mask, softened almost like those of a proud big brother.

“I think you have a soft spot for me, Ghost. You underperform to let me win.” You released his wrists, pouting a bit at the thought of Ghost deliberately letting you win.

Then, your body shuddered as you could feel his touch on your inner thigh, “I never do that for anyone, even if it’s you or Soap.”

His eyes were burning, the man beneath you, and for a moment you were taken back to that early morning in the TV room when his hand caressed your cheek, drew a gentle, burning line from your neck down to your lower back, and then snaked under your shirt to fondle your warm flesh. You jumped, standing up so quick that your body almost lost balance and fell outside of the sparring ring, the alarm run off inside your head as you feared that he might know. He might know so damn well that you had already been awake at the moment he showed love interest in you and your body, and he was also aware you were pretending you hadn’t realized that.

“Sir, are you okay?” A recruit that was standing near the ring held the sides of your arms to help you regain balance. 

“Hah, I’m fine. Thank you.” Your timid and soft nature made you turn your head and smile at him, only for you to find out that this boy was a head taller than you, and from the position that the two of you were in right now, it looked like you were nestling into his embrace.

Your face turned bright red at the realization, but before your brain could come up with the most normal and “no homo” way to sneak out of this awkward situation, a strong hand grabbed the collar of your shirt and lifted you up.

“What the hell–? Ghost, put me the fuck down!” The man dragged you out of the arms of the recruit and down to the ground below the sparring ring. No matter how hard you were punching and kicking him, which was almost nothing to his thick skin, he continued to walk to where Soap was standing, unbothered by your resistance. Soap laughed so hard at the sight of him holding you up like a cat–and you’re a grumpy one–that the man fell to the ground, hugging his belly.

“You’re such a dramatic bitch, Soap. I hate you two.”

“We love you too.” Soap winked at you. “OK, no more jokes. Your dad was just here, Y/n, he told us to welcome the Russian team at 1400.”

“My dad…?” You panicked at the two words, a familiar and frightening face emerged from the depth of your memories and filled your head.

“Who else besides Price? Why do you look so scared?” Soap’s facial expression dropped for a moment, realizing that he might have mentioned a disturbing piece of your past. 

“Nothing. Let’s get lunch before they arrive. Ghost, put me down!” You pretended to miss Soap’s question and came back to throwing your fits and kicks to the larger man who was built like a fridge. 

Fortunately, Soap didn’t intend to pry either, “No, no, don’t put him down hahaha. Let’s get to the kitchen like this.”

“No fucking way! Put me down!!!”

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

The Russian team finally arrived. You, Soap and Ghost went to the ground outside of the base where the helicopter would be dropping them. 

“I heard they’re very huge, like you, Ghost.” Soap chatted.

“What with all the fucking tall people.” You mumbled, clearly not amused by the fact you’d keep being the shortest one in any of the teams you were and would be working with. 

“I feel you, boy.” Soap put a hand on your shoulder, and you were almost touched by him trying to be understanding when he proceeded to say, “I used to be the shortest one, but luckily you and Roach have taken my place.” 

“God damn it, Soap Mactavish!!!” You nearly threw yourself at the man, and finally Ghost had to step in between you two to prevent any embarrassing occurrences in front of the very eyes of another team that could forever change the image of Task Force 141 in the stories people had been telling.

The helicopter was roaring above your head, and as it landed, you felt Ghost’s strong hand again on your bare skin, or specifically the nape of your neck. You glowered at him since you knew damn well what this man was thinking that led him to do this kind of gesture, “I’m not gonna be blown away, Ghost.” You couldn’t–and hell you didn’t want to–recall the first time the men of 141 did this to you, being unnecessarily worried about your light weight and slender body, always acting as if you’d be blown away, broken apart, or kidnapped the very moment they didn’t notice.

“Better safe than sorry.” His eyes looked down at you for a few seconds before lifting up to meet those of the Captain of the Russian team who was heading their way.

Ghost obviously heard your murmured curses at him, but chose to ignore to exchange a handshake with the Captain.

“Nice to meet you, the legendary 141. I’m Captain Alfred.” The man smiled amiably. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties and you could almost sense from him the same vibe as from Price. ‘Seriously, are all the Captains like this?’

“Ghost.”

“Of course I know who you are. All the three of you.” He eyed the three of you, from Soap on the left to Ghost in the middle, and then to you. “Especially you, Private Y/n.”

“Huh?” You were lost for a moment. What did he mean by that, especially you?? Were there any bad rumors about you that had been circling around without your notice?

“Why do you look so bewildered?” Alfred chuckled. “My Private has been speaking so fondly of you, Y/n. Ever since he’s transferred to my team. The kid was so shy about sharing his past but you were the only exception. Fyodor, come here!”

Fyodor…

Oh.

Fyodor.

Your heart skipped a bit. It almost felt impossible to breathe normally at that present. For no tangible reason, your vision went blurred and you were taken–no, more like violently hit by a train–back to one of the times in the past that you had been successfully burying deep into your consciousness, or at least it was what you thought so. 

His likable smile. His silly laughter. His stupid humor. His Russian-rich English accent. His breath lingered with the smell of the cheap cigarettes that you two shared your little money to purchase at a convenience store which now had been replaced by a coffee shop. You had fooled yourself that it was easy to forget him, and forget all the slow, calm moments you spent with him outside of that convenience store, talking away all the past trauma, the intolerable pressure life put on the tired shoulders of two young men who were forced into adult lives too soon. You had fooled yourself that it was easy to forget your feelings for him as well as your desire for something between you which was destined to never happen.

And now he was here, in front of you. His strong build and massive body still carried the smell of the exact cheap cigarette brand from when you were close. The version of a world–empty but manageable–inside of you crumbled, and once again you felt like you were the heart-broken boy in that damn night, lonely and heart-wrenchingly pathetic, sitting alone in the balcony at 3AM in the morning, ignoring the fact that you’d have to wake up in two hours for a training to smoke two whole packs of cigarettes to repress your overwhelming emotions. A piece of screwed-up paper sat quietly at your feet that night, and it was from him. Fyodor.

“Hi, Y/n.”

“Fyodor.” You nodded, your face looked as cold and expressionless as ever, till the point that Alfred thought he was seeing a smaller version of Ghost.

“What is this? I thought you two used to be close friends as recruits?” Alfred blurted. He was exactly like a father who was trying to make his child get along with another kid.

Soap shrugged it off, “Well, I guess our boy Y/n here may get influenced a little bit too much by his admirable Lieutenant. After all, Ghost is just a legend here. Everyone wants to be as good as he is.” 

Alfred laughed out loud, “Well, I guess!” 

“Shut up, Soap. Let’s get back to the base.” Ghost said to Alfred.

“Alright boys and girls, follow Lieutenant Ghost.” 

You glowered at Fyodor before turning your back on him and following your Lieutenant. You despised yourself for doing so, seeing that Fyodor was still the kind and quiet boy as he always was, while you just became more and more selfish and sinister day after day for being consumed with bitter jealousy. You knew you were angry at him for nothing, it was not his fault in any way, but you could not stop yourself from doing so. You would never forget that night, being wide awake until the morning after, fighting with the inner demons every fucking second to keep yourself alive from your own hands. Neither could you stop feeling it was not fair for you, trapped with feelings that could never be relieved, while he could go out anywhere, hitting on and getting any girls he wanted. 

It just hurt so bad. 

And you were so fucking stupid for falling for a straight dude, a hot one even, with a smooth mouth that never failed to attract any women.

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

Ghost led all of you to Price’s room. He knocked on the door to inform Price that you had arrived and opened it for everyone to get in. 

“We will have a brief meeting about the next mission, and tomorrow at 0500 we will hop on a helicopter to get transferred to the target location, that’s where we will have some training together to get my team familiar with the weather condition before getting into the real fight.” Price perfectly asserted himself in front of the Russian team with confidence and dominance.

As the meeting went, your eyes locked on Price’s face and the projector screen, but at the same time you couldn’t help watching Fyodor from your peripheral vision. He stood there attentively listening to you two’s Captains, and whenever he was quiet like that, the man always gave off a kind of passively intimidating vibe, like a bear enjoying his peaceful slumber that would turn into a furious monster and easily bite your head off if you dared to disturb his sleep. During the whole meeting, he did not look at you for once, and to be honest, it made you feel horrible. That was just it, right? Everything that used to be going on between you was just a complicated lie that man had been weaving to lead you around like the stupid laughable loser you were. 

“I will always be here for you bro.”

“If there is anything, just tell me. I’ll always try to help you as much as I can.”

“You mean a lot to me.”

“I will never give up on you.”

Lovely words they might sound. But you’d learnt the hard way that those were just downright lies and hollow promises. Your ‘brother-like’ relationship was as fragile as a thread that when the smallest unpredictable thing happened, it tore apart. When you stopped being a useful weapon or a great listener to be taken advantage of and showed your broken heart and bleeding soul, you stopped being of value to him, and he would withdraw his effort put on your relationship and start to hang out with the other recruits.

The funny thing was it was not the worst you had been through, because during your childhood you’d been literally through hell. It was not the reason why you two ended up like this, you asking to be transferred to anywhere but that base and leaving him behind, and him getting over the loss of your presence too quickly by being sent back to his home country, Russia. The real cause of it was because you accidentally fell for him, a straight man who had a pretty impressive number of body counts. You’d known that he was straight right from the start of your situationship, but you couldn’t help it. The way he called your name. The way he looked at you as you shared about your traumatized past with so much care in those dark eyes. The way he seldomly touched your shoulder, grabbed your arm to drag you around. Along with some trivial moments you spent with him that probably meant nothing to him but so much to you. Like when he tried to include you in the conversation with other recruits. Or when he laughed at your jokes. Or when he held the lighter in his big hand, lighting the cigarette that was in between your lips for you. You had never been showered with that amount of intricate care and love from any men before that you felt weak in your knees. You could not help falling for him.

As the meeting was announced over, you almost stormed out of the room. Tears were threatening to brim over your eyes and you could not afford anyone to see that, especially Fyodor. You turned your back to everyone else there so fast, and as a result you missed the worried look of your team, as well as Fyodor’s.

Running to somewhere quiet and normally no one would pass by, you put your trembling hand into your pocket, fumbling for the pack of cigarettes to try to put yourself together by smoking it away. And before you knew it, the head of the cigarette was already pressed against the skin of your arm. You exhaled in relief, feeling thankful that the temporary pain on your flesh always succeeded in repressing the agonizing pain inside your heart. You threw that extinguished cigarette down to the ground and violently stepped on it, as if it was that same piece of paper that Fyodor sent you on that night, almost begging you to call him back to talk and resolve whatever conflict you two were finding yourselves in. You lit another cigarette, and were about to press it on your arm against until a strong hand grab the wrist of your hand that was holding the cigarette.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You heard the angry howl from the Brit.

“Let me go.” You murmured.

“Private, I’m asking you. What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?” Ghost heavily seethed out every word.

“Y/n… why are you doing this?” Soap arrived a few seconds later than Ghost, and in contrast to the masked man, he was trying to be soft to talk you out of this behavior.

“Let me fucking go. Why do you care so much??” Your stomach was burning with how much indignation you were having. Sensing the Brit’s grip on your wrist was as firm as a rock, you growled in your throat and bared your teeth at the two men like a disturbed stray dog. 

“Why do you keep pushing us away then? Why do you refuse our care and love?” Soap reached out his arm to touch you in an attempt to somehow calm you down, but quickly withdraw it back as he saw you set your jaw.

“I don’t fucking need your kindness! Whatever the fuck you’re doing, it’s only out of pity. Now let me the fuck go!!!” You got extremely violent and began to do absolutely anything to make the Brit let you go. You screamed at him, scratched his arms, punched his face, kicked his legs. Your aggressiveness definitely took the two men aback as they wondered how much rage must be stored inside that small body of you to make you behave like an absolute wild animal. 

“What is going on here?” Price and Alfred arrived at the scene, and behind him was the rest of the two teams, which certainly included Fyodor. 

You could see how he was looking at you at the moment. Bewildered eyes and a terrified face. Everyone else here was with those kinds of expressions. Nice. Absolutely fucking nice. Now you were like a fucking joke in front of everyone. The utmost shame and anger filled your whole body and made your blood boil, and suddenly you were fueled with the most destructible power ever–the primitive force when an animal was pushed near the verge of extinction, when it realized that if whatever was happening kept happening, it would die. And that was the scariest power ever, what one could do when they realized they had nothing else to lose. 

You could not remember much about what occurred after that. Everything flashed before your own eyes, and the only two things that your five senses could make out of was the pained expression on Simon’s face and his reddened eyes. Another thing was how you run off from that place where everyone was surrounding you and watching you as if they were the concerned citizens and you were the rabid stray dog being restrained by officers from the animal control and welfare service in the broad daylight.

to be continued...

:)) the reason why this part is so long i bc im having the second mental breakdown in the month and have come back to skipping meals and smoking 2 packs of cigarettes every day.

Taglist: @q8852p

[doggoboigaugau]

Stray dog (Part 4)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 5

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male reader

Finally this piece of shit (me) is back yall :D Sorry for the long wait lmao. And finally I can come up with a suitable name for this fic :))

Summary: What happens after the peaceful night watching Ghost's favorite documentaries with the team. And male reader's worst fears are slowly being revealed.

Word count: 1984

Warning: Nothing. But it's not fluff this time either though.

Ghost was the first one to wake up. He slowly sat up and moved his muscles which were unsurprisingly cramped due to last night’s weird sleeping position. What was surprising to him though, was the fact that he could sleep so well after so long. No nightmares, not a single time waking up panicked and in heavy sweats. He hadn’t been blessed with sound sleeps like this for what felt like a lifetime; even when the things between him and Soap were getting far beyond a relationship among teammates and they started to share a bed with each other, the devil grip of bloody nightmares brought about by his past was one that he could never escape. Until now.

Instinctively, his eyes drifted around, scanning the surrounding for anything suspicious. Although seemed unnecessary since this is their base after all, the safest place with his dearest family, it was one of the habits that he was unable to get rid of and didn’t even feel the need to do so. It was not because he did not trust the team, instead, he trusted you all with all his life and heart; it was just because of a certain incident in the past, in which his own biological family was killed, that he would never allow himself to let his guard down. He didn’t want to lose anyone again, not when the little frame of hope inside him had long been extinguished but now once again reignited thanks to your presence breathing new life into the barren, grief-stricken land of his heart.

Everyone else was still sleeping. Price on his favorite couch, Gaz and Roach on the floor, now lying a whole room apart from each other (Ghost couldn’t quite grasp how they could move that much in their sleep), and you and Soap still on the sofa with him. He eyed the two of you, remembering how every bit of his skin warmed up from the warmth of your bodies as you three unknowingly hugged and touched each other in your sleep, how the pleasant and strangely familiar scents of you and Soap flooded his nose, lingering even in the dreams from last night that he couldn’t recall any other details about. This was the first time Ghost could get this close to you for this long–a whole night; therefore, unlike Soap’s, apparently your scent would be something he was not used to yet, but still it provoked a certain feeling, a peculiar but welcomed one, like a tiny humanoid figure dancing inside the deepest corner of his soul, that he was quite sure to embrace. 

“Dumbfounded by his beauty, ey’ LT?”

Ghost jumped a little, looking up a bit to find Soap had also woken up. The masked man didn’t respond, he just felt a bit bolder than before as his hand reached out and caressed your rosy cheek. He could still remember when you were transferred to their team, when he first laid his eyes on you and immediately doubted Price and Laswell’s decision. You were just too pretty to be here, in this hellhole where every day and night men were sent out either to murder people or to their own death. Little handsome face with big puppy sparkling eyes, easily flushed cheeks, fluffy messy hair that seemed to be taken good care of with expensive shampoo, slender athletic body that was not muscular enough to look intimidating, and that waist. Gosh, he swore he would only need one of his arms to fully wrap around that tiny waist of yours. 

“Where do ya think ya’re touching my babyboy, LT?” Soap raised one of his eyebrows, amusedly observed how Ghost fell head over heels for you while the man himself didn’t even realize it.

Soap’s smirking voice pulled Ghost out of his own mind, as he found his own hand now placed on your lower back, under the olive green t-shirt, slightly pressing down into your soft and warm flesh. 

“When has he become yours, huh Sergeant?” Ghost bit back this time.

“Soon he will, LT.” Soap couldn’t hide the amused look apparent on his face.

“Then that means he’s not yours yet.” 

“Are you two seriously fighting over my Private? At this hour in the fuckin’ mornin’ ?” The two men were stopped in their tracks by Price’s stern but mirth-filled voice.

“Getting overprotective over ya favorite child again, ain’t ya Cap?” Soap joshed.

“Of course I am protective of him! He’s my youngest son! Especially against you two animals always with those hungry eyes!” 

“What?? We’re not your son then huh Cap? Hella offended.”

Price: “......”

Gaz was quick to jump in, “If you’re also Price’s sons then doesn’t that mean you and Ghost and Y/n are brothers? Are you fuckin’ your own brothers?” Roach stood right beside Gaz, nodding very enthusiastically.

Price: “......I think we should stop here.”

Soap argued, “Fuck you, me and Ghost’ve been fuckin’ for years!”

Price: “......”

Gaz: “......”

Roach: “......”

“I mean we all know it but do you have to be that loud about it?” Gaz said, almost trembling, while Roach was comforting him by rubbing his back, and Price just massaged the bridge of his nose, obviously getting too worn out because of this ridiculously common occurrence among his men.

Ghost finally stepped in, placing his large hand on one of Soap’s shoulders as a nonverbal way to tell him to calm down, “We should stop here before he’s sent straight to hell after his death.” Unsurprisingly, the three other men all agreed.

Soap casually shrugged his shoulders as if he hadn’t said the most unholy thing ever just a minute ago, before turning his back to the men to look at your peaceful sleeping face. You literally slept like a baby, not bet an eye when Soap gingerly held your arms and pushed you aside a bit to let himself stand up, and not even flinch after their joking conversation that accelerated very quickly into some horrendous (although he was the reason why it become that way). You were now lying on your back, making it easier for Ghost and Soap to see how your chest and belly slightly moved up and down as you breathed steadily. 

“I know it’s a nice sight to see, the boy being this cute and cozy, but we will have a pretty tough mission in two days and you will have to wake him up for the training.” Price left a final reminder before putting the signature hat on his head and exiting the room to enjoy his morning smoking session.

Price was right. This was the military after all. The sweet and tranquil moments were the ones that passed by the fastest, leaving the men with a desperate craving to have another taste of it. Guess it’s one of the driving forces behind their desire to survive through the deadliest battles, to be able to see you again, not covered in blood and sweat and dust from the field, but in your most adorable state–freshly bathed and safe in their very cherished home. They loved the sight of you dropping that stern face and serious, piercing eyes in battles, as you run around the base with Roach, hunting for the next victim of your stupid little pranks. 

What would be their reaction then when they heard your confession? About how you were the opposite of them, never cared for your own life during battles, how you were always like a stray dog that was once treasured by a human so much that when you lost them, you just barely managed to stumble through every obstacle in your way, biting everyone who dared to get near, and loitering around aimlessly not quite sure what you’re supposed to do with your life. You and they seemed to be so close, yet you were actually oceans apart. To them, your heart was unattainable, and to you, they were too good and admirable for you to even think of being with them. You didn’t deserve to be with such great men. You didn’t deserve to be with anyone to begin with.

“Wake up, pretty boy. It’s time for the training~” Soap gently stirred you.

You slowly opened your eyes. You were actually awake when Soap and Ghost had that fighting over you, and you even felt Ghost’s gloved hand on your sensitive skin. An eerie feeling filled your heart ever since, knowing that those two great men nurtured such sacred emotions towards someone ugly and unloveable like you. It was a mixed feeling of pure happiness and sheer anguish, owing to your deepest fears. You feared that if you opened up and requited their love, they would find out who you really were: a stray dog that no one ever liked, a deeply wounded animal that would burden anyone who had to take responsibility for caring for it, a creature not fitted to be called a human being with the utmost ugliness deep inside its soul, unable to free itself from the eternal curses put upon it by the unfair universe. 

Being in love also entailed confiding intimate secrets in your partners, well not necessarily every secret, but still, some needed to be told, and this scared you to death–the ordeal of being known. Confiding in others true feelings would just push them far away. No one wanted to deal with a mess of a person. No one wanted to bear the uncomfortable atmosphere of not knowing what to say when the utterances that escaped your lips intertwined and became something that they could not comprehend or relate to. Not to mention how alone you had been all this time, having no one close to you to spend time with, to prioritize your needs over the others they knew, to come to you whenever you felt lost and hurt and disoriented… and to make you feel that you were not replaceable. You believed that Ghost and Soap had such a person, Ghost was that person to Soap, and Soap was that person to Ghost. If you did anything wrong to either of them, they would look at you with those eyes, those familiar eyes that the people in the past used to look at you with whenever you entered the room, the ones that were filled with passive hatred and disgust, the ones that forever haunted you in your sleep. If Ghost and Soap lost you, they could always seek the presence of each other. If you lost them, you’d be left alone again. Because, sadly but frankly, you’re always replaceable.

Lucky for you, they didn’t know you had heard everything, how they fought over you and how Soap openly expressed their interest in you in front of the team. It was easier this way, pretending you weren’t aware of their love so that you wouldn’t have to face those intense feelings of theirs and the possible consequences that could break your already tormented soul into even smaller pieces. Running away from your problems had always been the easiest option. It wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but it worked best for you.

“Pretty boy, ya listening?”

“Ah… y-yes, sir.” Your eyes refocused on the two men before you.

Soap chuckled, “Ya haven’t really woken up yet, ain’t ya? Go wash your face. The training will begin in 30 minutes. Get ready.”

“Yes, sir.” You hurriedly stood up, almost lost your balance because of the sudden movement and the cramped muscles from last night’s weird sleeping position. As you run out of the room, you could hear chuckles from Soap and maybe Ghost too. You smiled a bit, thinking that it was better like this, you kept pretending, leaving them with that love until they found out themselves how ridiculous it was to fall for someone like you, and then secretly withdraw to save genuine affection for someone that actually worthed it.

to be continued (because i need more pain)

@b0g-b0y here is the new part as u ask.

[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...

[doggoboigaugau]

My 4-hour hyper fixation drawing session

These pieces are based on my fic Stray dog, pairing Ghost x Soap x Male Reader This is only my version of Y/n, because basically the reader is yall so u can imagine him in whatever way u like.

"Guess it’s one of the driving forces behind their desire to survive through the deadliest battles, to be able to see you again, not covered in blood and sweat and dust from the field, but in your most adorable state–freshly bathed and safe in their very cherished home." - Part 4

(I also drew one piece of Ghost only but it turned out like shit so..... maybe next time)

(another thing is I wrote this bitch to be so pathetic in the latest parts that I myself forgot how a menace this bitch is to society)

[tobbotobbs]

Fucking hell this gets better and better also I need soap to fucking give me a crushing hug pls

Stray dog (Part 6)

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Summary: Soap goes to see Male Reader after the incident between him and Ghost.

Word count: 2033

Warning: none.

You know you’ve fucked up. Losing control over your own actions and unleashing your emotions on your L.T. in front of everyone. Now you’ll be seen as a liability. If they’re kind enough, they may cross your name out of the upcoming mission and will take care of you later after the mission is over, and if not, they can get rid of you, making you transfer elsewhere and then you will have to start from scratch again, trying to build relationships with new faces while coping with the strange circumstances. Not that you are anything near as close with the other men of the 141 as they are to each other, but at least they’ve been around you enough to understand you to a certain extent and will let you have a leeway occasionally with the meetings or the paper works when they notice you’re not really OK for those seemingly effortless errands. With new people? You probably will have to shut your mouth and forget about your own emotional needs pretty usually so as not to be the center of disdain and labeled as an incompetent outcast.

As these thoughts run through your mind like midnight trains that seemingly carry with them the hope and dream of a lone onlooker into the pitch darkness, you sit in your room, door is locked, all windows are closed shut, with hands covering your face. You dread the thought of having to adapt to a new environment with new people so much that you think if the worst-case scenario ever happens, you will just end it all to save yourselves from further suffering and your stupid, unrealistic expectations. 

What kind of expectations specifically? Well, you’ve never created a positive impression on any other teams before the 141 since you’re always that timid, reversed, and obviously mentally struggling pathetic wet blanket that stayed in the corner every meeting. No one wanted to talk to you or spend their precious leisure time with you because no one wanted to waste their time on a depressed little shit, or get heavily attached to by a crybaby that demanded their attention 24/7 or else he’d think he was worth nothing to them. Therefore, whenever you received the news that you’d be transferred to a new team, you always expected a new chance to be a different person. You would always try to muster all your courage and all the…qualities closest to extroversion inside you (if it ever exists) with the hope that this new team could be different. You would present them with a more optimistic, outgoing, and attractive picture of yourself, and they would remember to include you in everything, like some silly card games, some sparring bets, or simply just listing your name along with theirs when they plan to do something. You thought the feeling of loneliness and isolation that you used to feel among your old teammates would end. You thought you would stop feeling so invisible. 

Technically, you do achieve these things while being with the 141, although you’re still the depressed, pathetic boy that refuses to open up for fear of your expectations not being lived up to; it’s your coping mechanism: you’d rather have nothing after all than risk being hurt. The 141 consists of kind and considerate men; they all have their secret, traumatic background stories so they understand that sometimes you need your time alone to process your own emotions without even having to know the exact reasons why; they always include you in everything they do, and it warms your heart every time they call out your name and insist on you going with them to different places. Still, one problem persists though, which is the inevitable fact that you have grown so attached to them that you feel impossible to ever have to leave. Even the thought of it makes your heart sink and your stomach lurch. It makes you feel physically sick. What’s worse is you probably mean nowhere near as significant to them as they are to you, which is a truth you cannot escape but still try so hard to ignore.

It was about some hours after the incident when someone knocked on your door. You try to stay as quiet as possible, even going as far as holding your breath so that whoever is on the other side of the door will think you’re not inside or you’re sleeping and will go away. 

“I know you’re inside, and I know you’re not sleeping, Y/n.”  Soap says with an unusually stern voice.

You groan loudly and stand up. Upon opening the door, you’re greeted with the sight of a big, angry Scottish man crossing his arms in front of his chest, his arm muscles stiffening. Apparently, he is here because of the stuff between you and Ghost. A thought suddenly crosses your mind, as you wonder what it would feel like if you also had someone who cared about you that much. It must feel nice. You think despairingly to yourself, though on the outside, you still keep that expressionless face before Soap.

“What do you want?” 

“What do I want?” Soap scoffs, “Do you realize the dire situation you’re in right now?”

“Of course I do, you think I’m an idiot?” You grimace, feeling the indignation building up inside you again while the jealousy is burning your organs.

“Then why did you ask me that question?” Soap almost screams at your face.

Something suddenly snaps inside you, and you growl like a hurt animal, “YOU ALL WILL KICK ME OUT ANYWAY, SO WHY BOTHER?”

The Scott is obviously taken aback by your emotional explosion, his eyes widen and he takes one step back, “What do you mean by…kicking you out?”

“What’s else besides kicking me out of this team? Isn’t it obvious?” Your chest rises and falls noticeably as you feel like a combination of violent emotions is choking your throat. Anger, jealousy, despair, regret, hopelessness,... the worst-case scenario is so close to stopping being a scenario as you are actively making it truly happen. You scoff at yourself when the Scott is still trying to come up with the right words, a term that you despise so much suddenly pops up in your mind. Self-fulfilling prophecy. You despise that term with all your heart because you feel like whoever coined it and whoever uses it is blaming you, the person who has suffered so much in the past and is the victim of his own circumstances, for not being able to break the cycle yourself. How can anyone expect a deeply wounded soul to save itself? How can they expect right from the start that the soul knows how to achieve such a feast? 

“Y/n…we’ve never planned to kick you out…” Soap carefully speaks with his softest voice possible, aware that acting impulsively right now will probably result in catastrophic consequences that can never be undone.

“It’s either today or some day in the future. It’s inevitable.” You coldly say.

“Why? Why are you so sure that we’ll get rid of you sooner or later?” Soap asks, clearly puzzled by your certitude. 

“BECAUSE I’M REPLACEABLE!” You scream again, this time your heart feels like it’s being ripped open by all the overwhelming emotions which have been bottling up inside you ever since you, as a little boy, became known of what loneliness was. All the questions ‘why no one wants to play with me?’, ‘why am I always alone?’, ‘what do they have that I don’t?’,...‘what is wrong with me?’ and all the memories of how you always stood from far away, watching the kids laughing and playing with each other, or when you were on the street getting to your destination, and you suddenly stopped just to look at a group of young people sharing with each other about their normal days and talking about the new cool song they came across on a social app. The feelings that dominated your senses at those time are hard to describe. They are a mix of jealousy because you knew those people had what you’d never have, despair because you realized who you inherently were was the reason why you’re never meant for such relationships, hopelessness because you had come to terms with that loss, and, strangely, nostalgia. Nostalgia because you used to be in a couple of relationships that could’ve become the same as theirs, like what was going on between you and Fyodor, and you missed those feelings. You missed the touch, the care, and the fire. You missed the person you could’ve become.

“I am replaceable, alright? It has always been like this! Always! I’m nothing to any of you. I’ve always been nothing to every. Fucking. One!” Before you know it, tears are welling up in your eyes and your tough, emotionless facade collapses in front of Soap, revealing the broken, sensitive, and wounded boy behind. You collapse on the floor as well, your legs and one of your arms support to prevent you from hitting yourself against the cold cemented surface, while your other arm cover your shameful face as you cry like a baby in front of one of the greatest soldiers of the base. 

“Just go.” You say between your pathetic cries as you try to swing your door shut when still crawling on the floor. 

To your surprise, however, the man grabs the door to prevent you from closing it, he does this with so much force that the veins bulge on the back of his hand.

“What the–?”

“Listen to me, Private Y/n.” Soap grunts through his clenched teeth. “We have never thought of you that way. You’re not replaceable to us. You. Are. Important, alright? We can never get rid of your ass because we love you so much, like a real family. Am I understood??”

You looks up at the angry Scottish with your widened brown eyes, still the same innocent, puppy eyes that followed his every step when you’re first transferred to the base of the 141. Soap looks at those eyes and immediately the rage ignited inside him dies out. How can he be angry at you? How can he be angry at those eyes? The man kneels down and pulls you into a big embrace. His warm, large hand rub your back and you can feel his heart beats wildly as your chests touch each other. 

“This is how you have been feeling all this time?” Soap asks, his voice rumbles. You flinch a little as his warm breath tickles the sensitive skin on your neck. It feels so strange to be this close to someone.

“This is how you felt that night, after we arrived at the base from the bar? When you stood alone in the parking lot? When you spent the whole day training without eating? This is how you feel all the time with us?” 

You cannot reply. Instead, you are clinging on to him as if you’re clinging for your dear life, screaming into his shoulder. Your fingers sink deeply into his clothes, wanting to make use of any other ways to release the powerful tensions within yourself besides screaming your heart out.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you feel this way. It’s okay, I’m here now, baby. I’m here now.” Soap keeps pouring sweet words of solace and affirmation into your ears as you let all of the suppressed emotions out. Both of you know that this isn’t the end, your pain and deep-seated traumas will not be magically healed right after this embrace just because you finally have the courage to talk about it with someone. But it is enough for now. Soap is proud of you. He is proud because, either deliberately or not, you have decided to open up. Maybe getting help wasn’t what you thought you’d gain when you screamed words deep inside your heart to him a few moments earlier, but this presents a new beginning, a beginning to a life where you believe that you can actually have what you thought you’d never have. And you deserve it. All of it.

To be continued... (dang, when will I be able to finish this?)

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